#mezato had that dedication to the bit and shes real for it

[cowardlybean]

Mezato is I think the only character in this series whose personal goal is to be a plot device and she is so so good at it. go make everyone's lives more complicated girl

see i find Mezato's character to be incredibly amusing because back when i was in middle school I was All About making up joke cults and committing to that bit. except So Many people i know who went to middle school in varying times ALSO thought silly cults were hilarious!!! Even my younger sister!!

so not only is Mezato amazing for being a talented plot device (girl how do you organize some of these things HOW ARE PEOPLE TAKING A MIDDLE SCHOOLER'S WORD????) she also just happens to be a pretty accurate example of a middle schooler taking the bit too far

anyway obligated doodle because i dont draw her enough

[marinsawakening]

Cracks in Concrete

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100

Wordcount: 4285

Warnings: a panic attack, general mental health issues, canon-typical use of cults (albeit it with minor implications that the Psycho Helmet Cult had more negative influences on its users than portrayed in canon). 

Summary: Character study/character development fic of Mezato, and how she grows up after the Divine Tree Arc. 

Notes: Mezato has ADHD in this fic, because I’m ADHD and I love her. 

///

Mezato woke up in the middle of the street, and around her, a crowd of people did the same. They blinked, stumbled, clutched their head as they looked around in confusion, a cacophony of voices asking each other what had happened, how they’d gotten here. Among the crowd there were members of the Psycho Helmet C ult she recognized, but also classmates, acquaintances, and many, many strangers; it was as if the entire town had simultaneously flowed into the streets for some kind of parade, only to then forget who’d organized the event in the first place.

The ground shook, someone screamed, and then, the Divine Tree was floating. It raised itself up from the earth and towards the sky, following a flock of birds towards the horizon. Still in a daze, Mezato raised her camera to snap a picture, only to find her fingers wouldn’t move.

“It must be Lord Psycho Helmet,” Eiji muttered next to her, wonder in his eyes as he looked up towards the flying broccoli.

Mezato didn’t answer. She simply watched as the Tree disappeared from view.

///

The only thing the News Club would talk about was the Divine Tree, and the mass amnesia the city had experienced. As a matter of fact, it was the only thing any kind of news outlet would talk about, even as the citizens of Seasoning City slowly began to accept and forget it, as they always did when something strange occurred.

“The disappearance of the Divine Tree was most peculiar, yes,” said the news anchor. “But for many people, the most distressing part was finding themselves on the streets with no memory of how they’d gotten there. Of the theories proposed, mass hypnosis seems to have the most credibility, but it’s likely we will never find an answer to the question of what happened that fateful day the Divine Tree uprooted itself.”

Forums on the internet were dedicated to answering that question. What was left of the Psycho Helmet Cult was convinced that it was their Lord who’d done it. They might be right. If anyone was capable of pulling off a stunt like this, it was Mob.

But whenever she thought about it, tried to figure out an answer herself, she got nauseous, and something settled heavily into her chest, an emotion she hadn’t felt in years.

Somehow, Mezato thought that all this might’ve been her fault.

///

Her phone rang and rang, but when she kept ignoring it, eventually, Eiji stopped calling. She should’ve picked up, at least done him the decency of saying she was quitting the cult, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care.

Mob was acting strange. Had been since the Divine Tree incident. Maybe it was just because Mezato watched him much more closely than she had before, but he seemed lost - or well, more lost than normal. Recently, he’d gained confidence and drive, and while he didn’t lose all of that, it seemed a bit off now. Sometimes, he’d drift off in class, or glance at nothing and seemed startled for no reason, or fall still when writing, his pen hovering over his notebook. When he did put pen on paper, he took less notes in class, and just seemed to doodle some kind of cloud over and over again.

It was always hard to tell with Mob, inexpressive as he was, but if you payed attention to the details, you could reasonable draw the conclusion that there was something wrong with him.

Mezato considered pursuing it, like she normally would when she smelled a good story, and this could be a good story indeed. Mob acting like he’d lost something right after the Divine Tree had been removed from the city, combined with the knowledge that Mob had psychic powers, made for a strong possibility that he’d been involved in whatever had happened back then. If she could get the story out of him, she could sell it to actual news outlets, rather than being content with her little part in the school paper. It would be the smart move, and could possibly be interesting, too.

Mezato let it go. They weren’t close enough for these kinds of discussions.

///

None of her pictures had any pizzaz anymore. The composition was flat, the lighting bad, and the meaning missing. She struggled to write anything for the school paper that month, staring blankly at her laptop for hours before finally giving up and slamming it shut.

It wasn’t for a lack of interesting material; there was plenty of that. Even aside from the Divine Tree incident, there was change brewing within Salt Mid; Takane Tsubomi, most popular girl in school, was moving away, bringing all her admirers crawling out of the woodwork. Even Mob was planning to confess, and although, in all honesty, Mezato didn’t expect anything to come from it, she did hope for his sake it would work out.

She could write about the actual lines that had been formed by confessors, how Tsubomi had politely yet firmly turned all of them down, speculate on whether that was because someone else held her heart or because she was moving away soon, pretend that her turning down boys whom she’d never even spoken too before was somehow unreasonable. She had plenty of material to write a salacious story.

And yet, she couldn’t. All she had to show for hours of agonizing work was a blank Word document.

She let the deadline slide by, and didn’t offer any answers when the president came knocking.

///

Without the Psycho Helmet Cult or the News Club to distract her, all Mezato had to do was her schoolwork, and she’d never been good at that. She was plenty smart, but as soon as you put a worksheet in front of her, she lost all ability to think. It didn’t matter how much distractions she removed from her workplace, she would always drift off. Even a blank wall was somehow more interesting than her homework.

So she sat in her room and stared at her books, willing herself to write a summary, to study for the upcoming exams. The words blurred together, there but meaningless; she’d reread this paragraph fifteen times, and still couldn’t tell you what it said. The silence was maddening.

Vaguely, Mezato remembered the reveal of Lord Psycho Helmet, streamed for all Psycho Helmet followers to see. The Lord’s face was blurry, a spot she couldn’t quite place, but she knew it wasn’t Mob, because she’d never gone to pick him up. She couldn’t remember why she hadn’t. She couldn’t remember why she’d dismissed him, the next morning. She couldn’t remember why she’d helped distribute Divine Tree candy. She couldn’t remember why she’d encouraged people to pray to the Divine Tree. Then, she couldn’t remember much of anything.

Had there been something in the candy? Had she somehow helped to brainwash the entire city?

She clicked her pen, again and again and again. She could say that she’d never wanted that, that she’d never wanted to hurt people, but, well, she ran a cult. But it was a nice cult, really more of a club than anything, not anything like the ones you saw on TV, the way the (LOL) Cult had worked, where people became zombies completely dependent on the cult doctrine. It was just a group of people coming together in shared admiration for the mysterious Lord Psycho Helmet.

Only he wasn’t so mysterious to her at all, was he? She knew who he’d been since the start. She could’ve told everyone, put an end to the mystery real soon. And without the mystery, the cult wouldn’t have lasted; much as she wished he was different, Mob simply didn’t have the charisma to keep a group that large together. She’d seen how he’d behaved when he ran for the student council. He wouldn’t have lasted a minute on stage.

So why had she been so insistent to get him up there, then? Why had she kept the cult alive, why had she kept pressuring Mob to lead it? What did she have to gain from it?

Her leg was bouncing, and her pen had started leaking. She laid it aside, calmed her leg, sat back and stared at her textbooks.

She slammed them shut and stood up, shoving the chair so roughly it creaked. She’d take a walk. Maybe afterwards, she would actually be able to concentrate.

///

The boredom was suffocating. The teacher droned on, his words turning to gibberish before they reached her ears, and Mezato tuned it out, staring blankly at the board to give the impression she was paying attention.

In the end, those were the questions she kept returning to, again and again. Why had she lead the Psycho Helmet cult? Why had she tried to force Mob to lead it, despite knowing he couldn’t?

Why had she wanted to start that cult in the first place? Why had she decided to investigate the (LOL) Cult? Why had she joined the News Club?

She was bored. She was restless, but bouncing her leg or drumming her fingers or clicking her pen or anything else would get her in trouble, so she sat as still as she could and tried to ignore the way her muscles itched. Her knuckles were turning white as she gripped her pen, as she gripped it tighter and tighter in an attempt to relieve the stress without actually moving, until -

Crack. It broke, sending the plastic casing flying off her desk and spilling ink all over her hand.

“Miss Mezato, care to explain what happened?”

The whole class was looking at her. Mezato groaned.

“Any day now, Miss Mezato.”

“I broke my pen, sir.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Good. Please go clean your hand, and get cleaning supplies from the janitor to tidy your mess.”

Ink had dripped all over her desk now, too. She stood up, carefully keeping her hands in front of her to avoid more ink onto her uniform, and hurried towards the toilet.

The ink was easy enough to wash off. Mezato watched it disappear down the drain, staring at the streaming water.

She was bored. She was always bored. Things only excited her for so long before she had to move on to something new, something shinier, something that she could explore, until she’d inevitably grow bored of that as well. Was that why she hadn’t been able to write anything for the paper?

Her hand was getting cold under the stream, but she couldn’t get herself to move. Was this how it was going to be? Was she just going to flit from one transient thing to the next for her whole entire life, never satisfied, always hungry for something she’d never get to eat?

Her hands shook. She tried to turn the faucet off, but couldn’t find a grip on the handle. She leaned on the counter, trying to breathe.

She couldn’t study for her exams. She could tell herself that she’d be able to do so next year, but that’s what she’d told herself her entire life. It’s what she told her parents when they scolded her, and she knew it was a lie. She wouldn’t be able to study any better next year, and she’d never be able to get into a good high school, let alone keep up with the studies required there. She’d have to drop out, and what then? What kind of future did she have?

She pressed her hand against her mouth, leaning over until she rested against the mirror, trying to focus on the cold glass against her forehead, but her heart was going a hundred miles an hour and her hand didn’t stop her from hyperventilating and oh god, she was having a panic attack over a stupid broken pen in the filthy school bathroom, great, fantastic, fucking awesome, she thought she was done with this goddamnit, but nooo, something as small as this was enough to set her off again because lord knows her emotions couldn’t just behave normally for once in her fucking life -

A pair of hands pulled her back from the mirror, and in reflex, she punched at them, hitting air. Everything was blurry, and she was pushed towards the ground, and then her head was pushed onto her knees, and she heard someone say something, but couldn’t understand what it was. Her breathing was erratic, and she desperately tried to gasp for air at the same time she tried to remind herself not to, because no, she wasn’t out of breath, she wasn’t dying, she was just hyperventilating and she needed to take less breath not more, she knew that, she did, but it was just so hard.

From somewhere, a voice filtered in. “Breathe in, one, two, three, four, five, hold, one, two, breathe out, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, breathe in, one, two, three, four, five -”

She latched onto the rhythmic counting, matching her breaths to the rhythmic counting, and slowly, slowly, she found herself coming down. The ground beneath her was cool, her uniform somewhat itchy, and the bathroom stalls smelled as horrid as ever. With a final deep breath, she lifted her head, blinking her eyes against the harsh, flat light.

Next to her was Tsubomi, sitting cross-legged on the filthy floor, staring at her with a blank expression.

“Are you okay?” she asked, monotone.

“Yeah,” Mezato said, her voice hoarse. Tsubomi nodded.

“Good. See you.” As she went to stand up, Mezato felt her throat constrict, and without thinking, she grabbed her sleeve.

“Stay,” she said, and tried very hard not to beg.

Tsubomi studied her for a bit, then sat back down. Mezato relaxed, focused on her breathing again, tried to return to a better state of mind.

They sat there for a while, on the bathroom floor underneath the sinks. Mezato barely even noticed Tsubomi, but her presence was just enough to help keep her grounded in reality.

“You know,” she finally said, after her legs relaxed enough for her to move them. “most people stay with someone after a panic attack. To make sure that they’ll be fine.”

Tsubomi just stared at her with that blank expression. “You said you were okay, so I assumed you were.”

There was a flaw in logic there, probably, but her brain was too scattered to find it.

“How did you know what to do?” she asked instead.

Tsubomi shrugged. “Panic attacks really aren’t that special. I know at least five people who get them on the regular.”

“Yourself included?”

“I’m not telling that to the school reporter.”

Mezato managed to snort at that. “C’mon, I’m not fishing for a story here. Haven’t even written anything for them in over a month.”

Tsubomi didn’t ask why. Neither did she answer the question. After a few seconds of silence, Mezato pressed: “Seriously, I won’t tell anyone. I really owe you one after that.”

“I don’t want to tell you,” Tsubomi said bluntly. “I don’t know you, and this is personal.”

Oh. That was... fair, actually.

Mezato shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. It’s your business.”

Again, silence. It was awkward, but Mezato felt that she could be forgiven for not keeping the conversation going, under circumstances.

“Can I have my sleeve back?” Tsubomi asked.

Mezato blinked. Finally, she noticed that she still held Tsubomi’s uniform in a vine-like grip.

She let go, and Tsubomi pulled her arm back. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Mezato’s first instinct was to say yes, but remembering Tsubomi’s earlier reaction, she shook her head.

Tsubomi shifted. “Do you want me to stay for a bit?”

“Yeah.” Mezato drummed her fingers against her leg. “Hey, why did you help me?”

Tsubomi pursed her lips and squinted her eyes, thinking. “It just seemed needlessly mean to leave you there when I could help,” she finally declared.

“You don’t seem like the type of person who cares for people you don’t really know,” Mezato replied, tapping her feet.

Tsubomi raised an eyebrow. “What gave you that idea?”

“You turned down an entire line of suitors one by one, ruthlessly.”

Tsubomi rolled her eyes, quite possibly the loudest expression of emotion she’d made thusfar. “I didn’t even know any of them. I could’ve ignored them entirely, or turned them all down at once. Instead, I took the time to turn them down individually, because that was the polite thing to do.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Just because I don’t let people walk over me doesn’t mean I’m cruel.”

Mezato stared at her for a while, and she stared back, not even blinking.

“How do you do it?” Mezato finally asked.

“Do what?”

“Just...” Mezato gestured to all of her. “You really seem to know what you want.”

“I mean, it’s not hard to figure out you don’t want to date someone you’ve never spoken to,” she said, deadpan.

“Well yeah, but like -” Mezato made a noise of frustration. “I can’t place it. It’s just. I have this feeling that you aren’t easily persuaded to do something you don’t want to do.”

“Well, neither are you,” Tsubomi retorted. “You’re well known for being stubborn, Mezato.”

“I know, but...” she trailed off, closing her eyes. Her feet tapped against the bathroom floor, and she counted to its rhythm. It was strange how infiltrating a cult was easier than speaking honestly.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted, refusing to look at Tsubomi. “I’m probably not gonna get through high school, I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up - I have nothing to do, really. I distract myself with an endless string of hobbies that never go anywhere, and still, I’m always bored, and that’s the only thing I can see for myself in the future. Just an endless sea of boredom.”

Tsubomi blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to give your life meaning in a public bathroom?”

Mezato burst out laughing. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, and laughed harder than she had in months, perhaps even years. When she finally finished, looking up through her tears at Tsubomi, she saw that even she had cracked a smile.

“Alright, fair enough.” She rubbed her eyes. “Guess I gotta figure that out myself.”

“I can’t do that for you,” Tsubomi confirmed. “I barely even know you.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Mezato waved a hand. “Sorry to dump that on you.”

“It’s okay.” Tsubomi seemed to hesitate for a bit, then added: “Maybe buy a lollipop on your way back home.”

Mezato blinked. “What?”

“They always help me calm down.”

Tsubomi stood up and rubbed the wrinkles out of her skirt. “Are you okay?” she asked, holding out a hand.

Mezato grabbed it, and let Tsubomi help her up. “Yeah,” she answered, and she meant it, this time.

///

Why had she joined the News Club?

Why had she started the Psycho Helmet Cult?

Why had she tried to persuade Mob to lead it?

Because she was bored. Because she needed a goal. Because she needed something to give her life meaning.

Eiji picked up after only one ring. “Mezato!” he cried out, his voice tinny through the phone. “I’m so glad to hear from you!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” she said, and she didn’t quite mean it, but she was getting there, maybe. “I’ve been going through a rough time lately, and I don’t think I can keep up with you guys. Sorry, I’m going to have to rescind my leadership position.”

Eiji sighed. “That’s a shame, but we did expect something like that. Losing the Divine Tree was hard on us all, and after the earthquake in January, I certainly don’t blame you.”

“Yeah.” She hesitated for a second, tempted to chicken out, but she steeled herself and asked: “Eiji, why do you follow our religion?”

When the answer came, it sounded baffled. “Because Lord Psycho Helmet gives my life meaning, of course. Because he does so for all of us.”

She breathed in. Breathed out. “A word of friendly advice. Find something else to chase.”

“What do you mean?”

She thought. And she thought. “Nevermind,” she finally said.

They hung up, and Mezato stared at the ceiling.

///

Mob had been doing better since the disaster in January. He was much more alert, didn’t look like he lost something, and in many ways, he seemed more relaxed than he’d ever been before. It was a sag of his shoulders, an easier way of talking; small things, like always with Mob, but they made a world of difference.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?”

He turned, waving at his brother to go on, and said “Sure, what is it? Does the Pyscho Helmet Cult want something?”

“Ah, no.” She tapped her fingers on her leg. “I dropped them, honestly.”

Mob raised his eyebrow, only a little bit; she was paying attention and even she barely noticed. “Really? I didn’t think you ever would, to be honest.”

“Well, I guess you could say I got some perspective, recently.”

There fell a silence. Mob stared at her, didn’t make a move to continue the conversation, and for the first time, she understood what he might have seen in Tsubomi. They were unnervingly similar, in a way.

“Listen.” She clenched her fist, then relaxed. “I need to ask you a question, okay?”

Mob cocked his head. “What is it?”

And before she could lose the nerve, she rushed out: “That whole mess with the Divine Tree. Was that my fault?”

Mob blinked. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s pretty clear that the problems started thanks to the Psycho Helmet Cult, which I was directly responsible for.” Her voice sounded steely, confident. Good. “Or at the very least, it wouldn’t have spread as quick as it did without them - without us, me. I don’t remember a whole lot from back then, but I think that, whatever it was, I was at least partly responsible for it. Is that right?”

Mob was silent for a while. “You’re sort of right,” he finally admitted, slow and deliberate. “Without the Psycho Helmet Cult, whatever it was probably wouldn’t have spread as quickly as it did. My memories were also wiped, but I talked with someone whose weren’t, and he confirmed that the Psycho Helmet Cult was instrumental to city’s brainwashing.”

Mezato clenched her fists.

“But,” Mob added. “he could’ve done it without you. You just happened to be there, and be convenient. So I wouldn’t say it’s your fault.”

Mezato let out a deep breath. “I - thanks. That’s nice to hear.”

She stood up, squared her shoulders. “I have one more thing to say.”

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath, and made sure to look him straight in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Mob blinked. “What for?”

“For using you.” She looked him in the eyes. “I wanted you to lead the Psycho Helmet Cult not because I thought you genuinely could, but because it would be entertaining to see you try, and because it was entertaining to try and convince you. I’ve grown to genuinely like you, and I started convincing myself I really just wanted to give you a chance, but I was lying to both myself and you. I’m sorry for that.”

“Oh.” Mob shifted, breaking the eye contact. “That’s okay. I’m glad you admitted it, though.”

Mezato blinked. “That’s it?”

Mob stared. “Shouldn’t it be?”

“It’s just...” She started playing with the hem of her shirt. “I treated you pretty badly, because I didn’t really care about you, at first. I don’t care about a lot of people, honestly. I try to, but it’s hard, and I forget to try pretty often. So this just feels a bit too easy, I guess? Shouldn’t you be angrier?”

Mob shrugged. “You apologized, you seem like you mean it, and like you’re trying to do better. It’s in the past, and you won’t do it again, so you’re okay now.”

Mezato gaped. “I just admitted to not really caring about other people, and you think I can do better?”

“Well, at least you’re self aware about it. That’s a good start.” He frowned. “Wasn’t that something you said about Tsubomi, though? That it seemed like she didn’t care about people?”

“Yeah.” Mezato scratched her neck. “I might’ve been projecting a little.”

“That makes sense,” Mob said, shifting his bag. “Was that all?”

For a moment, Mezato floundered, then confirmed: “That was all.”

“Okay. See you later, Mezato.” Mob turned to walk away, but stopped short.

“Actually,” he began, reaching into his bag. “I have a friend that you might like.”

Mezato raised an eyebrow. “A friend?”

“Yes.” He pulled out his phone. “His name’s Hanazawa Teruki, and he goes to Black Vinegar. I think you two might get along.”

He looked up at her. “You want his number?”

She stared at him for a second, then cracked a smile. “Sure,” she said. “Why not.”

///

She made the next deadline for the News Club, turning in an all-out expose on the delinquent war between Salt Mid and Black Vinegar. The president was lyrical and the paper was well-read; the article was a slam success.

She’d written nearly all of it in one go, and when she’d been done, she’d sat back, smiling.

She might not know what she wanted to do in the future, but she knew what she wanted to do right now, and maybe that was okay. She was still young. She had time to grow.

For now, she had a fantastic article, a new friend, a bag of lollipops in her drawer, and she’d be fine.