Mikan Tsumiki - Blog Posts

Soooo, made some kinnie bingos and uhhhh

(under the cut)

(in order of kinnie: Basil (omori), Mikan Tsumiki (danganronpa 2), Kokichi Ouma (danganronpa v3) and Nagito Komaeda (danganronpa 2 also)) (kokichi and komaeda are side-by-side on third place)

Uhhhh i may have some problems

I'll do a kinnie list on my introduction ig........ (When i remember all my kinnies)

Chat am i cooked?💀🙏 ↓

Day 12 : Slippery !

So I spent a lot of time wondering what the hell I could draw with slippery as a theme, but then I remembered that w o n d e r f u l line from Ibuki in SDR2 and then this idea just wouldn't leave my mind. So here you go !

More danganronpa textposts cause why not?

A class doodle I made of a Mikan redesign while bored, except for the arms I kinda like how she came out, might make an sprite edit of her and maybe add some stuff.

School doodles I made of the SDR2 girls because I adore them all and they were very fun to draw. The styles are kinda different cause they've been done through the week, 2 each day, but it still came out mostly nice.

Solo ones under.

Loved how the last three and Ibuki turned out. (I swear I'm trying to work on the requests, my art program is just not the best)

Not accurate but still fun to do Mikan doodle

Can you do separate peko, Mikan and tenko with male!reader who is depressed and scared of males due to his past abuse of stepfather?

A/N: Yes, I absolutely can! You didn't specify what kind of writing you wanted, so I just made oneshots for each of them :}

Where the Hurt Doesn’t Reach pt.1

pt.2

Peko, Mikan and Tenko x Male!Reader

Warnings: Themes of Trauma/Abuse, Mentions of Assault/Threats, Mental Health Topics, Sensitive Touch & Boundaries

Word Count: 3628

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peko: 

The first time Peko noticed him, it wasn’t because of something loud or dramatic.

It was because he wasn’t loud.

(Y/N) sat alone in the corner of the classroom, always a little too still, a little too tense. His eyes rarely met anyone’s directly, and when they did, they flinched away like they'd touched something too hot.

Peko understood silence. She understood stillness. But this wasn’t the silence of focus or discipline. This was a silence built from fear.

She didn’t approach him right away. Observation came naturally to her. She watched how he gripped the sleeves of his uniform during conversations. How he edged closer to the wall when a male classmate got too close. How his breathing would subtly hitch anytime a voice raised near him- even in laughter.

It wasn’t hard to piece together.

What she didn’t expect was how he looked at her.

Not with fear. Not with pity. But almost... curious. Like he couldn’t understand why someone like her- stern and composed- was the only one he didn’t shy away from.

They shared the same routine. Arrive early. Leave late. Avoid the crowd. So one day, when they passed in the hallway, and he flinched from someone else’s raised hand when going in for a highfive with another student, Peko made a choice.

She stopped.

“You’re hurt,” she said bluntly, her tone flat but not unkind. “You mask it well. But I see it.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, lips parting as if to protest, but nothing came out.

“I won’t ask what happened,” she continued, her voice steady. “But I’d like to offer... company. You don’t need to speak. I’ll simply sit.”

His throat bobbed. It was too much and not enough, all at once. He nodded.

That was how it started.

They began sharing quiet moments behind the school. No words, just the rustle of wind and the occasional time Peko pulled out her covered sword as she practiced her forms nearby. She never moved too fast, never startled him. The wood covering her blade slicing through the air with purpose, but her movements were deliberate- never violent, never chaotic.

(Y/N) started bringing a book. Sometimes he read. Sometimes he just listened to her breathe.

He trusted her long before he realized he did.

One afternoon, weeks into this fragile ritual, Peko put her sword down and sat beside him. Not close enough to touch- but closer than usual.

“I was trained to kill,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “But I don’t want to be feared.”

(Y/N) looked at her. Really looked. Her eyes were steady, but there was something buried deep- something vulnerable.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he whispered.

She turned to him. The softest flicker of something like relief crossed her face.

“You don’t flinch when I move,” she said.

“You don’t raise your voice,” he replied. “You don’t... look at me like I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” she said without hesitation. “You survived something that tried to destroy you. That takes strength.”

His breath caught. No one had ever said that before. Not like that. Not without expectation.

Peko looked down. “I don’t understand emotions well. But... I want to protect what’s important to me. You’ve become important.”

His heart stuttered.

He didn’t know what to say. But maybe he didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to hide.

And Peko, the girl who had only ever known her blade, sat quietly beside him- offering a different kind of shield.

After a while, they both stood, going off in their separate directions, like any other day. 

The next day, around the end of the school day, (Y/N) was making his way to his loacker to gather all of his things.

The hallway was nearly empty, that sort of eerie quiet where footsteps echo too loudly. (Y/N) had stayed behind, as usual, hoping the other students would clear out so he wouldn’t have to squeeze through a crowd. But he hadn’t realized one of the seniors- Riku, loud and full of something bitter- was waiting around the corner.

“Hey,” Riku said, stepping into his path.

(Y/N) froze.

He recognized that voice. Recognized the way his tone coiled beneath fake friendliness. He backed up a step.

“Relax, man. Just wanna talk,” Riku smirked, inching closer. “You’re always glued to that sword-girl. Pretty sure she’s not into shy little losers.”

(Y/N)’s throat tightened. His breath came shallow. Riku moved fast- too fast- blocking his path with an arm against the lockers.

Something snapped behind his eyes. He wasn’t seeing the hallway anymore. He was seeing him. The stepfather who slammed doors. Who raised fists. Who spat words like nails. His body went rigid. Breath caught.

But then-

A voice, sharp and cold as steel, “Back away from him.”

Riku turned. “What the hell-?”

Peko stood at the end of the hall, eyes narrowed at Riku. She wasn’t holding it in an offensive stance. She didn’t need to.

Her presence alone was enough to shift the air.

Riku chuckled, but it was weak now. “Geez, you’re really babysitting him?”

Peko didn’t blink. “This is your final warning.”

Her hand moved slightly, her fingers brushing the handle of her sword on her back.

Riku scoffed but stepped back, muttering something under his breath. He wasn’t stupid. No one crossed Peko Pekoyama.

The moment he was gone, Peko turned her attention to (Y/N), whose back was still against the lockers, chest rising and falling fast.

“(Y/N),” she said, softly now. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

It took a moment, but his gaze finally met hers. Wide, haunted.

She stepped closer. Slowly. “May I?” she asked, gesturing vaguely toward him- not to touch, just to be closer.

He nodded once.

They sat down on the bench nearby, the world narrowing to the silence between them. Peko waited. Patient. Steady. He clutched his sleeves tightly, knuckles white, before he finally broke the quiet.

“My stepfather…” he began. His voice cracked. He paused. Swallowed.

She waited.

“He used to do things like that. The cornering. The threats. And worse. I’d hear his boots coming down the hall and- I just- I couldn’t breathe.” His voice wavered, and he shut his eyes tightly. “I always thought it was my fault. That I wasn’t strong enough.”

Peko didn’t speak right away. When she did, her voice was low. Intent.

“You survived that,” she said. “Not because you were weak- but because you endured. And that kind of strength... is rare.”

His lips trembled. “Why don’t you run from me, Peko?”

She tilted her head slightly, frowning. “Why would I run from you?”

“Because I’m messed up. Broken. You could be with anyone-”

“I choose to be near you,” she interrupted, voice firm. “Not out of pity. Not out of duty. But because... when I’m with you, I feel calm. Like I don’t have to always be a weapon.”

His eyes widened.

She hesitated, then reached out- not touching him, just letting her hand hover, waiting. “May I?” she asked again.

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

She took his hand gently, her grip warm but never tight. Never controlling. Just… there.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like a victim.

Mikan:

The first time Mikan saw him, (Y/N) was curled up in the corner of the classroom, sleeves tugged over his hands, eyes glued to the floor like looking at anyone might make him shatter.

She recognized it instantly- the stiffness in his shoulders, the flinch at every sudden movement, the way his breathing changed when someone walked behind him. Fear. Not the kind that faded with time, but the kind etched into the nervous system like a scar.

She understood that kind of fear too well.

Mikan had always been too much- too clumsy, too anxious, too eager to please- but she was never too much for pain. Pain, she'd learned, made people pay attention. She'd hated it, but she'd lived in it for so long that when she saw (Y/N), she knew. He lived there too.

It started small.

A quiet hello after class, barely above a whisper. A bandaid offered when she noticed he was biting the skin around his nails until it bled. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t look her in the eye. But he didn’t push her away either.

That was enough for Mikan.

She didn’t try to fix him. She just sat next to him sometimes, talked softly about things that didn’t matter- how the nurse’s office was out of gauze again, how her hair wouldn’t stay right no matter how she brushed it, how the sky looked heavy with rain. He never responded, but slowly, he started listening. And eventually, he started nodding.

Then one day, he spoke.

“I hate being touched.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Mikan froze. She didn’t ask why. She didn’t need to. She just nodded, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Okay. I won’t touch you,” she said.

(Y/N)’s shoulders relaxed, just a little.

Weeks passed like that. (Y/N) never told her what happened, but sometimes he’d trail off mid-sentence and she’d see the flicker of something behind his eyes- something haunted and heavy. She didn’t press. She just kept showing up. With warmth. With patience.

And one rainy afternoon, everything changed.

He was shaking when he stumbled into the nurse’s office, soaked through, bruises blooming across his ribs. He wouldn’t say who did it. Mikan didn’t ask. She only helped him sit down on the cot, hands trembling as she reached for the medical kit, then paused.

“I-I-I’m going to clean your injuries now, but… I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay, okay?”

There was a long silence. Then, barely audible:

“…Okay.”

It was the first time he let her touch him.

Her hands were soft, careful. Every movement was slow, narrated in a gentle whisper. “I’m cleaning the cut now. It might sting a little, b-but I’ll be really careful, promise…”

He flinched, but didn’t pull away. His breathing hitched. She didn’t say anything when a tear slid down his cheek. She just handed him a tissue.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m so broken.”

“No,” she said immediately, shaking her head so hard her hair slipped from its pins. “You’re not. You’re hurt. You’ve been hurt really badly, but that’s not the same as being broken.”

He looked at her then. Really looked at her. She saw the raw ache in his expression, the doubt, the exhaustion. But also, the beginning of something else. Hope, maybe.

In time, (Y/N) stopped flinching as much. He started sitting closer. Sometimes, he even smiled. It was small and fleeting, but to Mikan, it was brighter than the sun.

He wasn’t healed, not completely. Healing didn’t happen all at once. It came in pieces. In trust built moment by moment. In safety found in gentle hands and soft voices.

Mikan didn’t need him to be perfect. She didn’t even need him to be okay.

She just needed him to know he didn’t have to suffer alone.

And little by little, he began to believe it.

After that, the nurse’s office had become a kind of sanctuary.

At first, (Y/N) had only gone there when he had no choice- when bruises needed hiding or a panic attack left him too dizzy to think. But now, he found himself drifting there even on quiet days. Days when nothing hurt, at least not visibly. Days when the ghosts were just whispers, not screams.

Mikan was always there.

She never asked him to explain himself. She never pushed when the words got stuck in his throat. She just smiled- nervous, shaky, but real- and made space for him beside her. Sometimes she offered tea. Sometimes she rambled about classwork or clumsily spilled cotton balls across the floor. Sometimes she just sat with him, in silence, and that was enough.

(Y/N) found comfort in her softness, in how careful she was. How she always announced every move.

“I’m reaching for the thermometer now, o-okay? I won’t touch you.”

“I’ll sit here, if that’s okay. I c-can move if it’s not…”

He never realized how deeply he craved that kind of gentleness until she gave it to him.

It was a Thursday when something shifted.

(Y/N) was staring out the window, watching a few birds hop along the grass just beyond the courtyard. The sky was a dull gray, the kind that made everything feel a little heavier. Mikan sat beside him on the cot, legs drawn up beneath her, chewing nervously on her lower lip.

She looked at him, then down at her hands. “U-Um… (Y/N)? Can I ask something?”

He stiffened, but nodded.

“Have you ever… had anyone tell you they’re proud of you?”

He blinked.

“…No.”

Mikan’s lips parted like she might cry, but instead, she scooted just a little closer. “I am,” she whispered. “I-I mean… I’m proud of you. You’re so brave. You keep going even when it hurts, and you’re always so kind even when you're scared, and… I just think that’s really, really strong.”

The room was too quiet. Too still.

Then- without thinking- (Y/N) reached out. His fingers brushed her sleeve. Not skin. Just fabric. But it was the first time he’d reached for anyone in years.

Mikan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“Is… is it okay if I stay like this?” he asked, voice trembling. “Just for a minute.”

Her eyes went wide with emotion, then she gave the smallest, warmest smile.

“Yes. Of course it is.”

Later that night, (Y/N) sat on his bed with the lights off, staring at the soft imprint of her touch left in his memory. His stepfather’s voice still echoed sometimes, cruel and sharp and impossible to silence. But for once, it was quieter than the sound of Mikan’s voice.

“I’m proud of you.”

Those words replayed over and over, like a lullaby.

Tenko:

The dojo was quiet- unusually so. Dust motes floated in the sunlit air like tiny spirits, dancing just above the polished floorboards. Tenko Chabashira stood barefoot at the center of the room, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed with every practiced movement. Her breathing was controlled, sharp, matching the flow of her kata.

But she paused mid-strike, her sharp eyes flickering toward the door. Someone was there- hesitating. Hovering like a shadow.

"(Y/N)?" she called softly, letting her arms fall to her sides.

He flinched, half-hidden behind the sliding door, as if even hearing his name spoken aloud was too much. His knuckles were white where he clutched the edge of the frame, shoulders hunched beneath his too-large hoodie.

Tenko straightened and offered a gentle smile- not too big, not too forceful. She knew better than to rush him. Over the past few weeks, she’d noticed how (Y/N) never looked anyone in the eyes, how he avoided crowded hallways and jumped at loud voices. And worst of all- how he tensed around every man, like his whole body was bracing for a blow.

She had been careful. Always letting him choose the distance. Always making sure he knew she saw him as more than what the others whispered behind his back.

"I was just finishing up training," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "You can come in… if you want."

He hesitated, then stepped forward like he was walking into an unknown world. Every step seemed like a negotiation with himself. He didn’t meet her eyes, but he sat at the far edge of the room, back to the wall, as if needing a way out.

Tenko didn’t mind. She simply walked to the corner, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a slow sip before sitting cross-legged across from him.

"You’re always welcome here, you know," she said softly. "No pressure. Just… a place to breathe."

(Y/N)'s hands curled tightly in his sleeves. His voice, when it came, was almost inaudible. “You’re the only one who doesn’t… look at me like I’m broken.”

Tenko’s heart twisted. She leaned forward slightly, mindful of her posture- open, nonthreatening.

"You're not broken, (Y/N). You've just been hurt. And healing... takes time. But you're strong. I can tell."

He shook his head. "I'm not. I can't even look at half the class without freezing up. I can’t-"

“You showed up here,” she cut in gently. “That’s strength.”

There was silence. A long, aching silence.

Then, as if asking for something he couldn’t name, he whispered, "Can I stay a while?"

Tenko’s expression softened. She nodded, voice quiet but firm. “As long as you need.”

And so they sat there, in the soft golden light, surrounded by the scent of pine wood and old paper walls. No fighting. No fear. Just two people- one offering calm, the other learning to breathe again.

Tenko glanced at him, watching the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly.

"I don’t usually like guys," she admitted suddenly, rubbing the back of her neck. "They make me uncomfortable. Scared, sometimes. I… guess that’s why I understand you a little."

(Y/N)'s head turned, just barely, and for the first time, their eyes met. Not for long, not intensely- but it was enough. Enough to see the sincerity in hers, the warmth behind the guarded strength.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Tenko gave him a soft smile- one that didn’t need words. 

After that day, the dojo became their quiet haven.

Most days after class, Tenko would finish her practice while (Y/N) sat nearby, always keeping his distance, always watching. Sometimes, he brought a book. Other times, he said nothing at all. But he came back- day after day- and that was enough for her.

One afternoon, when the clouds hung low and the wind rattled the paper windows, Tenko finished a round of sparring with the training dummy and sat beside him on the polished floor. She didn’t speak at first. Neither did he.

Instead, she handed him a cup of tea she’d brewed earlier. Chamomile. Something calming.

He took it slowly, hands trembling just slightly as he held the warm porcelain between his palms.

“I used to drink tea with my mom,” he said, voice low. “Before everything… changed.”

Tenko glanced over, surprised he’d spoken first. She stayed quiet, letting him decide how much to share.

“She used to hum,” he added. “All the time. While cleaning, cooking… even when things were bad. I miss that.”

Tenko looked down at her cup, her brow knitting softly. “I miss my sensei,” she said. “She taught me everything I know about Aikido. She said it wasn’t just about defense- it was about connection. With yourself. With others.”

She turned her head to meet his eyes.

“That’s why I started letting you sit here. I wanted you to feel safe… connected.”

(Y/N) bit his lip, shoulders curling in slightly like he was trying to keep himself small. But he didn’t move away.

“Sometimes I think I’ll never be normal,” he whispered.

Tenko scooted just a little closer- carefully, never pushing.

“What if you don’t have to be?” she said. “What if who you are now is already enough?”

He looked at her, eyes wide. There was no judgment there. No pity. Just Tenko-blunt, honest, warm. After a few moniutes, she suggested something. 

“Just stretching,” she promised. “You don’t even have to touch me. It’s just you and your body. Reclaiming it.”

(Y/N) was hesitant. The idea of his body being his own felt... foreign. But Tenko’s voice was soft, and her patience never wavered.

He followed her lead one day, mirroring her as she slowly bent forward, arms extended. His form was shaky, unbalanced, but she never corrected him harshly.

“You’re doing great,” she said gently. “This part’s about feeling. Not perfection.”

Each day, he got a little better. He started standing straighter. Breathing deeper. Letting his hands relax at his sides instead of fisting in his sleeves.

He even laughed once- when Tenko tried to show off a high kick and accidentally knocked over a training mat.

She flushed red. “T-That was intentional, of course! A lesson in humility!”

His laugh was small but real, and she smiled like she’d just won a gold medal.

It was late one evening when (Y/N) had a nightmare and ended up knocking on her door at the dorms, pale and shaking.

Tenko didn’t ask questions. She pulled him inside and handed him a blanket. Made him tea. Sat on the floor with him until the trembling stopped.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She nodded. “Then we don’t have to.”

But after a while, as the tea grew cold between his hands, he said, “He used to come into my room when the house was quiet. Said it was my fault. That I was weak.”

Tenko’s hands tightened on her lap, her jaw clenching with quiet rage.

“You were never at fault,” she said. “Not even a little.”

And then- carefully, with the softness of someone offering a bridge- she opened her arms.

“I can hold you, if you want.”

His breath caught, chest rising unevenly.

“…Okay.”

He leaned in slowly, as if expecting her to flinch. But she didn’t. Her arms wrapped around his narrow shoulders, strong but warm. She held him like she meant it- like she wasn’t afraid of what he carried.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “No one’s going to hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here.”

Hola gente de Tumblr reviví, no olvide que tenía Tumblr lo juro

Actualmente no e dibujado nada en digital por alguna razón. Pero tengo varios dibujos en tradicional así que para no dejar morir esta cuenta los público

El primero es una Sayaka morenita pq pensé que se vería bien con todo el azul que tiene, a veces olvido que los pibes y morras de danganronpa parecen que nunca salen al sol

El segundo es una Chiaki que no me gusta como quedo la cara pero ya que, aquí está supongo

El último es un boceto de Mikan con el cabello corto que viene de un headcanon donde luego de todas las cosas que pasaron Junko, lavado de cerebro, transformarse en criminales, ya saben cosas. Mikan se corto el pelo por diversos motivos el primero es que ese nido de pájaros que tenía como pelo la empezaba a molestar y así

Bueno gracias por leer y ver esto intentaré ser más activa

danganronpa sticker designs i made

Shirokuma Monaca Towa Kotoko Utsugi Komaru Naegi Hiroko Hagakure Chisa Yukizome Seiko Kimura Ruruka Ando Miaya Gekkogahara