#yasukematsudaweek2020

[nagito-ex-machina]

These were originally for a trade, but after some discussion they ended up being repurposed for Matsuda Week (hosted by @hopegroundzero2)!

May I offer some Matsukoma and Matsukamu in this trying time?

[magioftheseas]

Conversations with Companions

Day 4: Speech/Breathing

Summary: He talks too much but that’s better than him not talking at all because his brain’s too rotted to even process thoughts.

Rating: PG

Warnings: References to illness and needles.

Notes: Because of Komaeda’s iconic wheezing, he was the obvious pick for today’s prompt. For the fic, anyway. I do think about it a lot because it’s such a worrying sound. He sounds like he’s choking and in pain so I imagine that Matsuda worries a lot, too.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

It was pretty commonplace for Komaeda to go on verbal tirades about hope, symbols, potential, hope, talent, and hope. Matsuda had gotten pretty good at tuning him out because it was exhausting the first time, downright intolerable the seventy-seventh. He only started paying attention when Komaeda’s wheezing got to the point where he seemed to be literally choking on his words. It’s only then when Matsuda stops him and nearly smacks him with a water bottle, demanding he stop to take a drink.

“There, there,” he droned, flipping through his manga as Komaeda gasps afterwards. “In and out. Nice deep breaths. Fucking hell, you really are a mess sometimes.”

Komaeda giggles weakly, screwing the cap back onto the bottle.

“I just get overexcited, Matsuda-kun. I mean everything I say, I just...”

“Get overexcited. Yeah. I heard you the first time.” Matsuda does glare at him over his book. “You’re sickly. You need to take shit easy. Should I resort to sedation to keep you calm?”

“You don’t have to go that far!” Komaeda hurriedly exclaimed. “So severe, Matsuda-kun!”

“It’s just that I worry you’ll hack up a fucking lung at the rate you’re going.” With how irritated he is, he ends up fidgeting with one of the pages. He’s digs his thumbnail into the fleshy pad of his finger as a distraction. “You don’t have an upper respiratory condition yet. It’s best to not fucking test it.”

“I... Okay.” Komaeda nods along dolefully. “I understand, Matsuda-kun.”

Do you, though?

With how pitiful a picture Komaeda Nagito made, Matsuda decided against questioning him further. Just something about those down-turned eyes and hanging head riled a sense of protectiveness. Stupid. So stupid. He really is painfully easy, but it’s expectable at this point.

I need to be needed just as I need to breathe. It’s only a shame that Komaeda’s ideology is so fucking unfortunate.

“I wasn’t actually listening to a word you were saying,” he said. “That’s because I kind of think like everything you say about this school, about yourself, and about other people is...pretty contentious.”

“You’re so cynical,” Komaeda replies, tired but smiling all the same. Like a dog just waiting to be kicked.

He makes it so easy by being as passive as he is utterly fucking patronizing. Seriously, do you have any self-preservation at all?

He already knows the answer.

“Hey, Komaeda.”

He really is so easy.

“How are things going for you and your class anyway?”

“Oh!” Komaeda lights up on the spot. “They’re going wonderfully! Just last week, Koizumi-san gathered up all the other girls for a get-together! They’ve all gotten so close! Although Hanamura-kun and Souda-kun had rather unfortunate ideas that had to be dealt with. But, I think our class has only gotten stronger! They’re symbols of hope after all, and conflict strengthens bonds.”

“How are they treating you?” Matsuda asks, thoroughly uninterested in anything else.

“They’re so much kinder than I deserve! Mioda-san invited me to her concert! Koizumi-san helped me clean the other day! I was even allowed to make suggestions for the class trip, although I don’t think I’ll be able to go, ehe. I don’t want to ruin their fun with my rotten luck, after all, and they had a lot of fun last time when I got too sick to attend.”

Pitiful. Utterly pitiful.

But, with a quick inhale, Komaeda was excitedly going on. “They really are incredible. Even though they don’t like me at all, they still include me on the occasion. I’m sincerely grateful. They could just completely ignore me and they don’t! Isn’t that so kind? So wonderful? And I’ve only gotten poisoned once! Although I guess it’s not Saionji-san’s fault, she didn’t realize I was allergic, aha. And Tsumiki-san acted quite dutifully. And, and, and...”

“Stop.” Matsuda held up a hand. “Take deep breaths. And take another sip of water while you’re at it.”

Swallowing, Komaeda nodded quickly. He opened the bottle once more and took a swing.

“Oi,” Matsuda snapped. “Don’t fucking choke. It’s water, not alcohol.”

Komaeda does nod again, and he spills some of it. Bristling, Matsuda tore off some paper towels for him to use. Giggling, Komaeda at least had the decency to look pretty apologetic.

“I guess I do overdo it sometimes,” he admitted meekly. “It’s difficult. I’ve never been so happy.”

“Yeah?” Matsuda asked, unimpressed with an eyebrow raised. “So, who would you say you’re at least friends with?”

“Oh, no! No, no, no!” Komaeda shook his head furiously. “Someone like me friends with people like them—that’s ludicrous! I’m nowhere near that—!”

“Do you think any of them would consider you a friend if I asked?” Matsuda cut him off before he could finish. “Like the punk rocker? Or the cam girl?”

“Don’t call Koizumi-san that,” Komaeda snapped in return before getting all flustered. “And don’t be ridiculous, Matsuda-kun. Your jokes are too much. Both of them are just kind, they don’t like me. And they shouldn’t! I’m beneath them, lesser than them, I’m—!”

“Stop.” Komaeda did. Matsuda’s glare was unwavering. “Inhale. Exhale. You’re getting too worked up again.”

Komaeda breathed in sharply, his face twisting up in a way that was pretty distressed.

“I’m sorry, Matsuda-kun. But. Um. Obviously I’m not...”

“Considered a friend?” Matsuda guessed. Komaeda feebly nods along, and there’s not much to do but sigh. “That’s pretty pathetic, you know? Like, even the reserves have friends.”

Komaeda’s expression soured considerably. His lips pressed tightly together, showcasing a restraint that Matsuda hadn’t even thought possible.

“It’s better this way,” Komaeda finally said, and his tone was firm. Firm yet resigned. “It’s dangerous for people to be around me in the first place. And I’m already so disgustingly indulgent. I—mustn’t push my boundaries.”

“Do you not want friends?”

“What I want isn’t important.” The answer was immediate. “What is important is...”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask about that.” Matsuda waved his hand. “Do you want friends or not, Komaeda. Because I might know a guy.”

Komaeda blinks at him. His lip curls, and then he laughs.

“Your jokes are too much, Matsuda-kun!” he exclaims, not sounding remotely mirthful. “Really, I’m fine! I’m completely fine!”

His hands were squeezing into fists. Matsuda can already imagine his nails biting into the pale meat of his palms. Komaeda’s so tense it looks painful. He’s even shaking, but...at least he’s breathing, albeit erratically.

Matsuda ends up shrugging.

“If you say so.” What can I even say to a face like that? I feel like if I pushed it, his expression would twist so much that it’d cause literal cracks. “You could still use more hydration though. You talk too much.”

“Ahaha.” Komaeda’s smile is still straining, but he seems grateful regardless. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He spoke without thinking. “I imagine it’s nice to just be allowed to talk sometimes.”

Komaeda flushes, and he makes a complicated sound of agreement.

He’s not a bad person. He’s naïve, stubborn, and stupid—but not bad. He talks too much but that’s better than him not talking at all because his brain’s too rotted to even process thoughts. I’ll make sure he never gets to that point, even if I can’t fix all his other issues.

It was the least he could do for this person, Matsuda Yasuke supposed.

[spacechild-glitchypix]

Matsuda Yasuke Fanweek Day 1: Touch/Coordination

This is super short because aha, my motivation to do shit is fucked (I thought doing writing prompts would kick me back into a writing mood but apparently not I guess) but I wanted to contribute in some way so here. Not sure if I can do something for all the days but I sure made something for this day

The smooth metal of his scalpels. The rough paper in his manga. The many different textures of the snacks he eats. The weird rubbery fit of latex gloves. The plastic of a comb he used on long, silky hair not his own. The soft head of cotton that his patient called hair and he called a mop. Warm arms that enclosed around him like snakes.

All of these were sensations Yasuke Matsuda was familiar with, the things he touched commonly that he wouldn’t think a second thought about usually.

Now, as he could feel his consciousness slip away for what would likely be the last time, as he felt all his senses slip away from him and all his thoughts escape from his head. In that moment, there was one thing Yasuke could feel himself touching.

The wet warmth of his blood, pooling around him as his head grew fuzzier and fuzzier until there was nothing.

[hopegroundzero2]

Day 7 Start!

Last day! *cries* Alreadyyyyyyy?! Whyyyyyy?! Uuuu. Well. You can still submit late entries... That’s something, I suppose.

Remember the tag  yasukematsudaweek2020 and remember that you can also @ this blog or submit it directly. Remember that tumblr sometimes sucks and that I also sometimes suck so if you feel I missed your entry, do not hesitate to message me and let me know. Remember Matsuda-kun. Please don’t forget him. And today’s prompt?

Free Day!

Yep, you can submit whatever! The joy of free thinking! Or the terror! If you feel you need a prompt, I have a list of 30 alternatives on the prompts page of this blog. You may have noticed I wrote ficlets for all of them to give potential examples and ways to convey them. Hopefully it helps if you need it. But in case it doesn’t, uhhh... There’s always hanakotoba. You can’t go wrong with that. At least I think so. Matsuda-kun...is like a rose. Prickly.

Best of luck to anyone who participates! I’ll make a proper thank you tomorrow to those who shared their works and helped share this blog! It all means very, very much! Thank you! I’ll still thank you again tomorrow. :>

And finally, a poem:

I’m actually quite dim

And struggled with each poem

My skill’s quite grim

But I do it for him.

For Matsuda-kun, I’d do it again! <3

[magioftheseas]

Beyond Reason

Day 5: Reasoning/Memory

Summary: If Kamukura Izuru could be difficult to deal with—it might mean he’s not completely inhuman.

Rating: T

Warnings: References to pretty unethical human experimentation.

Notes: Kamukura was another obvious choice for today’s prompt although he could work for tomorrow’s prompt, too, I supposed. But, well, I went with him today and so here he is. I like when he’s severe. I like severe. You might have noticed that already.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He’s not sure what kind of person Kamukura Izuru would be, exactly. He had a couple of ideas. Passive, soft-spoken, pliable, pitiful—the kind of person easy to manipulate and use as nothing more than a prop. He just hadn’t been prepared for the reality of what someone like that would be.

“Kamukura Izuru,” he says, and he fidgets with his clipboard and pen. He can’t help but wish he had a book on him. Something else to draw his attention besides this heinous violation of ethics. “I’ll be recording your progress. Ultimate Neurologist. Matsuda Yasuke. I...”

“You are the youngest one I have seen,” Kamukura Izuru observes simply, staring up at him with piercing red eyes curtained by rapidly lengthening ebony strands. “The researchers must trust you very little, given the risks of your situation. How unfortunate for you, but predictable. Boring.”

Matsuda’s first thought: Wow, he’s an asshole. His second thought: Hinata Hajime used to be this.

This is an entirely different being the world has never seen.

“You’re right,” he conceded. “Although they have me here out of a sadistic hope as well. I’ve no doubts that the old fucks would find it pretty cathartic if I got smacked around or terrorized by a superhuman.”

“Spite as well as your apparent disposability,” Kamukura Izuru remarked. “You truly are in quite the regrettable situation. But, given your surly demeanor and the way you shift anxiously on your feet, you must be well aware.”

Matsuda stiffens, and Kamukura Izuru’s eyes sweep up him quickly. Cold and analytical like he was being scanned by a machine.

“So boring,” Kamukura Izuru murmured. “This is such a predictable set of circumstances. You must be quite foolish as well as stubborn. I predict, then, that you will meet an ill-fated end.”

Matsuda’s gotten unfavorable fortunes before from Junko dragging him to them out on whims. She used to mock them relentlessly, especially for what she’d get but Matsuda—Matsuda couldn’t help but be leery when he consistently was warned about the negative energy he apparently radiated. That might’ve just been his scowl, but... He knows that Ultimate Fortune Teller is one of Kamukura Izuru’s talents, along with Risk Management and Psychologist. Kamukura Izuru isn’t trying to swindle or scare him. Kamukura Izuru has no reason to care, and all of the impulse to be blunt with how the surgery had thoroughly stripped away every strand of humanity that could be found.

I just got here and I feel sick. But. Push on. It’s not like I have other choices.

“Yes, well.” Matsuda swallowed. “It’s not about me. As you said. I’m disposable. I just need to follow directions and report back to the higher ups. You can pay me about as much attention as a fly.”

He was already irritably scribbling down, “Cold and calculating yet able to get an accurate reading of a person at a glance. He has enhanced perception to almost the level of premonition.”

Pausing, he does cast another glance at Kamukura Izuru. Ultimate Hope, sitting atop his bed with a now vacant stare and still dressed in a hospital gown. For a moment, he couldn’t help but remember Hinata. Lying there with all light snuffed out, saying nothing as the researchers cooed about what a wonderful symbol he’d make. Matsuda blinks, and he can’t help but wonder.

“What do you remember?”

“Before waking up?” Kamukura Izuru asks, unaffected as ever. “Nothing. That was the start of my existence, so to speak, so it is unsurprising. You had already known what the effects would be in creating me, did you not? If you are still concerned about the previous identity, that is illogical.”

Illogical. I guess that’s one word for it.

“You look disappointed,” Kamukura then remarked, unimpressed. “How ridiculous. Did you not say your talent was neurology?”

“Yeah, but this is new territory,” Matsuda replied, grimacing. “I have no idea if it would work exactly as planned, and...”

Well. Looks like it had. I bet those old fucks are patting themselves on the back and jerking each other off in triumph. Meanwhile, I—I’m just doing damage control, I guess.

“If it had been thoroughly planned, then success was inevitable,” Kamukura Izuru said. “Did you not wish it to be so? I see. You truly are a dull person, Matsuda Yasuke.”

Matsuda sighs and he nods along.

“Yeah. That’s another word for it. I was definitely a fucking idiot for hoping otherwise when I knew what was going to happen.” He reaches out, brushing Kamukura Izuru’s hair back with the end of his pen. “You probably know what’s going to happen to you from now on, huh? Wonder what that’s like.”

“Someone as short-sighted and hapless as yourself would not be able to comprehend it,” Kamukura said, so stoically that Matsuda almost wanted to poke his eye to see if that’d get a reaction. He decided against testing it for obvious reasons.

“You don’t look afraid though, or even resigned,” Matsuda observed, pursing his lips. “You’ve got a hell of a superiority complex, though. Guess that part of Hinata Hajime remained.”

“Incorrect. It is merely incidental.”

“You’re sure about that?” Matsuda scoffed. “That’s not something that can be proven one way or the other.”

“You are incorrect,” Kamukura insisted. His tone hadn’t changed at all. “It is merely incidental.”

Matsuda tapped his pen to the experiment’s forehead, harrumphing as he did.

“Bit of a stubborn streak. Guess that got retained, too.”

“Incorrect.”

“Persistent fucker. I hated that about Hinata Hajime. Looking forward to hating it about you, too.” Although he suspects he might end up being grateful for it in the future. If Kamukura Izuru could be difficult to deal with—it might mean he’s not completely inhuman. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ll take care of you. Is what I guess I should say, even when I don’t mean the first part at all.”

Kamukura Izuru blinks at him.

“You are...quite unreasonable, aren’t you?”

Matsuda snorted.

“Nice to meet you. Fucker.”

[magioftheseas]

I wanted to make something a bit more...visually interesting? Than the other ones??? You might be able to guess the inspiration pretty easily, but I still hope it’s okay. I wasn’t sure whether to go for a realistic heart or not and I just went with this. Matsuda-kun has both his sleeves up because you need both sleeves up for an operation.

And because I completely forgot.

[magioftheseas]

I had to draw something with both mascots for the last day! This is actually the second version and I’m a lot happier with it, similar with Day 1. Both Day 1 and Day 7 have two versions...wild how things work sometimes.

I don’t want the week to be over though... :<

[magioftheseas]

Spice for the Heart

Day 6: Emotion/Heart

Summary: “If you’re serious about this—that has to mean you’d do absolutely anything for Hope’s Peak, right? What’s a little spiciness for Hope’s Peak?”

Rating: T (?)

Warnings: Kamukura Project is a thing. It’s more vaguely mentioned here though.

Notes: It starts pretty similarly to the MatsuKamu fic but it’s a bit...more light-hearted? Kinda? A little? Maybe??? I don’t write MatsuHina very often but it’s a good ship. Two spiky boys. Prickling and pining for each other. Also Matsuda giving Hinata a hard time. It’s pretty fun.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

When he first heard that someone was considering accepting the terms of being a willing body for the Kamukura Izuru project, Matsuda suspected that they’d be a particular kind of person. Someone as dull as they were unhappy, someone probably at least a little broken already, and perhaps someone who had already wanted to die before and this just provided the best opportunity for it. Either way, someone not worth getting attached to, not that he was going to with his hands full of Junko.

Hinata Hajime is—more or less what Matsuda suspected. A pretty unremarkable person, albeit also skittish with a nervously darting gaze. He looked uncomfortable not just to stand before him but also to exist, just, in general.

“You’ll be kind to him, won’t you, Matsuda-kun?” the headmaster asks ever amicably, gesturing towards Hinata Hajime as if Matsuda would somehow be unable to see him. Considering how Hinata’s shoulders were hunching, he may have been trying to make himself small under a sharp gaze.

Urgh. That’s a project, alright. Pass.

Except he couldn’t. The steering committee would have his head if he backed out now. Irritating. This dumbass meanwhile wanted to consent to being disposable, and he could decide against it, too. Matsuda’s first real feelings towards Hinata Hajime were as follows:

I want to hate him. At least a little.

“I’m starved,” he said instead. “Headmaster, can I be excused and go eat? I think I’ve seen all that I need to see here.”

“Are you going off-campus?” Jin Kirigiri asked. When Matsuda nodded, that slick smile widened. “You don’t mind taking Hinata-kun along, do you?”

Hinata Hajime jumped, eyes stupidly wide at the suggestion. Matsuda wasn’t surprised. Of fucking course the headmaster would want the future project to feel more at ease. More like he wasn’t making the world’s stupidest decision. An excuse nips at the end of Matsuda’s tongue, and he has half a mind to outright say he has zero fucking interest in keeping up a shitty pretense—but instead, he shrugs.

“What the hell ever. If he wants to come, I can’t stop him.” If he wants to get himself killed to be used as a puppet for a committee of egomaniacal old fuckers, I can’t stop him there, either. “I’m leaving right now though, so he better keep up.”

True to his word, he doesn’t wait before turning heel. He hears Hinata Hajime sputter, but he’s already on the move. He may have been walking faster than usual, but all the same—

“W-Wait! Please wait!”

Hinata Hajime stumbles after him and sprints to catch up to him.

“M-Matsuda, right?! Matsuda!”

Matsuda does glance in his direction, but he doesn’t answer until Hinata bumps shoulders with him.

“Matsuda Yasuke. Ultimate Neurologist. Blood type A. Special interests include manga, cats, rice crackers, and throwing scalpels at people who annoy the fuck out of me.”

“U-Urk.” Hinata’s quick to create some distance. “I—um. You’ve got some attitude.” At Matsuda’s unimpressed side-glare, he hurriedly backpedaled. “I-I mean! I’m just surprised! I thought you’d be more—serious, I guess?”

“Drop the simpering formality, jackass. I already have to deal with a particularly obnoxious believer in the class opposite of mine.” Matsuda clicks his tongue. “Making friends with you just seems stupid when you’re probably going to drop out.”

“I don’t want to drop out!” Hinata exclaimed. “I wanted to go to Hope’s Peak my whole life! To come this far only to drop out is a bit...”

Poor fucking soul. But he doesn’t have dementia, so I don’t care. There’s no reason to care. No cure for abject stupidity.

“How good are you at handling spicy food?”

“Huh?” Hinata blinked, taken aback. “I—I’m at least alright at it, I think? I’ve had spicy food on the occasion.”

“Good enough. I can’t handle it at all. So, do me a favor and eat the spiciest bowl at the place we’re going to. You get a prize. I want the prize.”

Hinata’s expression dropped instantly.

“Excuse me?”

“If you don’t, I’ll have to mark you as mentally incapable of participating in the project,” Matsuda said simply. “Because if you’re serious about this—that has to mean you’d do absolutely anything for Hope’s Peak, right? What’s a little spiciness for Hope’s Peak?”

Hinata goes slack. He doesn’t point out it’s more than a little. He just makes a sad, distressed little noise, like a trapped rodent. It’s so pathetic that anyone just a little soft-hearted might take mercy. Unfortunately, Matsuda had a heart of cold stone.

And then, there they were, sitting at the noodle place. Hinata with the spiciest bowl, eyes watering just from the steam and the smell. Matsuda had already put on a face mask and sat a few chairs away to watch intently. Hinata began to eat.

And he—couldn’t finish it. He couldn’t even get most of it.

“I was joking,” Matsuda said to the sulking pinecone chewing rather forlornly on mochi. He gave Hinata a napkin to blow his nose on. It was still running. Pretty gross. “I’m surprised you not only earnestly tried but also admitted defeat,” he added. “And I mean, hey, at least you knew your limits. That’s something.”

Something I didn’t actually expect.

“You’re a monster,” Hinata uttered weakly. “Just. A demon. What the actual fuck, Matsuda Yasuke.”

You’ll be more of one if you actually agree to the project.

“Just letting you know the kind of people you’re going to have to get cozy with,” he said. “If you think getting treated like shit stops when you’re talented, that’s not true. Ultimates bully each other all the time. If anything, they’re worse about it because the school simultaneously inflates their egos while stomping them into the ground. I guess though that there are still benefits.”

Hinata shoots him a glare.

“Regardless, no one here is going to validate you the way you want to be validated. Even after the project’s complete. If you’re doing that for emotional fulfillment, I suggest looking elsewhere. Like at an animal shelter or something.”

“Thanks for the sage advice,” Hinata snapped, swallowing down the last bit of cold rice cake and slapping his chest a few times. Matsuda imagines that heart of his pulsing, but Hinata’s glaring at him. “I think I know better than to listen to an asshole like you now.”

“It is nice to meet you,” Matsuda muttered softly. “I’ll pay for the meal so feel free to go.”

“Goodbye.” Hinata doesn’t even wait before standing up. “And I bet you’re wrong. About everything.”

He leaves in a hurry, still flustered as he does. After the door shuts behind him, Matsuda hums as he slurps another bout of (mildly spicy) noodles.

It’s almost heartbreaking how easy and dumb he is. Almost. Don’t get attached, Yasuke. Don’t fucking do it.

Too bad he seldom listened to anyone, including himself.

[magioftheseas]

The President’s Poise

Day 2: Vision/Posture

Summary: A lot of his classmates relied on Murasame to keep them in check, but Murasame was only a person. He was just absurdly understanding, and even more absurdly patient.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None, really.

Notes: I actually rather like Murasame a lot. He’s probably the more “realistic” version of Naegi and it’s pretty sad. I mean I headcanon him to be pretty spectacularly different from Munakata because...reasons. And it’d be more interesting for the character. His relationship with Matsuda in particular hurts my heart a lot because you can tell Matsuda was pretty fond of him. Just...not fond enough...it seems. Oh. But this fic’s not angsty, actually. It’s probably the least angsty. Ironically.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“Matsuda-kun? Are you awake?”

The question is asked quietly, just in case. Matsuda even hears the careful shutting of the door, also quiet. Twitching, face still buried in his arms against the table, he elected to not answer. Silence was golden, after all.

Even so, Murasame still stepped up to him, shifting from one foot to the other. A nervous tick the other had. There’s the rustling of papers and, oh. So, that’s why the Class President was bothering him when it was generally agreed among their class that he be left alone most of the time.

Matsuda let out a heavy sigh. Murasame’s response was a good-natured and apologetic chuckle.

“Sorry, it’s just plans for the school festival. Even if we don’t see much of each other, we’re still on the class roster and I think it’s important to ask everyone’s opinion on this.” Murasame paused to look over Matsuda’s desk where he tried to sleep. His cordial expression twisted with a wary grimace. “You really should tidy this up.”

“As long as I know where everything is, it’s no big deal,” Matsuda snapped, waving his hand. “Don’t be such a worrywart. There’s enough in the world that’s actually kinda stressful. The fact that we’re still expected to partake in inane high school activities for the sake of a salivating crowd, for instance. We’re all monkeys dancing for those old fucks’ coins.” He snorted in disgust. “I say have the Ultimate Pyrotechnic rig the entire school to burn to the ground. That would at least be worthwhile.”

“It would also be an act of terrorism, Matsuda-kun,” Murasame pointed out dryly. Due to the lack of room on the desk, he stacked the pile of papers onto the spare chair pulled out. Like an idiot, he was left standing. “Having a sense of normalcy can be calming. Maybe instead of the steering committee, you can think of the students?”

“There’s not much to think about when I barely see them,” Matsuda replied. “In contrast I have to see those moldy mugs far, far too often.”

“That’s all the more reason to get involved. It’s much better to be around your peers than your—bosses. I guess.”

Finally, Matsuda lifted his head to give his classmate an actual look. Murasame still stood there, but his posture was straight. The kind of posture any teenager would take when trying to come across as an adult. Professional, mature, steadfast. The exact kind of image that Hope’s Peak wanted to portray.

He didn’t doubt that Murasame still felt anxious. Unsure. Maybe a bit intimidated, especially as Matsuda’s stare narrowed. When he decided to try and meet Murasame’s own gaze, those eyes ended up averting for a brief moment.

And after that moment, Murasame offered a welcoming smile. It reminded Matsuda of their hapless headmaster—and despite the instinctive distaste at such a comparison, he supposed that at least Murasame could still afford the sincerity that the adults here lacked.

“Hand they over,” Matsuda said, holding out his hand. “I guess I might as well read through them. Although there better not be false advertisement of a cat café in there. I’ll be pissed.”

“No animals,” Murasame reported as he gave him the papers. “Umesawa-san is still allergic to fur.”

“Tragic.”

With that, he did flip through. There were generic suggestions. A haunted house, fortune telling, a magic show, but nothing to do with food beyond the shitty maid cafe. There wasn’t much point to that when the opposite class had an Ultimate Cook and they didn’t. There were a couple actually related to talents. Dress-up contests, a plushie workshop, calligraphy painting...but obviously they couldn’t exactly go with something that only one of them excelled at.

These talents could be used for setting up the generic stuff. Murasame likely knows this. What is he hoping for, then? A list of ideas to try and squeeze into one project?

Now where have I heard that before?

Matsuda shook his head.

At least this guy is trying to make everyone happy.

“I have nothing to add,” he ultimately said. “From what I see, you’ve covered all your bases.”

Murasame laughed even though it wasn’t really meant to be funny. He must’ve laughed because he took it as a joke.

“I’ve found that’s usually impossible,” was the earnest, blunt reply. “Someone always ends up feeling a little disappointed.”

“Considering how hard you work, that person must be pretty entitled and bratty,” Matsuda said, unimpressed. “You’re just one guy. You can’t do everything.”

“Easy to say.” Murasame was still smiling, but while it was cordial as always, there was the slightest pinch in his brow. “Difficult to believe when people do expect everything from the Ultimate Student Council President.”

“I’m not expecting everything from you.” He lightly smacks the stack of papers to Murasame’s forehead. “I already know you’ll do fine.”

Murasame doesn’t seem all that convinced, but he nods along politely, taking the papers back.

“Thank you. It’s not often you’re encouraging, so I appreciate it.”

Matsuda whistled.

“Even you’re capable of a bit of bite. Well, you wouldn’t be much of a leader if you rolled over in every conflict.” He paused. “You wouldn’t be much of a person, either. Don’t hurt your back too much carrying this class.”

“I will likely have to speak with Tsumiki-san about health risks,” Murasame replied. “In the other class. That’s not too much trouble, is it?”

“I’m not friends with her,” Matsuda retorted. “But I do know she loves being useful, so you’d be doing her a favor, actually. Just be careful. She’s...and you’re...”

The thing is, Murasame’s a decent guy. If there’s anyone on this planet who’s good at avoiding making someone cry, it’s him. And Gekkogahara-sensei, obviously, but that’s a given. He should be fine, but...

He can’t help but worry. Because a lot of his classmates relied on Murasame to keep them in check, but Murasame was only a person. In spite of his talent and in spite of others who’ve had that talent before, Matsuda could tell that the guy was still...pretty normal. He wasn’t particularly charismatic, he wasn’t an oppressive personality, and he sure as shit wasn’t someone who’d work happily for Hope’s Peak while knowing all the terrible things they do. He was just absurdly understanding, and even more absurdly patient.

He could be very well destined to crumble, but Matsuda hoped not. The future could actually use people like him—but a broken world was much more likely to break other people than get fixed by the few good ones.

“It’ll be fun,” Murasame said, smiling. “The festival, I mean. Please think about attending, Matsuda-kun? I’d like to see you there.”

As long as this guy’s still standing, I guess there’s still some stuff to look forward to.

“Sure... Why not?”

[magioftheseas]

Sweet Escape

Day 7: Free Day

Summary: She looks at him happily, and when she turns back to her journal, she squeals once more. Chanting the words “sweet escape” and “a date” over and over. One would think she was busted and needed to be replaced, but, unfortunately, this was actually the best model available.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Some violent thoughts but they’re off-handed.

Notes: I thought it’d be neat to end off with Ryouko. I like Ryouko. She’s a good girl. It’s like...back to zero. If Ryouko could be considered a zero. I say. Super lovingly, I swear. I do really like these two. This one’s kinda fluffy but the circumstances... Well...

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He should’ve known that today was going to be a shit day the second he woke up with a headache. Sure that was most days, but something about that particular headache on a day where he also spilled his coffee and banged his leg on the table was—significant. Although those were also common occurrences.

What wasn’t common was his fucking office being locked with a message hung up on the door.

Cleaning in progress, it read.

Seriously?!

Matsuda had half a mind to break the lock. He could hear humming through the door. He’s never been more pissed in his life. He’s so pissed he doesn’t even know where to start. Kicking the door? Rattling the doorknob? Just screaming? So many options.

Just as he’s about to burst, someone slams into him. He jumps, hisses through his teeth, and his anger does not die down when he sees a head of red buried into his shoulder. Annoyance does, however, rise in his throat as the redhead giggles rather creepily. It may have even been drooling.

“Definitely Matsuda-kun... Smells like sweat and coffee, ehehehe.”

“Ryouko,” he growls, shoving her off hard enough that she topples back and falls onto her behind. She yelps. She doesn’t lose her grip on her invaluable notebook nor the pen between her fingers, and Matsuda did wonder for a moment if she may have sprained them. However, that budding concern dies before it can come to life when she beams up at him.

“Matsuda-kun! Good...!” She blinks, blank-faced before checking the window and then nodding firmly. “Morning! It is in fact morning!”

“And you’re in fact as ugly as you are stupid,” he snapped. “If you get in my space again, I’ll have to call animal control.”

“Uwah!” She gaped like a fish. “That’s not nice! I’m not an animal! I’m human! Super human!”

“Subpar human,” Matsuda corrected, unimpressed. “So barely a human that your existence could be considered a crime against humanity.”

“You’re so grumpy in the...!” Another glance at the window. “Morning! Good morning, Matsuda-kun!” She’s back to grinning stupidly. “Ehehehe, I get to see Matsuda-kun’s beautiful scowl first thing in the morning! I, um...” She checks her notebook. “Yeah! That’s right! I was going to ask Matsuda-kun out on a date! A new café opened, you see... I think? Wait, what does this say...?” She’s squinting now, and Matsuda watches vacantly as several months and years of research struggles on how to read. “Buh, buh, bunny. Star Bunny? Star Bunny! Wait, why bunnies? Oh! It’s a café! Matsuda-kun, do you want to go to a café?”

She’s looking at him expectantly. He’s half-tempted to just say nothing. She’ll forget quickly after all. He could do this all day if he really wanted to. He just—doesn’t want to.

“Do you know where it is?”

“Where what is?” She looked back down at her notes. “I—I have this!” She pulls out a folded up menu from between the pages. “Whatever this is!”

He snatches it from her, and it’s in fact the café mentioned. Oh, gross, it even had an absurdly cutesy rabbit mascot next to the name. Actually, it kinda reminded him of that shitty AI that was to be attached to the Neo World Program. What are the odds?

He does look through the menu and the choices, and his expression does light up. Just a little. The pictures and descriptions sounded promising enough.

“Oh! Matsuda-kun!” Ryouko gets to her feet and is now peering at the menu curiously. “What’s this?”

He smacks her for getting too close.

“Get back. I don’t want your ugliness to get all rubbed off on me.” With an irritated click of his tongue, he went on his way, waving for her to follow. “Now keep up or I’ll be forced to leave you behind.”

“O-Oh no! I don’t want to be left behind!”

In her panic, she nearly trips and stumbles. Rather annoyingly though, she steadies herself before he even needs to catch her. Scoffing at this, Matsuda resumed his brisk pace with Ryouko skipping along cheerfully, face splitting with euphoria.

“Ehehehehe, Matsuda-kun and I are going on a date! Gonna need to write this down so that I don’t forget!” She’s already scribbling it in her journal. Matsuda catches a glimpse of some crudely drawn hearts added to the entry and quickly looks away. “Hey, hey, Matsuda-kun. Where are we going for our date? The movies? The amusement park? An oasis? The moon?!”

“You can go to the moon when the moon people abduct you,” Matsuda muttered. “It’s not to any of those places. Quit babbling so much. You’re going to set this fucking planet ablaze.”

“But! I’m excited!!” she exclaimed, stars in her eyes. “I’m on a date with Matsuda-kun! Even the chilly moon could be set ablaze with the fiery passion I feel right now!”

“I’m only going with you because I’m free, not because I want to,” he snapped, smacking her lightly with the menu once more. “By the way, we’re going to a café. Write that down because I’m sick of having to tell you.”

“A café! A café!” Ryouko writes it down, squealing. “It’s a sweet escape! A sweet! Escape!”

I could never fucking escape you, he thought sardonically. Even if you tore your throat out.

She looks at him happily, and when she turns back to her journal, she squeals once more. Chanting the words “sweet escape” and “a date” over and over. One would think she was busted and needed to be replaced, but, unfortunately, this was actually the best model available. And it was the one he was stuck with under the best of circumstances.

I’ll never be free from her. But... That’s okay. As long as she can smile like that without a hint of malice, I don’t mind being trapped. I don’t mind trapping her like this, either.

“Ryouko,” he said, handing her the menu. “Here. Write down what you want so that you can order right away, okay?”

“Order?” she parroted before reading over her journal. She nodded furiously and took the menu. “Right, right! Sweet escape!”

“Escape,” Matsuda echoed, wondering if Junko would scream were she aware.

[magioftheseas]

I seriously have no idea what my intention was when drawing this. I just drew it. I guess they’re having a friendly discussion about mental illness, and it’s up to you what they’re actually saying. But Matsuda-kun is looking awfully tired, isn’t he?

This could easily be TDPverse, or whatever it’s called so I’m not going to link the fic this time. I really like TDPverse and am bummed that none of the supplementary characters got in. It would’ve been cool, is all. I guess supplementary characters only get focus when it’s a gatcha...

[magioftheseas]

After Despair Lesson

Day 3: Hearing/Learning

Summary: It’s such simple fucking logic that what can he do but laugh and laugh? And then, he realizes what’s going to happen now that Junko’s been so devastatingly defeated and humiliated.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Violence and death. Because y’know.

Notes: I just had the idea of Matsuda watching Naegi defeat Junko and Junko’s subsequent, self-inflicted execution and ran with it. Guess this means she actually gets a fic and a half devoted to her for this week. God, will the Junko favoritism ever end? Sorry, Naegi-kun, but maybe your execution shouldn’t have been school-themed. I wonder if this can be considered unlucky...

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He hadn’t given this kid a second thought in high school, and now this was on the big screen, confident and defiant. And Junko is just sputtering like an idiot. Any arguments she makes, he shuts down. The people are stirring. Matsuda can hear some of them screaming along with Junko. It’s all so graceless.

“Hope will prevail!” Naegi Makoto declares, without a sliver of irony nor doubt. Matsuda can hardly believe his own ears. “As long as you have hope, you can carry on no matter what!”

Junko curses him out, sputtering so pitifully that Matsuda feels a twinge of disbelief and resentment. Then, that disbelief shifted to incredulous anger.

This is it? This is all it fucking took? All this time? After everything?

Everything had been destroyed so goddamn thoroughly, he thought. Even with the Future Foundation’s best efforts, the world had showed no interest in turning away from despair. Every single day stuck under the same blood-red sky. Without fail. He knew it wouldn’t probably last like this once Junko died, but—to have her be defeated, and by some fucking guy in an oversized hoodie with his eyes and idealism too big for his stature, it was preposterous. It was asinine.

It was fucking infuriating.

Naegi Makoto’s ideals, his beliefs, his statements—they weren’t shit Matsuda had never heard before. Work hard and it’ll pay off. Be kind and the world will be kind in return. Fucking—things will get better, just have hope.

He’s heard it all before. He thought this world had finally, finally thoroughly demolished them.

And, yet. Here’s this guy—this kid, really, even if he’s technically only a year younger. With shining gaze and sincerity. Not being laughed at. Not being dismissed. Staring down Junko, with his classmates beside him. All standing tall, all refusing to be dissuaded from childish ideals that had only ever been trampled time and time again in Matsuda’s experience.

Just—what the actual hell? It doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make any sense at all.

Then, the headmaster’s daughter gives that kid a title. A title that leaves everything already crumbled at Matsuda’s feet utterly decimated.

“Ultimate Hope.”

His jaw locks.

It’s a joke. It has to be a fucking joke. This whole thing can’t be real. I’m dreaming. I have to be.

“Hope? HOPE?!” Junko screeches, so high-pitched that it hurts over the loud speakers. There are other shrieks. Matsuda is numb.

They don’t remember, he thinks. They couldn’t possibly know. This kind of irony is—it’s too fucking much for it to be real. There’s no way this is real.

His nails dig into his arm. It doesn’t do much good. It wouldn’t have done good under normalized circumstances after the world imploded into chaos under Junko’s direction and reign. It’s been far, far too long since he’s felt pain normally.

“I refuse to give up,” Naegi Makoto had said. His voice rose more and more with each breath. “I refuse to get bored! I refuse to throw it all away! I refuse to despair! Because all I have going for me is the desire to keep moving forward!”

It was a display of stupid fucking hope, alright. Naïve and unadulterated, and Matsuda felt his stomach churn. But rather than throw up, from his chest came a burst of laughter.

“You claim there's no hope left in the world. But if despair is contagious like you say, then so is hope!”

It’s such simple fucking logic that what can he do but laugh and laugh?

He’s got you there, doesn’t he, Junko? Doesn’t he?!

His laughter only gets worse when he sees the unimpressed twitch in Junko’s displeased expression. How her lips curl into a snarl. Matsuda Yasuke laughs so hard at it all that tears bead in his eyes.

All this time—all this fucking time, it was that fucking simple! Who knew?! Who the hell knew?! We wasted so much fucking time! So many fucking people died! And this is what it all culminated in! Some fucking bright-eyed brat just adamantly refusing to give up!

He’s curled up, clutching his gut as his entire body quakes with mirth.

So what have we learned today? Matsuda wonders, covering his mouth and muffling his giggles. That sometimes—shit really is just that fucking simple! God, what the hell have we all been doing? Just what—what the hell have we been doing?

He can hear Junko laugh, too. He’s not surprised she’s also amused. Hell, she’s probably ecstatic to fail this fucking hard and this fucking embarrassingly on live television. Don’t they all feel utterly ridiculous right now? Matsuda nearly coughs up a lung from how much he’s been laughing.

And then, he realizes what’s going to happen now that Junko’s been so devastatingly defeated and humiliated. The only thing left for them all to do to escape this horrific embarrassment of a realization. Matsuda quiets immediately. He blinks up at the screen.

No.

That idiot kid, that Ultimate Hope, is offering Junko his hand. His expression is soft and sympathetic. It’s so disgusting that Matsuda’s not even surprised that Junko violently recoils at the sight of it. He’d flinch, too. He’s not surprised at all, but he still finds himself denying the inevitability, hoping against hoping.

No, no, no, no.

Junko is smiling. Grinning. Beaming. Her eyes are the same chaotic swirl that tore the world asunder. Her teeth are showing, sharp and euphoric.

Please, no.

She slams her hand happily on the button, and Matsuda hears a scream of her name. It only registers vaguely in the back of his mind that he’s the one screaming.

“JUNKO!”

Of course no matter how much he screamed, he begged, he prayed that things would turn out differently—nothing would change. Nothing at all. No matter how much he had wanted to and hoped he’d save her, it would always lead to this, to Junko happily embracing her own self-destruction and him helpless and only able to watch.

Watch as she smiles, smiles, smiles her way through execution after execution. It’s the biggest show yet, drawn out and grand. She’s never been happier. He’s never seen her happier. He’s never even truly see her happy until this moment.

Each slam of the compactor against the ground is more deafening than the last as Junko cheerfully sits on the conveyor belt towards. She flashes a peace sign. Matsuda remembers what this execution was themed after.

What did we all learn today?

Junko gets crushed with a loud, sickening squelch. There is a moment of baffled, horrified silence, but it’s not long before the screaming and sobbing begin. People are wailing, beating the ground in disbelief. Matsuda blinks tiredly, taking it all in. And the feed just—it keeps going. He sees the shaken survivors, he sees them steel themselves, passing each other reassuring stares. Some of them even hold hands, squeezing before they just, all shuffle away. Exit stage right.

The feed continues, because it has to be shut off manually. Someone breaks the screen. There’s rampaging. Matsuda can only hold himself steady, so tightly that he could’ve torn himself open.

It had all been so simple. So obvious. And, yet...

He felt sick. So, so sick.

I want to rip my ears off.

[magioftheseas]

Part of Her Castle

Day 1: Touch/Coordination

Summary: If you were the subject of her focus, you’d inevitably feel as grand as the fucking universe. Matsuda couldn't imagine living any other way.

Rating: PG

Warnings: It’s Junko but she’s a kid so she’s not as bad as she could be...yet.

Notes: I’m also writing for the Matsuda Fan Week that I’m hosting over on @hopegroundzero2 among other things. They’re all pretty short fics, but I hope you enjoy them all the same.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

Her hand was still grainy with sand as she yanked him along.

“It’s right here! Right there! Can’t miss it, no sireee!”

She’s laughing brightly even as Matsuda scowls back at her, ever unimpressed. Still, she’s not to be deterred even if she’s at least a little antsy. She practically gallops like a horse, and Matsuda suspected that she’d only stomp more if she actually had hooves. He says nothing, even when her yanking gets a little painful. Any harder and she might dislocate his arm.

Although she’s always been reckless, especially at the expense of others. But she also is—genuinely excited, it looks like. Her eyes are sparkling and her grin looks so big it must hurt. Matsuda almost wants to smooth out the hard edges of her smile. Almost. It’d be weird if he did, so he doesn’t dare attempt it.

“Aaaaaand here! There!”

She still practically throws him forward before the sand castle she’s in the process of making.

“What do you think?!”

He was jittery before he was almost sent crashing into the creation. He can’t really think, but when he does look at the castle in all its...incomplete glory...

“You’re doing good so far. Looks like. You couldn’t wait to show me when it was done?”

She just laughs into her hand. Matsuda does note that her nails have already been picked clean. A useless gesture when she wasn’t done, yet—but maybe the texture of sand really did bother her. Sometime, it was hard to tell when it was Junko.

Despite knowing her so well, he’s still not always ready to dodge when she lunges at him, grabbing his arm and squeezing. Bruising.

“I wanted you to watch me work! To direct me! To warn me in case of tsunamis! That kind of thing!”

“Even a dippy idiot like you would know when to expect a tidal wave,” Matsuda snapped, unimpressed. “The waves would recede. You’re too observant for your own good to not notice something like that, even when you get obnoxiously caught up in whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I do get super caught up,” she agrees, and she’s rubbing his arm now. Gently. In almost massage-like motions. A touch meant to be as reassuring as it was manipulative. Her large blue eyes, too, worked their magic, and Matsuda felt weak already. Dangerous. Super dangerous. “I want this castle to turn out eeeeeextra cool. So much so that envious losers will die from ice in their veins when they see it. So, I want to focus more than usual. So, so, can’t you look out for me while I do? Please, Matsuda-kun?” She presses close to him, lower lip quivering. “Pleeeeeease?”

“You’ve already dragged me out this far,” he pointed out. “I don’t think walking away is an option.”

She wouldn’t allow that in the first place.

“Nope!” Junko chirped, beaming at him without a hint of shame. There’s a gleam in her gaze as if she knew as well as he did the power she lauded over him. She entwines their fingers, squeezes briefly, and pulls away. She might as well have shackled him to her with a gesture like that.

He sits down where he is. She turns and immediately gets to work. She moves quiet furiously, digging her fingers into the sand and molding the clumps. She’s quite thorough, detailing intricate designs in the walls and shaping the structures to however she sees fit. Junko’s in her element when she has this much control. She’s in love with it.

Matsuda, captivated, can’t help but be surprised how passionate she is about these whim projects. There’s no one else here to admire and balk at her elaborate process for something as simple as a sandcastle. He can’t imagine how many famous pieces of architecture she may have put to shame with this creation. It’s a sight to behold. Both the castle and Junko’s intense focus.

She’s so focused that it’s like nothing else even exists. It’s pretty unsettling. She dragged him all the way out here so that he could watch her work, and now it’s like his presence doesn’t even matter, isn’t even worth consideration in her orbit. It was another way she was good about making a person feel worthless. On the other, if you were the subject of her focus the way that damn castle was, you’d inevitably feel as grand as the fucking universe.

She’s scary like that, he couldn’t help but think. The fact that she knows the kind of effect she has on people, too—it’s scary. Right now I feel like I’m being crushed.

The atmosphere not graced by Junko’s attention grew oppressive and constrictive. Like the world was shriveling into itself. Matsuda found himself gripping the front of his shirt, where his heart kept on hammering. His vision blurs.

His heart pounds. It’s as if the very world is pulsing. Shaky and unsteady, it was as if the very fabric of space was at risk of unraveling completely, and the sensations of a throbbing world were painful, as if the very ends of his fingertips were being burned. He felt dizzy. Disoriented. Like his head was being slowly crushed by an unforgiving grip.

“Mm? Matsuda-kun?”

He doesn’t snap out of it because of Junko’s voice, but because of her sand-caked hands cupping his face. The texture is as grainy as the temperature is warm, and Matsuda blinks at her blearily. When his vision begins to focus, he can tell her expression is mildly amused. The way her thumbs brush over his cheeks and lips is undeniably fond. He can taste salt. He shivers.

In that moment, Junko could’ve molded him as easily as she had the wet sand.

This cold realization had him rooted in place. Silent as she pressed her forehead to his, and cooed, her cool breath fanning over his face.

If the world is Junko’s castle, then I...

He doesn’t know what he is. All he can hope is that it’s important.

“There, there, Matsuda-kun,” she murmurs, sweet and lilting. She pulls him closer, presses herself to him as if with the intent of imprinting her very being onto his own. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

It didn’t feel okay, but it’s not like he had any intention of living any other way.

[hopegroundzero2]

Day 6 Start!

We’re almost at the end... Nooooooo. ;; It went by way too fast. Late entries are still wholeheartedly accepted though... And all that. You know.

I accept entries that tag this blog, are submitted directly through this blog, or use the tag yasukematsudaweek2020 but also please, please inform me if I seem to have missed your entry. Tumblr can be super wonky sometimes. Anyway, so what’s today’s prompt?

Emotions/Heart!

Pretty self-explanatory and also seemingly contradictory, but we already know that your physical heart isn’t actually how you feel and how you love. The reason why being because your heart gives you life and life is love. It’s metaphorical, really. The brain is what actually does that, one could argue. Or at least, Matsuda sure would!!!

Best of luck to everyone who participates! It’s not too late to still throw something in, but it’s also okay if you enjoy everything passively. It’s just for having fun and showing love after all, and you can do that all kinds of ways.

And now for a poem:

 It’s hard to tell where his end had start

Or when he had begun to fall apart

But, you know, it wasn’t very smart

To love a girl twisted at heart

[hopegroundzero2]

Day 5 Start!

Three days until Matsuda Fan Week ends... So sad. Of course, I’ll still be taking entries even after Day 7, and I’m still taking them now so don’t fret if you finish late! It’s accepted and appreciated all the same!

Entries can be submitted via the submit function, @ing this blog directly to notify, and via the tag  yasukematsudaweek2020 but you can also directly message me to let me know if I accidentally miss you. I’m also going to check general tags! So, what’s today’s prompt?

Reasoning/Memory!

People make use of information within their memory banks, and they often make decisions based on their experiences. To lose one’s reason may be a sign of losing your humanity. To lose one’s reason maybe be a sign of losing your sense of self. They’re both very intimate and cherished functions. At least to Matsuda, for reasons that come from a deeply traumatic series of memories.

Best of luck to everyone who participates! Please take care of yourself and don’t beat yourself up if you don’t have anything! Just sharing and liking posts means a lot!

And now for a poem:

Hidden in the depths of memory

He’s fading more by the day

It’s very sad to think that Matsuda-kun will be

Forgotten, like a stranger, a nobody

[hopegroundzero2]

Day 2 Start!

It’s officially the second day of the Matsuda Yasuke Fan Week! However, tardy entries are going to be accepted throughout so don’t hesitate to also send in more Day 1 prompts if you finish them!

Reminder that the tag for this week is yasukematsudaweek2020 and to @ this blog for any entries. But don’t be afraid to directly message me if your work doesn’t get reblogged. Anyway, today’s prompt is...

Vision/Posture!

How well can you see what’s in front of you and how well can you hold yourself up? Matsuda-kun can see pretty well, but he slouches all the time. That’s no good for your back! And what’s perception if it doesn’t motivate you to act more considerately?!

Best of luck to everyone who participates! And don’t fret if you can only get one entry in! It’s meant for fun! 

And now for a poem:

A lot is gleamed through clear blue eyes

Including the despair which belies

Matsuda-kun, stand up straight

Before you meet your demise!!!