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countessviolet · 4 months

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Family on Fire - Ch. 2 - Drunk!Olaf alert

"Y...yes!" Klaus rejoiced as he counted out the 65-point word his play in Scrabble awarded him.

Violet groaned, not bothering to think what her letters could do for her. There was no way she or Sunny could catch up to him now.

"LUPUS. I can't believe it," she muttered. "Count on the guy who read through the dictionary twice to come up with that."

Klaus shrugged, picking up the faux silk bag to collect new tiles, frowning at its light weight.

"Where are..."

Violet grinned mischievously as a light crunch came from their left.

"Sunny!" Klaus gasped. Violet chuckled as her baby sister reluctantly spat out an 'L' and an 'E', a fresh tooth mark smiling back at him.

"Sorry, they tasted like chicken," Sunny babbled.

"Ugh," the young scholar complained as he wiped the tiles clean. "Well, at least it matches the board now."

Violet laughed, helping her brother and sister put the game away.

Saturday evenings were, oddly, calm in Count Olaf's home. Being that the Baudelaires used the day to finish the few chores they couldn't keep up during the week, and cook for that night and Sunday night if they had the time. With Count Olaf and his troupe at play practice or some other strange, often bordering on illegal occurrence the Baudelaires didn't care to know the details about, this left the majority of the day at their disposal. Violet would work on a new invention to make their lives easier, Klaus would study in the library while Sunny looked through recipe books on loan from Justice Strauss's library.

And, guiltily, it granted them a few hours without Count Olaf. The Baudelaires had grown used to Olaf's presence in their lives, and it was fair to admit the siblings had learned a few things, more about human nature than theatre more often than not. Still, it was nice for the Baudelaires to engage in their former hobbies and activities, pretend they were the same children they were before the fire.

It wasn't easy to do such things with Count Olaf lurking about. Sure, the momentary ceasefire didn't make up the other six days of utter chaos they endured, but it was a much-anticipated reprieve the Baudelaires reveled in.

"So you two want to - "

Any further plans the Baudelaires may have had were immediately off the table at the sound of Count Olaf's car screeching to a grating halt in the driveway.

"Uh oh," Sunny babbled.

"Yeah, he's back early," Klaus agreed. It was barely past 10 o'clock, he noticed with a glance at the giant clock in the living room. Yes, that was way too early.

Still, the chorus of Olaf's troupe rang from the sputtering car outside, their toon out of sync and saturated with cheap and probably unpaid for liquor.

"Oh no," Klaus groaned as he and his sisters peeked out the living room window. "They are drunk."

Violet winced as the troupe member of indeterminate gender swayed into the mailbox, the bald man glancing back long enough to grab them by the ankle and drag them up the pathway. Count Olaf lingered by the car, leaning against the hood in a way that meant he was the one who drove them back but should not have been the one to do so.

"Okay," she breathed. "We can do this."

"We've done it before," Klaus shuddered.

"Too many times," Sunny babbled.

"Right," Klaus said as he placed Sunny to her feet. "Sunny, go make as much coffee as you can. And I think there are some sandwiches left in the refrigerator."

"Toppy," Sunny babbled, which meant something along the lines of: "I know what's in my kitchen, thanks."

Violet was already tying up her hair when Klaus joined her in the entryway. They could hear the troupe's caterwauling grow louder the closer they got. Klaus was already poised at the door, ready to let the personified chaos hoard in.

The doorknob shook as the troupe struggled to enter, finding the situation much more humorous than it was.

Klaus took a deep breath, gripping the elaborate door handle with a sweaty palm.

"Ready?"

Violet gulped. "No, but..."

"Yep..." With that, Klaus grabbed the door handle and yanked - just missing the hook-handed man's hook.

"Oh!" he laughed, patting Klaus' hair. "Sorry youuuuu!"

Klaus swatted away the cackling man's hooks and then the other troupe members grazed as they pushed and pet him.

"Great Scott, they're completely inebriated!" Klaus called to his sister as she ran ahead of the troupe, moving some of the more breakable items of Count Olaf's hoard out of their path.

The Baudelaires developed this system early in their arrival. Following the predictable moves of Olaf and the parade of drunks and how those steps intertwined with the placement of the count's things helped them protect said things from damage, not to mention Olaf's misplaced blame the following morning.

"I swear I will have to drain your fortune when I get my hands on it just to replace all the damage you orphans have caused!" he often bellowed the morning after a craze as Violet, Klaus and Sunny, on their hands and knees, picked up and swept away broken glass and porcelain.

"You and your troupe did this!" Klaus groaned for the hundredth time in his and his sisters' defense.

"Besides, you can't charge us since you stole half of this -"

"Zip it!"

Anyway, it was one less chore to do the next morning. And so far, their well-choreographed operation was working brilliantly.

Klaus wiped his brow as he and Violet finished subliminally leading the troupe members to the living room to sober up. There were throw pillows all about the living room as Count Olaf's troupe began to drop left and right, their most vulnerable body parts protected from the corners of dangerous furniture pieces. Sunny was pushing a rickety metal cart with strong coffee and sandwiches of various combinations to them, quickly moving away as the drunks swarmed on the food.

Violet sighed tiredly but nodded with satisfaction. "That went great."

"Surprisingly great," Klaus said, looking around the room before grimacing. "Too great. Where's Olaf?"

Violet tensed as she looked around the foyer for their wayward guardian. Usually not seeking Count Olaf lingering about the first floor, watching their every move, mocking their grief or their inability to complete some of his more obscene chores. But with his troupe here and he very obviously not, certainly something was amiss.

"Sunny, watch them for a minute, okay?"

"Caup!" Sunny scolded, her babble coming out to, "Oh great, thanks!"

Violet and Klaus carefully looked around the foyer and dining room just in case he'd taken a detour or passed out somewhere. Klaus jogged outside to check the car, pausing at the sight of the obscure car's wide-open driver door. All the lights were on as well, the cloudy headlights glaring two orange beams into the neighborhood. The young scholar gulped, looking into the dark night and hoping nothing was out there.

A light yelp nearly made Klaus, figuratively and literally, jump out of his skin. He was back in the foyer in five very long struts.

"Violet what's..." He followed the hand that wasn't clutched over Violet's chest to the staircase where Count

Olaf was curled into a very tight ball, clutching at the ragged staircase fabric as if the weary threads would keep him in place.

"What..."

"I don't know," Violet gasped. "I checked to see if he came through the back door and he was here when I got back."

The siblings dared stepped closer, trying to access Count Olaf's state in the limited stairway light.

"Look," Klaus pointed at Olaf's forehead.

"He's bleeding," Violet observed before turning her frown to Klaus. "We've never had to carry him upstairs

before."

"What's that thing dad used to say?" Klaus mused. "There's a first time for everything?"

Violet chuckled fondly. "I guess this is that first."

Klaus shrugged, rolling up his sleeves to the elbow as he tried to assess how to touch him without...touching...him.

Violet shrugged, very much on the same page with her brother. She tentatively grabbed at Olaf's coat sleeve, testing the cloths' strength.

"Maybe we could - "

Violet never finished that thought. It wouldn't be her who solved the dilemma of getting Count Olaf to bed at all. All ideas froze inside the young inventor's head when Olaf suddenly sprang up and grabbed her wrist, yanking her down hard to his level on the stairs.

"You!" Olaf snarled, his breath so heavy with liquor Violet's began to water, but it was the terror she felt from him suddenly grabbing her that caused them to spill down her cheeks. Despite living in his home for months and having what she thought was every insult, every bit of hate he stored in his body thrown their way, he had never looked at them the way he was now. Like he wanted nothing more than to watch them die.

With his glare resting solely on her, it was like all that rage and hate seeping off him was directed at Violet.

And Violet felt devoured by it.

"You killed him! Why Bea? Why would you..."

His words began to jumble together as exhaustion began to take hold of him. Klaus used the opportunity to unravel Olaf's fingers from Violet's arm and pulled her free.

"You okay?" Klaus inquired as he looked Violet over, gently grazing over where Olaf had grabbed her, the patch of skin was red and warm from his grip.

Violet nodded, daring to look at the mysterious, unconscious man on the stairs.They watched in astonishment as he twitched about, muttering strange words and names neither Baudelaire could quite make out. He began to still a few moments later, but his fingers continued to flex at a space on the stair just above his head.

This time it was Klaus who reached out to test the consciousness of the count. Olaf retaliated once more, but it was a much weaker attempt and mainly consisted of hissing, of all things.

"Just...move," Klaus growled as he pulled on Olaf's arms.

"No," Count Olaf groaned out suddenly, the word leaving his throat sharp and alarmed. "Don't move me! I want to stay with him!"

"Him?" Klaus muttered, looking at the space of stairs Olaf was clutching at. "Stay with who? There's no one here."

"He..." Olaf sputtered off, slipping into unconsciousness as the alcohol finally finished seeping into his bones.

Klaus and Violet looked at each other with concern as Olaf snored unevenly. Neither thought their guardian could conjure anything but bitterness and sarcasm. Unfortunately, they were very wrong.

"Here," Klaus instructed, taking one of Olaf's arms and throwing it over his shoulder. After making sure Olaf was still very unconscious, Violet followed suit, and other than the strange angle the siblings had to walk in to get up the staircase, she and Klaus got Olaf to bed with little trouble. Klaus situated the count on his stomach while Violet pulled off his jacket. She wanted him to be somewhat comfortable but blushed at the idea of taking off his belt - and grimaced at the idea of touching his shoes.

"He's fine," Klaus said, nose wrinkled. "He can undress himself when he wakes up."

Violet nodded, quickly grabbing a glass off his dresser and filling it with water from the connected bathroom as Klaus covered him, checking his breathing once more. He watched how Violet lingered next to him for a moment longer but turned to follow her brother, eyes cast down.

Klaus closed the door after her, sighing tiredly as they went downstairs to join their youngest sister. Sunny was sitting on the edge of the dining room table, the members of Olaf's troupe snoring in the places they passed out in. Sunny had not through and covered each of them with whatever blanket or covering they had.

"Great job," Violet said as she picked her up. Sunny shrugged as she yawned and rubbed her face.

The siblings turned off any light they saw as they dropped the coffee things in the sink to deal with in the morning. They shared a groan at the mention of tomorrow, of the messes and the strange schemes that only got them into trouble.

Klaus turned to comment on the matter to Violet but found her gazing at the darkened door at the end of the hall.

"Bea? Do you he was talking about Mom?" she inquired softly.

Their mother's nickname weighed heavily in the hall, somehow tainted not just from being spoken in the thick, dusty air. Klaus wanted to answer her, wanted to bring up good, loving memories of their mother. But all he could think about was the sheer hate in Count Olaf's voice when he said her name and the bruise forming on Violet's arm. He didn't want to think of what strange way that man wanted to sully his mother's name.

"Don't let him get to you, Vi," Klaus whispered. "He's a lush. Nothing he says makes sense."

Violet shrugged. "It's very specific, don't you think?"

Klaus hummed as he turned on his bedside table. "He knew our parents. We knew that already."

"Hard stuff?" Sunny guessed.

"Yeah," Violet muttered, unsatisfied but too tired to prod the issue much further.

The siblings tucked themselves in and turned the lights out, sparing no further thoughts to the strange man at the end of the hall or the other unanswered questions that seemed to slip further and further into obscurity.

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #asoue fic #violet baudelaire #count olaf #klaus baudelaire #sunny baudelaire #family on fire verse

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sillysnack · 1 year

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(the fic was originally posted on ao3 in 2021. i updated the publication date!)

GAY PEOPLE WIN!!!!!!! posting the whole fic under the cut for those who want to read here on tumblr :) feel free 2 leave kudos on ao3 as well lololol

Summary: A lot of things keep Klaus Baudelaire up at night. These past few nights, however, a letter from specific triplets had been riddling his mind.

warnings: none?

fun bonuses: i spread the genderfluid quigley quagmire agenda + CHUUYA (irl) SNEAK!

word count: 3626

3:06 AM. ONE.

Klaus laid on his bed as he stared at the ceiling.

It was around 3AM, at least Klaus had thought so. The second Baudelaire was caught up in a spiral of thoughts. It's been… how long? Since he's last seen Duncan– and the other Quagmire triplets. Years, obviously. He thought to himself.

Klaus felt alone. This makes no sense. My sisters are here with me.

The little voice in his head that sounds like him spoke once more, I’ve got company but why am I… yearning for someone else? Yearning's a big word for these feelings, if I’m being honest. I've got bigger worries anyways, the Man with a Beard but No Hair along with the Woman with Hair but No Beard are still at large... at least I think they are.

Klaus sat up to grab a neatly folded paper from his bedside table, he examined the envelope and paused. Should he really open it?

What if it was an emergency... and I ignored their pleas for help? Or what if the Quagmires were telling me and my sisters that they're finally safe...

Klaus opened the envelope, eyes closed. He paused before unfolding the paper that held the contents of the letter that had been the main topic of his midnight overthinking sessions.

He read aloud at a volume that wouldn't wake up his sisters.

Hello Baudelaires, it's Duncan Quagmire. Me and my siblings got a phone for each of us so we could all keep in contact for the meantime. Uhh here are our numbers :D

ISADORA: XXXX-XXXX-XXX

DUNCAN: XXXX-XXXX-XXX

QUIGLEY: XXXX-XXXX-XXX

Anyway! Hope you guys are safe, we… we are not doing the best right now to be honest haha. An accident happened but I'd rather not get into detail because my siblings and I don’t want you guys to worry :) We'll tell you all about it once we see each other again.

Hopefully when this letter arrives, you guys are okay and so are we! I mean I’m sure you guys are okay but… as I mentioned, the accident; not too sure about our situation over here.

I hope that you’re reading this in a time where we’re all together and safe. (Which seems unlikely but one can dream. I hope Hector’s okay too, we got separated after the accident.)

Sorry I couldn’t go into detail about what happened, it’s a lot to write and like I said earlier, I’d rather tell you all this in person.

Sincerely,

Duncan Quagmire (And Isadora and Quigley too…)

PS. If Klaus is the one reading this I'd appreciate it if he contacted me right away, for I have something to say. (I rhymed! Guess Isadora's not the only poet, huh?)

P.P.S. Isadora here! I wrote a few couplets for Violet while we were in the Self-Sustaining Hot Air Mobile Home :) Don’t open it though! (Or tell her, Klaus, or Sunny) I’d rather see her reaction face-to-face!

P.P.P.S. Quigley here. Didn’t want to feel left out :P I hope you guys are doing great! We’re not, but, who cares?! I miss you guys!!! Also found out about being genderfluid. Fucking awesome.

Klaus wore a smile that held a mix of emotions; reading the letter made him happy, yet he was sad at the fact he wasn’t with his friends. That was expected, of course.

He wouldn't admit it to Violet, the girl who gushed 24/7 about the Quagmire poet and the letters the two sapphics would exchange, but he did miss Duncan in a… weird? way.

Klaus knew he liked all of the Quagmire triplets, obviously, yet Duncan stood out from them. Klaus also knew that anyone could like who they want to like, but thinking about him and Duncan? The idea of him and Duncan together made him feel weird– weird in a good way, not the weird he felt whenever he saw Count Olaf.

The “weird” he felt about Duncan was pleasant. What’s even weirder is that Klaus had received the letter, kept it for a week and not yet mentioned it to Violet. He thought he was being selfish and guess what? The middle Baudelaire would obviously affirm his self-deprecating thoughts.

Klaus only heard from Duncan in the little post-scriptums the Quagmire triplet would add in Isadora’s letters to Violet, and Duncan would hear from Klaus in Violet’s letters.

Sometimes Klaus would even hear from Duncan in his dreams, dreams where the two are walking around town together, hand in hand and fingers intertwined; or dreams where the two are cuddling while the rain tapped on the window of their home.

“Are these feelings the same as those of people my age in romance novels having crushes..?” Klaus wondered. He matched his experiences with Jane Eyre, he wasn’t much of a romance enthusiast but he did enjoy a few novels here and there back at the Baudelaire mansion.

Klaus compared his feelings towards Duncan to Jane Eyre’s feelings toward Edward Rochester. Different from the characters in the Charlotte Bronte novel, Klaus grew to like Duncan quicker than Jane began to enjoy Mr. Rochester’s company.

There was also that moment in the novel where Mr. Rochester thanks Jane quite earnestly after saving him from a fire, then that same night makes Jane analyse her feelings towards Edward Rochester… This particular moment, Klaus put a pin on.

“It’s similar to when my sisters and I saved Duncan and Isadora from that ersatz elevator, or when we reunited the Quagmire triplets.” Klaus groaned. However, I was too busy trying to stay alive to think about my feelings.

Klaus rubbed his eyes before closing them. He held Duncan Quagmire’s letter close to his chest.

7:08 AM. ONE.

Klaus was on the floor, his arms were on the bed and his legs supported his body weight. He tried to remove the wrinkles on the letter from Duncan.

“Oh my God… I can’t believe I fell asleep without putting it back…” Klaus frowned. He couldn’t really iron paper, maybe it was an issue of skill for the second-born Baudelaire.

Klaus held the letter and sat on his bed. He jumped to the post-scriptums from each triplet. “I’d rather see her reaction face-to-face…” Klaus’s voice trailed off as he read Isadora’s post-post-scriptum for Violet.

“...I suppose it is rather selfish of me to keep this from her.”

As if on cue, Violet spoke up, “Keep what from me?”

Klaus jumped in his seat, then sighed. “Thank goodness it’s just you. Well… I received this letter from Duncan a week ago. What are you doing at this hour?”

Violet answered, “None of your business.” Then proceeded to snatch the letter from her brother's hands.

“What–? Hey! Be careful with that!”

The eldest Baudelaire sighed, “There’s no return address.”

Klaus turned to his sister, “Yeah. Have you read Isadora’s little note at the bottom?” Violet quickly read what Klaus was talking about, and turned a light shade of pink.

Violet folded the letter and neatly placed it back into the envelope. “Since we’ve both read the letter, let’s buy phones for ourselves later?”

Klaus smiled. “Sure.”

“Oh, and we’re taking Sunny and Beatrice with us, obviously. We’ll also do our grocery shopping while we’re at it.” Violet said as she walked away from her brother's bed.

“G’night, V.”

She shortly replied, “What? It’s 7AM, Klaus.”

12:03 AM. TWO.

Klaus stared at the screen of his phone, then at the Quagmires’ numbers, thinking about whether or not he should contact them. One of them, anyway.

“What if he doesn’t respond?” He asked, and of course nobody answered him; Klaus was the only one awake at the time.

“Maybe if I actually called Duncan instead of just contemplating it while staring at my phone.” Klaus sighed.

What was the point? Suppose that Duncan did pick up his call, what would Klaus say?

“Hey, I miss you a lot and it’s not like I don’t miss your siblings but I miss you in a non-platonic way. It’s like I miss hearing your voice and I miss seeing your handwriting. I miss everything about you and I wish we were together right now. Physically and… romantically.”? Yeah, that seems appropriate. Klaus scoffed at his thoughts.

Besides, it was 12 AM. Was Duncan even awake at this hour?

Klaus sighed. He had read before that sleep patterns can affect one’s mood…

Klaus wanted the rest, but it didn’t come to him easily.

12:03 AM. TWO.

“Why isn’t he calling?” Duncan frowned.

His sister groaned. “Duncan, it’s 12 AM. Give it a break, he’s probably asleep.”

Duncan scoffed, “Him? Asleep at 12 AM? Sure he is.” He chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“Ugh, Duncan, please go to sleep already, he’ll probably leave a voicemail or two.” Isadora closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep after that short conversation with her brother.

Duncan sighed, maybe he should sleep on it, maybe Klaus would leave a voicemail or two; but what if he doesn’t? What if the Baudelaires didn’t receive their letter? Was Duncan supposed to write a return address in the letter? If he did, would their enemies find out?

Duncan sighed, “I guess I should sleep on it, hopefully something good happens tomorrow,” and tucked himself to sleep.

8:48 AM. TWO.

Duncan woke up and the first thing he did was check his phone, “Nothing. I woke up expecting nothing.” Duncan then feigned a smile. “This is great! Everything is great.”

Everything was not great.

What Duncan thought would be the least of his worries (i.e. his crush on a certain Klaus Baudelaire, and not his and his sibling’s well-beings), was very much at the top of his list.

Quigley, having sensed that something was wrong, approached Duncan with open arms. “It’s okay, he’s probably thinking about what to say. I mean, you know him! He thinks everything through. Like, the dude’s really thorough. Or maybe he��s still asleep!”

Duncan smiled at his brother and accepted the hug. He doesn't hug his brother back, however. The two pull apart. “Thanks. I’ll go wake up Isadora, you could go prepare breakfast for us, if you want to.” Quigley hummed in response and Duncan walked over to where Isadora slept.

It’s moments like that which make Duncan thankful to the Baudelaires that he’s together with his siblings.

8:50 AM. TWO.

Klaus eagerly sat up on his bed with a smile on his face.

“You’re looking rather chipper today. Have you finally got in contact with Duncan?” Violet asked.

He turned to his sister and shook his head. “Have not... yet. But I’m about to! I’m texting him right now. And then I’m never looking at my phone again.”

The eldest Baudelaire was holding Beatrice II so she put her down, then lightly hit Klaus on the shoulder.

Klaus hissed. “What was that for?!”

Violet sighed, disgruntled. “What do you mean you’re never looking at your phone again? One: that was pricey and two: what if Duncan replied? What if he says he wants to call you?”

She crossed her arms, “You know, for an academically intelligent person, you’re incredibly stupid when it comes to stuff like this.”

“Says you.” Klaus retorted. He was too prideful to admit Violet’s right. Plus, another word from Klaus and Violet would bring up how he called her “stupid, with an S.”

“Unbeknownst to you, me and Isadora have been talking. Would you like to know what we’re talking about?” Klaus shook his head.

“What do you mean ‘unbeknownst to me’? I proofread some of your letters!”

Violet continued talking and ignored her brother's glaring, “And unlike you, I contacted her first! While you were asleep, I woke up early in the morning, around 2 AM, and called her. We talked for three hours, and you can’t even contact one of Isadora’s brothers!” She laughed.

“Shut up.” Klaus groaned, “I’ll text him, okay? And I’ll eagerly await his response.” He forced a smile at his sister.

Violet slyly smiled back. “You’re all talk but no bark.”

Klaus tilted his head with furrowed brows. He held his glasses to prevent it from falling. “I think it’s ‘no bite’.”

Violet then scoffed. “No? I’m pretty sure the phrase is “all talk but no bark”.”

Klaus stared at his sister, “I meant that the phrase was “all bark but no bite”. Anyway, I am going to text Duncan right now.” He proudly said.

“A sincere good luck to you, my dear brother.” Violet picked up Beatrice II, “I’ll go feed her.” Klaus nodded and started typing on his phone.

klaus: Hello Duncan, I hope this message finds you in good health. I received your letter a week ago but have only opened it now, my apologies. Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

duncan: hi! you actually got the letter :D

i was pretty worried it wouldn’t get to you guys. i had quigley help me mark your possible location T_T theyre a great cartographer.

but, im glad it reached you!

you don’t have to write your messages like that y’know

klaus: Dear Duncan, I apologise once again for only contacting you now. Violet, Sunny, Beatrice II, and I all went out today to buy our phones. Although I do agree with the part where you said Quigley is a great cartographer. His skills have continued to help us all, it seems. Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

Dear Duncan, I see you used ‘they’ on Quigley. I’m not sure if that was a grammatical error on your part? Quigley also mentioned something about being ‘genderfluid’ in your letter, may I ask for you to explain those to me? Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

duncan: oh yea it [genderfluid] means the way quigley presents himself ranges from feminine to masculine to androgynous. it could also be a mix of those three.

being genderfluid (i think) also means that his gender is… fluid!

the ‘they’ for quigley wasn’t an error! they told me they wanted he/him and they/them pronouns be used to refer to them. i make sure to switch it up in sentences!

klaus: Dear Duncan, So you mean Quigley is like Chevalier d'Eon? French soldier who lived openly as a man and a woman? Pardon me for bombarding you with questions. Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

duncan: you know what ? yeah.

also

you don’t have to add a “dear [name]” and “sincerely, klaus” to every message hahaha

klaus: Dear Duncan, But it’s fun. :( You also told me in your letter that you have something to say to me? Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

duncan: ah, that? nothing. just rambling.

klaus: Dear Duncan, It’s alright. I won’t press any further, I don’t want to invade your privacy. :) Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

duncan: mhmgfdkhmhm you're too kind ☹❤

klaus: Dear Duncan, What does /that/ mean? It’s like you just put random letters together. Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

duncan: yeah thats what I did! its called a keyboard smash ;P u could try it, you know!

klaus: Dear Duncan, Oh, okay! I understand. Let me try. Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

Dear Duncan, d Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

duncan: That is certainly something.

but there is something I’d like to tell you! Just not right now, sorry

klaus: Dear Duncan, That’s okay! Might I ask, is this related to the accident you mentioned in your letter? Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

duncan: it isn’t 😅 it’s personal stuff

klaus: Dear Duncan, Oh, I see. I have something to say too.. I’ll just send it and go. Uhuhhfhfmmd (I'm pretty sure I nailed this keyboard smash you speak of.) I think I’ll say it later. May I call you tonight? Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire.

duncan: youre free to call me anytime! i wouldn’t mind at all!

you did nail that keyboard smash! nice one :D

klaus: Dear Duncan, Thank you. I look forward to calling you. Sincerely, Klaus Baudelaire

10:07 PM. TWO.

Klaus stared blankly at his phone, specifically at Duncan’s contact details. Should he even call Duncan? Of course, right?

He said I’m free to call him anytime, but what if I was a bother? Klaus Baudelaire, get a grip of yourself.

Klaus sighed and put down his phone. “If I waited until I’m ready, I’d be waiting my whole life.” He told himself. He took a deep breath and called Duncan.

Thirty-three seconds.

It took Duncan Quagmire thirty-three seconds to pick up the call, but it felt like an hour to Klaus.

“Hey, it’s Duncan!”

Klaus smiled and breathed out, “Hey.”

There was silence.

Klaus started the conversation, “It’s… it’s been a long time since I last heard your voice.”

All Duncan could reply with was, “Haha, yeah. I could say the same about you.” Duncan rolled his eyes at Isadora, who gave him a thumbs down. “You said you were going to tell me something.”

Klaus nodded at Duncan's statement. Ah wait, he couldn’t see that. He pushed his glasses up before he spoke. “I just wanted to say that I missed you.”

Klaus couldn’t see Duncan’s reaction to his statement since they were very far away from each other but hearing that made Duncan’s heart flutter.

Both boys’ faces were red, and both of them had siblings to tease them about it.

“I missed you too.”, was all Duncan mustered. A silence fell upon the two boys’ conversation yet again, it was pleasant.

“Have I ever told you about one of my favourite authors?” Klaus asked. He had thought about telling Duncan about the weird feelings he’s been having about the Quagmire that night, but Klaus thought it could be a topic for another day.

“No, I don’t think we’ve got the chance to talk about such trivial matters.” Duncan’s voice brought Klaus out of his thoughts.

Klaus frantically looked around him. Was it really the time to ramble to Duncan about his interests? “Right. Well, um, I really like Herman Melville. He’s one of my favourite authors. I particularly enjoy the way Melville dramatises the plight of overlooked people, such as poor sailors or exploited youngsters– kind of cool of him.”

“That’s quite interesting. Perhaps you could read some of his works to me once we see each other again.” Duncan commented.

Klaus smiled to himself, “I’d love to.” He tried not to sound too enthusiastic, so Duncan wouldn’t think that reading a book to him and talking about how much he loves the said book was all Klaus thought about. “Ah, I also admire Hammurabi! I used to read Hammurabi’s Code back when… when…” Klaus’s voice trailed off into a heavy sigh.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to force yourself to talk about such personal topics.” Duncan replied, then asked Klaus about poets since “Isadora’s been writing things other than couplets”.

“Oh! Uhm…” Klaus thought about which poet to talk about. “Well, my least favourite poet is Edgar Guest. He was a writer of limited skill, I'm not one to diss on poets but Edgar wrote such awkward, tedious poetry on hopelessly sentimental topics. I mean, if I had to choose a poet, probably Nakahara Chuuya. He was influenced by Dadaism and other experimental poetry but I do enjoy his works!”

Duncan hummed and smiled. Although Klaus wouldn’t see him smile.

Klaus tightened his grip on his phone. “Sorry, if I’m talking too much. You could tell me, you know! I won’t get mad.”

Duncan replied, “You don’t talk enough, actually, we haven’t seen each other in over a year! I don’t care about how much you talk. Hearing your voice makes me feel… safe? I don’t know. There are times when I feel alone and do you want to know what I think about?”

Klaus stayed silent, eager to listen to Duncan’s words.

“You. I thought about you. I missed you so much, Klaus Baudelaire. It’s silly! I wish I could hug you right now and… I’m so glad I can hear you talk right now, I love listening to you talk about all the books you’ve read and the authors you admire, as well as the authors you have a distaste for.”

Klaus was biting his lower lip the whole time Duncan spoke. He let go and asked, “What are you trying to say, then?”

Duncan sighed. “I’m saying I like you, Klaus.”

“Ah.”

“Klaus? Are you there?”

Klaus pushed up his glasses and answered. “You know… I received the letter you sent almost a week ago but I didn’t think about telling Violet about it as soon as I did.” He dryly laughed at his selfishness. “I felt the need to keep this letter to myself, like a schoolgirl receiving a note from the guy she likes. I… I like you too.”

Duncan chuckled. “You like me.”

Klaus sighed, “Of course I do. I mean, why wouldn’t I? A journalist and a researcher are the perfect pair. Plus, you’re charming, intelligent, cute, talented, have neat handwriting, kind, noble, brave.” While Klaus listed those reasons for liking Duncan, he knew that no words could express just why he likes Duncan like that.

“So are you.” Duncan replied. A silence fell upon their conversation yet again.

“Well, I suppose I have to go to sleep. It is 10:24 already.” Klaus remarked. Despite that, he didn’t want to end the call. Ever.

Duncan hummed, “Yeah, me too. Good night, Baudelaire.”

Klaus slowly positioned the phone in front of his face. He looked at Duncan’s caller ID before he replied, “G’night Duncan.”

Neither of them ended the call.

Well, Duncan had to. Klaus overheard Isadora yelling at Duncan to go to sleep already.

“Good night, Klaus.”

Klaus smiled and replied. “Good night again, Duncan.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Klaus fell asleep contentedly, thanking the world for Duncan Quagmire's presence in his life.

#a series of unfortunate events #asoue #asoue fic #dunklaus #klaus baudelaire x duncan quagmire #klaus baudelaire #duncan quagmire #violet baudelaire #sunny baudelaire #isadora quagmire #quigley quagmire #cloud's writingz

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snicketstrange · 6 months

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Chabo Chapter -2

- 2

The dim light of the room shaded Lemony's eyes, who was still grappling to understand recent events. The silhouette of Beatrice, dressing in the faint moonlight, held an eerie quality. The way the light reflected in her eyes felt distant, almost ethereal.

"B... What just happened?" Lemony's voice was thick with hesitation. "Are you leaving Bertrand? Why come to me? And... are you really returning to that cursed opera?"

Beatrice paused, casting him a cold, distant gaze. "Sometimes, L, it's better not to know everything. Just... let me go. And please, don't try to follow me."

As she departed, Lemony felt the room's air grow heavy. Something was amiss, a sense of dread he couldn't pinpoint. He recalled a similar demeanor the last time he saw her, when the sugar bowl was stolen. The memory played like a black and white film, haunting and remote.

Peering out the window, Beatrice's figure vanishing into the fog toward the opera house seemed more like a ghostly apparition than a living person. The opera's sign, "La Forza del Destino", glimmered oddly in the darkness.

On a whim, Lemony decided to follow her. The biting cold of the night struck his face as he exited the inn. Approaching the opera house, a somber and melancholic tune filled the air, thick with desperation.

Inside, Lemony spotted Beatrice, now in a dark dress, holding something metallic in her hands — something he'd only recognize as a dart launcher when it was too late.

The dark hallways and the shadow's whispers seemed to murmur, "Beware, Lemony. Fate is relentless."

Lemony felt a shiver down his spine as a figure emerged from the corridor's shadows. The messenger's face was pale, illuminated only by the dim glow of a distant lantern, and his opera uniform appeared soaked, as if dipped in water or perhaps something thicker and darker.

Wordlessly, the messenger extended a stained, yellowed letter. Lemony took it cautiously, feeling a cold dampness beneath his fingers. As he opened the envelope, the paper crinkled, and Beatrice's shaky handwriting leaped out at him.

*"If the inevitable occurs, if the shadow of death engulfs both Bertrand and me, I implore you, Lemony: unveil to the world what befell my children. Do not let their tales get lost in the dark webs of oblivion. The future of everything we know might rest in your hands."*

The final ink trails looked dragged, as if Beatrice was pulled away while writing. Lemony's heart raced, a premonition of impending doom in the air.

But then he noticed. A message was inscribed in those final smears. A poem:

"Here lies the soul that stars have deemed to shine,

Destined to lead and make our name divine.

Behold the spirit, radiant and rare,

Born to bring change and cleanse the tainted air."

As the tenor's song peaked, depicting a lethal duel, while a female voice sang a tune of anguished waiting for a lover, an alien sound broke through.

It was a scream, an outcry of agony and desperation.

"Daddy, daddy!" A familiar voice tore through the air. It was Count Olaf, with a tone of panic Lemony had never imagined hearing. "For God's sake, someone call a doctor!" the count pleaded. Shortly after, a woman crumbled, as if the world's weight became unbearable. At first, onlookers believed she had fainted from shock, but a grimmer truth emerged: poisoned darts embedded in her flesh.

"THERE'S A SHOOTER IN HERE!"

The alarm rang like a death knell. A sea of people surged up in panic, a wave of horror and chaos. The elderly, frail and bewildered, were mercilessly knocked off their feet, their bones brittle as autumn leaves, crunching under the stampede. Faces, once etched with the wisdom of years, now distorted in unimaginable pain as they were trampled into the ground, forgotten and inconsequential in the larger trage.dy unfolding. Amidst the swirling chaos, the piercing cries of infants rose like shrill sirens—only to be brutally silenced. Soft skulls met hard shoe leather; tiny fingers clenched in futile resistance before going limp. The chaos swallowed them whole, muffling their cries as it extinguished their young lives.

Jostled and dazed, Lemony was swept out of the theatre, watching as the hall morphed into a mass grave.

And deep down, Lemony understood.

That deathly symphony was orchestrated by Beatrice's hand.

#asoue #asoue fanfic #asoue fic #fanfics f #vfd fanfic #lemony snicket #beatrice baudelaire #snicketverse

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snckt · 1 year

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like any good library, it will leave you with more questions than answers. (that way you keep reading.) questions like, “who really slipped me this note?” or “has that man always been right handed?” and even still, “where have they misplaced my hatbox now?” — or alternatively titled, a stay at the hotel denouement.

for @lyeekha !!! as part of @asouefanworkevent‘s wicked way exchange 🤍

#lyeekha #wicked way exchange #asoue #asoueedit #a series of unfortunate events #dewey denouement #frank denouement #earnest denouement #ah i hope you like it !!! ✨ 💕#i had a great deal of fun making these and deciding who was who — f and his notebook . d waiting for the snicket taxi . e and a rendezvous !#even the trio portrait i made each of their faces slightly different !!#and of course a nod to 'double edged' though i think 023 might be a manager's office 👀#(which reminds me that i can go back now and gush over every single fic aha they're all so good !! you draw the hotel so vividly #i just !! adore literally every single one !!)#laineysedit

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afterthegreatunknown · 4 months

Note

Hi! 👋 What are some of your favourite asoue fics/fics you recommend? :)

I'm glad you ask :D!

Awhile back, I made this post awhile back of fanfictions from the old days of the ASOUE Fandom (think Fanfiction Net days). All of them my favorites, but if I have to just link the fics I really recommend you to read first, it would be Fernald's Folly and Hypothetical Situation. Very good fics to see the siblings dynamic/relationship of Fernald and Fiona, and Jacques and Lemony Snicket. I'm a sucker for siblings content, and these two fics deliver, especially the latter.

For fics I recommend on AO3, anything in my bookmarks is a good read! But again, if I have to just link the fics I really recommend you to read, it's On Coffee, Nightmares, and Reasons to Live by gellavonhamster (who also has a tumblr), The Ones that Slipped Away by maybesomeotherday, unofficial chaperone by tangentially (who has a tumblr, with her asoue/atwq sideblog being beatricebidelaire), and the newest one I just read awhile back, How many mirrors did you have to crack for luck like that? by Socks_2789.

On Coffee, Nightmares, and Reasons to Live is a good fic focusing on Hector and Captain Widdershins after they and the Quagmires and Fernald and Fiona survived the Great Unknown. Hector is my favorite adult/SBG character. Widdershins not so much but I am fascinated by the guy. This fic is my favorites of the favorites due to how gellavonhamster writes them in a post-canon life, as well as how they interact with one another (I love it when two people with opposite personalities clash with one another).

The One that Slipped Away is actually part of a series by maybesomeotherday for Angstpril 2022, and honestly speaking, the fics they wrote for Angstpril 2022 are all great (read them if you have a chance. I think you'll find a few favorites of your own). But this fic stands for me to bookmark because on how it focuses on Sunny, and something fandom discuss about her: does Sunny loses her memories of the unfortunate events?

unofficial chaperone is legit a good fic for anyone who loves the Jacques Snicket and Quigley Quagmire not quite chaperone-apprenticeship relationship that is mention in TSS. And if you want good content of their relationship, I highly recommend looking through the 'jacques quigley pseudo apprenticeship tag' on beatricebidelaire's blog; a very good tag to fill that craving.

How many mirrors did you have to crack for luck like that? is honestly speaking my favorite Quiglet fanfic at the moment right now. I won't explain more, because I will likely spoil the whole thing. It's an experience that you need go through beginning to end.

I hope you have some very fun reading, anon!

#my asks #other's people fic #asoue #a series of unfortunate events #(putting in main tags so if others see this they can find fics to read too)

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curiouscreationss · 2 months

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Hi! I saw your comment, and I will definitely be checking out your blog!! :))) Are there any fics you would reccomend starting with? (They can be about anything haha)

Also omg a fellow Loveless and Radio Silence fan yayyy :D

Hi! Thanks for the ask!! :) (it’s good finding another fan!) Here are some of the fics I’ve read that I recommend starting with! :)

This entire series is amazing!! Very in-character and hilarious! It follows the Baudelaires and the Quagmires living together post-canon! :)

Word Count of entire series: 17k

Word Count of fic linked: 5k

🗣️Main characters: Violet Baudelaire🔧, Klaus Baudelaire📖,Sunny Baudelaire🍳, Beatrice II👶, Isadora Quagmire🖋️, Duncan Quagmire📰 and Quigley Quagmire🗺️.

Fic Type:

Found Family

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦

Multichapter 📚

Set: Post-Canon⌛️

Rating: Gen ✅

***

‘AIIWY’ is one of my personal favourites 💜! It’s brought actual tears to my eyes. No joke, have had to put my phone down to process/pos

Word Count: 18k (Still updates)

🗣️Main Characters: Olivia Caliban, Jacquelin Scieszka and the Quagmire triplets

💘Main Ship: Olivia/Jacquelin

Fic Type:

Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Fluff and Angst

❤️‍🩹👩‍👩‍👧‍👦🧸🖤

Multichapter 📚

Set: Post-Canon⌛️

Summary: "Olivia?"

She looks up in surprise, "Sorry, is everything alright?"

"Yes, better than alright! But... are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she smiles fondly, "Promise,"

She is okay. Her wounds have healed, and without them, she might never have escaped that organization with her fiancée, never met these children, her children, never to be snatched away again. They had been burned down to their lowest, until they built each other back up from the ground. And she would do it all over again, if it meant to be where she was now.

Jacquelyn, Olivia, and the Quagmires get the home that they deserve.

***

Book!Quagmires and Netflix!Quagmires are siblings. It’s hilarious. It’s queer. It’s more chaotic than you can imagine. It’s more that what any of us can ask for.

Word Count: 57k (Completed✅)

🗣️Main Characters: Book!Quagmire triplets and Netflix!Quagmire triplets (named Regina, Lewis and Carroll)

💘Main ships: Violet/Isadora 💜🖤, Klaus/Duncan 💙💚, Violet/Quigley💜💜, Regina/Carmelita💛🩷

Fic Type: Multichapter 📚

Set: During canon 🕰️

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: ‘It's not often you see an asoue AU in the perspective of the Quagmires story. It's not often either you see the Quagmires as sixtuplets. This, my friends, is going to be very fucking chaotic.’

[The author who wrote the sixtuplets au also wrote a fic ‘The Quagmire-Baudelaire’ switch which I already made a post about+HIGHLY recommend!] [Word Count: 95k]{Completed✅} The author is @weirdthoughtsandideas

***

A unique and haunting oneshot

Word count: 3k

🗣️Main Character: Friday Caliban

Fic type:

Angst with a happy ending and Found Family

🖤+🙂 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦

One-shot 📕

Set: Post-Canon⌛️

Also by this author is the Runaway Baudelaire AU which I’ve already made a post about. It’s an exciting, dramatic and emotional fic!!

Word Count: 138k Fic Type: Canon- divergence, angst, hurt/comfort and Found Family

(By @unfortunate-stranger-losers )

***

Violet and Quigley reunite unexpectedly (with a twist)

Word Count: 2k

🗣️Main Character: Violet Baudelaire

Fic Type:

Angst and Hurt/Comfort

🖤❤️‍🩹

One-shot

Set: Post-Canon⌛️

***

AU where Klaus dies after ‘ The End’ and time-travels back to ‘ The Austere Academy’! It’s really interesting and vivid! Also the characterisation is perfect!

Word Count: 12k (Still updates)

🗣️Main character: Klaus Baudelaire

💘Main ship: Klaus/ Duncan

Fic Type:

Fix-it, Canon-divergence, Time-travel, Falling in love, angst

🛠️🔀🕰️💘🖤

Multichapter 📚

Set: During canon🕰️

(By @cygninae )

***

Enjoy reading!! Feel free to ask for more recs as there are a lot of amazing fics I haven’t mentioned yet! :)

Also, if anyone wants to add to this list you can via reblogging with links or by commenting! :)

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asouefanworkevent · 6 months

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happy november, all!! 🍂 we're now ELEVEN days away from woevember!

what is woevember? find out here!

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #all the wrong questions #atwq #lemony snicket #woevember #hope i myself can get my fics done in time........so many exciting things to think about...........

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infiniteimaginings · 12 days

Text

He's Still My Father (Father!Count Olaf x GN!Child!Reader) [Platonic]

Summary: You are Count Olafs child from a woman he truly loved, who is now gone due to...unfortunate events. You meet the Baudelaires who are now suffering in the care of your father, will you help them? Or are you really your fathers child? Pronouns: You/Yours, ‘Child’ Warnings: Typical ASOUE timeline events, and not a good father child relationship Word Count: 2.0k A/N: God, I was planning the layout of the post to add the fic and I am an idiot and posted it before it was ready. So I had to delete it and then deleted it WITH the request by accident. I am so sorry to whoever requested. It's here now though, I'm so sorry, I love you so much, thank you for requesting. I'm just stupid lmao, I hope you like it, I hope you remember you requested to me. I'm so sorry again.

The Baudelaire children, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny were orphans. After their parents' tragic death in a house fire, they were sent to live with their closest living relative. That relative's name was Count Olaf.

He was pale, tall, and extremely thin. He had grayish white receding hair, a long unibrow, a hooked nose, and a tattoo of an eye on his ankle. He was unsettling to look at. The Baudelaires tried to look past his appearance and the appearance of the home that didn’t look lived in. They tried but Count Olaf showed his true colors the moment Mr Poe, the banker responsible for the children's fortune left to them by their parents, had left the grounds. Olaf was greedy, obsessive, rude, and vile.

The only thing even slightly keeping the children afloat in the terrible conditions was the neighbor across the street and Count Olafs child, you.

Your father was the worst man the Baudelaires had come to know, so they didn’t know what to think of you. You were quiet as he spoke, standing to his side, chest puffed out and proud. You occasionally joined in dance numbers and ate with the troop, but other than that you weren’t necessarily acknowledged. For all the Baudelaires knew, you could be just as horrible as your father.

After the dinner that went terribly wrong, the three were in the attic. Klaus was holding his cheek that was slightly bruised due to Count Olaf slapping him at the table, he was sat against the wall. Violet was across the room putting Sunny to sleep. There was silence in the air, nothing but the sounds of crickets since their window wouldn’t close that night.

Through the silence, soft footsteps were barely heard, they were drawing near the room the Baudelaires were in. Violet turned her head quickly and stood in front of the makeshift area they made for Sunny and Kalus stood in front of the door, waiting for Olaf to enter the room.

The door slowly and quietly opened and your head peeked in to see if they were asleep. The two eldest Baudelaires were still on guard, but their defense lowered a bit when they saw it was just you.

“Oh, you guys are awake, good.” You told them, walking into the room and shutting the door quietly. Klaus and Violet looked at each other, having a silent conversation but neither had an answer for why you were there.

You cleared your throat, bringing attention back to you. You danced on your heels slightly, “If you guys are done with,” You waved your hand towards them, “whatever it is you guys are doing.” You finished, sighing a bit, “I brought a med kit.”

Klaus’s eyes narrowed at you but Violet gave you a weak smile. “A med kit?” She asked, smoothing her dress, walking to you. You nodded and handed it to her awkwardly, looking to the floor, “Dinner was quite brutal…so I snuck it out of my fathers bathroom.” You mumbled, kicking the wood on the ground a bit.

Violet's smile was soft towards you, as were her eyes. She took the medicine kit from your slightly trembling hands, “Thank you.” She told you gently, trying to catch your eyes. When you met her eyes you just looked away, rubbing your neck. “That was all really, I’ll be in my room.” You announced, turning to the door.

“Why are you helping us?” Klaus’s voice asked quietly as to not wake the whole house with how he was fuming, but you could tell he was angry with how sharp his words were. He had every right to be angry, you were their age and you haven’t done anything.

You stayed turned, tilting your head as you nodded, blinking back some tears they couldn’t see. “You guys don’t know how to live here.” You whispered out, inhaling deeply, breath staggering. “I do, I have.” You continued on, hugging yourself, “Just do what he says and be quiet.” You finished your sentence and you were met with silence. You put your hand on the handle but you were stopped with a hand on your shoulder.

It was gentle, turning you around to face them. Violet looked at you sadly, “This place is horrible, he treats everyone terribly.” She told you, brows furrowed, lips parted.

You licked your lips with a weak smile, “He’s my father, you don’t have to tell me how he acts.” You spoke with a huff of a laugh, sucking at your teeth slightly. Violet shook her head, “Then, why do you stay?” She asked you, taking her hand off your shoulder to clasp her own in front of her.

Silence once again other than the crickets outside. You smiled at them, “I have nowhere else to go.” You spoke simply with a shrug, sniffling. Klaus’s harsh expression softened and Violet frowned at you, but you didn’t give them any time to speak, “Goodnight.” You told them, rushing out of the room quietly back down the stairs.

A few days later, you didn’t speak to the Baudelaires. Any time they tried you would stare at them wide eyed and blank, tilting your head as if you were programmed. When they realized they weren’t getting through to you, they gave up and went on with their days.

You were now sitting in the dining room with the Baudelaires, well the two oldest ones, and you were extremely confused. You knew the three had run around between the neighbors house and shopping but you paid no attention to it, nor did you involve yourself in their affairs. So why were you there?

Count Olaf looked at the three of you, “Oh and where is Sunny?” He asked, grinning widely but the other two at the table snarled. “What did you do with our sister?!” Klaus yelled, hitting his fist on the table. Violet glared at the man at the head of the table, “Give her back now!”

You stared at them, looking between the two and your father with parted lips. When you saw the wicked look in your fathers eyes, your mouth widened a bit and your eyes teared up. “No…” You whispered, rushing out the room to go outside.

The Baudelaires noticed you left the room in a rush but they didn’t know why. Olaf gestured his arm to where you went, “Follow the leader.” He spoke slowly and the Baudelaires rushed out to the backyard where you were standing, staring upwards.

You knew it was weird that there was a cage hanging from the forbidden tower, you should’ve immediately connected the dots but you just couldn’t believe he would do something like…this.

The Baudelaires demanded Count Olaf to take her down but he refused, threatening to kill her if Violet didn't play the role of the bride and sign the wedding construct during the play. Klaus couldn’t step in to help, because then Sunny would be killed if he tried.

They complied and you stood, quiet.

They still tried to get their sister that night but were locked in a room by the hook handed man who had walkie talkies to keep Count Olaf in the loop, so they wouldn’t try anything.

You knew everything your father plotted, he wasn’t exactly quiet about it. This time around, he walked into your room with a gentle smile, “Angel.” He spoke, the nickname he hadn’t called you since your mother was alive and that was when you were around two.

He sat next to you on your bed, rubbing your back slowly as you stared out to the wall, “Tomorrow is the play.” He hummed, and you nodded, sniffling a bit. “Do you need me to do something for it?” You asked him almost hesitantly, but you knew never to hesitate in front of him.

Your father shook his head, repeating his ‘no’ excessively. “You just sit backstage, be quiet, and just let me do my work.” He mumbled, pulling you into a small hug. “We’ll be rich, we’ll be happy, just how I wanted us to be before your mother…” He trailed off, gently rubbing your neck. You didn’t hug back, you sat awkwardly as he continued to speak.

He told you how you had your mothers smile, how you reminded him of her. In those moments he was soft, it was those moments you held onto. You held onto them before at least, now you couldn’t even bear to look at him. You turned your head from him, tearing yourself from his side as he spoke and he rolled his eyes, walking away. He muttered a small “Exactly like your mother.” before he left you alone in your bedroom.

You knocked on the door and the hook handed man had no reason not to let you in. You stared at the two Baudelaires with a frown, they didn’t even look at you.

“You’re not plotting.” You spoke bluntly, sitting in front of them. Klaus looked up at you before looking back down, completely silent. Violet sighed, “We can’t do anything, Sunny will be hurt-”

“No, she’ll be killed!” Klaus cut in harshly, glaring at you as if you set the whole thing up.

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. You inhaled through the nose, patting your chest a bit to rid the pain in your chest. You looked at Violet slightly, glancing at the hook handed man who wasn’t paying attention. You leaned in, “What’s your dominant hand?”

The next day was the ‘play’, many people were there. Justice Strauss, the neighbor across the street, was going to play the judge, which made the marriage legally binding. The play was going on just as planned and as they got to the marriage Violet sucked in a breath, forced to sign the paper of the marriage.

Count Olaf grinned with all his teeth barred, turning to the audience and explaining how the marriage was legally binding and real. Mr. Poe and Justice Strauss were shocked, they objected, but…they couldn’t do anything the damage was done. The Baudelaires now had to transfer their parents' fortune to Count Olaf, the evil man who did everything to get his hands on their money.

Count Olaf spoke into the walkie talkie, telling the hook handed man to bring the baby, Sunny, to the stage.

That was until you walked onto the stage, “Actually…” you began, tilting your head as you stood next to Violet. “Violet?” You looked over to her smugly, and she turned to you, blinking her eyes innocently. “Yes?” She asked, tilting her head at you.

“What hand is your dominant hand?”

“Oh, well that would be my right.” She answered with a sweet smile and you blinked, hand on your chest as you gasped. The conversation is quite confusing to everyone around you, but when you looked at your father he just looked livid. His brows were in a v shape, he didn’t know what you were doing but his gaze told you to ‘stop’...you didn’t.

“But…didn’t you just sign with your left hand?” You asked, terribly acting out your point.

“I did indeed.”

You nodded and smiled, “That makes the marriage not legally binding, since she has to sign in her own hand, and that wasn’t her dominant.” You explained to the crowd who murmured around a bit.

Justice Staruss agreed with you, it was a small loophole but a loophole nonetheless. The marriage wasn’t legally binding, it wasn’t real.

Count Olaf looked around with clear stress in his features, sweat dripping down his face as he nervously laughed. He went to tell his men to drop the baby, but she appeared on stage, carried by the hooked man, and Count Olaf was to be arrested.

He looked at you with dark but saddened eyes, “You are a terrible actor.” He told you, jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed.

You sniffled, eyes filling with tears as you stared up at him, shaking your head, “I am my fathers child.” You answered, voice hoarse.

His eyes widened as his scowl softened, “You are not my child after this.” He told you, walking backwards as people began to get out of their seats to go after him. Count Olaf was shaking his head at you, “Your mother would be so disappointed in you.”

Those were the last words he said to you before the lights all shut off and when they were back on, he was gone. Your fath….Count Olaf had left you, you were now an orphan.

You now could finally breathe without struggling.

#asoue #asoue x reader #count olaf #count olaf x reader #count olaf x reader platonic #platonic #platonic fic #familial #family #father!count olaf #child!reader #a series of unfortunate events x reader #a series of unfortunate events

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luluwquidprocrow · 5 months

Text

like a row of captured ghosts

kit snicket

teen

2,568 words

Kit Snicket visits a house in the city.

for @asouefanworkevent's woevember day 2, the baudelaire mansion! featuring my enduring headcanon that the baudelaire mansion was previously the snicket mansion, and b+b get it when they marry lemony. i am 100% willing to admit it is Unlikely, however let us not forget kit saying “our families have always been close”, so, yknow

title from welcome home by radical face

Kit could get in if she wanted. She’d been given lockpicks expressly for the purpose, because the locks on the house were special, but she didn’t need them. She knew the statue in the back of the garden had a hairline crack in one of the hands – she didn’t remember which one, but it wasn’t as if there were many options – that, when pressure was applied, opened a brick in the patio. Under the brick was a lever. If one were to pull the lever, the little window in the hidden attic opened, roof shingles shifting out of the way, and one could wiggle themselves in, with enough effort. Her grandfather had put a number of clever little secrets in the house, and Kit had gone looking for them when she was very, very young, so she knew a decent amount of them. Few others did.

(The lockpicks confirmed that. If they thought that was the only way someone could get into the house, Kit was not going to correct them. And there were worse things, weren’t there, than simple theft, things for which no real defense existed.)

Night air bit at her ankles, her fingers, her neck. She wasn’t dressed nearly warm enough for November, having grabbed her blue spring jacket in her hurry, but the cold was of little concern to her. The mansion stood across the street, set back from the road, with that winding brick path up to the front doors, the maple trees scattering their leaves around the yard. It was in the heart of the city but in a place one would never know unless explicitly looked for – a turn off an erroneously marked dead end, then another, to an old avenue along a river with more trees than houses. Her grandparents had picked it on purpose. Presumably safe, but close enough.

They had added to the windows. Neat, decorative ironwork, curled into hearts and vines.

Kit put her hands in her pockets and crossed the street, her footsteps the only noise.

The fence out front had been replaced as well. Kit’s grandmother had done most of the architecture, and Bernadette Snicket had favored a simplistic, practical style in her work, but the new fence matched the intricacy of the window grates. That just-too-big space in the bars a person could slide themselves through if they desired, that Kit had, years ago, when she’d – that was gone. Kit walked the length of the fence twice, considering. She couldn’t linger long. There was a light on in a downstairs window, glowing soft behind the drawn curtains. Kit could not put it past them to eventually see her. She walked down the sidewalk one more time, picking up her pace. There was no way around the fence. Climbing over it didn’t seem like an option. The points at the top of each iron bar looked sharp, glinting in a stray hit of light from the streetlamp over near Kit’s car.

(Kit wondered how much was a choice – how much was a needed decision – how much was meant to erase. She couldn’t judge Beatrice and Bertrand for that. Not without damning herself, which Kit was not, overall, in the habit of doing.)

Of course there was a sewer grate nearby, and of course Kit pushed it up soundlessly and slipped down inside.

Her grandfather had three boxes – one Kit had already taken some years ago and given to Bertrand, for reasons better left unsaid. One had been given to Lemony. The third was still in the house and held a very specific map of the city. Headquarters wanted it, among other things. And if Kit came across one of those other things, she was at her liberty to take them.

(She and Beatrice had argued, Kit remembered. The sewer was dark and icy, and Kit shivered hard, grinding her teeth together. They’d argued about those other things, and Kit had not been able to give Beatrice, or herself, a satisfactory answer. It was one of the last conversations they had, if not the last. Most likely the last, if Kit was honest. Beatrice had made it clear where she and Bertrand stood, and where Kit stood, and that it was no longer in the same place. And it never would be.

Kit told herself over and over that she would never do it. There would always be another option, as long as Beatrice and Bertrand were alive to emphatically refuse. Right now, there was this option – Kit was going into the house. She was taking the box back. Nothing else. And the box wasn’t even going to headquarters. There were other plans for that box.)

The box would be in the downstairs office, under a floorboard. Probably Bertrand’s office. The windows were one of the ones her grandmother had put the stained glass in, and shards of blue fell over the green floor when the sun sat just right in the sky. It was a good room for thinking, and Bertrand likely did a great deal of it there. Kit swallowed and hurried further through the sewers, past the names that didn’t matter, and started scanning the curved ceiling. If one knew where to look, there was a sloped hatch up there that led up into the passage between the house and 667 Dark Avenue. Kit would open the hatch, get inside, go into the house, and then leave the same way. And there it was. Tucked in a shadow, just waiting for her. Kit reached up for the wheel, ready to heave the door open. It was going to stick with so little use.

The wheel turned easy under her hands.

Kit jerked back, her whole body seizing up. Someone had been here. Someone who was not her. Someone who wasn’t just checking. Kit spun the wheel frantically and the hatch fell open.

(She’d brought Olaf here. Her grandparents hadn’t cared who knew the location of their house, but their generation had been different, and Kit’s parents had stressed, when they could, the importance of keeping this secret. Her associates thought it was a safehouse, one they could never quite find the location of, and wrote off as another ruse. She’d driven Olaf, pointing out landmarks the whole way, because she’d thought –

Kit was not foolish enough to think she’d get married. But Olaf was important to her, and she was foolish enough to think he’d stay important, and that when Lemony inevitably married Beatrice and they took the house, Olaf would be there too.

They crept in through the fence. Olaf chased her around the maple trees. Kit took him into the house through the font doors and showed him what her grandparents built. And he understood what the Snicket mansion meant, in the way he had to understand what the Count’s mansion meant. Some time later, Kit realized he had not.

Olaf’s memory was shit, except where it mattered. Except in the things she wanted him to forget. He’d remember where this house was and it was only a matter of time before he – before anyone – got their hands on the Baudelaires.)

Kit hoisted herself up into the passageway. She tugged the hatch closed behind her, then felt around in the black for the dip in the center. Her fingers kept slipping, shaking, pushing into metal that wasn’t right, nicking her nails, her heart thudding faster and faster in her chest and rising to a crash in her ears – where was it? There. She found the button and jammed her thumb into it. The metal hissed as it sealed from the inside. It wasn’t enough, Kit knew. Nothing would ever be enough now. But it would have to do.

She ran along the passageway, keeping one hand on the wall. It came to an abrupt end, and Kit had her hand ready to pull open the trap door into the office when her mouth went dry. She swallowed, and then did it again. Once more. She let the trap door fall open and climbed into the Baudelaire mansion.

The office was dark, as expected. Bertrand kept his desk by the windows, because of course he would. Not because Kit’s grandfather had, but because Bertrand would obviously like the view. The bookcases still lined the walls, but the books must surely be different. Kit wondered what he kept there, but there was no time to get into it. She could see the strip of light hovering under the door. It was poetry, probably. He probably kept poetry. Fairy tales he read to his children. The chair at his desk was different than the one her grandfather had there, perfect for sitting in and telling stories. She turned and faced the wall.

The floorboard was in the far left corner, at the front of the room. Kit moved slowly, quietly, barely breathing. Bertrand had covered the whole floor with a thick, heavy carpet, so at least that was in her favor. She bent down, tugging the corner of the carpet up, and lifted the single loose floorboard.

(She always wound up doing this, she thought, in a voice that sounded stunningly like Lemony’s, wry as he ever was. Sneaking into someplace to steal something important. At least now she had experience.)

There it was. Just as it had always been, another secret waiting for its time. The small, jeweled box with the complicated lock with the code her grandfather had taught all three of them. Kit tucked it inside her jacket and replaced the floorboard.

It hit her like a shot, her breath catching in her throat. The sewer hatch locked only from the inside. She couldn’t go back that way. She whirled around, clutching the lump in her jacket to her chest. The best way to leave – the closest way out – that was through the library, two rooms down, through the passageway in the wall and up to the hidden attic. But that meant leaving the room. Standing in the hallway. Walking to the library, unseen.

(She did not have experience. That voice sounded like Jacques, if Jacques had ever been so straightforward in his disappointment. She had to get out of this house before she kept thinking.)

Kit waited. Listened. She couldn’t hear anything from here in the office. She went through the map of the ground floor in her head, the foyer at the front, into the parlor, the living room to the left, the kitchen to the back, the dining room to the right – the hallway behind the kitchen, with the office, the billiard room, the library. The left wall in the library, where the hidden door was. Conceivably, it was easy. Wasn’t it?

She turned the door handle and left the office.

The hallway was half-lit from the living room at the end of the hall. Now she could hear the phonograph, playing a jazz record she didn’t recognize. Beatrice and Bertrand had to be in there, and it was right across from the library. Unless they were in the library. Unless they were – Kit gave herself a shake. She wouldn’t know anything until she moved. She just had to move. She just had to move. Kit just had to move.

She couldn’t see the green floors. Beatrice and Bertrand had rugs everywhere, in elegant red and ivory. Kit tiptoed over it, hesitating. Paintings hung in groups down the hallway, flowers and little portraits and framed children’s drawings, scribbles of the garden hung with the same care as the art. They must be Violet’s. The jazz record kept going. Kit’s grandmother had liked oil paintings of flowers. She’d had a few in the hallway herself in her time.

(Katherine, Bernadette Snicket had said.

No, Kit insisted. How old was she then? Four? Just Kit. And her grandmother had looked pleased, like Kit had passed a test. Everything was a test and always had been, tests she’d completed perfectly, and why did it hurt? How far had Kit gone down the hall? The box sat against her ribs like another heart, heavy. Everything ached, especially her jaw, clenched shut like her life depended on it. And it did. This life around her she wasn’t a part of anymore, this family, this safety, Kit’s life existing outside of this place, everything depended on Kit, on her walking out of here alone, back to her apartment. The whole series of events spooled out in front of her as a nightmare unraveling. Was she crying? Why was she crying?)

Kit took another step, then another. The library was one foot away on the right, a mile away, mere inches, an eternity. The passthrough to the living room on her left gaped open.

Bertrand hummed a bar of the jazz record. And then –

“What’ve you got there?”

Kit froze.

“I knew I left it somewhere in here – ha! That book I was looking for, for Violet and Klaus.”

“You really want to do the cob, don’t you?” The smile was clear in his voice, and Kit pictured Bertrand leaning forward in his chair, his hand on his chin, gazing at Beatrice and bursting with delight.

“I absolutely do! I get to do a fake death scene and everything. How many kids books are going to give me that kind of opportunity, Bertrand?”

They were alone. Their voices were far enough into the room that they shouldn’t see her at the doorway. They joked like she remembered, exactly like she remembered. Did they joke like that with their children? Would they have joked like that with Lemony, here, like they used to? With her? Would Olaf have – would her grandparents – wasn’t Kit supposed to be here too, not because it was hers, that wasn’t what mattered, what mattered was –

Kit held her breath and didn’t let it out until she’d slipped into the library, until she’d rushed to the wall, until she’d nearly slammed her hand into the door hidden in the dark wallpaper, until she was safe in the narrow passageway. She wanted to run, to keep running. But they’d hear her in the wall. She took it step by step with her chest burning, traveling up two floors to the hidden attic. There was the little window in the roof, waiting for Kit to wiggle her way out. She did. The climb over the roof and down the trellis was harder, with her whole body trembling, but she made it.

She stumbled through the garden, racing over the brick path back to the road, to the fence – she shoved her heels into the ironwork, scrambling over it, the tip of a bar slicing into her calf and her palms. She slipped on the way down the other side and her hip met the sidewalk, pain skittering through her leg and up her side. Get up. Get up, Kit. And Kit did, back to her car across the street, into the driver’s side.

Kit took long and deep breaths. In and out, until her head was back on straight, with the plan set right in her thoughts, as it was supposed to be. Everything was as it should be. She set the box down gently on the passenger seat. She did not look at the Baudelaire mansion. She would patch herself up later, when she had time. She took another breath and put the key in the ignition.

She had to go back home.

#asoue #woevember #no you do NOT see my unformated dashes shhhhhhhh i am so tired okay :) i'm not fixing them i'm going to bed :)#uh. this fic is a Time. in many ways. like.................#kit snicket and the terrible horrible no good very bad evening of Situations. by lulu vandelay #where is this in canon????? uhhh. tentatively violet and klaus are like toddlers i think. yeah?#i struggled with the title. frantically scrambled for a new one bc my original one. look i thought it was tonally too creepy. i think that #was what was freaking me out about it.#AT. 1:56 IN THE GODDAMN MORNING #the next day 2:23 pm update -- changed some words/smoothed some things/left a lot of the passive voice bc i think it's needed here

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