Laynnetteii
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Summary
"See where we are?” Lottie started speaking hesitantly, panting slightly as she pushed herself up from the snow. Mari froze, hurriedly looking around, not understanding what she meant.
“You've been here before. You could let it be different.” Mari just stared at Lottie, trying to decipher whatever the fuck she was trying to tell Mari. Lottie was warning her of something, and as much Mari just wanted to get back up and run, she also didn't want to risk dying because she didn't listen to Lottie.
“Oh my god- Speak normally or just fuck off, Lottie!” Mari snapped, her voice rough as she nervously looked behind Lottie, as if waiting for someone to catch up. Shauna was coming, she had to be if Lottie had somehow already made it to Mari. Lottie was always going on about her wilderness bullshit, so there had to be something important for Lottie to not immediately try and kill Mari on sight.
Lottie stayed silent for a second, as if torn between being straightforward and just telling Mari or just staying silent. “...The pit, Mari.”
…Oh.
Or
Lottie gives up on being so vague, Mari doesn't fall into the pit, runs for her life, and lives.
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Sleep Awake. by everybodyhasroots
Fandoms: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
09 Jun 2026
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Summary
You realised, finally, that maybe there was no real Kokichi. Maybe there was no facade. Just the lies, and the facets of them, a hundred shimmering faces like a well-cut diamond. Maybe that was fine. Maybe that was all he had to be. After all, wasn't it that Kokichi who was holding your hand now?
Wasn't it that Kokichi you considered to be your friend?
(drv3 reader insert, kokichi-centric, canon-divergent)
Series
- Part 1 of dangan series.
- Part 2 of reader-insert longfics.
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If Pantalone was flesh, or whether Dottore could run his hand through him, watch in satisfaction as his molecules scurried and dispersed at the sudden intrusion, dart around frantically. Just when it seemed they would never embrace again and he would be stuck in that abstract, frenzied form forever Dottore would retract his hand and they would promptly rejoin as one, breathing body once more.
or, Dottore and Pantalone, and the years in between.
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Nine-year-old Harry accidentally apprentices himself to a necromancer. Things go downhill from there.
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Scaramouche documents the Fatui the only way he knows how: clinically, bitterly, and without mercy.
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Summary
Pantalone knew obsession well.
Thus, it wasn't hard for him to see it in Il Dottore. It spilled out of the man in jagged movements, in maniacal chuckles that tended to follow exceptionally bold claims and dangerous theories. It clung to him during Harbinger meetings, when he was forced out of his lab and often present only physically, his mask a perfect veil for his scattered thoughts.
Maybe Pantalone was just greedy enough to take it for himself.