#i cannot decide if i want to write another chapter of this where vincent gets even worse or if

[suddencolds]

Fool Me Twice [5/?]

Hello, remember this series? This chapter took me like six months to write. It was very embarrassing opening up the google doc again to see that the last edit was in April (back when I rewrote this chapter from scratch five times over before giving up entirely.) Anyways, I need to post it before I lose my nerve. 😭

Part 5 ft. fake dating, a cold, and an intervention

You can read part 1 [here]! (No context is needed aside from the previous 4 parts).

—

The drive to Good Day Diner is uneventful. Francesca recommended it to him awhile back, when they were both still in college, and he’s been trying to puzzle out their recipes ever since. Though, even with the ones where he’s come close, he rarely has the time to make them properly, in between work and everything else, so he’s been back here a few times since then.

Yves picks up two pint-sized containers worth of soup—chicken farro and miso with ginger—and strikes up a conversation with the cashier while he waits.

“This isn’t your usual order,” she says.

“Yeah,” Yves says. “It’s for a friend.”

“They’re a fan of miso?” Yves considers this. They’ve gone to more than a couple work outings together, and though Yves hasn’t paid particularly close attention to what everyone else has ordered, he thinks he remembers Vincent getting miso salmon on one occasion, a few weeks back. “I’m not sure,” he says. “I hope so.”

“Your friend didn’t tell you their order?”

“He doesn’t know I’m getting dinner for him. I just happened to be passing by, so I thought I might as well.” That part’s not entirely true—the restaurant is a twenty minute drive from the office, and it’s not really on the way home, either.

“So it’s a surprise,” the girl says, leaning back with a smile that looks a little too knowing for Yves’s liking. Whatever she thinks she’s figured out, he’s sure she has the wrong idea. “That’s awfully nice of you.”

“It’s not like that,” Yves says. “We aren’t that close. I’m not even sure if he’ll be happy to see me.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s done a lot for me, and I think—” I think I might’ve repaid him in the most ungrateful way possible, his mind supplies unhelpfully. “I think all I’ve done, in return, is cause him trouble.”

The girl finishes ladling soup into the containers and reaches over the counter for two caps. “Usually when people do a lot for you, that means they like you.” 

“Or it means they’re just really nice,” Yves says. “I think that’s closer to it.”

“So you’re getting him soup because you feel indebted to him?” She sets the soup containers carefully into a brown paper bag, slips in two plastic sleeves worth of utensils, then slides it towards him.

“Something like that,” Yves says, taking the bag from her. “Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes the next time I’m back. Have a good one!” 

“You too,” she says. “I hope your friend appreciates it.”

It’s not as nice as treating Vincent to dinner, but maybe what Vincent needs right now is convenience, not luxury. if he’s already made up his mind about working late, then at least he can work late with dinner on the side. Yves doesn’t even have to talk to him, really. He can just leave the soup on Vincent’s desk with a note, as unobtrusively as possible, and then take his leave again.

The drive back is shorter than expected. Yves turns on the radio, if only to not be left with just his thoughts, and listens to the newscaster talk about traffic, and the weather, and a local festival that’s going to be held on friday. When he puts the car into park and pulls the keys out from the ignition, the silence that follows is not reassuring in the least.

He pockets his keys and heads up the stairs, into the office building, and takes the elevator up to the fifth floor. The office is well-lit, even this late at night—it gives the impression of it being perpetually daytime, even though the clock on the wall says otherwise. 

He takes a post-it note off of Cara’s desk, scrawls on: Figured you wouldn’t have time to get dinner, so I got you soup, and signs it: -Y. He sticks the note onto the paper bag, regards it for a moment, and then—after reconsidering—staples it on, just in case. 

Then he heads off—past rows and rows of desks, around the corner and through the hallway, past the break room, to stop at the doorway which overlooks the room where Vincent sits.

Vincent is still at his desk, paging through documents with one hand, scrolling through what looks to be a long list of email correspondences with the other. From this distance, it’s hard to tell that anything is off, except— 

He looks exhausted. It’s subtle, but once Yves notices it, he can’t stop noticing it. It’s present in the way Vincent holds himself, as if the wiry frame of the office chair is the only thing keeping him properly upright. It’s in the way he blinks hard at his monitor, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if he’s been staring at it for hours.

There’s a mug of what looks to be black coffee on his desk, half empty but still steaming, which seems to imply that he plans on staying much later. Yves clears his throat.

“Still working hard?” he says. 

Vincent’s gaze snaps up to where Yves is standing. “Yves,” he says. “I thought you left.”

“I did.”

“Did you forget something here?” Vincent dog-ears the page he’s flipped to, then sets the stack of papers off to the side. “I can help you look.”

“No,” Yves says. “Well, not exactly. I know you said you didn’t want to be bothered. I promise I’ll be out of here soon.”

“Okay,” Vincent says, expectantly.

“Have you eaten?”

“I ate,” Vincent says. The relief Yves feels, at that statement, is unfortunately short-lasted. “Lunch. A few hours ago.”

“Lunch was eight hours ago.”

“I’ll eat tomorrow.”

“Will you catch up on sleep tomorrow too?”

“If I manage to finish this by then,” Vincent says, “Then yes.”

Yves stares at him. Does Vincent really, truly think there’s nothing wrong with any of this? With whatever sleepless, miserable late-night work session he’s already seemingly resigned himself to? “So what? You’re going to crash on the couch here?”

“I’ll head home around 4,” Vincent says.

4am. “And what? Lay down for fifteen minutes?” 

“Three hours, maybe,” Vincent says, turning aside to muffle a cough into his elbow. “I don’t live that far.”

He says all of this in earnest, as though none of it strikes him as even the slightest bit unreasonable. Yves can’t help it—he doesn’t think he could hide the incredulity in his voice even if he tried. “You have to be kidding me.”

Finally, Vincent’s face shifts to show—something. Something other than the utter blankness from before, something past the civil, perfectly drawn business facade. Yves doesn’t have to look for very long to register it as frustration. “What part of my answer was unclear?”

“None of it is unclear,” Yves says. “It’s just… exceptionally unreasonable.” 

“By some arbitrary metric of yours, sure.”

“Ask anyone else at the office and they’d agree with me.”

“What you—or anyone else at the office—think about my sleep schedule doesn’t concern me.”

“Let me help,” Yves says. “Please. We’ll get it done twice as fast if I help. Or if you really don’t trust me, hand it off to someone you do trust.”

“There’s no need. It’s my work to get done.”

“You should be at home right now, not working overtime on your first day back,” Yves says. He looks over all of it, now—over the desktop computer and the monitor, the charts and graphs laid out on screen, the piles of paperwork currently occupying Vincent’s desk. There’s a pang in his chest that he hadn’t quite accounted for.  “It can’t be pleasant doing all of this with a headache.”

Vincent blinks at him. “What headache?”

“The one you’ve had since before I left.” Vincent can attempt to deny it if he wants. But between Leon, Yves’s younger brother, and Victoire, his younger sister—who’ve caught their fair share of colds throughout the years, between the other members of the crew team he’d spent his 6ams with—who he’s seen frequently tired and occasionally under the weather—Yves thinks he’s well equipped to recognize a headache.

And Vincent looks as put-together as always, for the most part—he looks like he could’ve just walked out of a photoshoot for some classy magazine, his hair neat, his tie done neatly, his suit jacket criminally well-fitted to his shoulders. But Yves doesn’t miss the stiff set of his jaw and the tension strung through his posture, the way he tilts his head ever-so-slightly away from the bright overhead lights as if it hurts to look at them, the way he rubs his eyes or pinches the bridge of his nose, always subtle enough to go unnoticed. The way he holds himself, now, as if it’s taking all of his energy to appear so presentable.

“I don’t,” Vincent starts. “I haven’t—”

“I can tell, you know,” Yves says, a little dejectedly. “I’m pretty sure it’s my fault you have one, anyways.”

Vincent frowns. “Talking to you hasn’t given me a headache.”

“Not that,” Yves says. “But I’d imagine that spending all of New Year’s Eve next to me when I was under the weather might have.”

Yves watches the surprise flicker across Vincent’s face.

“So that’s what this is about?” Vincent says slowly, his eyebrows furrowing. He looks—confused, now, taken aback by Yves’s admission—and then a little sad. “You’re just here because you feel guilty.”

“I do feel guilty,” Yves agrees—that much is true. “But that’s not why I’m here.” he feels hopeless, suddenly, attempting to explain himself to someone who would probably have preferred it if he never bothered. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come. Perhaps it was presumptuous to think that he could help in the first place. “I realize now that I can’t change your mind on any of this. But even if you plan to stay here all night, I— I just thought maybe I could—”

He’s interrupted with a harsh, “hhHh’NGk-t!” which jerks Vincent forward in his seat. Then a soft, wet sniffle, and then another— “Excuse m—Hhh’GKT!”, neatly pinched off into his hands. Vincent’s eyes flutter shut as he cups both his hands over his mouth, his eyebrows drawing together as his shoulders tremble with an inhale: “hih… hiIIh… hI’GKSCHHuuh-! Snf-! hH… HEh’DZSSChhUH!”

It’s immediately followed up with a few harsh, grating coughs which leave Vincent hunched over slightly, his glasses slightly askew, his hands still cupped to his face.

“Bless you,” Yves says, a little stunned. 

Vincent doesn’t say anything to that—he just reaches across the desk for a tissue and blows his nose quietly into it, before he discards the tissue into a small metal trash can under the desk. The tips of his ears look a little red.

His throat probably hurts too, Yves realizes, with a jolt. Yves really shouldn’t be prolonging this conversation if he can help it.

“I, uh, brought soup,” he says awkwardly. The paper bag crinkles slightly as he lifts it. “Just so you wouldn’t have to skip dinner entirely. That’s why I was gone earlier. I initially meant to just drop it off here, not—” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to argue with you.”

Vincent is quiet for a moment longer. Then he says, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“What? Bring you dinner?

“You didn’t have to come back at all.”

“I know that,” Yves says. “But I wanted to.”

Vincent takes the bag from him, lifts the post-it note so he can read the few lines Yves has scrawled onto it. He turns aside to muffle a few coughs into his sleeve. “This must have been a lot of trouble.”

“Not more trouble than attending a New Year’s party on someone else’s behalf, that’s for sure,” Yves says. It’s a wonder that Vincent agreed to that arrangement in the first place—Yves doesn’t know how he’ll even begin to make it up to him. “If we’re keeping count, I still owe you.”

Vincent regards him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I never thought that you owed me.” 

“Okay,” Yves says. “Then I’m doing this on my own accord.”

“What do you possibly have to gain from that?”

Is it not obvious enough? Yves sighs. “Nothing. I care about you.”

Carefully, slowly, Vincent opens the bag, shifts his documents over to the other side of the desk, and takes out the two containers of soup. Yves regards them closely—hopefully they’ve still retained most of their warmth, even after the drive here.

“I’m not sure if they’ll be to your taste,” he says, a little sheepishly. “If you tell me what you like, next time I’ll try to keep it in mind.”

“I’m not picky,” Vincent says. He rummages through the paper bag for a spoon. “I think I’d like both of these. Have you eaten already?”

“Not yet,” Yves says. Perhaps he should’ve picked up dinner for himself at Good Day, too—he’d been so preoccupied with getting something for Vincent that he’d forgotten. Either way, it’s inconsequential. There’s probably enough in the fridge to last a day or two before his next grocery run.

“You also got dinner for yourself, right?”

Yves must hesitate for a moment too long. 

“That’s a little hypocritical,” Vincent says. “Do you want to pull up a chair?”

“What?”

“You haven’t eaten. You brought two soups.”

“They were both supposed to be for you.”

“You’re already here.” Vincent says. He shuts his laptop and leaves it off to the side, clears a space on the table, and sets the chicken farro soup in front of Yves. As if it really is that simple.

Yves stares down at it, a little perplexed. I thought you didn’t want to speak to me, he wants to say. 

“Unless you’d just prefer to take this home,” Vincent says, misinterpreting his silence as hesitation. 

“No,” Yves says. “You’re right. I’ll pull up a chair.”

—

Yves ends up dragging over a chair from one of the tables nearby—he makes a mental note to put it back before they leave. Vincent shuts his laptop and leaves it off to the side.

“Now we’re both staying past nine,” Vincent says.

“Yes,” Yves says. “I’ve always wanted to see what this place turns into at night.”

“Does it live up to your expectations?” “It’s a bit of a ghost town,” Yves says. “But not in a bad way. Feels like I could take all the snacks out of the break room and no one would bat an eye.”

“That’s the real reason why I’m here right now,” Vincent says, so deadpan that it barely sounds like a joke. Yves laughs. 

Something about this scene—about sitting with Vincent, here, having dinner on the only corner of his office desk that isn’t occupied by documents—feels a little nostalgic.

“This is just like when I first joined,” he says. “When you were helping me with all the onboarding stuff.” 

Back when he first joined, Vincent’s desk was a frequent destination. It’s not that Vincent is particularly friendly—it’s more just that Vincent is really, really good. He has expertise in things that he’s only done once in his life, and he can spot mistakes at a glance. He’s patient, too, even though Yves thinks that if the roles had been reversed, anyone teaching Vincent anything would never have to exercise any patience at all.

He can’t blame Angelie for looking to Vincent for help, either. It wasn’t that long ago that Yves was the one hovering at his desk, watching Vincent go through relevant work over his shoulder.

“The first couple weeks are - snf-! - always difficult,” Vincent says. “But you picked things up quickly.”

“I can’t imagine you as a beginner at anything,” Yves muses.

“Everyone’s - snf -! - a beginner at s-some— hH-! Just a second—” Vincent turns his head away sharply, burying his nose into his shoulder before— “hh’GKt-! Hh… Hhh’IIZSCchuhH! snf-! Hh-! hhih… HiH’GKT-!... Hh… hHih… hIH’IKTSHhh’uuh!”  

“Bless you,” Yves says reflexively. 

“Thank you,” Vincent says, with a small cough, which he muffles into his sleeve. He sighs. His voice has held up pretty well, but Yves can hear the muted edge of congestion in his voice, softening his consonants. “What was that you said to me? ‘You’ll get tired of that phrase really quickly?’”

“I won’t if you get over this cold soon,” Yves says. “Maybe that’s the real reason why I brought soup.”

“So that’s why you’re being suspiciously nice to me,” Vincent says, with a laugh. “I’m relieved to know you’ve had ulterior motives all along.”

Everything gets easier, after that. Vincent seems to enjoy the soup, for the way his eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, after he takes his first bite. (“So I was right to think you’d like miso,” Yves says, and Vincent laughs and says, “Am I really that predictable?”) When Yves offers again to help, after dinner, Vincent wordlessly hands him a small stack of business proposals. It’s not much, but just the fact that he’s agreeing to let Yves help is already a step in the right direction—give Yves an inch, and he’ll take a mile.

Yves looks through all of the documents he’s handed, scrawling notes in the margins, and then goes through another third of the stack of unreviewed paper on Vincent’s desk, while Vincent scrolls through pages of spreadsheets, processing data and creating new graphs. Vincent is almost frighteningly efficient, even when he’s not feeling his best—they lapse into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the occasional, near-inaudible hitch in Vincent’s breath, always followed by a wrenching sneeze, or two.

There’s the coughing, too—always muffled tightly into his sleeve, after Vincent turns to face away from him, which must be exhausting. Yves doesn’t know why he bothers. It’s not as though he can catch this cold again.

(“Bless you,” Yves says, after the tenth-or-so sneeze, trying not to let the concern creep into his voice. “I think the pharmacy near 59th is still open. If you want, I can stop by and grab you something for your symptoms.”

“No need,” Vincent says. “If it - hh-! - gets bad enough, I’ll — Hhh-!”

“Bless you again—”

“hihH’IZSCHhhuh! - snf-! - I’ll get something myself.”

Yves wonders what his metric for bad enough is. Then again, it’s probably better not to press.)

It’s nearly eleven before Yves decides to head home at last.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Vincent says, with a rueful sniffle. “You must be tired.” “Not really,” Yves says. “I usually sleep pretty late. If you’re still feeling this bad tomorrow, take the day off.”

“I’ll think about it,” Vincent says. 

Yves sighs. “At the very least, promise me you’ll head home sooner rather than later?”

 “No promises,” Vincent says—though at the disapproving look Yves gives him, he amends, “But I’ll try.”

He sounds like he means it, at the very least. Yves supposes he’ll take what he can get.

[ Part 6 ]

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #i cannot decide if i want to write another chapter of this where vincent gets even worse or if #i should advance their story in the plot sense #i do like these two and want to write more of them in the future if people are still interested in reading more of them :') #my fic #yvverse

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

4th Anniversary Stuff

I had quite the long day yesterday and now I am a day late^^’

But, well, anyway... Watchdog of the Queen turned four yesterday! Yey!

I have been terrible again with updates in the last few months, so if you’re still here and waiting - thank you! Life and university kept me busy and exhausted lately (and I was, to my surprise, picked for a zine!), but I’m still working on the next chapter and have no intention of dropping this story anytime soon! Not when it is still keeping my brain busy.

I think I’m always getting so melodramatic and repetitive in these posts^^’ Sorry...

Well, last year, I put together some trivia and notes and I thought I would do the same this year! But that’s not everything...

When I started writing this fic, I created a file to collect little bits and pieces as I thought of them. So far, I have 258 snippets in that file^^’ Some are just a sentence long, others some pages. And I thought that, if someone’s interested, you can send me a number between 11 and 258 and I’ll post either the entire thing or part of it. However, if it’s just a sentence or a joke I have saved for later, I will reserve not to post it. (And it’s from 11 to 258 and from 1 to 258 because the first ten are just too old and irrelevant.)

Thank you so much for sticking with me for four years now! And let’s hope for many more^^

Story

The little “add-on” about Oscar and Cloudia on the intermission chapter was actually supposed to be much longer. It would have not just been about Cloudia returning to the townhouse and talking to Oscar there after she met Cedric for the first time, but it would have been an extended version of the entire first three chapters. It was supposed to start with the morning before Cloudia went to that party and end with her conversation with Oscar. It even had a proper name: “The Countess, Once Again.” But I thought it would be too long and too boring, so I just kept the last part of it. I did like the beginning part when Cloudia woke up; I was quite sad to cut it. (I wrote it in late 2017/early 2018… while it was snowing! *sigh*)

While finishing the general outline and concept of Arc 4, I thought about roughly basing it on a fairy-tale, and because it’s set in France, I thought about picking a French fairy-tale. (Also the term “fairy-tale” was actually introduced by Madame d’Aulnoy, a Frenchwoman, so it would have been perfect!) Unfortunately, it did not work out because the arc became too stuffed with other things.

Originally, they were supposed to go to Réchicourt-le-Château, not Nanteuil-la-Forêt, but I changed it to cut their travelling time shorter. They were also supposed to stay at the proper Château Dupont, rather than at an acquaintance’s place. I changed it because I thought it would be too silly to say that, of all places, Nicodemus Townsend was spotted/the Clockmaker is living so close to where Cloudia’s relatives live. I just couldn’t do that – not after reading Villette…

Very early on, Townsend was to appear from the start of Arc 4. He was still the one who stole Queen Victoria’s super-secret box, but it would not have been so blatant. Instead, Townsend would aide Cloudia and Cedric and try to divert the investigation from himself. Cloudia was actually supposed to start liking Townsend (for some reasons), much to Cedric’s chagrin, but this particular aspect was so silly, I scrapped it all and rearranged it.

Originally, the last chapter (Mystery), the next chapter (Malady), and the one coming after it were one chapter. Please remind me to provide a word count for them when I have finished all three. What was I thinking…

Cloudia was lamenting about having apparently lost her family ring in the intermission chapter… Actually, I planned for Cedric to give her the ring in Faint and Low, wrote it into my outline, but I somehow forgot including it. Thankfully, I did not forget to make him return it to her in the intermission.

While working on the intermission, I thought about writing that Cedric and Milton met every now and then in the past year and became more acquainted with each other. Like, Cedric would come to Cloudia when she was extra busy, she would send him to town with Thomas, and they would run into Milton and Wentworth. But then, I finalised Milton’s story and decided that it would be better to say that he did not set foot into England since his villa was destroyed.

Milton and Cloudia met at a reception in 1846 because, years ago in English class, my teacher talked about how “receptions are little parties,” I jotted it down and thought “that might be a good place for their first meeting!” But, according to Wikipedia, “Formal receptions are parties that are designed to receive a large number of guests, often at prestigious venues [..]. The hosts and any guests of honor form a receiving line in order of precedence near the entrance. Each guest is announced to the host who greets each one in turn as he or she arrives. Each guest properly speaks little more than his name (if necessary) and a conventional greeting or congratulation to each person in the receiving line. In this way, the line of guests progresses steadily without unnecessary delay. After formally receiving each guest in this fashion, the hosts may mingle with the guests.” – which is not really what I had in mind back then. But I had already said that they met at a reception, so there was no going back.

 There will be a total of three side stories for this arc. The Poker Game was the first. The second will come sometime in the middle after certain pieces of information were revealed. The last will come right after the arc wrapped up.

“The Earl, Reckless” and “The Siblings, Partners” are actually the first two pieces in a little series of five stories about Vincent and Francis. I hope to get out the third next year!

There will be a few more stories about them, but they won’t belong to that collection because they won’t be very readable as “standalone” fics. One of them is the pirate story which was mentioned in the second zucchini bonus chapter.

 Names

Anaïs was always supposed to be a girl, but her name used to be Amable because it means “lovable” and I thought it’s such a cute name! Turned out it’s a boy’s name, so I changed it last-minute to Anaïs after the character from The Amazing World of Gumball.

Her aunt Sylviane was originally named Renée. I changed it because I remembered that “Renée” is the name of one of the musketeers in Barbie and The Three Musketeers, and I really dislike that movie.

Aurèle used to be named Gervais. But then, I named another character Gervais and forgot that I already had a character with the same name. Because I had worked more with the second Gervais in my head, I decided to rename the first one to Aurèle. At some point, I cut out the “final” Gervais (who was the original Clockmaker) though and replaced him with the current Clockmaker. So, there’s currently nobody with the name “Gervais” in the story…

I am actually quite lazy when it comes to picking names for any secondary characters. The names of the Dupont servants and most names of the inhabitants of Nanteuil-la-Forêt were generated with a random French name generator.

As I already said, I like naming characters after other fictional characters. I often base their personalities and stories on them as well. When I read a book or comic, or watched a movie or show which I did not like, I name and base characters who get killed, villain characters, annoying characters etc. after the characters from that book/comic/movie/show I did not like. For example, Maven, Manon, Axel, and Brenton were named and based on characters from Red Queen. Maven is, obviously, Maven. Manon is Mare, but her name is from Miraculous Ladybug because she was supposed to be the “puppeteer.” Axel Shade is named after Shade. (But his middle names are from The Infernal Devices which I do like.) Brenton is based on Cal. I chose the name “Von Brandt” because “Brand” means fire or blaze and Maven has fire powers in Red Queen. (-1/10 would not recommend that book.)

Nicer characters are, in turn, named after characters from media I liked. For example, Dahlia, Duke, Cas, the man Cas talked to in Duke’s tavern, and Lucas Renn are named/based after/on characters from A Darker Shade of Magic. Dahlia is Lila. Duke is Barron. Cas is Kell. The man he talked to is Ned. Lucas Renn is Alucard Emery (whose nickname is “Luc”).

 Characters

Milton is my least favourite character to write because he has no humorous bone in his body. (Almost) everyone else is joking around, but I simply cannot picture him doing the same. At least, he can talk in waterfalls like most others – even if it’s in a different way. (This does not mean that I dislike Milton as a character! It just makes his dialogue a bit more challenging because he’s always very kind and never sarcastic. He’s the kind of person who, if you were to stab them, would calmly and softly tell you that it’s fine and that they have no ill-feelings for you even though they are literally dying and you are just a random thug.)

His rain-induced-heartache-memory-return is based on a similar thing a friend of my father’s has. When I was little – like six or seven – he and his family were visiting us. It was raining, and he explained that he had a heart operation many years ago on a rainy day and now, every time it rains, his heart phantom-pains. For some reason, it stuck with me, and I eventually decided to give Milton the same condition.

Townsend was a Frenchman (“Nicodème Etienne Bellamy”) for a very short time period because I thought “The arc is set in France, shouldn’t it have a French villain?” But then, I realised that it made no sense why a Frenchman should steal the Queen’s super-secret box and changed it back.

I wrote two stories for a Kuro Advent Calendar in 2017: Waiting and Warming. They were only replacement ideas though: Waiting was the replacement for a little game I wanted to put together but did not have the time for in the end. Warming was the replacement for a clockwork/clockmaker/machinery fic which I could not make work at that time. The Clockmaker Cloudia is searching for is something of a “remnant” from that fic idea.

Actually, Kamden was supposed to be the fidgety one before I gave that trait to Milton.

Misc.

While Milton is someone who does not really hate anything or anyone, I think he would very much dislike the song “Love is an Open Door” if the fic was set in modern times.

Because my sister once asked why “I draw Cloudia with short hair when she has long hair”: I do not draw her with short hair. I draw her with barley curls and a chignon, but the chignon is never visible.

  Outtake – beginning of “The Countess, Once Again.”

The day Cloudia Phantomhive was to kill Ronan Parrish, she was tired – tired, bored, and wishing to be somewhere else.

She hadn’t slept well – she never slept well here – and her body both carved and dreaded more hours of sleep and rest. Cloudia had woken up far too early this morning and the dispute in her head had made her decide to stay awake and wait for the sun to rise – and in January, the sun was just as sleepy as she, but unlike her, it took its time to wake.

Not knowing what to do, Cloudia had taken the book she was reading from her bedside cabinet – The Chimes by Charles Dickens – but even though it was written by her favourite author, even though it was “just” a novella, she hadn’t been able to read more than a few pages. And so, until the sun rose and Lisa came, Cloudia spent her time staring into the darkness, the novella still in her hand. And when the sun had finally risen and Lisa had arrived, Cloudia nearly did not notice it; and when she was washing up and getting dressed, her head was still heavy and her body numb and she did not say a single word. Lisa did seem concerned, but Cloudia was thankful that she didn’t address it, that her concern was only shown in her gaze which Cloudia avoided.

Afterwards, Cloudia walked down the stairs to breakfast, the sun shining dimly through the ice-touched windows, and when she entered the parlour, Lisa in her wake and Newman opening the door for her, Oscar was already there.

Almost thirteen years ago, Cloudia’s father had died at the Phantomhive townhouse, and Cloudia herself had lost her memories. Since that day, Cloudia had never felt comfortable or safe or free inside the townhouse again – considering that she had ever felt like that here –, and because she was always sent back to that day whenever something triggered her – and this was even more likely at the townhouse – Eleanor and Barrington had decided that, even if she had Newman and Lisa with her, Cloudia was not to stay at the townhouse without another person. As both Barrington and Cecelia were busy and Oscar had helped her finding out about Parrish, although this “case” had been fairly clear from the very beginning, Oscar was staying with her.

“Good morning, Oscar,” Cloudia greeted him while sitting down, her own voice sounding odd to her.

“Good morning, Mylady,” he said, waiting for her to break her scone in half before he sunk his fork into his cake.

“Cake for breakfast again?” Cloudia remarked, but, instead of directly responding to her words, all Oscar said was, “Mylady, you should make sure to sleep more. Or, at all. It is not good for your health if you keep refraining from sleeping, even if it is the townhouse.”

Cloudia nodded absentmindedly and put cream on her scone. “I will when Parrish is dead and I can return to the manor,” she said, but Oscar did not reply and only ate in silence.

[anythingfanfiction]

Ben Solo, the One and Only

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3

In the following days after their first date, Ben made it his sole purpose in visiting Vivian whenever he could after missions. They frequently went beyond the garden and ventured out on walks or to the city - all for the sake of getting to know each other better while exploring different places. Yet, their relationship never went pass linking their arms together or the more intimate alternative of holding hands. This made Ben constantly itch for another attempt at kissing her but he would stop himself from doing so, not wanting to ruin his chances with her.

“The festival starts at the end of this week; you’ll be here, right?” Vivian asked.

“Eager for me to escort you, sweetheart?” Ben joked and she gently shoved him, “I will most definitely be here.”

The two were currently at the edge of a shimmering pond that reflected the beginning of the evening’s sunset. She had her head on his shoulder, observing their picturesque surroundings as they sat underneath a tree. Ben wasn’t sure if it was on purpose, but every so often, he could feel her gentle breath hit the base of his neck, forcing him to hold back a shudder. 

Vivian shifted to get a better look at him, “You always have such a focused and driven look on your face, Ben. It makes me wonder what you think of when you are so silent.”

“There are only two things on my mind right now. How beautiful you are and how incredible it is that we’ve been at this for over a month.” His response made her smile and embrace his arm tightly.

On the night of the festival, Ben waited for his beloved in the garden behind her apartment building where they usually met. He smiled as he saw her approach him but was surprised to see two people trailing behind her. It was Vivian’s younger brother, who Ben now knew as Vincent, accompanied by his girlfriend, Cecilia. The four had spent time together before, mostly in the garden, but Ben had hoped he could share the night alone with Vivian. Much to Ben’s liking, the other couple kindly parted ways once they arrived at the festival’s entrance. 

“Once the war between Viktas and Qrona ended, the government decided to make festivals in just about every city as a way to celebrate the successful peace between the two planets and honor those who fought in the battle,” she informed him, “While most of the food, shops, games, and performances are from here, there are some that come from Qrona as well.” As they walked she pointed at a few tents and explained how the cultures were drastically different but equally impressive and beautiful. Of course, she would think that, Ben thought. 

“Vivian!” a young voice shouted. She and Ben turned to see a little boy wearing a strange armor costume. “Vivian, you have to see our play! It’s gonna be so awesome!” the boy continued.

At this, Vivian let go of Ben’s arm and bent down to reach the kid’s eye level, “Is it okay if my friend comes too?”

The boy looked at Ben and circled around him a few times but eventually nodded and led the way. As they walked to a stage that featured several other children in costume, Vivan quietly spoke to Ben, “He was a patient I used to treat; a good portion of those kids are my former patients actually. There was a virus last year that infected their orphanage and caused paralysis in their extremities, my team was sent to help.”

“I like to visit them once in a while and they’re always so thankful - they’re sweet kids,” she added, “Every year, they prepare a reenactment of the final battle for the festival.”

There were many other people seated around the children's stage. It was a rather remarkable performance, especially when considering the age and situation they were in. Ben tried to pay attention to the show, but his eyes kept focusing on Vivian. She had a soft, sincere grin and he remembered that she was also an orphan. Had things gone differently, she and her brother would’ve been on that stage. But despite the circumstances, she took action in helping others during and after the war when she could’ve remained on the sidelines, quiet until it was over. She’s so selfless and precious, it’s almost too good to be true, Ben thought.

Soon enough came the big finale as two pretend swords clashed against each other. “Stop!” a girl shouted and, “This fighting is senseless and brings only pain to the people on both sides! Everything would be better if we worked together!” she continued, throwing her own sword in between the other two.

“Lady Lorenia! You shouldn’t be here, it is dangerous for a woman!” , cried the boy playing King of Viktas. 

“Nonsense. I wish to make peace between our Viktas and Qrona; I cannot do that from the comfort of my castle,” she refuted. 

The pretend King of Qrona looked at her and proposed a challenge, “I will remove my troops from Viktas’ territories and agree to start a treaty if you can defeat me in battle. Do you accept?”

Her response was to lunge at him and they started to battle across the stage. In the end, Qrona’s king was on the ground with Lady Lorenia’s sword inches away from his throat. She then pulled her weapon back and offered a hand to help him stand. They were then joined by the King of Viktas at center stage; holding hands, the three collectively said, “This is the proud story of how peace was made between our beloved planets!”

A burst of applause and cheers rang throughout the crowd as all the children came from behind the curtain to take their final bows. Ben noticed a screen at the side of the stage light up to display a preview for the next act of the night that would start in one hour. After congratulating the kids for their great show, Ben and Vivian headed out to see the food booths, eventually settling for a mashup of the common street foods from the two planets. Once they finished eating, they made their way back to the stage for the next show, or so Ben though. Vivian pulled him alongside her, pass the audience seating and pass the stage itself, to an elevated hill where they had a bird’s eye view of the entire festival.

Below them, the other show had begun and featured dozens of women and men dancing in elegant dresses. It was so entrancing as their music and dance seemed to motivate people, for many of those in the audience stood to dance as well. Even Vivian, who was distanced from the commotion, swayed to the beat.

“Ben,” she called for him. It came out of nowhere. Once Ben had turned his head to answer her, his eyes were left wide open as a pair of burning lips pressed to his. The kiss lasted no more than 10 seconds and when it ended, she whispered a soft, “thank you.” He wasn’t sure why she thanked him, but he was sure that the kiss wasn’t enough. He wrapped a hand behind her head, entangled within the curls of her hair, and brought her close to passionately kiss her. Ben thought she’d push him away, but besides a surprised yelp, she offered no resistance. Instead, her eyes closed as she synced her lips with his and caressed his arms.

When their lips parted, they were both out of breath and smiling at each other. He pulled her onto his lap and she laid her head on his chest. Ben looked down and wondered again, “Why the thanks?”

“For putting up with me. I haven’t exactly made it easy for you, but you’re still here. So thank you for that.” she replied.

A soft chuckle came from him and he brushed his fingers down her long hair before leaning in to give her another kiss. 

A/N: Wow! We’re moving right along! Chapters are getting longer and more difficult to write; I’m glad I had most of this story mapped out before starting. Sorry if things feel rushed or like they don’t make sense; I know I’m not great at this, but I guess at least I’m trying. If you’re enjoying this so far, please let me know by liking and/or commenting! If you’ve got any requests, ask me! As always, best wishes to all!

#ben solo #ben solo x reader #ben solo x you #smuggler ben solo #smuggler ben #kylo ren #kylo x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic

[hwu-adventures-blog]

Late night visitation- Sinclaire x MC

A/N: after chapter 5 of book 2, it made me think of what could the Duke do to punish the MC (because it’s the 19th century and men did punish their wives or potential wives for that kind of behaviour) and whilst I was thinking about it (i thought up of several things) and looking through my computer and found this fic i’d written months ago and i forgot to post. so touching it up with more reference to the more chapter 5 here it is. is probably not going to happen though- it’s just what I thought could be the worst outcome for the mc. 

Description: Beatrice Morse is stuck at Edgewater following her escape to Grovershire and is in a predicament nobody would want. but when a certain someone pops by to visit, her evening seems to get immediately better will it stay that way?  

song inspiration:  Neverland- Finding Neverland Orignal cast recording

Lady Beatrice Morse of Edgewater estate was bored. Sat in her room on her bed, forbidden by her ‘fiancé’ to even walk out in the gardens a curfew was put in place by him to prevent her running off to avoid the wedding- again. In fact he’d taken so many measures that she felt like she was a prisoner in her own home. She’d grown tired of reading, and sewing and making arrangements for her ‘special day’ and as much as she liked and respected her friends- she’s grown especially tired of Miss Sutton’s gossiping- she wanted freedom. However since she had nothing else to do she was writing more invitations to the wedding she did not want. She sighed as she wrote the following sentence for the thousandth time that day

‘you are invited to the union of Tristan Richards, Duke of Karlington and Lady Beatrice Morse of Edgewater estate’  

Beatrice paused and looked at the window how she wished she could climb out again using her duvets and run to Ledford Park and into the arms of the master of the property mentioned. Her heart ached as she thought of the man she loved but would never be able to have, his blue eyes haunted her memory like a ghost as did the rare smile he reserved for her and how he’d look at her with such adoration every time they were together. But alas, it could never be- because her grandmother had engaged her to that- that- monster and to make matters much worse her true love was practically forbidden by the Duke to even set foot on Edgewater soil- let alone speak to her.  it was absolute torture. She put down her papers and climbed under the covers of her bed to sleep, knowing that Ernest would be there in her dreams to comfort her. she drifted to a dreamless sleep.

The lady of Edgewater was woken by a light tap on her window. She sat up confused thinking she was hearing something but then there was another tap- she turned her head to the window and she realised it was some pebbles being thrown at her window. whilst initially confused, she soon realised there was one person who would go out of his way to see her at this hour , so She got out of bed and ran to the window- looking out she opened it.

“throwing stones at my window? that’s not how you get my attention- good sir” 

“I do not need to get your attention Lady Beatrice for I already have it” the man on the ground said

“Ernest, you’re not supposed to be here, if the duke finds out he’ll have your head”

“I just had to see you”

“and I wished to see you”

“the gardens are quite remarkable at night- would you care to visit them with me?”

“I would love too but- I cannot- it’s too risky to climb out in the dark on my own with my condition- the slightest fall means I could die from bleeding internally”

“no matter- I’ll come to you”

“pardon?” she asked confused

“throw down the rope you made of sheets”

Beatrice did  what she was told and threw over the bedsheet rope she had made to escape her room when she was locked in by the countess, tying it to the windowsill and Ernest began to climb up. Beatrice put on her blue silk dressing gown to at least make herself decent. Ernest reached the top and climbed through the widow and into her room.  

“you are quite mad Mr Sinclaire” Beatrice stated

“and I believe you are the source of that madness Lady Beatrice” Ernest replied a little out of breath from the climb

Beatrice let out a small laugh before pulling him close and kissing him. Ernest melts instantly into the kiss, pouring all the emotions he had into it, the longing, the happiness to see her again, the anger towards the duke, the love he had for her, everything, they eventually pull away breathless and Ernest rested his forehead to hers.  

“I’ve missed you Ernest Sinclaire”

“and I you Beatrice Morse”

“I have so much I wish to say”

“in so little time”

Ernest pulled away from her

“I hate that the duke is doing this to you”

“I want nothing to do with that monster”

“he’s the devil”

“I wish we could run away together”

“if we did- where would we go?”

“I was thinking we could get married in Scotland and then move to my mother’s house in Grovershire and live there”

“I would be up to that as long as I was with you- however, if you gave that up your claim to Edgewater then it would fall to your stepmother and Mr Marlcaster”

“I don’t care- I’d be happy if I just had you”

“you already own my heart Beatrice- completely and truly”  

“what do we do?”

“we’ll think of something”

There was a pause and Ernest noticed something in his secret fiancée’s eyes, anger at the duke and worry- about her fate- being betrothed to the man who almost assaulted her was the worst outcome imaginable and he could tell she was worried about not being freed from his grasp and losing what she had with him to the duke. He decided to try and give his best attempt to cheer her up  

“I do wish we were already married to each other” he said

“why?”

“there are certain desires only a  married man can do and-”

Beatrice suddenly felt herself going red in the face and Ernest chuckled

“I do believe that is one of the only times I have managed to make you blush”

“you shouldn’t be talking like that- it’s most ungentlemanly like”

“my apologies lady Beatrice”

“apology accepted Mr Sinclaire- I’m clearly a terrible influence on you”

“I’m not going to dispute that claim”

Beatrice gave him a mock glare of disapproval

“you’re a very good influence on me Miss Morse” Ernest smiled at her softly

Beatrice let out a laugh- one that is too loud- and there was suddenly a knock causing both of their heads to snap towards the door

“Beatrice what are you doing in there? I heard noises” her grandmother’s voice sounded through the door.

“oh nothing Grandmother”

“mind if I come in?”

“can’t it wait until the morning?”

“no it cannot”

Beatrice looked at Ernest

“under there” she indicated to her bed

“really?”

“do you want to get caught?”

“no”

“Beatrice!” her grandmother called

“one moment!”

Ernest crawled under the bed and Beatrice hurried to the door- she turned the key and sat down on her bed

“come in”

Dominque, the dowger countess walked in along with Duke Richards and Briar  

“Beatrice are you alright? I heard voices” Briar said

“we all heard voices” Duke Richards said looking very suspiciously at Beatrice

“oh no it was just me- talking to myself- practising what I’m going to say” Beatrice said

“there was laughter” the duke said

“I though of something amusing that Miss Parsons had said earlier and it made me laugh again”

“now Beatrice- the duke has decided to pull the date forwards a week” the Dowager countess said

Beatrice froze- no- that can’t be right-he can’t do that

“oh. Why?”

“he thought the sooner it happens the better it would be for Edgewater and I have say I agree with that notion” the dowager countess said  

“but-“

“then you can be the countess of Edgewater sooner”

“but- the date was set for six weeks- it can’t change”

“Beatrice it’s for your best interest that this is happening” Henrietta said a wicked smile upon her face

“but-“

“we will discuss it more in the morning” the Dowager countess said

“of course, Lady grandmother” Beatrice sighed in defeat

“goodnight my wife” The Duke smiled

“I am not your wife!”

the duke and the Dowager countess leave the room nodding at each other- Briar stayed for a moment

“how could they do that?”

“we’ll find a way to get out of this- I shall speak to Mr Woods and Mr Marlcaster if you like”

“what can they do?”

“I don’t know but you have our support- you’ll marry the duke when hell freezes over

“Briar- this can’t be happening”

“try and get some sleep Beatrice- you’ll be able to think of something in the morning”

“I don’t think I will Briar”

“that’s why I said try”

“I should probably listen to my best friend even if I don’t listen to lady grandmother or the Duke”

“I’m glad you still take my advice”

“I always do Briar”

“I should go back to my night duties- good night Beatrice”

“goodnight Briar”

She turned and walks to the door and pauses before smiling

“goodnight Mr Sinclaire”

“Briar!” Beatrice exclaimed a little confused at how she knew that Ernest was there  

Beatrice’s best friend giggles and leaves the room to continue with her night duties before bed.

Ernest climbed out from under her bed

“how did she know I was there?”

“Briar has her ways of knowing”

Ernest stood up and sat down on the edge of her bed

“Beatrice- are you alright?”

“no- of course I am not”

“Briar seems to have a good plan made out”

“but that might fail! I have weeks until I’m Duchess Richards- the duke’s wife! something I do not wish to be Ernest- and I’ll never be able to see you again!”  

“nothing is set in stone”

“but it seems like it is”

“nothing is Beatrice- but I know that he won’t win”

“how do you know”

“because I can only see a future where you and I are married with three children playing in the gardens of both Edgewater and Ledford Park”

“three?”

“three- Vincent, Mary and George”

“why George? Why not after your parents?”

“named after our current regent and future king-it’s a popular choice my parents names are the second names of our first two children”

Beatrice smiled at Ernest knowing that he could see a future together was of some comfort to her.

“but how are we going to achieve it?”

“we’ll think of something- I’m certain of it”

“something that doesn’t include murder of most of my remaining family and the duke?”

“I may have to make a few adjustments to my current plan to avoid arrest and certain public execution” Ernest joked

“Ernest!”

“we’ll think of something that doesn’t involve the murder of your potential future husband and your grandmother- besides you still have the countess doing her bit and quite frankly I’m thankful she’s on our side”

“something in that short amount of time?”

“something that is done in that amount of time”

“we could run away to Scotland and get married there?”

There’s a pause from Ernest as if the suggestion she had made a few minutes ago and he had shot down for her family legacy at Edgewater’s sake had suddenly become a serious thought

“that’ll be our last resort” Ernest says to her

“at this point in time I don’t even care about Edgewater’s future- I was happy back in Grovershire without the duke”

“I know and we’ll have that happiness again”

Beatrice couldn’t wait any longer and pulled him in for another kiss breaking away she whispered

“you know I love you Ernest”

“I love you too Beatrice and yet I don’t say it enough”

“I’m certain if you could you’d say it a lot more”

“I would say it every day if I could, and one day I will be able to”

Beatrice smiled slightly at her true love, looking up into his eyes and knew everything was going to be alright. eventually, after what felt like hours but was only mere minutes, Ernest spoke again

“now, I feel I should take my leave- I do not wish to risk your reputation or safety for that matter any longer no matter of how much time I wish to spend with you”

“you must come back soon though the thought of not being with you is awful and-”

“I promise I will return whenever you wish me to”

The pair walked back to the window and Ernest pulled Beatrice into a tight embrace and Beatrice took in the familiar smell of Ernest that she’d become used too in her short time at Edgewater.

“we’ll be together- we’ll find a way, I won’t let anything bad happen to you ever”

Beatrice pulled away reluctantly and Ernest climbed back out of the window grabbing hold of the bedsheet rope but stopped before he went down- Beatrice sat down on the window seat and leaned down to kiss Ernest goodbye- it was a quick one and Ernest had to grip tighter to the robe so he wouldn’t fall- but it was worth it. pulling back from the kiss, Ernest took her hand and placed it to his lips as a goodbye and she smiled at him as he climbed back down, reaching the ground in seconds flat. He looked up at her one last time, she waved goodbye to him with a look telling him that she was his, and Ernest, climbing back onto the surprisingly quiet horse he had acquired to ride there, with a smile that made Beatrice’s heart melt and a nod to say goodbye embarked on the ride to Ledford park, both of them knowing that they’ll always have each other, no matter what will pass.  

A/N: the children’s names are a reference to the fanfic series I have on going about Ernest and Beatrice raising a family (part 1 here: A Premature Surprise). also i’m writing part five of that series but i’m stuck with writers block so it may be a while before that happens. also people in the regency era could only get married with three weeks notice given to the bishop and they were fairly quick to do so with little planning which is where the date being moved up was brought up in the conversation. anyway, thanks for reading!  

#desire and decorum #choices: desire and decorum #mc x ernest #ernest sinclaire #mc #sinclaire x mc #ernest x mc #pixelberry

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

Would I be a pain if I were to ask you to answer all of these questions? xD If not, I can ask for more specific numbers, but I'm really interested in you sharing all your thoughts about writing your fanfiction since it's an amazing one! :3

O.O

That was… unexpected.

But… okay. Here you go.

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

I was once asked what the hell the text in italics should mean. I actually adopted this writing style after testing it out for an Aldnoah.Zero FF I am still working on. (>.

2: What scene did you first put down?

(It has changed, though.)

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

:/ I can’t decide.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

It’s in my snippets, saved for later. It’s one of the dumbest things I could think of.

Also, every time, I can write a “funny” dialogue.

5: What part was hardest to write?

EVERY. I needed days to piece together the first passage.

The worst were the entire second arc and Chapter 17. (And Miss P’s.)

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

It’s very long.

I still didn’t drop it.

It’s not as terribly written.

I do far too much research for it.

When it’s finished finished, I’ve decided that it will be my final FF. That’s reason enough for it to be very special to me.7: Where did the title come from?

The main story is about a girl who’s the Watchdog of the Queen. The extras are about a boy who is the Watchdog of the Queen. It’s as obvious as that. I am uncreative.

Actually, there’s a little bit more than that to it. I wanted to call this FF Watchdog of the Queen: The Queen of Darkness or Watchdog of the Queen: Until the Last Hours. (It’s still called like that… in my head.) I dropped the subtitle because 1) it would make the title too long, 2) I realised that this is not just the story of one Watchdog.

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

At the beginning? No. Not really.

Now? Yes. Like the Zucchini Special. I named/based Gisela after/on that one teacher I absolutely despise. That exchange: “What kind of weird holiday is that?” “The weirdest.” was inspired by an actual conversation I had. It went like that though: The other person: “What kind of random daily routine is that?” (After I asked if he threw a zucchini onto his neighbour’s porch on his way home.) Me: “The randomest.” (I am weird.)

This sentence “At the end of the day, I was still a human after all.” was also inspired by some real-life stuff.

And some more. T.T And some haven’t come now.9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Yes. Many. 

I have an entire folder full. The “Snippets” document is also full of outdated stuff. There’s a ton of stuff in my “Notes” document which will never see the light of day. For some time, I even had 16 (!!!) arcs. I really hate myself. Then, I cleaned up: cutting arcs, cutting character plotlines, cutting characters, compromising stuff. “The Siblings, Partners” and “The Earl, Reckless” were, actually, saved from a cut arc which was only about Vincent and his life. I cut it because it simply wouldn’t have fit with the rest of the main story. Also, the Zucchini Special was supposed to consist of three parts.

In the very first draft, Cloudia and Cedric called themselves by their first names.

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

I read Black Butler during the summer holidays two years ago. Then, just like always, I read everything on the wikia/on TV tropes/read every theory I could find. Then, I stumbled over the theories about Cloudia and Undertaker. It’s all because of the theorists of the Kurofandom.

Also, I was so sad that there are hardly any Cloudia/UT FFs that I decided to do it on my own. ._.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

That people actually read it. I am so thankful for it; I still cannot believe that this niche story has readers. I thank you all. You are all awesome.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

1. Chapter 9.

2. Dumb historical inaccuracies.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story. Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

I love basing stuff on songs! But not everything I hear while writing inspires a part of it. I don’t have much time right now. I will write a bit more about it later. ^^’ (Is that fine?)

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

Uh. Not really. But my question is… did anyone learn anything from it?

(I know one learned the word “floccinaucinihilipilification” from it. I learned the word from another FF XD)15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

Many things! Everything I researched - from Horniton lace to the approximate depth of Brent reservoir. I still don’t know if the altar in St Margaret’s Chapel can be moved or not, though.

I’ve only now realised that I reblogged the wrong questionnaire. Well, whatever.

#asks #ask games