#Saya's fics

[haradasaya]

The Swan Princess

Thank you to everyone who has supported me in the journey of this story, it means so much to me!! Specifically thank you to @marcethegeek @halscafe @palilious and @sri-rachaa for being besties with me while writing this!! Love y'all <3

CW: Fem Listener character/Fem Lovely (There will be a gender neutral version once this has been released in it's entirety)

Chapter 1

Vincent pushed open the doors to the war council room, his monarch seated at the head of a long wooden table—the seat reserved for the king of the kingdom of Solaire—glasses set low on his nose, chin set lazily in his hand as he spoke with another noble of their court. Vincent slowed his stride into long, soft steps as he rounded the table towards his king, who ushered away the man he had been speaking to upon seeing his son approaching. Vincent stood at attention before his father, hand pressed in a fist over his heart to salute him. 

“Father, you called for me?”

The king rose from his seat to stand eye to eye with his son, gesturing for him to take the seat to his right. “Ah, my boy. Yes, I did. Would you please join me at our table?”

Vincent moved towards the chair by his father and sat down beside him, hesitant about what his monarch wanted him for with such urgency. “What can I do for you?”

William took off his glasses slowly, setting them down in such a way that conveyed the importance of whatever he was about to say. He exhaled slowly before beginning. “How have you been lately? Keeping up with your duties I presume?”

Vincent forced a smile, unsure of how or if that question would relate to whatever his king had summoned him for. “I have been well, father. Attending to many of the royal inquiries and training with the knights has certainly taken up much of my time and attention.”

“Good, good;” Was all William said, his hand coming to his chin in thought.

“Does something trouble you, my lord?” Vincent asked, desiring to ease the burden of his monarch if it was in his power to do so. 

“No no, nothing troubles me. I simply… well. I believe there is something that we need to speak about.”

Vincent sat forward, leaning his arms against the table. “Go on.”

William sighed. “Well my son, as you already know, I am growing old in years. I knew that a time would come when I would need to pass the crown onto you, but… in light of our past situation, I had simply hoped that there would be more time. Alas, time does not cease, even for those who would wish it so. I believe now is the time that I must begin preparing you to take on the role to which you have been born—and as such, there are things of you which I require.”

Vincent instantly sat up straight, spine completely vertical as he had been taught in his youth—because despite the casual tone with which William spoke, Vincent knew this conversation was not from father to son: but from King to Prince. 

“Given the circumstances of your past, I feel as though we have been more than patient in grieving with you after your loss: but enough time has now passed that I believe you are ready to take the next step toward receiving your crown.”

Vincent inhaled deeply, processing his father’s words. “Please William, speak plainly with me.”

The monarch sighed again, righting himself in his chair and bringing his soft gaze to meet his son’s. “In four days time, the Solaire kingdom will host a ball here in our castle. Of the eligible ladies invited, you are to choose a bride to take the crown with you at your coronation in one week.”

Vincent’s eyes shot wide, his mouth moving to his defense, but William raised a hand to stop him, knowing his son all too well. “This is her family’s will as much as it is my own. Vincent, I know that you loved her dearly, but it is time to let her go. All this grieving has done nothing but drive you away—from me, from your people; and most of all, from your duty. You are still the crown prince of the Solaire Kingdom, and you still have a duty to fulfill.”

“Well, I—” he stuttered, still completely unable to form a thought in reply. Was he really being asked to move on from what had happened like it was nothing? Like he could recover from the loss of his one true love in a measly year? “What if I refuse?” 

“You will not,” was William’s reply. “You will be king, and you will have a queen by your side when you are crowned.”

“Then I do not want the crown!” Vincent said angrily, rising from his chair. “Father, how can you ask such a thing of me?”

His father shook his head, not quite out of disappointment but something close to it. “My son, it does not please me to ask this of you—not when the wounds of your loss are still so deep. When I lost your mother…”

Vincent bit his tongue so hard it bled, the metallic taste in his mouth only adding to the bitterness that he felt. William knew that speaking of his wife and the mother of their child was the quickest way to silencing his son, as Vincent had loved her so dearly. When she fell ill, it was as if the whole world had come crumbling down around them both, losing the little light and warmth that was already so easily lost in the life of a royal. And now, though Vincent would never speak the words aloud, a small part of him despised his father for using her to make his point.

“Well, as I stated before; time goes on. Duties to your kingdom must be fulfilled and order must still be maintained.”

Vincent gawked. “I do not want to do this—”

“It is no longer about what you want, my son. This is about the kingdom’s needs. As much as I would wish it, I will not be alive forever, and I must ensure that your coronation goes smoothly. Your life, this kingdom, and the wellbeing of all whom you serve depends on it.”

William approached his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. It was firm, grounding him to the floor in a way that William hoped would help him see reality, though Vincent truly felt like all William was doing was keeping him from fleeing. “This is no longer a request from father to son, but an order from your monarch.”

Vincent’s heart raced in his chest, his breathing coming too rapidly for him to calm himself, as his mother had taught him to do when he was younger. He didn’t know what to do, what to think. He needed to get himself out of there before he exploded.

“As… as you wish, William.”

The king tried to understand what his son was going through, but the reality was that he could never do so, as his life had been so different from his sons. The love that he’d come to know with his bride had been just as special as the one that Vincent had come to know with his love—and yet despite both their stories ending in tragedy, William knew that getting to spend most of their lives together before losing his wife was nowhere near what his son was dealing with now. He wanted to understand, but the pain of one heartbreak does not rival the pain of two. “This is for the best, my boy. You may not understand that now, but you will. I swear it.”

Vincent simply bowed, ducking below and out of his father’s reach. “As you wish.” He simply repeated. He stood at attention, saluting his monarch once more. “By your leave, your majesty.”

The prince did not wait for a reply from his king, before turning and striding from the war council room, practically running in his hasty retreat from the king’s presence. The guard attending the entrance to the throne room barely had time to swing open the massive wooden doors before the prince forced his way out, his heart deafeningly loud in his chest.

Vincent pressed his palms into the cool stone of the railing that led the way to the war council room, forcing his breath into his lungs as he looked out over the rolling hills and eventual beachy waves and endless ocean that could be seen from the castle. The warm summer wind wrapped smoothly around his face, whipping his hair in every direction, blowing the tassels of his shirt from his chest as they sought to follow the pull of the wind.

How could they ask such a thing of him? Have none of them any compassion? It had only been a year, how could anyone expect him to have simply let go of her? Of all the times they had? Of the love that they’d had? He’d watched his father lose his mother all those years ago, and to this day he still wasn’t the same. Vincent knew, with every fiber of his being, that he’d have been lost forever after the death of his mother if it wasn’t for his love. She’d been the only one to pull him out of the darkness that had begun to fill up his heart. He never thought he’d have to go through that pain even once in his life, let alone twice. 

And the court thought they could ask that of him? Her family had as well implored him to move on from the love he’d had with their only child? What misery! Sorrow so deeply felt is not so easily forgot.

Vincent tasted the blood in his mouth, and reached for his tongue with his finger. His finger returned coated in that crimson liquid, and set off immediately to find a physician to remedy at least this ailment.

.

.

.

.

.

The final golden rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the whole of the magical valley into shadow. The sound of magic whirred through their air, before swirling around a swan floating near the edge of the lake. The dark red and black mist bent and twisted the shape of the animal until it dispersed, leaving in the water a woman, shoes soaked and ankles wet. She lifted her skirts, stepping out of her slippers and sloshing up the beach. A full year as a swan had taken a toll on her heart, but nothing was worse than wearing wet clothes and shoes for the whole night. At least it was summer again, and the nights would be warmer than they had been all winter.

Lovely set her things on the log she’d been using as a makeshift table, having spent some of her lonely nights creating things for herself that reminded her of home. She couldn’t recall the amount of times that she’d written her love’s name in the sand at her feet at the very table she sat at now, praying silently for the day that he’d come rescue her.

A year had passed though, and he’d never come. And despite the glimmer of hope in her heart, she had also accepted her fate, should she spend the rest of her days trapped within this enchantment. It hadn’t been easy at first, and now that a year had passed with no progress, her curse had evolved from simply transforming her into a swan each day to her body beginning to fall ill with each change. It seemed that being cursed to take the form of a swan in the light of the sun, and to never venture too far from the lake that she must return to when she transforms wasn’t punishment enough for whatever unspoken wickedness from her past had gotten her here: now she must spend her few human hours preventing a coughing fit from sending her to an early grave! Just the other night, in the midst of a coughing fit, she had hacked up crimson liquid upon her sleeve, the infection slowly worsening with time. Oh how Lovely wished she had fought back harder against the sorcerer that had done this to her while she still had strength in her bones. Why, even now if he dared show himself, she’d—

“Oh little swan princess?” Came a voice from just beyond the treeline. 

Lovely whipped around to see the approaching form of the one who had cursed her. She hated to admit it, but after all this time alone, with only his voice to quell the ringing silence within and around her, she was just a little bit glad to have someone to talk to, even just for a small moment. Even if he was only here to petition her for something that she was not willing to give. She hated herself for thinking it.

“What do you want, Adam?”

The sorcerer clicked his teeth together. “Now now, there is no need for such hostility. I’ve simply come to check on my darling swan. Yet another night with no sign of your brave prince. Have you finally given up hope that he’s coming to rescue you?”

She balled her fists so tightly she feared her nails would pierce the skin of her palms, but did everything in her power not to show him how deeply his words struck. “I do not need to be rescued.”

“Yes, well. That much is true, lovely.”

Lovely hated that he called her that. Only her prince had called her lovely—hearing the word from Adam’s mouth only poisoned it with each uttering. “I know you do not wish to dally with me in trivial conversation. Have you come to bother me once again with your meaningless pesterings?”

Adam lifted his head and turned it, angling his body away from her as he did so. “My, you are such a feisty one. Always so hasty to send me away despite being your only company. What a terrible princess you must have made.”

Lovely forced a grin. “You know nothing of my being a princess. We had the displeasure of meeting but once, and for whatever Godforsaken reason, you decided that was enough to attempt to steal my kingdom from me.”

“Yes, and quite lucky you are that your charming prince had gifted you that magical amulet that protects you from the brunt of my power. Otherwise, you’d have been my dainty marionette long ago.”

“Such benign tricks seem beneath a grand sorcerer such as yourself, Adam. Are you truly weak enough that a simple gemstone over my heart is enough to prevent you from taking what you want? Oh wait, don’t answer that, I suppose I already know my answer.”

Adam huffed, turning to face the seated princess yet again. “Riling me up will do nothing for your current predicament. You don’t want to see me cross again—unless you’re enjoying the new modification to your curse that I made? I’ve heard that illness of the lungs is untreatable these days.”

Lovely had nothing to say in return, praying that he hadn’t heard her tireless coughing fits by night—or if he had, that he would not speak of them.

“This all could be over tonight if you would but give me what I want, you know. My offer is ever extended, your majesty.”

Lovely turned herself in her chair, facing away from Adam. “And my answer remains the same, or have you forgotten?”

In a moment, his back was pressed to hers, her chin held between his blackened fingers. “I grow tired of your games, little swan. You may have bested me once, but I swear that I will find my way around this little gem of yours,” Adam reached towards her necklace, his blackened fingers burning even just at trying to grab a hold of the pendant, “and I will finish what I started a year ago. Mark my words.”

He released her from his grip, striding away without saying another word. Lovely wiped at her chin, a desperate attempt to get the feeling of his fingers off her… but to no avail. His touch was like venom that creeped into her heart. He wasn’t able to use magic to control her, instead cursing her into changing forms when the sun rose and set. Adam was relentless in his scheme to use her for her kingdom, to use her to invade and seize control of the Kingdom of Solaire, where her prince was.

She would protect him, even if it meant sacrificing her own life. And if that meant she would live the rest of her days as a swan and the rest of her nights alone in the dark forest, then she would do so for him. He deserved to live a happy life. She just wished that she was there to see it too.

And so, when Lovely curled herself into a ball on the makeshift bed she’d crafted for herself, she dreamed of the day when Vincent Solaire would come and save her from this nightmare she’d found herself in.

[dumplingprincessextraordinaire]

Helppppp there’s been so many normies and antis joining the Saya no uta sub

“Ewwwww it has lolicon stuff in it I like the game but I don’t like that—“

Then it wasn’t made for you. It was not catered to you and that’s okay.

by @/pyrkoshka on twitter

[wingdingery]

Dick slips in through his window and frowns at the figure sitting upright on the bed, gun cradled in his lap—they didn’t have plans to meet up, as far as he knew, and unplanned meetups were never a good thing between the two of them. “What are you doing here?”

“Take a guess,” Deathstroke says, and takes the shot.

[p1x1x]

lethe-ing out with headcanons yay

[shouts-into-the-void]

Shout out to those Yashita fics that make Saya's ghost show up to get them together, 10/10 narrative device

[girlsbanddreams]

rana isn't mygo's cat, she's popipa's cat. hope this helps

[cyberdragoninfinity]

Yugioh Rare Pair Week 2k24 (Belated) Day Six: Historical AU

FINALLY finished my last entry in this year's Rare Pair Week! Several days late but c'est la vie. Anyway here's 5k words of Saya/Lulu because I LIKE THEM!!! Historical AU but the "historical period" is 1998 😊the 90's are a historical period to meeee

fr. a trip to the video rental store, overalls, butterfly clips, Tweety Bird, and a plot critical VHS tape of The Swan Princess (1994)

>> READ IT HERE! <<

[lemony-snickers]

1 - Naruto / Kakashi Hatake

when the party's over - billie eilish.

Kakashi felt the hard wood of the the auditorium chair digging into his back and adjusted. It was dificult not to roll his eyes as families settled into their seats, turning to talk excitedly with one another about the show.

His eyes flitted to the decorations fixed to the front of the stage, the hand painted banner with "A Time to Remember" scrawled on the front.

Kakashi had never participated in a recital like this. Even in his youth, because of who his father was and what he did for a living, Kakashi's education in movement had been exceptional. Professional from the very start.

He had taken adult workshops instead of classes with children his own age, and he had featured in a few of his father's residency works before his death - had been taken under the wing of Sakumo's friends and contemporaries thereafter.

Kakashi was grateful he had never had to demean himself in such a way, wearing cheap costumes and trying to bend and break some artistic vision into a malformed box that suited A Time to Remember.

What did that even mean? What was it supposed to convey to the audience?

Kakashi huffed, rolled his neck from one side to the other to quell his irritation. An unfamiliar hand tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to look at the person attached, seated behind him, with only the thinnest veil of social politeness pulled over his natural expression of annoyance.

"Hi," a woman said, pointing toward the curtained stage with a hand-folded program printed on too-bright green paper, "who are you here to see?"

That was the questions, wasn't it? Becasue the person he was here for was not even performing, likely had done almost as few of these types of recitals as he had himself.

But Saya Tsunematsu was a peculiar thing, a person he still did not have a good read on, despite his proclivity for undrestanding people at a glance, in most cases.

The woman behind him, for example, leaning too close and hoping desperately he too was a single parent - something they could bond over before she inevitably asked him to help with some ridiculously small home repair project in a bid to finally seduce him.

"No one," he said flatly, turning to face the stage again. He heard the woman's half-shocked sound of confusion, felt the warmth of her hand as it crept toward his shoulder again before retreating. Kakashi closed his eyes, breathed through his nose. An hour and a half, one twenty minute intermission, and he could lay to rest whatever questions he had come here to answer.

Or, at least, if he didn't, he would forcibly bury them and move on. He had spent too much time already on trying to understand Saya; her determination to challenge him at every turn.

He had originally dismissed her when she auditioned for him with a piece of his father's choreography and she had snidely retorted that he was an egotistical fraud who could never live up to his father's legacy.

The remark had stung, the fear of inadequacy which Kakashi so easily pushed down most days writhing its way up his esophagus, curdling in his mouth.

Perhaps it had been a good thing - he'd never admit it - because it had forced Kakashi to truly think about the path he had set himself upon, the goals he wanted to achieve by reviving the White Fang Dance Company. To rewrite his childhood, to bring closure to a part of his past which had remained until recently an open, festering wound.

Saya had helped with that, had challenged him repeatedly as they reworked his father's choreography. He'd never met anyone who knew the movement as well as he did until Saya. It was strange, to find someone so devoted to Sakumo's work who had never known him.

The lights of the auditorium dimmed and Kakashi settled into the familiar darkness, the hush before the curtains pulled apart to reveal another hand-made (and similarly nonsensical) set piece - a backdrop painted with a mountain range in the distance, a field of flowers in the foreground; neither of which seemed to evoke a time to remember.

The first half of the recital was devoted mostly to the youngest children, few of whom knew their places or their steps, several of whom froze mid-stage, terrified of the lights and the sea of shadowed faces. One who cried, and three who tried to climb off the stage shouting, "Mama!" or "Papa!" with delight.

Kakashi had to forcibly unclench his jaw several times.

Intermission brought headache-inducing fluorescent lights and the opportunity to buy cookies and brownies and boxes of sugar water masquerading as juice in the hallway to support the dance studio's competitive endeavors. Kakashi purchased a single red carnation, unsure why except that it gave him something to do with his hands.

When he returned to his seat, the one behind him remained vacant and Kakashi wondered despite himself whether the woman had moved on his account or if her child was one of the young ones permitted to leave early so as not to miss their bedtime.

The second half of the recital was at least slightly more interesting. The children were older, more dedicated to their burgeoning craft. And while none of them danced to a professional level, several of them showed promise, and Kakashi found himself clapping a little louder, hoping it would encourage them to keep going.

And then, finally, the last piece of the night was all that remained. Kakashi straightened in his seat as a familiar person took the stage, standing in the center wearing a simple black dress and sensible heels.

"Good evening," Saya said, smiling, the long earring she wore catching the spotlight and reflecting it back in sharp refraction. "My name is Saya Tsunematsu and I'm a performer with the White Fang Dance Company."

Kakashi felt his pulse quicken a little at the mention, the acknowledgement that she was tied to him in some way. Professionally, of course.

"I am honored to have been invited to collaborate with some of the senior students on a piece for tonight's recital. When considering the theme A Time to Remember," Kakashi almost laughed but quickly converted it to a cough before anyone noticed, "I thought back to my own childhood, to the joy that dance brought every day, even when it hurt or when I didn't get the part I wanted and my parents listened to me cry the whole way home."

Several knowing chuckles erupted from the audience and Kakashi found himself, not for the first time, slightly jealous that Saya seemed so capable of connecting with the people around her, even if they could never attain her level of talent.

"I wanted this to be a truly collaborative effort and I'm so proud of the work these students have put forth to create this piece. I will admit, their choice of music was outside my usual realm, but that only made the challenge more fun for me, and - I hope - for them. Thank you and enjoy."

Applause followed Saya into the wings and the curtain pulled open again. A single performer stood on the darkened stage, wearing a loose sleeveless top and tightly fitted shorts, all a dull grey.

When the music began, it was a soft harmonic humming until a cracking voice joined.

Don't you know I'm no good for you?

The lights slowly came up, soft blue washing over the stage as the dancer at the center began a measured adaggio - as close to a hallmark of Saya's work as Kakashi had ever been able to pinpoint.

The girl's foot trailed from her ankle to her knee, and then higher - her thigh pulling tight to the side of her body as her foot extended overhead. Even Kakashi had to admire the control and flexibility the movement required. Her leg trembled only a little as she stared blankly forward, mouth parted slightly, hands soft at her sides.

I've learned to lose you can't afford to.

Her foot flexed but she remained otherwise still as two other dancers joined her, falling from the wings with a soft flourish, pulling at their shirts as if trying to escape their confines.

Tore my shirt to stop you bleeding.

More dancers, suddenly, running swiftly onto the stage as the dancer at the center released her leg extension and joined them in a cluster, disappearing as she melted back into the sea of grey; no longer alone, but no longer special, either.

The lights flashed from blue to red, the whole ensemble moving together as one entity - expanding and contracting, lifting up onto the toes of one foot, leaning preacriously to one side until they nearly toppled over.

But nothing ever stops you leaving.

They all tugged the shoulder of each other's shirts, appearing to try and stabalize one another before it became apparent they were trying to pull each other off balance.

Kakashi did not notice he was leaning forward, perched on the edge of the uncomfortable auditorium chair as he watched.

The cluster dispersed, dancers flying in every direction, some cascading to the floor while others leapt through the air, each face painted with an expression of anguish, remorse, fear.

They all stopped suddenly, swaying on their feet; turned away from each other, staring at the floor, solemn.

The lights cut out.

Quiet when I'm coming home and I'm on my own.

Bright yellow lights burst across the stage like the flashes of cameras, the music swelled.

One dancer fell to the floor, clambered forward from one knee to the other, rolling over each pointed foot, clutching their chest. Another fell on top, resting his head on their shoulder, wrapping his arms around them as if to cradle and reassure.

But the first dancer struggled against it, tried to pull themself free.

I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that.

Kakashi watched as the piece evolved, as moments of sadness and anger were punctuated by joy, by love. The lights wavered back to blue, ripened to orange and then rotten purple.

Slowly, those better moments overwhelmed the others, quelled the upset and the regret and replaced them with exultation. The dancers saw one another struggle, helped one another overcome. Rather than separate and isolated, they moved together again, one dancer propping another up as they fell.

The music crescendoed.

Let's just let it go, let me let you go.

The first dancer took her place at center stage again, but this time, instead of alone, the others joined her, all sweeping their leg up, up, up. Some weren't as steady, some not as flexible.

They all smiled.

I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that.

They flexed their feet as one as the music ended with a soft tinkling of piano keys.

The lights faded to nothing, darkness swallowed their beaming faces.

The audience erupted in applause, parents and friends and family all celebrating as the lights came back and the performers took their bows. Some in the crowd stood, many shouted. The dancers all laughed, giddy and pleased with themselves, as they beckoned Saya on stage to take one final bow with them.

Kakashi was the first to leave, the excitement of the crowd trailing behind him, falling quiet as the heavy door swung closed in his wake.

He smiled the entire way home, the carnation still clutched carefully between his fingers, and he finally understood why Saya did not find recitals or their preparation to be a waste of her time or talent.

[ikomahis]

hahaha ok but despite me loving song joong-ki's portrayal in 1st season (and it was the main reason why i fell in love with the show) and crying my eyes out when they replaced the actor, 2nd season saya felt more humane?? he showed more emotions?? he was a baby kitten that just cries and you wanna hug him so badly. and you rage bc of how unfairly he was treated the entire time 1st one was amazing af but ngl i was really scared of him ahaha, he felt more psychotic and unpredictable while 2nd season saya is just depressed :(

[coffinsister]

Hi there!

I just wanted to let you know that I'd never heard of Saya no Uta until I saw you talking about it on my dash and I was like hey I'll look into that!! I had no idea what I was getting myself into, and it was definitely an experience. I've only played the route of choosing Saya and choosing to call Ryoko, so I still have to make the other choices to view all of the game's content, but I just wanted to come say thank you for giving me the second controversial piece of media I've been able to consume without my ocd throwing a bitchfit, because the whole story is fascinating from a psychological standpoint and that definitely drew me in.

I just wish the story was a little more 3D, I guess? Like the writing is overly descriptive of things it doesn't need to be descriptive of and underwhelming with the actual voiced dialogue. It's an extremely bizarre contrast. And from what little Japanese I've learn over the years out of SpInterest there are some translation points that aren't entirely accurate.

A big one is the fact that Saya speaks in third person which is a common cutesy mannerism for small children in Japanese media. In fact, she speaks super similarly to Maria Ushiromiya from Umineko ( complete with using 'uu!' for emphasis too ) which caused me to attach quickly to her for it. While it's true that this doesn't translate well into English, it does lose in translation just how young Saya really sounds while speaking. Because in Japanese she's saying things like 'Saya did this for Fuminori because Saya wants to be with Fuminori forever!' and it's getting translated as like 'I did this to make you happy. So you'll stay with me forever, right, Fuminori?' and those are two completely different tones. In fact, it's so overlooked from the English translation that this trope of hers isn't even mentioned on the The Song of Saya tvtropes page and that's wild to me.

Sorry, I didn't meant to turn this into a rant in your inbox asjklhd. Thank you for bringing this intriguing piece of media to my attention. 💖

Hiii, I'm so sorry for taking so long to reply to this ask but it was lovely getting it, so please don't apologize! We love getting long asks, and talking about our interests <3 And I'm really happy me basically screaming into the void about it, got you into it! That's great, that's exactly why I post about the things I like.

This was very interesting to read so thank you for sending it.

Side Thought: TV Troupes actually really really sucks for this kinda thing, it is widely innacurate with big media, and incredibly lacking for small media. So personally, I would not chuck TV Tropes lacking this as much to the (very bad, like super bad) official translation, as much as I would to the site just kinda sucking.

I'm sorry if I sound harsh, the website is fun, like any other wiki is, I just have personal beef against it, do not mind me, old man yells at cloud.

The first route I finished was also the one with Ryouko, and tbh, in my opinion that's the best one, but obviously seeing the other endings gives a lot of extra information, and character depth, so I hope you play through them and enjoy them too.

And yeah, I feel you, I wish it was more 3D and that I could have cared more about the characters, the writing definetly feels too much like purple prose, and way too descriptive about meaningless things sometimes, while also compeltley glazing over others.

Also big big same about the translation, I already posted my long rant about it, but it's really such a shame, because Nitro+ is actually so good at conveying character through dialogue, like actually reading some of the VNs in Japanese is a whole new experience on its own

And exactly as you said, it would have been far easier to understand Saya is a literally preubecent child if the translation had shown how childishly she actually speaks, or another big one, we would have gotten to see more of just how badly Fuminori wants to show off in front of Saya and Yoh, if the translation had actually shown him avoiding being fully honest with Saya.

Like there's so so many moments in Japanese of him just going, Well, about that, you know... to Saya when she's asking him about their plans together, and he's very reluctant to ask her for help, even when he really needs it, until she blatantly offers it, and he takes it.

In the Official English version he literally just goes "Well, the thing, Saya is that I failed to kill Koji, any ideas about that?"

So much character missed there, I feel like also missing the honorifics isn't helpful or good, like Yoh calling Oumi, Oumi-chan makes them feel way way closer, than just college friends who hang out between classes. And it gives you a better sense that they care for each other.

My hot take about translations is that they shouldn't just accomodate to what's most familiar to the target audience, in this case USA people, it should just make the media more accesible. It isn't a failure of art if it is a bit of a struggle to engage with it, it's good to make an effort to try to understand foreign art, even when the way the text is presented, isn't super familiar or relatable to you.

This is basically what everybody who isn't from an English speaking country already does lol

[haradasaya]

Can you make a fluff of andrew marston after the series finished? I miss him so much and i don't really see much andrew marston here in tumbler so pleaseee

Hello Anon!

I am so sorry that I never got around to answering this! I saw it like one time so long ago and forgot about it until today, so I figured that I'd write out a scene that I'd kinda always wanted to hear from the series and never did! So I really hope that you enjoy hehe

There is like a really obscure easter egg in here for people who will read this in detail

CW: Andrew being tired and soft. That's literally it lol

It was nearly 11pm when Andrew finally made it through the door, bags falling off his arms like they weighed two tons, glasses so far down the bridge of his nose they were about to fall off, and hair in such a state you’d have thought that he’d been given a noogie by an older brother. You were up on your feet in an instant, worrying shooting through your blood as you took his bag from him, fixing his glasses on his nose and combing your fingers through his hair to smooth it out.

“Darling, what happened to you?”

Andrew slid out of his coat, hanging it on the hook by the door, grabbing his keys from the pocket and putting them in the bowl on the entryway table. “Just a long day, love.”

You looked him over, noticing the way his back was hunched, his neck tight, his shoulders drooping. It must have been a really bad day.

“Come, sit down and relax.”

Andrew followed you without a word, which in all honesty, worried you all the more. Andrew was talkative, even when he was exhausted, wanting to fill you in on how his day was, what amazing new things he learned about that day, or even to ask you of your own.

He settled into the couch, his feet up on the ottoman, his body deflating like a balloon. “Can I get you anything?” You asked him, running your fingers through his hair again.

“Perhaps a cup of tea?” Was his reply.

“What kind would you like?”

He shrugged, which only meant one thing. “I’ve got you. Sit tight.”

You walked into the kitchen, eyeing him from where you stood as you set the kettle on the stove to heat up. It shouldn’t take long, you’d warmed up a mug yourself not long ago while waiting for him to come home. He’d told you in the past that you didn’t need to wait up for him to come home, but you didn’t have anything to do tomorrow and figured that waiting for him would be a nice surprise. You smiled as you thought back to the plan you’d devised while waiting for him. You’d make sure that you were completely ready for bed by the time he came through the door so that you would be able to help him with whatever needed to be done and the two of you could go to bed together. You’d help him put away his paperwork, take his laundry for him, prep the sheets so he could just hop right in next to you, and you’d be able to fall asleep together right away.

You glanced at him again, only able to see the top of his hair with the way he was slouched into the couch. It appeared like your plan was falling apart already. But that's alright. Andrew had taught you that sometimes, you just need to be ready for whatever comes in the moment that it arrives.

When you rounded the couch to deliver the mug, you noticed immediately that Andrew had fallen asleep. He’d taken his glasses off his face, still in his hand now resting on the couch, and his head had fallen to the side against the cushions in his slumber. Your heart flared with both pity and love at the sight of your boyfriend in this state. He was so exhausted. 

“I brought you your tea.” You said gently, stirring him awake. Andrew opened his eyes quickly, as if trying to pretend that he hadn’t been sleeping.

“Oh, thank you, my love.”

He took the mug from your hands slowly, leaning forward only enough to take a sip before leaning back into the support of the couch.

You sat beside him, resting your hand on his thigh over the coarse material of his dress slacks, noting that he hadn’t even removed his shoes after coming inside. “Want my help with those?” You asked, gesturing to his shoes. Andrew took another sip, leaning up as if to do it himself. “No, I can do it.”

You shook your head, placing a gentle hand on his chest. “I can help. You relax.” Your words were more of a command than a statement, and though Andrew still didn’t look like he wanted to agree, that exhaustion in his shoulders drew him back to the couch before he could protest verbally.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” Was all he said, closing his eyes as you moved to the ottoman to untie the laces. They were a clean, neat pair of Dior dress shoes—ones that you’d bought for him last christmas—that he kept in perfect condition. He did that with almost everything that you’d given him, you recalled. The only thing that he didn't take care of was himself, on occasion. Nights like tonight were the real reason why you always wanted to take care of him, despite his constant protests of his capabilities, or his wonder of why you would want to do it in the first place. Andrew knew that you loved him, and yet sometimes he still wondered why. It was your goal to prove that you loved him, without artifice or ulterior motives or contempt.

You took his shoes to the shoe rack, carefully placing them in their slot so he’d be able to see them when he wore them next. He was looking over at you with tired eyes. “Thank you for doing that.” He said. Then added, “Always taking care of me.”

You nodded, a small smile on your face. “It is entirely my pleasure.”

You sat down beside him yet again, leaning into him to share in the space, the aroma of his tea wafting into your nose, the smell of his cologne now muted from the day's activities lingering in the air. “You smell so good today.” You teased him, inhaling loudly. 

He chuckled, and it reverberated in your head, sending butterflies into your stomach. “It’s the one you bought.” He teased back, kissing your head.

You hummed. Of course it was. “So, really long day today?”

Andrew nodded, taking another sip of his tea. “Never ending piles of work.”

You fingered the buttons of his shirt, undoing them slowly with just one of your hands. “I know how that goes.”

He hummed again, that same fluttery feeling shooting through you. How could you not be content, lying here in his arms?

“What did you do today?” He asked, downing the rest of the contents of his mug, leaning up to set it on the little board in the center of their ottoman. 

“Work, food, waiting for you.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to wait.” He lifted his arm to wrap it around your shoulder, pulling you into him tighter.

You nodded. “I know. I wanted to.”

Andrew looked into your eyes, before leaning down for a kiss. You shuffled your way up so you could press your lips against his. It wasn’t the first intimate thing that you’d done for him today, and it wasn’t the first time you felt those butterflies stir in your stomach—but for some reason, it was the most special. Kissing him was always special.

“We should get to bed.” You told him after you broke away. He didn’t move, as if he was stuck in place.

“It’s so cozy here, though.” He protested, his hand pressing you further into his chest and his other hand finding your hip to keep you in place. You smirked at his attempts to keep you in place, knowing that he’d give in easily with how tired he was.

“Our bed is cozy, too.” You offered, leaning in and kissing the now exposed skin of his neck where you’d unbuttoned his shirt. It wasn’t rushed, only soft, only chaste. Your kisses spoke to your want to take him to bed, to take care of him while tired. You didn’t lift your lips from his skin as you kissed or spoke, “And we can cuddle there.”

He hummed again, his eyes drifting closed. You were close to convincing him. If he’d just let you get up, you could probably drag him behind you. You wished, silently but amusingly, that you could carry him to bed the way that he’s carried you before. 

“Alright, let's go to bed.” He finally agreed, sitting up. You stood, gesturing for his hand to help him up. He chuckled, taking it and letting you pull him to his feet. He stretched his arms above his head, pulling his shirt untucked from his pants, revealing a small sliver of skin. Your eyes went there immediately, and he caught you looking. You debated looking away from him, but didn’t, maintaining eye contact with him as you took small steps towards your bedroom, asking him to follow without saying anything.

Andrew followed you, feet dragging on the carpet as he followed. He was smiling at you, eyes half closed like he would fall asleep walking if he didn’t lay down right then. He tried to pull you in for a kiss, but you pushed out of his arms, taking one of his hands in your own and leading him towards the bathroom so he could get into pajamas. “You can kiss me later.” You teased, helping undo the rest of the buttons of his shirt. He tried to help you, but you pushed his hands out of the way. He exhaled sharply through his nose, amused. He let you undo his belt, slide his trousers off, and step into his pajama pants, all without contest or complaint. You finally gave in and kissed him once, quick, before gathering his clothes off the floor and setting them in the laundry basket, reminding him to brush his teeth before he got into bed. He laughed as you walked away, watching you walk towards your bed. You crawled in, invitingly, watching him as he brushed as fast as his electric toothbrush would let him.

He paced over to you, pulling the sheets up and climbing, like a child climbing over their parents, into bed beside you. Normally, you were the one snuggled into his chest at night, due to being smaller than him. But tonight, in his sleepy state, he was the one snuggling into you. You smiled and kissed his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist, breathing in the scent of you. “I love you so much.”

You hummed. “I love you too, darling.”

Andrew fell asleep almost instantly. You, however, stayed awake just a bit longer. Your night hadn’t exactly gone to plan, but you’d still managed to help him get into bed like you’d wanted. And just like him, that was all you cared about.

[fandumbass]

Poor diller

AHHHH YOU'VE DONE IT AGAIN!!!!!!! AAAAAAA THANK YOU THANK YOU YALL SPOIL ME FR!!!!!!!

ohhhhhhh pink hair reader................ save me pink hair reader......

[wingdingery]

for @anawrites3, the deleted intro from once upon a time (BruDick Cinderella AU ft. Slade as the fairy godmother)

__________

It’s not just that he can’t buy the dress.

Dick’s resourceful, and he has friends—he’s sure he could convince someone to help buy it for him, if he really wanted. So he can’t use that as an excuse for why he’s just standing there, staring at the dress instead of making a plan to purchase it.

The real issue is what he wants the dress for.

A carriage clatters down the street, and he jumps and hurries away from the dressmaker’s window before anyone notices him, only to slam face-first into someone solid enough to send him sprawling backward. Hands grab him and pull him up, and he finds himself face-to-face with the king of Defiance.

Slade raises an eyebrow, looking between Dick and the dress in the window, and Dick fights back his flush as he yanks himself out of Slade’s grip and marches off.

Slade catches up with him easily. “Not very polite of you.”

“Like you’ve ever been polite,” Dick says without stopping. “What are you doing here?”

“What is everyone else doing here?”

It’s a fair response—it’s only a few days before The Ball, after all.

That’s how Dick’s thought of it, since he first heard of it. The Ball. The one where King Bruce—thirty and five, this year—will finally choose someone to rule by his side.

Invitations were sent to nobility and royalty far and wide—within Gotham, to Kandor and Themyscira, even to Defiance and Nanda Parbat. In some ways, it’s more of a political event than anything else, bringing in powerful people from far and wide to make connections and strike agreements. One will make the most powerful connection of all.

Dick doesn’t need a crystal ball to know that it won’t possibly ever be him.

It doesn’t mean he can’t dream about it, though; doesn’t mean he can’t let his eyes catch on a shimmering flash of blue and look at it and think, what if.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be interested,” Dick says. “It’s not as though it’s a tournament.”

“You think I would turn down the opportunity to become King Consort of Gotham?”

Dick gives him an unimpressed look. “Yes.”

He first encountered Slade three years ago on the battlefield, trying to finish the war his son started. It ended in a truce after his second son died. Dick thought, then, that Slade was more interested in having his son back than in power, and it seemed he was right—Defiance had been a quiet neighbor ever since.

Slade smirks slightly. “My daughter was interested in the ball. I was interested in what had become of you. But it seems you have your eyes on someone else.”

Dick scowls. “Shut up.”

“I could have your tongue for that,” Slade says idly.

“Not in Gotham, you can’t.”

“Perhaps not.” Slade’s eye flashes. “Are you intending the ball as a candidate?”

“You know I can’t.”

“But you want to.”

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

“And if I could make it happen?”

Dick’s steps stutter, and he looks sidelong at Slade, who seems serious. It’s… worth considering, honestly. Slade has access to money, and magic. He could get Dick into the ball as part of Defiance’s entourage. He could give Dick everything he needs to pull this off.

But he won’t do it for free.

“What would you ask in return?” Dick says.

Slade smiles. “I’ll do everything in my power to give you every advantage you’d like,” he says. “But if at the end of this, you still aren’t the future consort of Gotham—you’ll become the future consort of Defiance instead.”

[p1x1x]

what indeed…!

[emily-prentits]

are you mine? (I’m not quite yours)

Maybe Cindy isn’t sure what she wants, why she always ends up here, caught up in Saya, time and time again. Maybe she hasn’t quite figured it out yet.

But in the meantime, she’ll settle for kissing Saya, for memorizing the noises that fall from her mouth when Cindy traces her lips over Saya’s jaw and down.

OR: Six months later, and Cindy still can't get Saya out of her head. It's even harder when Saya can't seem to stay away from her.

(part 2 of Yours.)

read fic on ao3

[bellatrixnightshade]

I suppose songs like "The Family Jewels" and "Dollhouse" would externally fit Family Means Fate, but I think "Creep" by Radiohead is THE song for the fic.