#I’m sorry I know she looks deathly pale but there are really like zero skin tone options so imma need to try some things out for next time

[elikha]

Got some acrylic markers!

[magioftheseas]

Scar To Burden

For @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Scar to Remember taken from here.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Body horror, mental instability, messiness. Yes.

Notes: It was also part of an art trade of sorts. Because it’s canon Matsun, it ended up a little vent-y. Waaaaah. I should write more MatsuHina. We need more danganronpa zero + super danganronpa 2 content in general.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“If you’re gonna keep staring at it,” Matsuda griped. “You might as well just take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Hinata froze immediately, fingertips lingering on his head scars. In the reflection, he sees Matsuda huff. Sees him stride close, clapping a hand on his trembling shoulder.

“What’s up?” Matsuda asked coldly, leaning in and pressing up against him, sending chills down his spine. “The hell is with that stupid fucking face?”

Matsuda’s thumb presses against the scar, right above Hinata’s ear, where Matsuda’s touch had lingered before.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

--

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The specter snorts, crossing his legs the way the living Matsuda Yasuke so often did. Hinata tries not to let his gaze trail from the other’s face, not to the legs fading out to nothing and certainly not to the chest under Matsuda’s crossed arms, which looked like it had been stomped in. Over and over. But rather than the expected blood and gore, it was faded around the edges, as if the being were just a wax replica. Except wax didn’t huff at him like that.

“Don’t tell me you’d rather I was someone else,” Matsuda sneezed. “Upset I’m not your stupid fucking girlfriend? God, don’t tell me you’d prefer Junko.”

“Absolutely not,” Hinata snapped, bristling. “It’s just—why now?”

“Dunno.” In typical Matsuda fashion, he was just shrugged at like he wasn’t worth a second longer of thought. “Just felt like it. It’s super fucking boring being dead, y’know. I can only read over people’s shoulders. I can’t eat. I can’t even sleep. Sucks. So fucking bad. Makes me wish necromancy was a talent, not gonna lie.”

Hinata did feel Kamukura Izuru stir inside him. Whether with curiosity or something else, Hinata steeled himself against it.

He’s gone. Matsuda’s gone. That he’s even here is probably just—

“You think I’m an hallucination,” Matsuda droned. “I’m not. Ask me a question, fucker. I’ll prove it.”

“Proof?” Hinata had to laugh at that, mirthlessly as it was. “Like what?”

“Your stupid fucking boyfriend? He’s with the meathead coach right now. Being lugged about like a particular sad sack of potatoes after collapsing during a jog.” Matsuda shows his teeth. “That sniveling not-quite-nurse will be treating him by the time you rush over.”

Komaeda isn’t—

Hinata got up immediately.

(To his utter despair, Matsuda was completely right. He didn’t even know what to say in between Komaeda swearing that he was alright and apologizing for the trouble as Tsumiki insisted she was doing well in treating him, don’t worry, don’t worry, why do you look so pale, Hinata-san, y-you look like you’ve seen a ghost—)

--

Despite clearly keeping tabs on everyone there, Hinata doesn’t see Matsuda tailing anyone else. Hell, he doesn’t even see Matsuda outside of his cottage. He wonders if Matsuda can control whether or not he’s seen, and he’s too disturbed to ponder it.

This, unfortunately, doesn’t stop Kamukura Izuru, which makes Hinata feel all kinds of skin-crawlingly disgusting. Makes him also want to claw out his skull, to rip the stitches open if he could.

“Jeez, what’s up your rectum?”

What do you fucking think, Matsuda? Rather than spit out the words, Hinata glares at the ghost over his shoulder. He’s trying to read a book Sonia lent him—but of course Matsuda’s too damn clever to buy into the ruse.

“You look constipated,” Matsuda pointed out, cutting through him with such ease. Always capable of cutting through him with well-practiced fingers and an even more skillfully sharp tongue. “You’re so fucking obvious about it, too.”

Hinata wanted to seethe, but willed himself to keep a straight, unimpressed face.

“Boring read, huh,” Matsuda droned, reflecting that same expression back. “Is it because it’s predictable or because it’s just not to your taste?”

“It’s...” Hinata bit back the word boring. His temper flared, and he forced that back down as well for good measure. “It’s hard to focus on anything when you’re breathing down my neck. In a manner of speaking.”

The dead man—boy, really, Matsuda fucking died before he reached adulthood—just quirked an eyebrow at him. The corner of his lips curled into a truly ugly smirk, accompanied by a snort.

“A manner of speaking!” Matsuda rose his voice to an annoyingly nasal high-pitched tone. “Isn’t that book about a fucking doctor who plays god?” He blows past before Hinata can think twice, flipping the pages furiously. “You didn’t even get to the best part! Look here!”

He brandishes it with mock theatrics and a sneer.

“They shove him back,” Matsuda intones, voice low and grave. “Down, down, down he went. They watch him fall. He, who built them, who built up everything—he who looked so much smaller when splattered to bits.”

Hinata said nothing. He just waited until Matsuda fizzled.

“You piece of shit.” Matsuda still got out one last mirthless chuckle. “You’ve already read it, huh? You fucking started fiddling with it, knowing I’d get fucking curious about it. You knew, you knew, you knew.”

Hinata didn’t say anything to that, either.

“Was it satisfying?” Matsuda hissed. “Was it cathartic? Watching that bitch not only fall to pieces but also give up?”

“She was content, Matsuda.” Hinata simply brushed him off. “She was satisfied with the outcome.”

Matsuda’s form simmers with so much anger that it blurs his edges and especially blurs his expression. Like this, you might not even be able to tell that the once neurologist was in tears. What grew especially jagged from these distortions was the gaping maw in his chest.

Despite looking less and less like a once-person, this being couldn’t be further from dissipating completely. Hinata could hear his own heartbeat, and what a wretched sound that was in this utter, tumultuous silence.

“...sorry,” he finally whispers, just for something new. Just to keep himself from trying to dig his nails into his scar. The ghost reshapes itself, only slightly. It drifts close, and Hinata sucked in his breath. “I’m sorry, Matsuda, I... I-I just...”

Matsuda’s fingertips, practiced and cold and gentle as always, brush against his forehead scars.

“You’re unbearable to look at with this,” Matsuda murmured as Hinata’s breath ended up hitching. Like this, like this, the ghost of the guy who helped ruined him really did look like quite the dream.

“You think?” he couldn’t help but ask. “The lines were clean. The stiches tidy. Evenly spaced apart.” Those cold fingers curled against his jaw, and he just leans into that deathly touch. “It’s a work of art, isn’t it? On the outside and the inside.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Rather than with fire or ice, Matsuda’s words are airy and weightless. “Don’t say such creepy bullshit.”

When Hinata does reach up to grip the other’s hand, he phases right through. Because, obviously he does.

Obviously.

--

“Have you seen anything strange lately?”

“Mm? You’ll have to be more specific.” Komaeda, when perked up and bright-eyed, is especially alert. “Has something happened, Hinata-kun?”

“No.” The lie comes so easily it’s despicable. “I was just asking.”

I’m not the only person that Matsuda’s looking after.

“It’s a strange question,” Komaeda said, cajoling. Hinata still doesn’t bite, even when Komaeda seems serious. “Nothing happened at all?”

“Something is always happening,” he pointed out. “There is no need for suspicion over a simple question.”

“Hahaha. Oh, Hinata-kun. When did you get so unbearable?”

When, indeed?

Somehow, even if he wanted to, he wasn’t sure he’d know how to answer. Maybe he’s always been this way. Maybe he’s only like this because he got on a table and let a guy his own age cut open his skull under the slimy supervision of a farcical medical staff. That same guy had been—

Not...nice. Once upon a time. But, maybe, just maybe, they had a relationship close to being friends. Matsuda would smack him with books and demand food. Would often drag him off-campus and distract him from everything for a good hour. Matsuda was grumpy and abrasive, absolutely not the kind of person he’d normally want to associate with. He was cruel, too, up until Hinata finalized the contract.

It was only after the stupid simulation that Hinata realized that Matsuda never wanted any of this. That Matsuda did care, especially in the way he made the procedure swift and simple...and especially in the way he’d stare at his head scars with the most pained eyes.

How boringly simple Matsuda Yasuke always was. It’s no wonder he had so many regrets.

“If you do see something, let me know,” Hinata said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Komaeda gives him a look, and Hinata wonders about Matsuda’s regrets involving him. Involving damn near everyone in the class that Enoshima Junko got her claws into.

Selfishly, I don’t...

--

“I don’t want you to worry about them. They’re my responsibility now.”

“Mmhm,” Matsuda hummed, unconvinced as he draped himself over the bed. He was playing with the pages of a manga that Hinata purposefully left out. “Possessive, are you? Fucked up.”

“I’m the one with this.” Hinata tapped his scar. “This is all that remains of you after the simulation was forcibly shut down.”

“Maybe that’s why you can see me,” Matsuda muttered, sounding wholly disinterested. “And here I just fucking thought Kamukura Izuru was an Ultimate Medium or something.”

Kamukura Izuru was. However, Hinata has no intention of being the same.

“I want to be the only one that has to deal with the burden of your memory. You’re right. I’m possessive.”

“Just like her.” Matsuda sneered at him, pointing to where his own heart would be if it hadn’t been stomped to dust. “You’re a piece of work, alright.”

“That’s thanks to you.”

Matsuda chuckles softly under his breath. It’s not just mirthless, it’s downright miserable. His form flickers, too. Hinata idly rubs over the swollen scar tissue, gaze not leaving the other for a second.

“Take a picture,” Matsuda says, flat and irritated. “It’ll last longer.”

I’ll keep this image just as I’ve kept your marks and memory.

[prince-claremont-diaz]

étoiles et fleurs

Summary: Lucas is next in line for the throne, about to be engaged to marry a young noble woman and he hates it. That is, until he runs into the curious florist, Eliott, on a walk through the city. Lucas has little choices in life, but will one of them be Eliott?

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: none 

Ao3 version

i.

Lucas hushed the other boy as his back hit the stone wall, a laugh tumbling out of the boy's pale pink lips. He ignored Lucas in favour of pressing him harder into the wall, kissing him hard on the lips. Stunned, Lucas kept his eyes wide open but kissed the other boy back fervently. His heart hammered inside his chest, sending blood rushing through his head until it was almost spinning. A muffled groan erupted from his throat as the boy's mouth moved from his lips to his throat, sucking a bruise into his pale skin.

"No marks!" Lucas blurted, coming to his senses and pushing the boy's face away from his neck. He stumbled back, eyebrows furrowed as he frowned at Lucas in confusion and protest. "For fucks sake, you idiot, it's illegal," he countered, rolling his eyes.

"So? Would it not be worth it?" he replied, arching a seductive eyebrow. His fingers were idly fumbling around, finding his hips like they fit. He leaned in, mouth barely a centimetre from Lucas' ear as he whispered, "Would I not be worth it?"

Lucas huffed, rolling his eyes out of sight of the other boy. "I won't lie to you. It probably wouldn't be worth hanging for you," he remarked, allowing the other's hands to wander further south. "Which is why—" he lifted the other boy's chin to face him abruptly, "—no marks can be left. Got it?"

"Whatever you say your highness." Lucas scoffed, slapping his chest.

"You know I hate being called that E—" Lucas began to complain before halting as a palm pressed into his crotch. "Fuck."

This continued for another few minutes, both boys kissing and grinding against the stone wall, only the faint glow of the lanterns along the corridor lighting them. Lucas was starting to get into it, kissing back with ease, barely aware of his grubby surroundings.

That is, until he heard footsteps followed shortly by a cleared throat. "Shit," Lucas groaned, shoving the other boy off of him and turning towards the sound. "Oh come on, Manon. Really?" he whined, scowling at the girl standing in the glow of the lanterns.

"Really, Lucas?" Manon mocked, aiming a curious and slightly disapproving glance at the disheveled looking Edward who was leaning against the opposite wall. She waved a half-hearted hand towards Edward who promptly slid away, disappearing down the dim corridor. Once Edward was gone, Manon grabbed one of Lucas' wrists and began yanking him behind him down the hallway, the long sleeve of her scarlet nightgown falling over his hand. "You know, you're lucky it was just me who found you fraternising with a servant boy and not… literally anyone else. Are you an idiot?" Manon was saying, dragging Lucas up a spiral staircase, pouting.

Once they reached the floor Lucas' room was located, he pulled his wrist free of his sister's grasp, scowling. "What were you doing down there anyway? I thought your quarters were on the other side of the castle?" Lucas stated, avidly avoiding Manon's comments. He was well aware of his stupidity.

Manon sighed, giving him a pointed look. "They are. Glad you remembered," Manon replied, "I couldn't sleep, so I was going for a walk. Can't say I was expecting to find that waiting for me in the usually abandoned corridor." She gestured vaguely towards the spiral staircase situated behind where they were standing in the middle of the hall.

"Oh, don't be such a nosy git. It was barely even that interesting," Lucas snapped, crossing his arms over his chest, frown deepening. Manon opened her mouth to reply, but Lucas cut her off. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed." And without pause for a reply, Lucas spun on his heels and strode away down the carpeted hallway, not even glancing over his shoulder at Manon standing alone in the middle of the hallway.

Lucas entered his bedroom chamber in a huff, letting the door slam shut behind him, the noise echoing through the hall. He was muttering to himself about family and 'nosy pricks' as he climbed into his four poster bed, burrowing up to his chin under the heavy blue blankets. His room was deathly silent in the midnight air, not even his pet Pomeranian stirring in her bed. It was almost unsettling.

As he began to calm down, turned onto his side to look towards the window across from him, Lucas was filled with regret at his conversation with Manon. Lucas was well known throughout both the castle and the kingdom as an irritable and angsty boy, but he hated to be like that with Manon. She was just about the only family member he had that didn't have issues with him. His father never viewed him as good enough and his mother was always ill, paying no attention to him because of her mental health. Manon, however, always gave him attention.

Of all the people Lucas had problems with in that castle, Manon would never be one of them.

♤

The next morning dawned far too soon for how late he finally fell asleep. He was half buried under the covers, pillow over his head, when one of the servants threw open the curtains to wake him up. As the bright sunlight burned his eyes, Lucas groaned and burrowed deeper under the covers. "Fuck off," he grumbled, muffled under the fabric.

"Sir, you have business to attend to. You are meeting with the Jeanson family today. Their daughter, Chloé, could become your wife someday," insisted the familiar voice of Alexia. Lucas groaned again, rolling over onto his back and covering his face with his arm. "Look, I know you have no interest in marriage, but you unfortunately have to," Alexia continued, voice softening. She was another of the few people that treated Lucas like more of a friend than an irritating master.

"Do I really have to go meet them? Can't I just sleep in for once?" Lucas whined, peeking out from the crook of his elbow.

Alexia rolled her eyes and flicked his leg, making Lucas yelp into a seated position. "Unfortunately, sir, you have to meet with them. Potential future in-laws and all that," she replied, going into his closet to grab him a selection of outfits.

"Are they that important of a family?" Lucas asked vaguely as Alexia returned with a bundle of fabrics of many colours. "Like are they absolutely critical to avoid a war or whatever?"

Alexia snorted, putting his clothes at the foot of the bed. "Fuck if I know. I never pay any attention to politics," she replied, standing with her hands on her hips. "Now get dressed into something pretty. Don't want another argument with His Magesty, do you?" Lucas flipped her off, grabbing one of his pillows and tossing it her way. She guffawed, dodging out of the way. The pillow landed with a heavy thud just next to his sleeping dog, Ouba, who startled awake, barking loudly.

"Sorry, Ouba," Lucas said, resigning himself to getting out of bed and searching through his clothes for a decent yet zero-fucks-given outfit to wear. "You're lucky you're not next in line for a dog throne," Lucas grumbled, pointing at Ouba who was now staring at him from her bed, tail wagging excitedly.

"Or if only I wasn't next in line for a real throne," he mumbled to himself, looking in the mirror by the window.

♤

An hour later, Lucas made his way downstairs to the main hall where the rest of his family was. He decided on wearing black dress trousers, a white button down, pale yellow waistcoat and a navy blue tailcoat that swished behind him as he walked. He was greeted outside the doors to the main hall by two of the usual servants who bowed their heads and opened the doors for him. He muttered his thanks and stepped inside.

The main hall was pretty obsolete in Lucas' opinion. It was just a massive empty room with a few thrones at the end. The cool stone floor had a massive blood red carpet running from the doors all the way to the thrones. It had a high ceiling with stained glass windows on all sides of the top of the ceiling, spilling a rainbow kaleidoscope of luminescence onto the ground and up the walls and depicting romanticized depictions of the history of their family. The back wall of the room had a massive family coat of arms on a huge textile piece, hanging from the ceiling. Besides the carpet and thrones, the room was empty of furnishing or interests.

The rest of Lucas' family was standing waiting for him inside the main hall. Manon, dressed in a long scarlet dress with purple ribbons on her corset, was standing alongside their mother, who was standing next to their father. The king, as usual these days, was already scowling at Lucas, arms crossed and jaw set. Lucas heaved a sigh, walking down the carpet towards the rest of his family.

"So good of you to finally join us, Lucas," he said just as Lucas reached the end of the carpet and shuffled in beside his sister. "The guests will be here any second and your hair is still standing up everywhere." Lucas opened his mouth to protest, shutting it when his father snapped his fingers sharply to summon one of the attendants to come and fix his hair.

Just as she finished flattening his hair as best as she could, the doors to the hall swung open and a man dressed in bright bottle green robes entered. He cleared his throat before announcing, "Introducing the Jeanson family of Marseille; Earl Claudius, his wife Countess Sofia and their daughter Chloé."

Chloé was very pretty, Lucas would admit. She had long dark brown hair which cascaded down her back, half pulled back with a braided bun and bright friendly eyes. She was dressed in a ruffled cream dress with pink accents and a matching hat, complimenting her figure nicely. If she was closer to Lucas' type, he could see the appeal in someone like her.

"What a beautiful name. Chloé," Lucas remarked, testing her name out on his lips. Chloé giggled girlishly, grinning as Lucas took one of her hands and kissed the back of it. He winked as he let go, letting his grasp linger slightly.

Chloé tucked a loose strand of hair behind one of her ears, blinking flirtatiously. Lucas could vomit. "It's lovely to make your acquaintance, your Royal Highness," she greeted cheerfully.

"I insist it's even lovelier to make yours," he replied smoothly, winking once again. She blushed scarlet, eyes darting to the floor, sheepish smile on her face. She's way too easy to flirt with Lucas thought to himself, forcing a smile at her.

Lucas glanced at the rest of his family who were all gaping at him, not even bothering to hide their shock at Lucas' reaction. Lucas caught his father's eye who shook himself off, coming to his senses and clearing his throat. He turned to the Earl and Countess, training his face into an amicable smile. "Shall we leave these two to get to know each other? I would love to show you the grounds…" the king said, turning to the Jeansons.

Manon caught his eye as they exited, arching a single eyebrow and mouthing, "Really?" Lucas couldn't agree more, but knew he had to put on a show.

And then Lucas and Chloé were left alone in the empty main hall.

"So, what are we doing now?" Chloé asked once the door shut behind the others, eyes wide with curiosity. "We could visit the gardens. I saw them when we came in and they look so pretty!" she suggested cheerfully.

"Are you up for an adventure?" Lucas asked instead, eyebrows raised. He offered her his arm to link, which she did, smiling sweetly, cheeks rosy.

"What kind of adventure?" she asked, following Lucas out into the entrance hall. Lucas raised his eyebrows teasingly, holding a finger up to his lips and pulling her out through the front doors and out of the castle, crossing the front lawn at a jog.

"It's a surprise."

♤

The city centre was only a ten minute walk from the entrance to the castle. Situated at the bottom of a small hill, the town had cobblestone streets which twisted and turned, overlapping unevenly as each individual building was situated. There were market stalls all along the road, selling fruits and vegetables and flowers and anything else from trinkets to pots and pans. Washing lines hung between buildings, dresses and shirts and trousers dangling from above, swaying in the light spring breeze. Children chased after dogs and threw balls, people called to each other from windows and in the road and people tried to sell their goods in the market stalls. It was the kind of chaos Lucas didn't get the privilege of seeing often back at the castle where everything was planned to a T.

"This is wonderful! Do you visit here often?" Chloé was ecstatic, looking around the street with a wide grin on her face, waving to a little girl with blonde pigtails chasing after a ball.

Lucas shook his head, pulling Chloé along the street by her hand, looking around the beautiful chaos around him. "Not really. They don't let me leave the castle at all, most of the time," Lucas explained somewhat sadly.

Chloé was in the midst of babbling about—well, Lucas didn't really know—as they wandered from side street to side street, when they came upon another market stall. This one was selling thousands of beautiful flowers, all spilling out of their baskets, bright petals catching the eye as bumble bees bobbed around them. Lucas was about to pull Chloé off towards a bakery he knew had good pastries when he glanced up at the florist and felt his heart thud onto the cobblestones.

He was even more gorgeous than the flowers he sold.

Lucas paused, staring at the stall from the side street, still holding onto Chloé. The man selling flowers stared right back. He had messy wavy brown hair and sharp cheekbones, gaze intense even from several metres away. He was dressed simply in a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tartan trousers, sorting a bouquet of Eucharis and Calla lilies into a yellow bow.

"What is it?" Chloé asked at the sudden stop, almost tripping over her shoes. She followed Lucas' stare over to the flower stand, cheeks flushing.

"Come along. Let me get you an arrangement," Lucas suggested, pulling Chloé over to the stand by her elbow, heart hammering in his chest cavity. Could other people hear it as he could?

They stopped just short of the stall, looking over the flowers on show. At least Chloé was. "Good afternoon. Are you looking for anything in particular today?" The man behind the stall asked, looking right at Lucas with the clearest blue eyes Lucas had seen. You could go swimming in those eyes.

"What about a surprise? What do you think suits her best?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow, staring right back at the man.

The man's eyes lit up, grin broadening on his face so much his eyes crinkled. "That sounds wonderful," he replied, turning to look at Chloé for the first time. She looked back and forth between the two boys, blinking rapidly, eyelashes fluttering. The man narrowed his eyes, furrowed his brows and stared Chloé down, seeming to really think about his choice. After a moment, he seemed to have made up his mind, plucking various flowers out of the baskets to sort into a small bouquet.

After another few minutes, he held up an arrangement of lavender, magnolias and a few red geraniums. Lucas glanced at the various flowers, barely able to stifle a snort as the man handed over the flowers, tied neatly with a turquoise ribbon. He caught the man's eye and unless Lucas was very much mistaken, the florist smirked.

"How much?" Lucas asked, peeling his gaze away from the florist finally to watch Chloé sniffing the flowers contentedly.

"For the beautiful magnolia girl? Free of charge," the man replied. As soon as Chloé was looking down, the man caught Lucas' eye and winked.

Lucas sputtered slightly, cheeks flushing and eyes widening. He glanced at Chloé, looking stunned and bashful and cleared his throat. "That's very generous of you, sir! But I insist I can afford it." Lucas pulled his wallet out of his coat pocket, rifling through the change.

The man sighed. "Fine. That'll be 5 francs, please, sir," the man replied, somewhat resentful as he held out his hand to collect the change from Lucas. Their hands brushed as he handed over 10 francs, insisting he kept the change. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

"You too!" Chloé chimed, yanking excitedly on Lucas' arm.

"Thank you, sir," Lucas called over his shoulder. He dared a wink at the gentleman, priding himself when his cheeks turned a faint pink and his gaze fell back to his flowers, a smile peeking from his lips.

"He was nice," Chloé said after a few moments of silence, walking along the street and periodically sniffing the flower arrangement.

Lucas nodded distractedly, still thinking back to the way the man smiled. "Yeah. Yeah he was…" he replied quietly, glancing over his shoulder one last time to find the man watching them go.

He would have to come back to the village more often.