idk man

ok its official i ship despaircest„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„

heres your tmi thanks for the shamrock shake
dog bless mollie

dance now, just like the idiot you are ☆

Junko tries to enter Mukuro in a dog show and gets upset when she’s told she can’t do that.
Mukuro is greatly relieved.

We need some more despaircest.
Thanks.

Mukuro and Junko engage in mutual masturbation from time to time. Junko loves seeing her sisters flustered face, which really helps to get her off.

despaircest / Austin powers goldmember AU where junko is dr evil and mukuro is mini me complete with mukuro in the baby thing strapped to her chest

despair doodling

family portrait

Where Is My Mind? (Despaircest fic)
i wish i could say someone prompted me to do this but unfortunately these are the workings of my own mind… hence the title which is partly a song title, partly appropriate to the plot, and partly a mockery of myself
judge me accordingly
essentially i wanted to see what would happen if i tried writing junko. unfortunately for you i may continue doing so in the near future
SPOILERS INCEST AND LESBIANS AHEAD WATCH YOUR STEP
Mukuro Ikusaba opens her eyes one last time… and stops moving.
Junko releases a tremulous breath. She watches wave upon wave of emotion crash through her sister’s eyes, relentless, confused, betrayed – eyes pale and blue as the sky, bright as ice and just as beautiful when they freeze – and she shakes.
She shakes and shakes and shakes… she shakes…
“Oh! The power of promises!”
Junko is shocked not to recognise the sound of her own voice. The interjection “oh” comes out in a quivering treble, “power” in a bellowing bass, and the word “promises” does not come out at all.
She shakes and shakes and shakes and shakes… and, oh! It creeps up on her, crawls over her, slithering grotesquely like a thousand serpents from the tips of her toes to her fingers to the hole in her heart. Junko doesn’t know what this is, but ooooh… this is what she’s been looking for!
The bastards disperse. In the dead of a night no darker than the day, Junko leaves to collect her sister. She strides into the gymnasium, her presence pounding through the room with the beating of her heels. A fairly standard sound, which grows into a hollow click c-click click click as she registers a pool of blood about the size of a small pond and breaks out into dance.
She shakes… she shakes and shakes and shakes and shakes, and with a squeaky little “oh,” she trips, her knees and her elbows and her cheek meeting half-dry florescent pink with a squelch and a faint burning sensation. The stagnant, metallic stench of blood bursts through her nose and settles in her sinuses and makes her sigh. This has always been Mukuro’s smell. Always.
Junko crawls onto her sister’s corpse and plants her forearms on either side of her motionless head. She grins.
“Did you see the looks on their faces, onee-chan?”
Somehow this causes Junko to giggle uncontrollably. Somehow, it’s hilarious. Her head rolls back and her voice breaks mid-cackle. She can’t hear her own heartbeat – she can’t tell if it’s racing away or paralysed – she simply feels a weight in her chest. A good weight. A wonderful weight.
Mukuro makes no move to acknowledge that she did, in fact, see the looks on those bastards’ faces. Junko frowns, and gives her sister an open-palmed whack around the ear. This whack isn’t half-hearted at all, but strength was never Junko’s strong point – that’s what her big sis was for – so it makes no mark. She sighs.
“You’re such a fucking bore.” Absently, she tucks a few strands of hair behind Mukuro’s ear. Then, she slides up onto her knees with a vacant gasp. “I know just the thing for that, Mukuro-chan!”
Granted, her chest feels like a brick, but that’s not the reason Junko has so much trouble with her next move. She grabs her sister’s pleasantly cool hands and tries to gain solid footing so as to pull her up – strength really isn’t her forte – but it takes an immense amount of effort. Junko struggles for several moments, her hands sweaty with something like excitement, and finally gets a grip (though dubious at best) on the sinew of her sister’s back.
“Eins, zwei, drei!”
And with that, Junko bounces off, spinning Mukuro around and around so that all she can feel is the air and the weight of the body and the heaviness of her own chest.
She spins and spins and spins and spins… she spins… and then she pulls herself to a halt with an excruciating screech of her heels on the floor like nails on a chalkboard. Her fingers are caught somewhere in the segments of festering flesh that line her sister’s back like craters, and she laughs. Mukuro is still smiling a faint, sad smile, and Junko can see the pain of her last moments frozen in her gaze.
Junko shakes again. She shakes and shakes and shakes and shakes.
“For fuck’s sake,” she hisses all of a sudden, “Why did I have to make the move? You should have betrayed me, Mukuro-chan. That would have been so much more fun!”
A growl forces its way from Junko’s throat and she pushes her fingers into her sister’s flesh to calm herself down. The pure, unadulterated despair of this all is hitting her like a thousand bullets straight out of Mukuro’s favourite toys, and the pain is magnificent.
“This is what we’ve worked for, onee-chan.” Her tone softens. Junko ignores her previous words and kisses her sisters cold, dull lips, smiling into the taste of blood. “Come on–”
Mukuro isn’t heavy, Junko’s just weak. Awkwardly, she manages to scoop her sister’s body into her arms.
“Let’s go!”
DATE: Apr 21 2013
OP:
TAGGED: ..... what have i done. .............. g uh. dangan ronpa. despaircest. junko enoshima. mukuro ikusaba.fanfiction.

I ship Mukuro and Junko together so much and there’s not enough art of it god damn it.

i’m so embarrassed
my brother beat the game the other night so i can no longer post despaircest on my art blog without him judging me lmao ;;

"that" way (dangan ronpa, despaircest)
safe for work, incest, assumed one-sided, second person (mukuro) pov
dangan ronpa spoilers below! and also *bakes you a cake that says “sorry about my autoplay”*
You love your sister, but not in the way one might think.
It wasn’t always like this, but it began long ago. You knew something felt unusual back in elementary school; her scent, her touch, her laugh, the way she whined when she couldn’t have her way, how her hair flowed, would bring something out in you. This was definitely fondness of some sort, but you passed it off as familial. You know now, though, that this feeling has to be something more.
Although it seemed to start in elementary, you didn’t begin to notice your feelings until the both of you entered junior high. If Junko knew how you felt during those years, she would have drooled at your pathetic despair. Junko was, of course, very popular with boys and girls alike. She was just beginning her modeling career and your family could now afford a nicer living space… a space in which she’d invite boys. It really shouldn’t have mattered to you, since she just wanted to toy with them and tease them and turn them down once they thought they had a chance, and yet, sickeningly, you still wished you were in their place. You found yourself unable to sleep most nights, scorning your disgusting and masochistic wishes to have your heart directly broken by your little sister. You wanted to be the one to please her with the shame, the anguish, the torment of your lewd attraction, and yet you were not (and are not) ready to face her judgment.
Something was definitely wrong with Junko, who grew more erratic everyday, but your parents didn’t feel it was necessary to do anything about it. Eventually she began scheming about ways to cause classmates emotional pain, and though she clearly needed professional help, you knew you had to assist her if you wanted her attention. You learned not to care about ruining others’ lives, so long as Junko was entertained, and during the school years you had a wonderful relationship with eachother.
During the summer, however, it was harder to keep Junko happy. You’d always be labeled “disappointment”. She just wants to see me despair, you would think, and though it may be true, it still hurt more than it should have. It’s bad enough to be disappointing to your little sister, but even worse to be disappointing to someone you… love like that. And so, you’d always shatter your cold exterior for her. As she stared you down with her frighteningly satisfied eyes – face locked in an expression of condescension – and told you how terrifying your “killer eyes” were and how much of a disappointment you were, you’d hold in your tears then pretend to break, just as she liked. Words like that only hurt coming from your sister, but you knew she wasn’t serious. She hurts you because she’s fond of you. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.
But the truly despair-inducing things she’d say were the affectionate things; Junko’s version of affectionate, at least. “You actually look kinda pretty in that! So unusual for you, upupu…”; “I’m smart and you’re violent. It’s like we were made to be a duo, huh!”; “Mukuro-neetan is so cool! Junko wants to be cool like big sis!”; with every hug and every word of approval, you were always reminded your sister loved you, but… not in that way. Your emotions conflicted and all you wanted to do was curl up and forget everything. Forget that you’re in love with your sister, forget that you can never be together, forget that you’re so pathetic you let her use you as a pawn and emotionally abuse you just to make her pleased with you.
Inevitably, you’ll be taking your shameful secret to the grave. You’ve never told a soul or written about your feelings anywhere. No one can ever know, especially Junko. You refuse to ever, ever admit that you love your sister that way.

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