Hey! I am super late to the party with this, but I thought it's be fun to d one of those top DR ship post!
Shocking I know, but I do in fact ship more than my funky little niche ploy square, A.K.A. Amashinsaimatsu. It's just the ship that I won't shut up about because if I'M not yapping about it then no one else will.
Anyway! In sort-of-ish order, Here's the top...11! (I tried 10, I really did)
(For the sake of including as many other ships as possible, I limited The Square (TM) to just the top two, but all the different combinations exists between those two slots. And I STILL had trouble narrowing the rest down to 10)
Banners by @danganronpa-shipping-galore
(v Funny bonus v)
LKP: Behold! My top 10 Danganronpa ships!
???: Uh, isn't it a little... samey?
LKP: Whaddya mean?
???: I just feel like it's maybe... "lacking" somewhere, like it's "missing" something
LKP: .... Oh my god!!!
???: There it is.
LKP: There's no Amashinmatsu!
???: Wait what?
Kyouko drags her knuckles across her forehead and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her shoulders rising and falling as she breathes deeply. She stares forward. On the other side of the battlefield stands her opponent, a single person with washed-out eyes on a face devoid of all emotion. The world around them has fallen dark with tension and suspense, and sweat peppers Kyouko’s forehead, even after she ran her hand across it just now.
“We just need... one successful attack,” Kyouko says in a hushed tone. She furrows her brow. Grits her teeth. In her chest, her heart thrashes in overdrive. “Then... victory will finally be ours.”
Her fists clench tighter.
A dramatic breeze passes by. It smells like salt and fire.
Beside her, Makoto whines softly.
“Kirigiri-san, remember... we’re just playing beach volleyball,” he says.
His reminder restores light to the beach. The sand transforms from a grey into a blonde white and the sky clears into a brilliant blue with the occasional smudge of white. They can hear the rustle of the sea, the occasional plop of water and the intermittent caw of a seagull.
Kyouko and Makoto stand on one side of a net, the former in a loose white t-shirt and black bikini bottoms and the latter wearing trunks of a forgettable colour. Across from them, Mukuro Ikusaba waits for the volleyball to be served to her, dressed in a plain black sports crop top and jean shorts.
But make no mistake about her casual attire - Mukuro is anything but.
Normally, in a game of beach volleyball, each team has the same number of players and they play at least two sets. A third if each team wins a set. However, only the three of them are playing, and the choice of who should be by themselves had been immediately obvious. With a choice between a detective, a regular guy and a soldier... all in attendance at the same academy, recognised for their specialised talents... clearly, the soldier should be solo, and of course, she was the one in the lead regardless.
“One point,” says Mukuro as she adopts a battle-ready position. “Just one point. You just have to get one point, and then you’ll win the whole game.”
Pitting Mukuro against two people hadn’t been enough. Oh, no. While Mukuro needs to acquire fifteen points to secure victory, Makoto and Kyouko need one. Just one. As Mukuro has made clear repeatedly since she bagged her fifth point.
Makoto shifts a foot back, holding the ball in his opposite hand, and as he leans his weight forward, he strikes it. The ball flies over the net. Mukuro homes in on it in a blur and thwacks the ball back. It sails over the net and rather than try to block it, Makoto jumps out of the way, and it crashes into the sand on the other side, forming a crater around it.
“Thirteen nil,” says Mukuro, keeping a straight face. “I would like my ice cream with chocolate sprinkles, by the way.”
Kyouko’s eyes narrow into hard slits. She picks up the ball but doesn’t toss it over yet, fixing her gaze on Mukuro. The two lock together in an intense stare, determined not to be the first to look away. Makoto restrains a sigh and slumps his shoulders.
All day. It has been like this all day. Who reached the sea first, who made the best sandcastle... all accumulating into a game of volleyball where the loser buys ice cream for everyone afterwards. Kyouko jumps and smacks the ball over the net, and when she lands, she sends out a puff of sand.
Mukuro flits over to the ball with ease and returns it with an expert bop.
The ball hurtles toward the other two now. Kyouko manages to receive it. She passes it to Makoto, who whacks it over the net again.
Despite how hard they hit the ball, Mukuro intercepts each attempt and retaliates twice as strong. It arcs back and forth, over and over, each time with a thud as it makes contact with some part of a person’s body. Whenever the ball plummets downward after Mukuro has dealt a blow to it, Makoto and Kyouko only barely get to it in time, as opposed to Mukuro, who acquires the ball with no difficulty.
Kyouko aims it at the far side of the field to where Mukuro is, and as it soars downward, Mukuro widens her eyes and flings herself over to it. Her body twists as she closes in, and for a split second, it looks like they’ve won, but at the last moment, she kicks the ball with her foot.
Using feet is legal in volleyball, though it doesn’t offer the same control as a forearm. Even so, Mukuro’s kick sends the ball over the net and it expertly bounces off Kyouko’s face before crashing into the sand.
Mukuro stands up and brushes some loose hairs from her face, panting a little.
“Fourteen nil,” says Mukuro with a smirk. “Not bad. I almost had to break into a sweat there.”
The ball sits at Kyouko’s feet. Kyouko bends down, picks it up and straightens, all without saying a single word, only huffing as she catches her breath. She turns to Makoto, her forehead pink and her face creased not like someone smashed a ball into it and it hurt like hell, which they did, but more like someone had stuck their tongue out at her and laughed, which they didn’t, but they may as well have.
“Strategy meeting, now,” says Kyouko, pursing her lips.
He wavers at first but walks over to her. Once together, they drape an arm over the other’s shoulders and turn their backs on Mukuro, who checks her nails as she waits for them to finish.
“Kirigiri-san?” murmurs Makoto. She pulls him closer.
“Whoever wins this wins the game,” mutters Kyouko, causing Makoto to cringe slightly.
“I think Ikusaba-san has this one in the bag,” he says. He scratches his cheek, unable to stop himself from smiling. “She’s amazing.”
Kyouko grimaces.
“In that case, we will have to resort to more... underhand measures,” she says, prompting Makoto to frown.
“You’re not allowed to catch the ball with the underside of your hands, Kirigiri-san.”
“I don’t mean it literally. This isn’t time for jokes,” says Kyouko sternly, about a game of volleyball where the loser buys everyone ice cream. “Now listen closely. This is the plan...”
They whisper for another minute, during which Mukuro picks her nose with a bored expression. When they turn back to her, she draws herself into position, brow puckered tight.
“Good luck, Ikusaba-san,” says Makoto, and he makes the first attack - he smiles directly at her.
Mukuro blinks but recomposes herself in seconds. Still, her cheeks remain rosy, but that is only one nail in the coffin.
Kyouko grips the ball. To show that she means business, she tosses the ball up and serves it overhand. The final match begins. Mukuro counters whatever they sling her way, and they can tell she’s toying with them. If she wanted to win, she would have already.
That will be her downfall.
Makoto stumbles but punches the ball upward. Kyouko jumps into the air to meet it. She seems to float as she connects with Mukuro’s intense gaze. The ball hangs suspended in midair as well, hovering in front of her.
Time for the final nail in the coffin.
“Counter this,” Kyouko breathes, and with her best pout, she bats her lashes and adds, “Mukuro-chan.”
Imaginary white lilies appear behind her head. Kyouko hits the ball, and Mukuro takes one step before processing what Kyouko said. The exact moment this occurs presents itself as a flicker across Mukuro’s face and she explodes with colour. Mukuro staggers, tripping over her own feet, and falls flat on her face, with the ball landing near her head soon after.
She does not get up.
“Are you okay, Ikusaba-san?” asks Makoto anxiously, craning his neck.
“I would like strawberry sprinkles on my ice cream,” pipes up Kyouko, and Mukuro lifts her head, glaring. Kyouko smiles wider and adds, “Mukuro-chan.”
Mukuro squeaks and buries her face into the sand again. The other two exchange quiet laughter before approaching her. They help her up, and with Makoto carrying their volleyball under his arm, they walk off together, arms linked with Mukuro in the middle.
“I went easy on you,” mumbles Mukuro as she tries to pick sand out of her mouth.
“We know,” replies Makoto at the same volume. He gives a small grin. “I’ll buy us WcPonalds on the way back to the school, okay?”
A pause. Mukuro peeks up.
“... can I get a WcFlurry too even if I have an ice cream now?” she asks.
“Of course.”
She averts her eyes. The ends of her lips perk up. “... A-Awesome.”
