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cupcakemolotov · 3 years

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Road to Ruin

I... have no idea where this came from. But hey, I’ll take almost 2K of story after a drought of words. SFW, character death, probably some angst. You can read it here on A03 if you prefer.

Caroline had missed the Memorial Service.

Finals at NYU had been brutal, her schedule packed and tangled tightly together after a truly unfair back to back testing schedule. She’d wanted nothing more than to climb into her lumpy dorm bed and sleep for a week, but she’d promised Bonnie she’d try to make it.

She hadn’t.

But that was the fault of May storms and erratic flight schedules, not her personal choice. By the time her mom picked her up in Richmond, five hours late and dragging with exhaustion no number of espresso shots could perk up, it was dark and raining. She’d fallen asleep in the car, dragged herself into the house, and had just enough energy to change before diving into her bed for the sleep she’d been missing for what felt like weeks.

Elena was dead.

The news had come five days before finals, and after sobbing her eyes out on her RA’s shoulder, she’d pulled herself together and buried herself in all night study sessions and endless equations. But the knowledge had lingered, that this friend of hers who had grown so distant the last year, more distant than any amount of school schedules and new friends could allow for when Caroline was a devout texter, was gone. She’d cried in the shower, for the girl who she’d once known and would never know again.

Shifting her weight on the damp grass, Caroline studied the freshly dug grave. The last few years before graduation hadn’t been good for their friendship, High School having been a roller coaster of drama and boys that was expected, she supposed. But if only that had been the only drama, she was certain they wouldn't have grown so far away from each other. There had been that weird mass grave that someone had found that had kept her mom busy for months dealing with the locals and the FBI, the weird way the old boarding house had been repaired seemingly to open up only to remain empty. Those strangers who her mom had not liked who had asked questions about a couple of weird gravestones in the museum. That series of petty thefts that had kept her mom even busier than the mass grave and its collection of weird historians and FBI investigations, that had finally culminated in some family heirlooms being stolen from the Lockwoods.

Tyler had bitched for months about it. Weirdly, it had been those complaints that had been the deciding factor that had her breaking up with him. Yeah, the sex had been good, but a girl did not need pillow talk about family heirlooms and how upset his mom had been. Any boyfriend worth their salt (and teenage hormones) should have been far too distracted by her being naked right there, not their moms.

She shuddered a little, thinking about it.

The second half of their junior year had been a mess, and been made worse when Aunt Jenna had died. Caroline’s fingers tightened on the bouquet she was holding, thinking of all the deaths that had accumulated that year. Aunt Jenna. Her Dad. Carol Lockwood. How terrified she had been that her mom would end up next, logical or not.

Then there had been the way Elena had gone all weirdly obsessed with finding her biological parents, the way it had driven her as if it was something outside of herself she couldn't control. Caroline studied the tops of the flowers she held in her hand, wondering if not for the first time if she could have done something different. Been a better friend, helped Elena in some way. Those long weeks that first Christmas when Elena had decided to spend it alone, how she had refused to answer a single text message until she’d shown back up at school, dark circles under eyes like an underfed anemic.

She’d been… different, after that. Less boy crazy and more… mature. And that summer, she’d gone to meet a family claiming to be hers. And when she’d come home, she’d been so happy. Bouncing, sparkling happy. Cousins, she’d said. Brother’s and a sister who said that her mother had been theirs and they’d been looking for her.

Family.

That was what Caroline wanted to remember her. The girl who sat with her for hours after Bill died, both of them quiet, legs tangled on Caroline’s bed. The girl who liked board games and pink lipstick and who had terrible taste in shoes. Her friend. Not the girl from their Senior year who had slowly become something else entirely. Pale and wane, short tempered and then so, so quiet. The girl whose new family moved into Mansion at the edge of town that had been empty for decades, who paid for an expensive car and clothes and who never came to a single game to watch her cheer.

Letting out a slow breath, she set the flowers she’d brought down on the grave and chewed on her lower lip. People usually said things at graves, didn’t they? But she’d never been good at that sort of thing. Not at her Dad’s grave, and not here, standing over the bones of her friend. She’d brought daisy’s because Elena liked them, and she briefly closed her eyes, hoping that Elena knew she was here, that she missed her, and that even if she reached the old age of one hundred, she’d remember the night she and Elena and Bonnie had laughed until they cried over the most ridiculous of conversations, until they’d had to scramble to pretend they’d been sleeping when her mom came home at dawn after her shift.

That would be the Elena she’d take with her.

Swallowing hard, she turned on one heel and jerked to a stop, heart slamming into her throat as she found a man she didn’t recognize lingering far too close to her. He was only a few inches taller than her, but something about the utter stillness of his posture, the way she hadn’t heard him walk up behind her, her usual excellent sense of people taught by her mother and perfected in the subway system having failed to ping at her, left her breathless with surprise. For a moment, Caroline struggled to get her pulse under control before narrowing her eyes. “Excuse you, creepy much? Most people have the decency not to loom in graveyards.”

A sudden hint of a smile played across a distractingly full mouth, and he reached up and pushed his sunglasses up into his rumpled curls, something about the way he was looking at her sending the faintest hint of alarm down her spine. “Spend a lot of time in graveyards?”

“That is none of your business,” Caroline said, letting her voice frost over in disapproval.

“Apologies, love.” He said, body shifting from that hair raising awareness to a soft charm she might have liked if she hadn’t seen him looking at her like she was a particularly interesting bug. “I didn't recall seeing you at the funeral, and I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

Something about him, the way his eyes never left hers, put her back up. She hadn’t spent the last two years in New York City to let some weirdo stranger intimidate her now. “I don’t recognize you at all,” she said primly. “So that means you were fairly new to Elena’s life. Do you make a habit of memorizing faces at funerals? That seems like the sort of thing that would alarm a psychologist.”

The curve of his mouth deepened, and to her despair, he had dimples. “You must be Caroline Forbes. Ms. Bennett was disappointed that you missed the service.”

Caroline shrugged, stubbornly holding his gaze though it was starting to bother her that he didn’t blink. “May storms are a bitch. And neither Bonnie nor Elena mentioned anyone who would match your description.”

He looked intrigued. “Do you usually ask for physical descriptions of their acquaintances?”

“And pictures of their drivers licenses,” she retorted. “So that if they go missing, I know where to direct my mother to find them, but you're definitely not either of their types, and since you think you have some claim on Elena, that must mean you belong to the Mikaelson family. Which one are you?”

She didn't do much to hide what she thought of his family, and it didn’t seem to bother him.

“Smart,” he murmured. “I’m Klaus.” And then he offered her his hand, something like a challenge lingering at the back of his eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Caroline.”

It was a dare. And she was terrible at turning those down, even as her instincts warned her that there was something about this man she wasn’t seeing. But she was also standing twenty feet away from a number of her own dead relatives, and Grandma Forbes would haunt her forever if she was rude to this man in front of her. Baring her teeth in something like a smile, she took his hand. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Laughter had lit his eyes a half moment before their skin touched, and something she couldn’t describe rolled down her spine. More sensation than feeling, she felt it down to her feet, and it left her pulse pounding. She pulled her hand back, too quick to be polite, but she didn’t care as she stared at the man who had gone still and so quietly dangerous, she was debating reaching for the pepper stray attached to her keys.

She could probably get it out and in his face before he lunged.

Maybe.

Klaus’ fingers had curled into his palm, as if he too had felt whatever that had been, and the blue of his eyes were doing something strange, and Caroline became intensely aware of everything around them. The buzz of summer insects, the shape of his stupidly plush mouth, the smell of fresh turned dirt. It was the near silent buzz of an incoming text that broke the staring contest between them. Senses hyper-alert, she pulled her phone out of her purse and saw that she had two missed calls from Bonnie. Glancing up from her lashes to find that Klaus hadn’t looked away, so she pasted on her best false smile and shrugged.

“Well, Klaus, I’m sure this is where I should say something polite about seeing you around, but that seems super unlikely,” Caroline said with a false shrug of disappointment. “So, I’ll just say bye instead.”

A lowering of his lashes, something behind his eyes that burned her skin. “Hmm, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? The family has decided to stick around a bit longer, give ourselves time to mourn. You may be surprised how much you’ll see us.”

Caroline snorted and stepped around him. “History of your family’s willingness to grace the town with your presence says otherwise.” But because her grandma had raised her right, and was probably seriously judging her only granddaughter from the plot just a few feet away, she smiled and waved, just like her pageant days had taught her. And only when she was almost to her car, did she relax enough to look at her text.

And felt her heart drop to her toes.

I don’t think Elena is dead.

Brows tucking tightly together, she went through the motions of unlocking the car door, glancing back towards the man lingering in the graveyard. Klaus hadn't moved, except to slid his hands into his pockets and to turn to watch her. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers against hers, the heat and calluses of him, the shock of him down her spine. For a moment, she tried to remember what Elena had told her about her biological family, the people who went through all the right motions but never showed her friend the care she deserved. The brother’s who had been so considerate, and offered her anything money could buy but not a single ounce of affection. Lifting her chin, she narrowed her eyes, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

Let him think what he wanted. She was fairly certain she’d never see him again. Klaus, who stood in graveyards in pressed slacks and rosaries around his throat. Something was going on there, and the last thing she needed was for him to turn out to be some kind of serial killer.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she started the engine and set her teeth, only then allowing herself to really absorb what Bonnie had sent her. Not dead? What was Bonnie thinking? And if she was right, why would the Mikaelson’s lie?

Why bury Elena, fake or otherwise, with the ghosts if she wasn’t really dead?

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction

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gukyi · 6 years

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cool cats (and dogs, too) | myg

⇒ summary: yoongi has one (1) dog, and he loves her very much. yoongi also has one (1) daughter, and she loves cats more than anything. sometimes apples fall pretty far from the tree.

⇒ {dad!au}

⇒ pairing: yoongi x female reader

⇒ word count: 2k

⇒ genre: fluff

⇒ warnings: animals?

⇒ a/n: for sir yoongi’s birthday! i had this idea in my head randomly and thought it would make a cute drabble. also shoutout to that Cool Cat™ in the banner. i’d die for him.

Yoongi loves his daughter more than anything else in the world, but the increasing amount of cat-themed artwork that is hanging around their tiny apartment right next to the heart of the city makes him feel like a traitor. At least Holly doesn’t know what the hell is on all of the things tacked to their refrigerator door, or she’d go into a fit.

People tell Yoongi that his daughter takes after him in many ways. She has the same gummy smile, accentuated by the empty space in her bottom teeth, the first of many. Or, she pouts the same way when she doesn’t get what she wants, an expression Yoongi finds himself weak to every time he is subjected to it. And she loves listening to music, always asks Yoongi to put on her favorite CD (Abbey Road by the Beatles) whenever they’re in the car. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree but his daughter has come so close to the roots that they’re practically the same person.

But the one thing that his daughter doesn’t take after him in? Animals.

Yoongi does not think he has seen a bigger cat-lover than his daughter, and it’s appalling. She has cat bedsheets, a cat backpack, cat-shaped pencil sharpeners and erasers. The walls of their flat are littered with cats drawn on lined notebook paper and little peel-off cat stickers (because Yoongi knows he is too lazy to try and scrape off real sticker remnants). Her bedroom floor is decorated with various stuffed cats, ranging from the smallest kittens to the fiercest lions.

And poor Holly is trapped in the middle of it, Yoongi’s faithful pup who does not understand the horror that is his daughter’s bedroom, can not comprehend what all of the pictures on the wallpaper mean. Holly is the second love of Yoongi’s life, the only other constant in his rocky existence.

It’s not that his daughter, Chorong, hates Holly, or anything. It’s just that every time he takes her into a pet store to pick up Holly’s food, she drags him to the cages where the cats are, ogles them and begs him to adopt one to take home (which Yoongi knows Holly would hate). And she’s constantly babbling about how Holly is so much work to take care of, and even at only five-years-old, she is already aware that cats don’t need to be potty-trained like people and dogs, and that they bathe themselves. And she tells him that Holly deserves a friend because it gets awfully lonely in their little home when she is at kindergarten and he’s at work, and a cat would be the perfect solution to the predicament.

Yoongi was already unprepared to the fullest extent when Chorong came along, stomping all over his previously delicately-laid-out life plans and decorating his life with color. Even five years later, he still thinks he is entirely unqualified to be taking care of a little human despite him trying his best. But this? This sends him back to square one, for nowhere in any of the twelve parenting books Yoongi owns does it detail what to do when your daughter is a cat person and you are a dog person.

Guess this one’s on him to figure out.

---

Yoongi regrets taking this detour after picking his daughter up from extended-day at kindergarten.

His work had dragged on longer than he anticipated, an occurrence he fears will start to become more common. He really hates leaving his daughter alone for so long—she is already beginning to realize that when he doesn’t come to pick her up at the normal time, she just needs to go to the classroom where extended-day is held without being told—and can’t bear the thought of her simply getting used to him not being around. Her mother had left when she was three days old, so Yoongi is all she has.

By the time he picked her up, the sidewalk that was once open for them to walk on as a shortcut to their apartment had been boarded up, metal fencing surrounding it and forcing the two of them to find another way home. Yoongi doesn’t know much about this city to begin with, so he is relying on only Siri to lead him home.

Chorong is happily blabbing on about the arts and crafts activity they did, where they got to decorate ladybugs with sequins and sparkles and glitter as part of their unit on insects. Chorong proudly declares that she is the only person in her class that isn’t afraid of spiders (“even the boys are too scared!”), another trait she got from her father who spent the entirety of his university years taking the spiders that haunted his shared apartment outside.

And then, as Yoongi is telling her that she is the bravest person he knows, she stops. Chorong has a habit of getting distracted fairly easily, yet another inherited characteristic, so Yoongi finds himself getting used to the abrupt pauses and stops as they walk around the city.

“Look, Daddy!”

Yoongi leans down so that he matches her little height, made littler by all of the things in this city that tower over her, and lets his eyes trace from her arm to her pointer finger. When he finally looks properly at what she’s staring at, his brows furrow.

“A cat café!” She cries excitedly, already clasping her fingers together in applause. Yoongi grimaces. “Daddy, can we go inside?” She begs, tugging on her father’s arm in desperation.

Yoongi knows that voice. It’s the voice that Yoongi always caves in to, always finds himself falling weak to, despite the stern tone in his voice as he attempts to tell his daughter “no”.

“Please?”

Yoongi is going to apologize to Holly until the universe collapses in on itself.

Chorong tugs him towards the door, standing on her tiptoes to reach for the handle. Yoongi makes to open the door for her but she pushes him off, already feisty even only at five years of age, wrenching open the door proudly as Yoongi places his hand on the frame to keep it open for her.

“Welcome to the Choco Kitty Cafe,” the woman at the front says, smiling happily at Chorong as she gazes around the quaint cafe. There’s cat memorabilia all over the place, decorating the walls and the floors and everything in between, and Yoongi swears he hears the faint meowing of cats from the next room over. “Just the two of you?” The woman asks, swiping away at the iPad in front of her.

“Yes,” Yoongi nods, already making the pull his wallet from his back pocket. Oh, the things he does for his daughter. He makes sure to keep a close eye on Chorong, knowing how she has a habit of disappearing from his line of sight in favor of something largely more interesting than her father.

“An hour?”

Yoongi looks down to his daughter, who is playing with the lucky cat on the table beside her, paw waving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“Yes, an hour,” Yoongi says, and maybe he shouldn’t be wasting away his time surrounded by animals that are notorious for disliking him, maybe he should be working on some of the work he still has left for his boring day job, but the smile on Chorong’s face makes this all the more bearable.

He follows her as she leads him into the room with all of the cats, relatively empty as a result of the time of day. Yoongi counts; there’s eight cats in total, sitting on cushions and towers and shelves, prancing around or eating or sleeping. Chorong looks like she’s in heaven, so overwhelmed at the mere sight of so many of her favorite domesticated pets that she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

Yoongi takes a seat in the corner, letting his body rest after a long day, watching his daughter with a resigned sort of fondness as she jumps from cat to cat, desperate to spread her love equally to all of them. He supposes that some sacrifices are worth making. Chorong can’t contain her excitement—every time a cat sniffs her hand or lets her pet her she shouts, “Daddy! Daddy! Look at this!”—and Yoongi will look at her, send her a thumbs up as he attempts to avoid any sort of contact with the animals. Thankfully, it doesn’t look like they’ve taken too much of a liking to him, either.

“Want tea, sir?”

A voice interrupts his train of thought, and Yoongi whips his head around to find you standing in the doorway to the café part of this cat café, holding a kettle in your hand. You look at him with a warm glow, smiling despite the visible bags under your eyes and the tired slouch of your shoulders.

“Ah, no thank you,” Yoongi says, shaking his head. “It makes me sleepy.”

“I hear you,” you reply distantly, nodding. “Half the time I just want to curl up on the pillows and sleep with the cats.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, trying not to spend too much time looking at you or the way your lips curl up in a grin or the little sparkles in your eyes. The only person he need love in his life is Chorong. Or at least, that’s what he thinks.

“Is she your daughter?” You ask, motioning to Chorong as she coddles a bright orange cat, one that reminds him of the one from the Harry Potter franchise. You don’t sit down out of respect for his personal space, though Yoongi finds that he wouldn’t mind the company.

He scoots over, the universal sign for “stop standing like a fool and join me on this comfortable cushion”, and nods. “All mine.”

“She’s cute,” you say, taking a tentative seat. “Dragged you in here, didn’t she?”

Yoongi finds himself enamored with how easily you can read him, like you’ve already known him for years. “I’m not… a cat person.”

The declaration makes you gasp in shock, a hand coming up and placed on your chest in mock offense. Your brows furrow and you begin to pout, lower lip coming out the same way that it does when Chorong is begging for whatever it is she wants.

“You’re not a cat person?” You ask, mouth open wide. “How could someone not be a cat person?”

“They don’t like me, I don’t like them,” Yoongi explains. “I like dogs. They’re better.”

“I take personal offense to that statement,” you say. “It seems your daughter would agree with me.”

“There are things that she and I don’t really match up on.”

“But cats are so wonderful! All they do is sleep and eat and look cuddly and shower you in affection,” you say longingly, a hand leaning down past the edge of the seat as a cat brushes by, sniffing your outstretched fingers with a satisfied purr as it rubs its chin against them. “How can you go wrong?”

“Dogs do all that and more,” Yoongi begins to playfully argue, a blush blooming on his cheeks as you pout his way.

You stand up firmly, blatantly attempting to resist the smirk that’s growing wider on your face. “This means war, Mr. Dog Person,” you decide, hands on your hips. “I’ll teach you to love cats. Just you wait.”

---

On the way back, Chorong is joyfully skipping down the pavement, hand resting in her father’s safe grip. The entire walk to their home, she goes on about each of the different cats, citing you as the “nice lady who told me their names and their favorite things to do” and making Yoongi’s heart swell just a little more.

It’s strange for him, really, to already be thinking about a future with you. For five years now, it’s been him and Chorong against all of the forces of the universe, ready to take on anything that comes their way, but now, Yoongi thinks he might have to rewrite a couple chapters. His conversations with you have been brief and meaningless, but, for the first time, Yoongi wants to know a little more.

“Daddy?” Chorong asks as they step into the elevator, her father letting her press the seventh floor button.

“Hmm?” Yoongi responds mindlessly.

“Do you like the lady at the cat cafe?” She asks innocently, looking up at him with her brown eyes wide.

“What do you mean, Chorong-ah?” Yoongi inquires, a little frightened and a little impressed with how easily she was able to pick that up. Is he really that transparent?

“I mean, do you like like her? Because you always told me that when you smile it’s because you like something. Like like something,” Chorong says pointedly, her five-year-old logic sending his heart reeling.

Yoongi’s grip grows tighter on his daughter’s hand as he thinks of what lies ahead. The thought excites him. Perhaps your relationship won’t work, perhaps there will be too many bumps in the road, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try. You make him want to learn to love the things that the universe throws his way.

He thinks he might need to start taking that detour more often.

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

#sfwbangtan #bangtan bookclub #bangtanwriters-net #bts writing squad #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts dad au #dad yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #bts imagine #bts drabble #hbd yoongi!#mygday #w: cool cats #i am a cat person if this fic did not make it abundantly clear

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silvensei · 7 years

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Mob had forgotten about his imaginary friend until his friend came back.

Even though his friend had never left.

Based on the “scenario/AU/headcanon” (that @silvervictory linked me to at 1 AM which destroyed my attempt at a well-rested start to the week) by @jamjumpingjambore where ???% is a sentient entity that... well, find out in the original post here, or my version linked above or copied under the cut~

(Words: 2k; angst that becomes hurt/comfort/understanding later, probably a bit of body horror)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

All in all, Mob had a good day.

Sure, some of his classes today were rather confusing, but Mezato joined him for lunch afterwards. She didn’t even mention anything about a cult this time (at least, if she did, it was too subtle for him to notice).

He didn’t faint during his club’s warmup run, and weight training was slowly but steadily getting easier. The rest of the club insisted on carrying him to the nearest vending machine and buying him a carton of milk as a reward, because champions should ride in style. Even Tome gave him a smirk and a thumbs up on the way out.

Yes, a good day.

With a content sigh and a small smile, Mob only wished Dimple was with him on his walk to work so he could recount it for him. Alas, the spirit was nowhere to be found. Hopefully he would be at the consultation office after having spent the day assisting Master Reigen with his earlier jobs. Mob wondered if they were as close friends as he was with them.

Something in the air was noticeably getting heavier as he went, like the atmosphere was pushing down on his senses. The weak quirk in his lips retired for now. Something didn’t feel right….

Mob paused on a quiet backroad. Up ahead was the alley he normally cut through, but the ill intent seemed to concentrate around there. Could he find another way around that wouldn’t make him late for work?

A skid, a shuffle on the pavement sounded behind him. His powers coalesced into a barrier on instinct, shimmering in the air a couple feet from his head as it was struck. “Oh, lookie here!” a gruff female voice shouted. “We’ve got some hotshot psychic with us!”

The esper turned to his assailant, only to find she wasn’t alone. Three more people stood with her, all of them in loose, dark clothing and wielding blunt weapons. “Guess the rumors are true, then!” she added, her companions in agreement.

“Rumors?” asked Mob. They only seemed like run-of-the-mill delinquents, but he kept his barrier up just in case.

“Yeah, kid. That if we wanted a real challenge, we should grow a pair and face off against the Salt shadow leader. You may not have heard of us since your town is too self-obsessed with your fuck-ton of middle schools, but we sure as shit heard of you.” She smacked her worn cricket bat against her palm a few times, making her message clear to anyone, including their target: They wanted a fight.

Quickly waving his hands in front of him, the boy told them, “Ah, I’m no one special. I’m sorry you came all the way out here for no reason.”

“Bullshit.” The woman, their apparent leader, scoffed and spat on the ground. “An’ we still got a reason: We’re here to either have a fair fight with you or an unfair fight with him.”

Mob wasn’t sure what she meant for all of two seconds before he heard muffled shouting behind him. He spun around, barrier reinforced for good measure.

Coming around the corner from the alleyway were five more guys, two of them dragging a struggling, gagged middle schooler. Their eyes met, and he fell silent, familiar eyes widening under his shaggy bangs.

“Ritsu…,” Mob breathed. His brother, captured again? But he was so clever, and his powers had improved amazingly…. He repeated, louder, “Ritsu, what did they do to you?”

“Called it! Brothers!” one of the men behind Ritsu quipped. Another, grumbling, handed him a few bills.

The leader barked a vicious and smug laugh. “Like it, kid? Anti-esper cuffs. Worked our asses off to get some, but they’ll be worth it.”

“No psychic powers mean you just gotta fight like the rest of us, White T Poison!”

No psychic powers…!

Sure enough, upon closer inspection, Mob spotted the white bands around each of Ritsu’s wrists, opalescent with the blues he’d always loved echoing through his brother’s aura. Unconnected by a chain, they looked more like plain bracelets than psychic handcuffs. Ritsu was furious, clenching his fists and trying to pull his arms from the thugs’ grasps. All it did was make the bands glow a bit brighter.

“No. Please,” Mob muttered, breaking his view of his sibling to plead with his kidnappers. “I didn’t want that name, and I don’t want to fight. Please just let us go home.”

“Don’t wanna fight, eh?” she mused, making a show out of asking her cohorts for confirmation. “Mmmm, alright. Guess it’s your choice.”

She smirked. “Your bro, though, don’t got a say in this.”

Mob whipped his hand out, painting the air indigo. The weapons held by Ritsu’s captors cracked and shattered, mere moments before two hit their mark. One of the broken shards sliced the cloth over Ritsu’s mouth, nicking his cheek and allowing the obstruction to flutter away. Without delay, he cried, “Brother, behind you!”

His back exploded with thunder under the strike of the cricket bat, his shield having fallen when on the offensive. Before it even registered, a knee followed up in his stomach. He gasped, winded, eyes wide, paralyzed until he felt the snap of bracelets around his arms. Then everything just felt weak.

He collapsed to his knees, finally choking down air, but it had nothing to do with his newfound lightheadedness. He could feel his powers seep down, deep under his skin, away from the revolting shackles. It left him with nothing but his own flesh and bones. In a way, it was a wish come true.

But not like this.

Sound faded back in around him, saturated with contempt from the crowd. Ritsu shouted something to him, trying to seem angry and intimidating, but Mob knew him well enough to see he was scared.

His sight of his brother was blocked by a girl squatting in front of him, looking much too young to be associated with this crowd. “Mr. Special ain’t so special no more!” she jeered, jamming a finger in his face. “Think ya can still win without magic powers?”

“I’m not—” Mob swallowed, to catch his breath and to soothe the itch in his throat. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I’m not going to fight you, so please just let us go.”

“Wrong answer!” the girl sung before jumping up and swinging a tree branch into his shoulder. He winced at the throb of pain, but at least it wouldn’t do more than leave a bruise tomorrow.

“Now, now, Chi.” The leader waved her off, ambling over to stand in front of the student in her stead. “ ‘s not a fight if he ain’t fightin’ back. Gotta make him mad enough first.” She put a finger under her chin and cocked her hip. “But however are we gonna do that, I say?”

Mob heard, “Brother, run!” right before the low slap of a punch across the face; the whip of clothing displaced by a blunt object; the scuff of shoes in a flurry over pavement; the stubborn, pained cries that broke through his brother’s teeth.

The woman didn’t look at her carnage in the making, standing in between it and the child she was sneering at.

No. No, no no no….

Ritsu was in danger again. He was in danger again, through no fault of his own! Why were they even doing this? A sea of rage rose up and boiled in him, but the familiar electricity that should have sparked with it was completely absent. Without his powers, there’s no way he could even stand a chance against them. What if they both end up getting hurt in the end? Or worse? Damn it, can he even do anything??

His stomach turned at the idea, but he had to at least try. For both their sakes.

Slowly, he rose, stance wide to balance against the lingering vertigo. The leader quirked an eyebrow. She held up a hand, and the disorganized violence came to a halt. They were waiting for him to make the first move.

Mob cleared his throat to tell them that he didn’t want to fight, and that Ritsu didn’t deserve to get hurt over it, but it only made his throat scratchier. He tried again, to no avail. His unsettled stomach twisted from his nerves, except that it twisted again and again after, condensing into a heavy knot within his torso. And then it moved.

His eyes shot open as all blood seemed to reverse in direction, rushing from his head and fingertips to his core, filling this feeling with his energy as it twitched and squirmed. He yelped, all his emotions now fueling panic, but the vibration through his neck only irritated his throat even more. He coughed, and coughed again, making it worse each time he fell further into this fit.

Nauseous, afraid of throwing up or fainting with no idea how to stop it, he coughed. The awful discomfort—the feeling that felt solid, independent of his body, sapping his energy from his cells like ice—sloshed through his esophagus, acting against gravity and going agonizingly slowly through his system.

His knees hit the ground. He curled into himself, one arm braced against the pavement and the other across his chest, clutching his uniform, desperately trying to restrain whatever threatened to tear through him. The heavy bracelet on his wrist trembled against him, burning with a heat his cold skin barely registered. He coughed, saliva and bile splattering next to his hand, eyes blurring over with tears. Still it did not stop, pushing into his throat as if choking him from the inside out, and he gagged. He coughed up something black and viscous next.

He felt the liquid pressure dragging its way over his tongue, finally falling out through his mouth. It congealed in the air as it emerged, and Mob, not even able to breathe, could only watch as it formed.

And then it was gone.

He gasped and coughed again, this time to make sure it was really gone. Dizzy, weak, strangely empty, the boy slumped over, hugging himself as tight as he could in a feeble attempt at protection. The cuffs clanged together when they crossed, restarting his sense of hearing.

The delinquents mumbled to each other or shouted at the reshaping mass. Ritsu said nothing. Breaking through it all, though, was a familiar voice.

“Kageyama!”

Purple and yellow appeared next to him, a stark contrast to the dark colors draped over the rest of the street’s occupants. Mob blinked to clear his vision, gradually making out a face that turned towards him. “Wait,” it said. “Kageyama…?”

His answer came out as another cough, and instantly Teru was kneeling by his side. He pushed his shoulders back, holding him upright to stare at his eyes. “Kageyama, what happened?”

The sudden motion restarted the dizzy spell, so Mob could only shake his head. He looked past Teru at the form hanging in space to get a glimpse at the thing that had him fearing for his life just seconds ago. It seemed formless, deep black casting a dim aura around it.

Then it twitched, the top of its form tilting to the side. Inaudibly cracking its thin neck, it rounded into a head. Shoulders rolled underneath, and hands splayed out to its sides, fingers twitching.

A person? Mob though. A spirit, maybe?

Despite himself, it almost seemed…familiar?

Blinding white eyes opened from the void of its face. As the thugs’ shouting increased, its eyes only narrowed. Ritsu stared at it, forgotten in the entrance to the alleyway, frozen in place, plastered to the wall.

Something about Ritsu made this even more familiar. Having Ritsu together with this thing, this ghostly shadow….

Mob gasped. “Ah, Shadow!”

The figure straightened. It turned to meet the teen’s gaze.

Then its eyes squinted ever so slightly, as if being pushed closed by smiling cheeks.

Someone swore loudly, bat arcing overhead. It passed through its form, unharmed, like it was nothing more than smoke. It earned the figure’s attention, though. It turned, frame roiling with a frenetic energy, and then the thug was pushed five feet up against the nearest wall, held struggling by nothing more than darkened air.

As the rest of the gang charged it, Mob couldn’t help but be astounded. This force that happened to be inside him for who knows how long—that is fighting for them—was definitely familiar. It was almost as familiar a childhood friend as Ritsu. The only difference was, well….

He’d always assumed his Shadow to be imaginary.

#as Saturday isn't a business day #technically it's still been five business days #so hey I wasn't completely kidding 'bout that!#Mob Psycho 100 #MP100 fanfiction #Kageyama Shigeo #???%#Kageyama Ritsu #he's in this too #fanfiction #my writing #not my art #in a way #featuring last-minute titles #Protect #(who knows if that'll stay after I've had more than five minutes to think of one)#whoops the tags didn't work the first time 'round #gotta love this site #masterful interface design

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