The week will run from July 1st to July 7th like usual. Please find this year’s prompt list below.
We'll be monitoring the tags #nmweek26 and #narumitsu week on Tumblr and Twitter; we'll reblog any works in these tags. Feel free to mix and match the themes of different days and post as often or as little as you like throughout the week. Fanworks will also be reblogged up to the end of July, so don’t worry if you miss the window a little bit.
We're so excited to see everyone's works this year! If you have any questions, send us an ask, or join the Narumitsu Week Discord server using the link below. We’re a large server that’s been running for close to 10 years now and we’re a friendly bunch. Come hang out!
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January approaches, bringing chill in its wake. With it comes the 2026 Naomi Misora Appreciation Week - a week intended to celebrate a determined woman with a nickname to match. This year's version of the event will run from January 2nd - January 8th. Please ensure you have read the event rules before taking part.
The suggested prompts are intended to foster creativity, not limit you! Interpret as desired. Late or early submissions for a certain day’s prompt are allowed. This blog will reblog submissions for this event up to five days after its run time.
When sharing your creations for this event, please use the tag #nmweek26. If you have any questions, asks and DMs are open! If you need a text version of the prompts image, you can find it here.
i'm restraining myself to 3 sentences - @misora-appreciation-week last half speedrun:
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4. suspicion, wariness
She wants to tell him off for announcing his name to her, spelling it aloud for god's sake, but his boyish grin is just so earnest she can't bear to correct him for now — she's better off having more information than him anyway, better off underestimated. Still, it feels wrong: there's something in his confidence and wild deductions and the way he bothers to listen that reminds her of L and L would never smile at her and carelessly say, you write the kanji for "moon" and read it Light — unusual, isn't it?
Too late, she always figures it out too late.
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5. 'unseen' - secrets, surprises, tricks
She isn't sure what possesses her when Ryuzaki excuses himself to the bathroom: one second she's staring at the topmost sugar cube sliding slowly into the congealed mass he calls coffee, and the next she's leaning over it and the salt shaker in her hand is empty.
"Excellent flavoring, Misora," praises Ryuzaki when he returns and chugs the whole thing down in one go before she can get a word in: "Very creative."
Honestly she was feeling kind of bad about it, but Ryuzaki is smiling sunnily at her, so now she feels… worse?
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6. passions, love, dreams
The night she was suspended from the FBI she'd taken her motorcycle and driven until every voice in her head spilled out through the exhaust pipe and the city lights blurred into a singular streak of meteor and she'd stalled by the freeway and looked up into the sky and understood she could change her name, disappear, go anywhere, anywhere.
It was a useless thought. She turned and drove back home.
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7. uncertain beginnings/endings
They never find her body. A year goes by. Her parents buy a gravestone.
@dn-happy-new-yuri + @misora-appreciation-week: 2 / identity, self-perception, facades; new love
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“It’s not a good name,” Naomi murmurs. “Massacre.”
“Hmm.” Halle runs her fingers through Naomi’s hair. It’s like silk, but so dense. Heavy. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s an insult,” Naomi says. She’s so much more open with her head in Halle’s lap. They should do this more often. “From when I screwed up a trafficking ring bust. Shot my way out. It was a mess.”
Oh — Halle remembers now. The talk had spread even to her corner of the CIA. So many dead. Opinions had been divided on whether it mattered.
“Raye always thought… that I felt bad for it.” Naomi sighs. “He told me it wasn’t my fault, I had no other way out.”
“But that wasn’t your problem,” Halle says.
A tiny nod. Her hair rustles. “It was a trafficking ring. Why would I…” Naomi exhales. “I should’ve been more careful. But they made their choices. I made mine.”
Halle looks down at her, the murderer pressing her face into the hem of Halle’s worn sweater, and feels so fond.
“Would you?” Naomi asks.
“Would I feel bad?”
“Mm.”
Halle considers this.
“Yes,” she decides. “I would. But I don’t think you’re wrong for not feeling that way.”
Naomi hums uncertainly. “Okay.”
“You never answered my first question,” Halle adds.
“What?”
“Massacre. Do you like it?”
There’s this spot in Naomi’s forehead that scrunches up when she thinks. If Halle wasn’t trying to go slow, she’d kiss it.
“Maybe,” Naomi says. “Sometimes.”
“Just when I do it, then,” Halle teases, and Naomi goes bright red and shoves at her but doesn’t move away, so she’ll take that as a win.
“Sho as in shine,” you’re telling the receptionist as he scribbles down your name. “Ko as in child.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, tossing the pen aside. “Here you go.”
The room key you receive looks like it’s been stained with at least three different substances in its storied past. Unfortunately, this means it’s perfect. You drop it gingerly into your pocket before climbing up the rickety motel stairs to your new room.
(You hadn’t checked out of your old hotel, the one you’d been staying in with Raye — act as unsuspicious as possible, you thought, and it’d be best to have a place to stay if this one fell through anyway. Your mother called earlier pleading you to come home, but you’d brushed her off: you don’t want your parents involved in this business. Ever. They’re safer not knowing what you’re up to.)
(You wish that relocating here was strategic. It is now, but when you got the news all you could think was that you had to get out. That you couldn’t look at the chair he’d been sitting in just this morning. That you had to move. Your motorcycle was still in the States so you ran all the way to the bridge.)
You swing the door open and find a grime-lined mirror on the back as you nudge it shut. The same person as always stares back at you — Kira needs a name and face to kill, and you’ve deprived them of one, so you should be safe to keep the other; wearing a helmet everywhere would make you stand out far too much.
It took you some time after the locked rooms to stop thinking of Quarter Queen’s photo whenever you looked in a mirror, but you managed, eventually, to see only your own reflection. Now you study Shoko’s eyes, her frown, with practiced dispassion. You wonder if she should look sadder. If you should cry more. Whatever it is that normal people do when they grieve.
It doesn’t matter what they do. You, Naomi — no. You, Shoko Maki, will avenge Raye Penber. Your fiancé. It’s the only thing you have left to do.
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Naomi keeps having this dream where Ryuzaki cuts off her finger.
It sounds worse, phrased like that. It’s not so bad — no, it is, it’s very bad, but it’s not bothering her. It doesn’t hurt. By the time she’s up and drinking coffee, she barely even remembers the details.
“It’ll hurt more if you move,” Ryuzaki is saying.
Naomi wants to punch him in the face. Wants to sweep his legs out from under him. Wants to run. But her dream-self, who is her and isn’t, an overlapping haze of identity, is disgustingly content to sit and watch.
“There.” Ryuzaki shifts away, letting her sit up. He dangles her dripping finger in front of her. “Isn’t that a relief?”
She can see the bone poking out. I’m going to throw up, she thinks, but it’s distant; closer to her is the relief, just as he says, like a weight has been lifted.
Ryuzaki swings the finger back and forth. The blood is getting everywhere. The ring on it glints in the light.
“You were wrong,” Ryuzaki says idly.
Naomi wants to spit a curse at him. She digs her thumb into the missing cavity on her hand without looking down — no pain at all, which feels nauseatingly incorrect, like an anestheticized tooth at the dentist’s — and pries her jaw open to speak.
What slips out is: “Huh?”
“Look.” Ryuzaki dangles the finger closer. “Your engagement ring. It’s not coming off, even after I cut it. So your theory on why I chopped off my third victim’s limbs was wrong: I couldn’t remove an accessory even if I wanted to.”
Naomi looks at the ring. It is, in fact, so tight that it’s pushing down the flesh around it, like a bottleneck. Why did she have that thing on?
“But you got it right in the end, didn’t you,” Ryuzaki prattles on. “Under my brilliant guidance, but still! You’re a good agent, really. You’re wasted on the FBI.”
“Where would you want me to go?” Naomi hisses.
Ryuzaki laughs, then, really tosses his head back and cackles. “Oh, Misora. You need to stop asking that question.”
Of course sarcasm is wasted on him.
“Hold out your hand,” Ryuzaki orders.
She does. Dream-Naomi does. She won’t be sure, later, if she had the ability to think about it.
“Here.” Ryuzaki drops the finger into her palm. “Your present. My congratulations to the happy couple.”
The happy…?
“Wake up,” Ryuzaki adds.
Naomi does wake then, sheets sweat-covered and hair all tangled and engagement ring as laughable as ever, and closes her eyes again to swim in darkness a few minutes longer before getting out of bed. Just to spite him.
Thank you everyone for participating! While this event did not get as much traction as I hoped, I'm happy it brought at least a few joy. If your post has not yet been reblogged, it will be shortly.
Quick reminder that submissions for this event will be taken up til the 13th.
