#and doing bullshit for junko outside of ryoko

[princescar]

Thinking about how tf did Nagito knew about Ryoko.

He never canonically meets her, and we never hear or see him and Matsuda meet (ik he has dementia and thats Matsudas specialty, but he has never made a refrence to his treatment, let alone that matsuda is his doctor, which is weird bc chihiro makes a refrence to him and hes refrenced on hajimes page of the artbook). Also he includes the a Madarai brother chilling with them.

But then i think about the dr0 refrences he makes in sdr2.

one of his loved gifts is ryoko's notebook. Damaged, of course, but hes the only one who loves it, nobody even likes it (Not even Mikan). But he also makes a comment during a FTE that hes been reading a novel where a highschool girl is caught up in a serial killer case, but turned out to be the killer in the end. Which sounds alot like Dr0.

Which makes me think, did he read Ryoko's Notebook when Junko died?

She does keep the notebook, stated on the last chapter of Dr0. So she would still have it, and Nagito did go to the school for her hand, so he could’ve easily gotten it. He could’ve then read it, knowing what had happened and learning about Ryoko and Yasuke. Also why he includes the Madarai brother when there would be no connection outside of dr0.

[aparticularbandit]

Of A Fatal Captivity: Day Eight (II)

Summary: When do they decide that she can’t leave? That they’re going to keep her there no matter what she wants? That’s the day her captivity begins. Is that today?

Some of you will think that this beginning is a gimmick. Up to you! Think what you want! (It’s not a gimmick more than anything else in writing is a gimmick, which is to say, of course, it’s a gimmick, because that’s all writing is, really, isn’t it? A bunch of gimmicks? Some of them more successful than others? Isn’t that why we have tropes? The trappings of a Tragedy to tell us whether that’s really what the story is or not? (Do you know the story you’re in?))

Enough games.

You’re here for something better than that.

Or: Junko Enoshima’s factory reset may or may not be going as planned, and Ryoko Otonashi has plenty of things to say about that. Or will, once she realizes what’s going on.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M for Danganronpa reasons.

AO3

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Book One

Day Eight (of a Fatal Captivity).

Ryoko turns to Yasuke the way a gamer does to the first trailer of the newest game in their favorite series when they had no idea it was even a possibility and reacts the way the same gamer might when they find that it’s nothing more than a glorified remastering of an older title.  (And not even its original!)  She stares at him, takes in the shape of him, and shifts.

Junko sighs, shoves a hand through her blood red bangs so that it half covers one of her eyes, and then rests fully on it.  “Nanashi-kun,” she says in that bored, annoyed tone of hers, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Imposter’s eyes – color changed by their immaculate masking – widen in shock.  They shift, terrified, to Mikan.  “I thought you said she didn’t remember any of us.”  Even his tone breaks – it certainly isn’t Yasuke anymore, although she can imagine how he would sound.  (She also knows that Yasuke wouldn’t say anything like that, if he were still breathing and she were still in his care.  But that’s an entire other story, one she discarded a long, long time ago.)

“She doesn’t.”  Mikan tugs her sweater back over her head and pulls her long, uneven hair out from under its collar.  Then she turns to Junko and searches her eyes.  “How do you feel, Enoshima-sama?”  The name tastes bitter enough on her tongue to cause the edges of her lips to pull back – not a snarl, not a scowl, but a negative nevertheless.  She wants to be alone with her.  She always wants to be alone with her.

In a soft, subtle, serpentine motion, Junko leans forward.  She takes Mikan’s wrist in one hand and sets the tip of her still sharp nails (huh) against her skin until the girl gasps.  Her eyes narrow.  “Just because I knew you would drag them in here like this doesn’t make it okay, peasant.”

Mikan wets her lips, eyes shining with tears not of pain but of something like joy.  “But it…but it worked, didn’t…didn’t it?  Y-y-you’re back now.  I got you back.”

“For the five minutes it takes for me to tell you to fuck off with this bullshit.”  Junko glares at her.  “Don’t do this again.”  Her gaze, just as angry, sweeps to Imposter.  “Do you understand, Nanashi-kun?  Whatever she tells you, you hear it from me.  Yasuke is off limits.  Got it?”

Nanashi rolls his eyes in an action so reminiscent of Yasuke that it makes her singular heart ache.  Then they realize what they’re doing and give a firm nod instead.  That’s them, outside of the persona, outside of the Yasuke of it all.  “My sincerest apologies, Enoshima-sama.  I only wanted to help.”

Junko takes a deep breath in through her nostrils.  This place reeks.  But if she’s here and Mikan has gotten desperate enough to try this, then that means that everything is still going according to plan.  Her death is assured.  Unfortunately for them, they can’t know that; unfortunately for her, she does.

This will be the last time she speaks with Nanashi.

How should she leave it?

“Thank you,” Junko murmurs, softening, “for trying to help me.  But you know I would always rather see you than the mask.”

(She’s such a fucking hypocrite.)

“Of course, Enoshima-sama.”  Nanashi bows.  Then without another word, they slip out of the door and shut it softly behind them.

“And you.”  Junko turns to Mikan, catches the flinch, the wince, and hates herself for causing it.  (This is nothing new.  Kyoko was right; she has such creative forms of self-harm.  They’re really all she knows anymore – ways to cause herself pain.  Despair.  She lives on it, thrives on it.  Hates herself for it.  It’s a fun, self-perpetuating cycle.  How marvelous!)  She relaxes her grip.  The pad of her thumb runs gentle on the sensitive skin just on the inside of Mikan’s wrist, nail occasionally just catching on the interlacing scars she finds there.  “Come here, Miki,” she croons, releasing her grip on Mikan’s wrist.

It’s a choice.  It’s always Mikan’s choice.  It’s never forced.

“If that’s what you want,” Junko adds, to make sure Mikan has remembered to consider that.

Mikan hesitates.  “I-I-I’m…I’m sorry,” she says, and it’s half lie and half truth, just the way Junko wants it.  Then she sits, careful, on the edge of the bed, near to Junko but not next to her.  “P-p-please don’t be angry with me, Junko-sama.”

“May I?”

Mikan’s eyes widen. “Y-y-yes!”

At her permission (and she always asks Mikan first, to make sure that she has the opportunity to decide one way or the other), Junko reaches out, her long, thin fingers brushing along Mikan’s jaw before pushing through her long, molding plum-colored hair.  Her eyes scour Mikan’s face, searching, searching, until they land on her lips.  She draws her closer, until the tips of their noses just touch.  “Okay?”

When Mikan nods, she brushes her nose against hers, gentle – insistent.

(One last time.)

Junko kisses her, and Mikan relaxes, and Junko kisses her, and Mikan purrs, and Junko kisses her, and Mikan opens to her like the first game she ever played, the only one she’d ever loved (back before she could see everything, back when exploring meant learning and not growing bored).  She lets Mikan push the forest green sweater from her (Ryoko is just as predictable as everyone else is, fortunately), then murmurs, “Sweater off.”

Mikan obeys with a contented hum of a sigh, laying herself bare before her beloved.  Junko kisses the same spot she’d left a mark the first time and then pulls away, examining her with the same care and precision of—

Hah.

No one will examine Mikan with anything close to the care and precision she does.  There’s only one person capable of such a thing, and he’s not interested.  (Even if he was, he, at least, understands what sort of things are off limits.  Mikan is hers.  He would not touch her.)

“Turn, beloved.”  She glances up and meets Mikan’s eyes.  “Please.”

Again, Mikan obeys.

It takes only the matter of a moment – Junko mapped out Mikan’s scars the first time she saw them, maps them out again at each opportunity, and lets out a breath of relief when she sees that there’s nothing new.  She leans forward, kisses along a few of the scars (she chooses different ones each time, so that no inch feels left out, and maybe – since this is the last time – she should kiss them all for good measure, but then Mikan would know that something was wrong, and she can’t let her understand that), and then murmurs, “No one hurt you while I was gone, did they?”

“No, Junko-sama.  No one.”

Junko brushes Mikan’s uneven hair out of the way and kisses up her back, between her shoulder blades, the other side of her neck.  “I can’t stay.”

Mikan turns so fast her hair would whip across Junko’s face if it wasn’t already held back.  “What?” she exclaims, forgetting herself.  “W-w-why?”  She searched Junko’s deep red eyes, their bloodlust color reflected like a bloody bruise in her own, and finds nothing because she’s only used to reading them when they’re that stormy blue-grey.  “Beloved, why?”

“If I tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise.”  A corner of Junko’s lips lifts in an amused smile.  It’s fake, but Mikan won’t be able to tell that.  She leans forward, kisses the tip of Mikan’s nose, grins when she scrunches it up, and then kisses the beauty mark just under her left eye.  “Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

“Good.”  Junko brushes her hand through Mikan’s hair and tucks it behind one ear.  Then she reaches back to unbraid the long braid of her own hair.  (Kyoko left just as much of an imprint in her mind as she expected.  Also good.)

Mikan stares at her with confusion.  “What are you…what are you doing?”

“Don’t you want to put your hands in my hair?” Junko asks, fingers making quick work of the braid.  “Don’t you want to tug on it?  Especially when it already looks like blood.  Isn’t that your favorite color?”

“Y-y-yes!” Mikan exclaims.  Then her gaze drops.  “B-b-but…aren’t you…aren’t you disappointed with me?  B-b-because of….”  Her voice trails off; she can’t even get herself to say his name.  (How absolutely adorable.)

Junko hums like she’s questioning it herself.  (She isn’t.)  “I could never be disappointed in you,” she says as she pulls the last strands of her hair loose.  “You are doing just as I intended.”  She searches her eyes.  “I’m sorry.  For being away from you for so long.”  One hand reaches up and cups Mikan’s face.  “It may be a while before you see me again.”

(You may never see me again.)

Mikan curves into Junko’s touch and kisses the center of her palm.  “I needed to know,” she says, voice soft but firm in the way she’s learned to be.  “I needed to know I would.”  Then she glances up through her lashes, meets Junko’s eyes, and holds her gaze.

(One. Last. Time.)

As Junko kisses her again, a sharp, aching pain spears the center of her chest.  Despair, an ever-present necessity at this point.  She leans into it the same way she leans into Mikan, feeling the pang of it as pleasure the same way she does Mikan’s teeth digging into her own lower lip, the same way she does Mikan tugging on it until it splits the same way as her hands writhe through her hair, tugging harsh on it.  Mikan likes to cause pain as much as Junko likes feeling it.  She doesn’t even squeak when Junko lays her down, when she presses her into the mattress beneath her, only lets out a sweet hum of contentment.

“I forgive you,” Junko whispers into Mikan’s ear, “for needing to know.”

“I….”  Mikan gasps – squeaks – as Junko nibbles her skin.  “I love you, too.”

~

Nngh.

Ryoko squeezes her eyes even more tightly shut.  Her head aches – itches, flames, all of it – the worst sort of headache, but she can’t even call it that because while yes, technically, her head does hurt, it doesn’t feel like a headache.  Something worse.  Like someone reached into her skull and ran their claws all around the inside of it.  She wraps her arms tighter around someone’s waist, buries her head deeper into their back, and—

Wait.

Ryoko’s eyes snap open, and she pushes herself away from whoever this is with a startled shriek of confusion.  “Wh-wh-wh-what the—”  She stares down at Mikan’s nearly naked body – she can’t see much, just from the waist up, and she’s not wearing a shirt, and there are all of those scars that set her heart pounding angrily (or would, if she wasn’t so confused), and immediately Ryoko tugs on her own shirt – that’s still in place, that’s good, she’s still got her skirt, and…and…she had a sweater, where’s the sweater?  She looks around the room and finds it folded neatly on the chair Mikan sat in before…before….

What happened?

“You’re…you’re awake,” Mikan mumbles as she pushes herself up and rubs her eyes with one hand.  She looks up at Ryoko, meets her eyes, and sighs.  “S-s-sorry about….”  Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head.  “What do you remember?”

Ryoko just stares at Mikan.  Her face flushes a bright scarlet, and she turns away.

When Mikan clocks her expression, she hurriedly grabs her pink sweater from her nightstand.  “S-s-sorry!” she squeaks out, tugging the sweater over her head.

“You were…you were explaining how you became the Ultimate Nurse, and then someone…someone was at the…the door.”  Ryoko glances over and notes where some of Mikan’s hair has gotten stuck in her sweater.  She reaches over and gently untangles it.  “I remember a…Nanashi?  Nanashi-kun?”  Her head throbs, a sharp spear of pain, and she winces.  “But I don’t remember what they look like.”  She presses a hand to her head.  “What….”  She groans.  “What happened?”

“You passed out.”

There’s something of a lie in Mikan’s tone, but not a real lie.  Half of one, maybe.  Ryoko can’t figure out what Mikan would be lying about, though.  Her brows furrow.  “Nanashi-kun showed up…and I passed out?”  The way her head feels, that means one of two things: either this Nanashi was really, really important, enough to make her faint instead of rekindling her memories, or….

Or something else.  Something that’s not that.  She just doesn’t know what.

“And you…you stayed here, in bed with me…and didn’t think to put your sweater back on?”

Maybe that’s it.  Maybe that’s the bit that’s not adding up.  If she were Mikan, she would have put her sweater back on.  Or, um, maybe if she were in Mikan’s situation, although she can’t think of any situation where she would have her shirt off and have the other person pass out.  Clearly being Mikan doesn’t mean anything to do with common sense.

Mikan blushes a bright, vibrant red.  “I-I-I’m s-s-sorry.”  She runs her fingers through her hair – it’s a little more mussed than normal, and after seeing the scars, Ryoko’s finally noticing just how uneven it is, as though someone else had gone through and just cut at it wherever they wanted – and looks away from her.  “I just…I guess I just forgot?”

“How do you forget that sort of thing?”  Ryoko reaches over to run her fingers along her braid only to find that her hair isn’t in a braid anymore.  “What happened to my hair?”  She runs her fingers through it; she can feel that it’s just as mussed as Mikan’s hair is.  Her eyes widen.  “What did you do?”

“N-n-nothing!”

“Why are you lying to me?”  Ryoko can’t help it; she shrieks, harsh enough that Mikan covers her ears.  Her throat aches, raw with the force of it.  “You did something to me—”

“No!” Mikan counters.  “I-I-I  didn’t!”  She meets Ryoko’s eyes and holds her gaze, her own eyes panicked.  “I didn’t do anything to you!

To you.

Ryoko gets it, all at once, and her stomach twists.

“She was here, wasn’t she?” Ryoko whispers, hating the words as she says them.  “Your Junko.  She was here, and you—”  She cuts herself off.  Her entire body feels like it itches, like it’s on fire, like there’s some parasite living beneath her flesh that she couldn’t rip out if she tried.  Before she even thinks about it, she scratches at her skin, her face, her mouth.  “Ugh.”

Mikan stares at her, suddenly calm, but there are tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.  “You….”  Her voice trails off, and she crosses her arms about herself, holding herself together.  “You really…really don’t like me, do you, Ryoko-chan?”

Ryoko doesn’t stop.  She gets off of the bed, itching at her legs.  “It’s not that, it’s—”

“Do you know why I love you?” Mikan asks before Ryoko can finish.  “Why I love Junko?”  She wraps her arms tighter around herself and glances away, glances down.  Still, a little smile plays about the corner of her lips as she says, “You were the only one who ever really…who ever really saw me as a person.  Everyone else, they…they saw me as some sort of…of object.  A miserable…a miserable person, a useless existence.”  She rubs her arms.  “But you…you loved me.  Y-y-you looked at me and forgave…forgave all my flaws and said that I was…that I was yours, if I wanted to be.”  Her eyes light up, an even darker, ruddy red beneath their purple hue.  “You love me.  You make me feel like I’m worth something.  And I…and I love you for that.”  Then her eyes narrow, and she glances up to meet Ryoko’s eyes.  “Do you know how I know you’re not her?”

Ryoko’s mouth opens.  Closes.  Opens again.  “How?”

Mikan’s smile softens, no longer reaching her eyes.  “You make me feel the same way that everyone else does.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

But Mikan doesn’t let her finish.  “I-I-I think…I think you should go.”

“Go?” Ryoko repeats and stares at her, confused.  “What do you mean?”

“S-s-s-somewhere e-e-else.”  Mikan’s gaze drops, and she shivers.  “I think…I think I don’t want to be with you right now.”

Ryoko blinks.  Blinks again.  “Oh.”  Catches the tears at the corner of Mikan’s eyes.  “I…I didn’t mean to—”

“Please.”

Mikan’s voice is so, so quiet.

So quiet.

Ryoko thinks of the scars and the disheveled hair and nods.  “Okay.  I can…I can go.”

It’s only when she’s at the door that she hears, just as quiet, Mikan’s feeble, “Thank you.”

Then she’s gone.

[princescar]

Remnant Matsuda because despite having an idea for today's prompt, I drew this fucker instead

More hc because I fw Remnant Matsuda:

•his face is completely mutilated due to Junko's boots, now wears a mask to hide it (only Junko is allowed to see beneath it)

•Stirs people's brains like lattes for fun. If they're gonna pull that bullshit for Chisa, I want Matsuda (the guy whose research was STOLEN to do that) to brainwash people too

•EXTREMELY codependent on Junko, doesn't believe he can survive without her (feels guilty for his attempted murder, also feels guilty he wasn't able to finish it)

•The first Remnant, arguably one even back when they were still kids

•Closest to Izuru outside of the twins. Checks in on him ever now and then

•Pushed Servant down the stairs because he was being a passive aggressive asshat (Only time Mikan was grateful for his presence)

•WOH fucking LOVE him for no apparent reason. He's that one guy that doesn't care about kids but they LOVE him and flock to him the second he's within sight

•Cried for the first time since his mother's death when Junko executed herself. Blamed himself for not being able to save her.

•Was the first Remnant at her body. Took the remnants of her brain before heading for Towa City

•Didn't realize that kurokuma was Ai Junko until it said and inside joke. Was unable to get anything out of it due to Monaca almost dying and Izuru stealing the Ai

•Agreed to go into the NWP because he was told he could save some Remnant of Junko and get her back

•AI Ryoko to pacify him Chiaki style (he does not know who Chiaki is)

Stopping here because its starting to go into sdr2 territory