Here are a handful of ficlets I’ve written over the last couple of months, in response to Tumblr requests!



Anonymous: for a request maybe something with Naejunko (Makoto x Junko from danganronpa)

(Heads-up: this ficlet contains a mild sense of sexual threat.)

“Okay,” Enoshima says, planting her elbows on her podium. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You all suck, and you’re getting expelled from Hope’s Peak. You can all head out into the wasteland and get annihilated or whatever. Buuuuut...” Her grin broadens so widely it almost twinkles. “I’m keeping Naegi.”

Naegi tenses up. She’s—

She’s keeping him? What does that mean?

“No,” Kirigiri says.

“No?” Enoshima echoes. “You think you get to talk back to your headmaster like that?”

“We’re not going to leave Naegi-kun behind,” Kirigiri says, quiet and even.

Enoshima produces what looks like a remote control from her sleeve with a flourish. “Guess what: it’s not your choice. Trapdoor time!”

In the next instant, the air is filled with startled yelps and screams.

And then there’s nobody in the trial room but Naegi and the girl behind all this.

“Right,” Enoshima says. Naegi barely hears it, staring at the podiums where Kirigiri and Asahina were standing a moment ago. “That’s enough of those losers. You wanna head back to the dorms?”

Naegi swallows. “Are they – are they okay?”

“I didn’t drop them into a furnace, if that’s what you’re asking,” Enoshima says. “Although that would’ve been pretty funny. But they’re out in apocalypseland now, sooooo...” She shrugs. “Wanna take bets on how long they’ll be okay?”

So they’re alive. Okay. They’ve got Kirigiri and Togami with them; they’ll be fine. What...

“What happens to me?” Naegi asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I guess you probably overpower me and escape,” Enoshima says. “Because you’re so bold and manly. Or we go back to the dorms, like I said.”

“And...” He doesn’t want to ask this. “And what?”

Enoshima leans forward on her podium, twisting her fingers idly through her hair. “What do you think, Naegi? Why do you think I’m trying to get you somewhere with a bed? Maybe you should tell me in as much detail as possible.”

Naegi takes a step back, shakes his head. Shakes it again, harder.

He can’t shake the thoughts out. He can’t breathe properly. It feels like the fever is creeping back over him, everything too cold and too hot at the same time.

“I’m trying to make sure you get enough sleep,” Enoshima says, solemnly. “Obviously. It’s important for your studies.”



Anonymous: a sequel to one of the Nagito/Everyone fic, where someone brings up the whole komaeda thing and everyone is hit with the flashbang of a realization that they all had weird sexual coded interactions with Nagito of all people

(What I wrote here was actually a sequel to a fic that doesn’t exist! I never wrote a Komaeda/everyone fic for Danganronpa V3, but, if I did, this might be what the aftermath looked like.)

Shuichi is reeling, he can barely think. This isn’t real, nothing is real, their lives and deaths and sheer existence nothing but entertainment—

It seems almost trivial; perhaps everything is trivial now. But he still has to ask. “Did you... did you plan everything with Nagito?”

“Nagito?” Tsumugi asks. “He’s as planned a character as the rest of you. More so, really; he’s returning from a previous season, so we had to perform plastic surgery to get the right look.”

“No, I mean—”

Shuichi swallows. He’d felt... betrayed, stumbling across Kaito and Nagito, in a way he still can’t entirely put into words. Kokichi and Nagito had been less of a surprise, perhaps, but still disconcerting; Miu hadn’t really been a surprise at all.

And then Shuichi himself had ended up in a compromising position with Nagito, up against the wall of his own Ultimate lab. He’s struggled to understand his own decision-making ever since. But perhaps there’s a reason, perhaps there’s someone to blame.

“I think a lot of us were... um, intimate,” he says. “With Nagito. Did you... write some kind of attraction into us? Was that scripted?”

“Oh.” Tsumugi seems to hesitate; for a moment, she almost looks like Shuichi’s friend again, like the person he thought he knew. “No, that... that wasn’t planned, exactly. We’ve brought him back for a few seasons. It’s just something that happens.”

“Just something that happens?” Shuichi echoes.

Tsumugi shrugs. “I slept with Nagito as well, to be honest. You don’t expect it, do you? But it happens.”

“Not to me,” Maki says, firmly.

“Because you threatened to kill him every time he was in the same room as you,” Tsumugi points out.

Maki nods. “I recommend it.”



Anonymous: Kris and Noelle get put in a ‘the summer hikaru died’esque situation, where one of them are replaced by something eldritch and the other has complicated feeling on that

“You’re not Kris,” Noelle says. “Are – are you?”

Kris just looks at her for a moment. Not Kris, not Kris; the thing that looks like Kris. Kris wouldn’t have made her do those things.

“Maybe not,” it says, in the end. “But this is Kris’s body.”

What does that mean? Is Kris in there, somewhere, watching all this? (What are they thinking; what are they feeling?) Is Kris – is Kris gone?

There’s one thing she knows: whatever this thing in Kris’s body is, she can’t fight it. She can’t use her magic; she can’t do anything to hurt it, physically.

It’s not Kris. But it’s Kris; she can’t just—

“Give them back,” she says. Trying to keep her voice steady, trying to put some force into it.

“What will you give me in exchange?” It’s a casual question; there’s nothing but calm curiosity behind it.

She’s too afraid to answer.

The thing laughs, quietly, in Kris’s voice, and turns to keep leading the way.



racoonment: for fic requests Light yagami getting a persona 5 calling card, and having to deal with the general panic that comes with that.

Light has never liked these ‘phantom thieves of hearts’. Exposing criminals is admirable, of course, but they’re causing confusion, muddying the public image of Kira. A lot of people think Kira must be responsible for these ‘changes of heart’, as strange and sudden as Kira’s true judgements.

And now...

He turns the calling card over and over in his fingers.

It doesn’t use the name Kira. But it mentions ‘false justice’. It promises to make him confess.

They know? They can’t possibly know; there’s no reason they should know. But why else would they target him?

Why target him at all? It’s nothing but hypocrisy. The Phantom Thieves, Kira: they’re both going outside the law to do what must be done. If the Phantom Thieves wanted to protect the lives of criminals, they wouldn’t publicly expose those criminals to Kira’s mercy.

What do they do? How do they make these people confess, repent, loathe themselves?

It won’t happen to him. He’s too smart to fall for whatever arguments or tricks they’ve used on their previous targets, too well equipped with the Death Note in his hands; all he needs is a face and a name. His judgements are righteous; he has no reason to feel ashamed of them. He won’t be swayed.

He won’t. He won’t. He won’t.



Anonymous: okay but mangaken's james x james art made me think of it. what if instead of (or along with?) meeting maria as a creepy sexy reminder of his sins james also met a creepy sexy past james as a reminder of his sins. would love to see that ficcy if it inspires you

There’s someone leaning against the railing in Rosewater Park.

James tenses up every time he sees something moving here, expecting another monster. But that’s – that’s a human, isn’t it? “Excuse me, I’m looking for—”

The stranger turns around, and James forgets what he was about to say. It’s a man, he’s – familiar, James can’t put his finger on—

“Can I help you?” the man asks, smiling.

There’s something familiar about his voice, too. Have they met?

It hits James an instant later: this man looks like him. He knows that face; he’s seen it in the mirror. It’s just—

He hasn’t seen himself smiling for a long time.

“Is something wrong?” the man asks, his smile fading.

“I’m—” This stranger isn’t commenting on their resemblance. Has he not noticed? Would it seem strange to bring it up? “I’m – sorry, I’m looking for my wife, my name is James, she – she died three years ago, but she sent me a letter, and—”

He’s too disconcerted to think clearly; he’s not presenting this information in any order that makes sense. The man’s expression is rapidly approaching concern, and that’s familiar, that’s familiar in a way that’s almost painful to look at.

“Do you need to sit down?” the man asks.

-
James’s duplicate is called Joseph, apparently. He steers James onto a bench, listens to his story, nodding thoughtfully. James has never...

He’s never talked about it in so much detail before. It feels easy to talk to someone who looks like him. Like it’s safe, like no one’s really listening. Like he’s just talking to himself.

A lot of the details are blurred, in his memory. Mary’s illness, Mary’s death, it feels like a lot of it is hovering just out of reach; he guesses it’s been a traumatic time. At one point, Joseph asks what he’s been doing since she died.

The question makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to think about this. He doesn’t need to think about this; it’s not relevant. “It doesn’t matter.”

-
“Why are you here?” Joseph asks at last.

It startles James. Isn’t it obvious? “Mary could be here.”

“Maybe,” Joseph says, “but this town is full of monsters. I know you’ve noticed.” He nods at the plank James has propped against the side of the bench. “It’s not worth your life, is it? The fact that your wife might be here?”

“I have to see her again,” James says. “I have to say...”

He can’t think of exactly what he has to say. But something, something important. That he loves her, that he’s...

“You have to look after yourself,” Joseph says. “You didn’t get sick; you’re still alive. You’re the one whose needs still matter. Right?”

James stands up, sharply. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Like a dead person?” Joseph asks. “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like she was gone long before she died.”

James hits him across the face.

“Sorry,” Joseph says, laughing. “I guess I went too far.”

It doesn’t feel right, the laughter. When did James last laugh?

-
“How are you feeling?” Joseph asks, oddly gentle. Stooping over him.

Why is Joseph here? Where— “Where are we?”

James is on a bed. Why? He can’t take the time to rest, he needs to find Mary, but – but he feels terrible, exhausted and ill, his lungs burning with every breath. How long has he been awake?

Why can’t he remember getting here?

“We’re in Brookhaven Hospital,” Joseph says. “You breathed in the spray from one of those monsters. It—” He seemed so casual before, but now he’s pale, he looks worried. “It was bad.”

“How bad?” James asks. It takes an effort.

Joseph leans down to kiss him. It feels strangely natural in the moment; it’s only an instant later that James’s mind kicks in, starts to question—

Joseph grabs the pillow from under his head.



Look at all these fandoms! You’d never know I’ve spent half a year unable to shut up about a series of comedic plays.