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luluwquidprocrow · 1 year

Text

sweetest things

violet, klaus, beatrice, bertrand

gen

3,155 words

To the consternation of most of the Baudelaire household, the third Baudelaire child takes her very sweet time making an appearance.

my fic for @snckt for @asouefanworkevent's wicked way exchange!!! lainey, i loved ALL your prompts so much and i, fully 100% intend to do another one as well, when i can get my head around it better. but here is some baudelaire family slice of life!!

By Friday afternoon, according to Violet’s checklist, the Baudelaire family had tried –

1) An after dinner walk (It was fun for the four of them to go around the block after dinner, with Klaus pointing out all the summer flowers, but it hadn’t done anything at all. Mother hadn’t been very optimistic about that option anyway. She walked around all the time, and if that wasn’t enough to jog anything, more average physical exercise was unlikely to move things along.)

2) Surprising Mother (Father had hidden himself around the house all day and tried to startle her – it had only really worked once, and mostly just succeeded in Mother almost smacking Father right in the face with her summer book. They were all very thankful Mother was rereading Violet and Klaus’s books from when they were very little, and not her customary enormous summer novel. Violet wondered what would’ve become of Father’s face if he’d been smacked with, say, Mother’s gigantic illustrated Moby Dick with the gilded cover. Something very horrid, she thought. Father was very handsome.)

3) Dancing (Also a regular activity, but one Mother enjoyed much, much more than the after dinner walk. They’d all been sure that a whole afternoon of elegant tangos and brisk but careful sambas would be the perfect thing – but Mother had ended the day sitting and grumbling when nothing happened.)

4) Not doing anything in particular (On the chance that merely suspending their wait and pretending they weren’t waiting might cause something to happen. They all carried on with their usual day – Father brought Mother lemonade, and Mother read regular, adult books, and then did a crossword puzzle with Klaus, and Father worked on his puzzle book, and Violet and Klaus played chess in the library and gave answers when Father asked them for help with the trivia section, and then Mother and Father played game after game after game of backgammon, and they all painted their toenails again (with Violet and Klaus and Father taking turns doing Mother’s toenails), and none of them entered the nursery just to even look at it and make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and they even moved Mother’s hospital bags from the front foyer into a closet, and then they all sat around in the afternoon sun not doing anything until Mother let out a very dramatic sigh and said they should give it up as a lost cause. They’d gone out for ice cream that night, as a reward for all their trouble. They were a few days past Mother’s initial due date now, or her due week, because Violet had been late and Klaus had been early, so when it came to expecting her third child, Mother circled the whole first week of August so she was prepared at any moment. After the ice cream, she’d looked at the calendar in the hall almost like it had betrayed her.)

5) Laughing (Father told the most terrible, awful puns and jokes, and went around a whole morning making jokes in the library to make Mother laugh. Violet and Klaus thought Mother had to be humoring him, but it was her genuine laugh, every time. Maybe, they figured, when you married someone, you thought them saying “You’re a real page turner” and looking between Mother and the book she’d been holding was endearing, not embarrassing. Either way, that hadn’t worked, either.)

Violet starred the next thing on her list – spicy food – then put down her notebook and scooped up her invention into her arms. She carried it back downstairs, stepping over Klaus, who was in his usual position on the floor outside the kitchen, where the sunlight came in the best through the big glass window above the sink and filled up all the spaces of the Baudelaire home with a soft, yellow light. It fell right on the pages of Klaus’s book, just the way he liked it.

“What are you reading?” Violet asked, looking back over her shoulder.

“Nothing,” Klaus mumbled. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet this week, Violet thought, barely helping at all with Violet’s list. It was like all the anticipation, all the excitement, all the wondering and waiting just passed right over him. Violet frowned down at Klaus’s head, buried back in his book. She figured that when Klaus wanted to talk, then he would surely tell her what was bothering him. She’d just have to wait him out, too. And Violet was getting excellent practice at waiting things out.

“Ah! Is this it?”

Violet turned back to the kitchen. Father was looking at her expectantly, standing by the counter with the tomatoes and peppers and cucumbers and one onion all laid out. She rushed over and set her invention down.

She picked up one of the tomatoes and fit it onto the top dowel. Violet pressed the tiny button she’d put a tomato sticker on, and her invention whirred to life as she and Father watched – the tomato spun around as the record player underneath it started up, and on the first revolution, the skin of the tomato peeled off, and on the next, it split open, sliced out from the inside, creating neat little cubes of tomato that fell onto the transparent plate below, all to the tune of one of Father’s bossa nova records, the sound coming out of the gramophone horn fixed on the side. Violet beamed. She’d designed it last week, after seeing a box grater display in the supermarket, and knew she could do better.

“Wonderful!” Father said. “Very well done, Ed.” He removed the tomato pieces and set them in the big glass bowl at his elbow, then set one of the cucumbers on the dowel. “You can get started on the croutons,” he continued, gesturing at the sideboard cabinet, where he’d put the bread last night.

Violet picked up the big bread knife nearby and got to cutting. It would be easier, she started thinking, if there was a machine for this, too – and something that would toast the croutons – and something to saute the garlic to put them in – and maybe something to tell time while you were doing it, too – and maybe –

“Croutons first!” Father said.

Violet realized she’d been reaching for the ribbon in her trouser pocket. She gave herself a little shake and got back to the bread. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Father set the chopper for the cucumber. He was humming along with The Girl From Ipanema, and perfectly at ease. An excellent opportunity to try and catch him off guard.

“Where’s Mother?” Violet asked, to start.

“In the library,” Father said. He removed the cucumber and replaced it with a pepper. “Relaxing.”

“And it did not work,” came an irritated voice, and Violet and Father both looked up to see Mother in the doorway, holding onto the jamb as she stepped over Klaus as well and lowered herself slowly and gingerly down into one of the stools by the counter. Klaus watched her carefully until she’d sat down, and went back at his book.

“Aha! Here she is!” Father exclaimed. “Miss Tall and Tan and Young and Lovely herself!” He leaned over and gave Mother a quick kiss on her forehead, brushing some of the hair that had fallen out of the bun atop her head out of her face.

Violet barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Father was at it again. Certainly, Mother was tan and young and lovely, but not very tall at all. But it made Mother look a little less grumbly, and that was good.

“Anything I can do to help?” Mother asked. She adjusted her position in the stool, sitting at an angle so the curve of her stomach didn’t hit against anything. “Get you the vinegar? The coriander? Dance around with the salt shaker until I salsa this child out of me?”

“All you have to do is sit there and look nice,” Father said. “Which you already do, effortlessly. And not eat all the cucumbers,” he added, waving Mother’s wandering hand away from the big bowl.

Violet waited a few moments, slicing into the bread again. She wasn’t sure how she’d fare against both of her parents at the same time, now, but maybe it would cheer Mother up. And hopefully Klaus would join in. “I wonder if Ginger will like gazpacho,” she said, keeping her tone light.

Father started humming again. Mother was suddenly inspecting her fingernails, looking very interested.

Violet reached over into the icebox for the half-used garlic bulb. “Or if – ” She caught sight of the mason jar filled with soft, small green leaves. “ – Sage will like garlic croutons.”

Father smiled once more, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses, and Mother successfully stole a piece of cucumber from the big glass bowl and popped it into her mouth. “Very refreshing,” she commented. Father gave her a mock-stern look, until Mother said, “You said all the cucumbers, that was one cucumber.” She maintained eye contact as she reached into the bowl and took another. “Two,” she said, around the cucumber.

Violet puffed out a sigh. Mother and Father had been so tight-lipped for the past nine months about what they were going to name their third child. Violet and Klaus had taken to dropping name options at every opportunity, to see if they could jog a response. Not even food-themed names could get them to talk. Mother and Father were going to make them wait until the baby was born. Which, at this rate, could take an age.

All of a sudden, Klaus cut in. “Babies can’t eat gazpacho,” he called, looking into the kitchen. “Or garlic croutons.”

Violet didn’t scowl – she thought she was much too old for scowling – but her face scrunched up, just like Mother’s had been doing. Why didn’t Klaus want to have fun anymore? It wasn’t as if they’d run out of food names. And of course babies couldn’t eat gazpacho, but that wasn’t the point.

“Perhaps Pepper will like gazpacho when they’re old enough to try it,” Father said. He scooped up the last pepper and dropped it in with the rest of the ingredients. “Klaus, stop sulking down there and get the vinegar and citrus juice for me, please.”

Violet almost thought Klaus would insist he wasn’t sulking, he seemed in that sour of a mood, but it was hard to talk back to Father. So Klaus got up from the hall, bookmarked his page with a thin slip of paper, and joined Violet and Father and Mother in the kitchen.

While Violet and Klaus bustled around, getting the remaining ingredients, Mother chopped up a scallion into little pieces with a knife. Scallions! The one thing Violet hadn’t allotted for in her invention. She’d have to make an adjustment for that, later. Mother complemented Violet’s handiwork, then helped her cross a few wires so they could use it as a regular record player too, without needing to slice or chop anything more, and the Gilberto album went on, filling the kitchen with soft saxophones and guitars. When Father and Mother had mixed everything together in the bowl, Father placed the soup in the fridge so it could chill, and then the four of them made the croutons together.

They crowded around the stove top, pressed close to Mother as she sauted the butter and garlic in a pan before tossing all the bread cubes in alongside. Klaus got to shake the pan around to coat the bread, and use the big salt grinder to sprinkle them with salt after, and he looked a little happier.

Mother and Father piled the croutons atop a cream napkin on plate. “Well, we have to try them,” Mother said. The gazpacho would take forever to chill – or at least a couple hours – but garlic croutons were considered spicy too, Violet realized, and maybe that would be enough to convince the third Baudelaire sibling to make their appearance.

“I concur,” Father said, and the four of them each took a crouton. “What do you think?” he asked over all the crunching.

“Buttery,” Klaus said.

“Toasty,” Violet said.

“Garlicky,” Father put in.

“Very garlicky,” Mother said, looking pleased, and she took another crouton, and then a handful of them. “Well done, troupe.” They stood in the kitchen, waiting and waiting, but the only thing that happened was that Violet’s feet started to get a little sore from standing. The warm summer breeze continued, and the sun was still bright in the mid-afternoon sky, and Desafinado was playing now, and Mother was still, despite everyone’s best intentions, very, very pregnant. Violet frowned; Father kissed Mother’s forehead again; even Klaus sighed.

“Maybe the gazpacho will do something,” Mother sighed, and dusted crouton crumbs from her fingers. “It’s early, but how about the two of you set the table anyway, mm?”

Klaus got the napkins, and Violet got the silverware, and they passed under the big archway between the kitchen and the dining room, filled with soft purple and blue shards of sunlight from the pieces of stained glass in the dining room windows.

“I could always try to scare you again,” Violet heard Father offer, back in the kitchen. “I’m still upset that didn’t work.”

“If you tell me you’re going to scare me, how is that going to work, Bertrand?”

“Forget I said anything – look, that’s an awfully interesting frying pan, isn’t it? What if you look at it while I go over to the other side of the kitchen and get a washcloth and on the way back, while you’re very engrossed in the pan, who knows what will happen?”

Mother started laughing. Violet and Klaus followed each other around the table, putting each place setting down a piece at a time. It was a good sized table, Violet thought. Definitely enough room to accommodate the fifth Baudelaire.

“Which end do you think the baby will sit at?” Violet asked. She thought the far end, by Mother, would be the best, so Mother was right there if they needed anything.

“Babies can’t sit up right away,” Klaus said. “It’ll be months before they can sit at the table.”

Violet knew that, but that wasn’t the point of it, either. She thought maybe she should stop waiting out Klaus in particular and just come right out and ask him. She was his older sister, and soon to be the eldest sibling out of three, and she should be able to problem-solve this like she’d problem-solved an unexciting box grater, like she’d been making the list of things to try and help Mother, like she wanted to be able to do for their new sibling. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Klaus said again. He folded the fourth napkin and set it down on the table, a little too hard. He ran his fingers over the bend in the cloth. “Do you think the gazpacho will work?”

“I hope so,” Violet said. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

Klaus shrugged. “I mean – I liked things the way they were,” he said quietly. He adjusted his glasses, then the collar of his shirt, like the way Father fidgeted sometimes. “A baby changes a lot,” he pointed out. “Mother didn’t even read her summer book, this year.”

Things had been a little different this year, Violet realized. But not in a bad way. In a fun way, of getting things ready and helping Mother and Father, and they still spent a lot of time together, all of them. But Violet hadn’t been able to go to the museum with Mother as much as other summers, and Father had spent a lot of time looking out the window with a little crease of worry in his brow, when he thought no one else was watching. They’d all have to spend a lot of time looking after the baby when it finally did arrive. They might not be able to go to the museum at all, and maybe – it struck Violet with a pang – maybe Mother wouldn’t have time to read a book with Klaus next summer, either. Things might change a lot.

“And,” Klaus continued, “what if something goes terribly, terribly wrong? Babies aren’t supposed to be late.” He glanced past Violet and back into the kitchen, and when Violet followed his gaze, she saw the book Klaus had been reading earlier placed on the counter. One of Mother’s pregnancy books that they’d all taken turns reading.

“Oh, Klaus,” Violet said. “I don’t – I was late,” she remembered. “And Mother was okay. And – ” She hesitated. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “We’re all still a family, aren’t we? That doesn’t change just because some other things do.”

“It feels like it,” Klaus said miserably. “I like it when things stay the same.” He wiped the side of his hand under his glasses, over each eye.

Suddenly, Violet had an idea. She reached over and put her hand on Klaus’s shoulder. “I think Brie will really like you, Klaus,” she said, trying to put on her most serious face. The corner of her mouth twitched, just as Klaus met her eyes.

It worked – Klaus started to laugh, just like Mother’s genuine laugh, a loud and bright startled sound. “You think so? Wheely?” he asked.

“Of course they’re gouda,” Violet said, giggling.

“I hear puns!” Mother called. “Bad puns!”

“Excellent job!” Father called after.

The gazpacho was delicious. Mother was still pregnant after dinner – but the gazpacho was delicious, and so were the remaining croutons, after all of them sneaking handfuls while the gazpacho chilled. And Violet and Klaus and Mother and Father sat around the table, all of them suggesting the silliest food names they could come up with, making Mother laugh until there were tears in her eyes.

Father and Violet and Klaus gathered up all the dishes and took them in trips to the kitchen, letting Mother stretch out in her chair. When Violet and Klaus came back for the glasses, Mother grabbed hold of them and pulled them down onto her lap, all of them making a little oomph noise. They were a little too big to really fit comfortably, especially with Mother’s stomach taking up most of the room on her lap, but she held Violet and Klaus so close against her.

“Let me tell you a secret,” Mother whispered, looking at Violet and Klaus. “Don’t tell your father I told you, alright? Look surprised when he tells you. But I want to tell you.” She got a look in her eyes like she’d heard every word Violet and Klaus had said before dinner. Violet thought there wasn’t a thing in the world Mother didn’t hear. “Both of you, sweetest things.”

“What is it?” Klaus asked.

Mother smiled, slow and beautiful. “Sunny,” she said. “That’s what we’re going to name her.”

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #wicked way exchange #i will fix the dashes..........lllllllater #much like bea with sunny i had a hard time getting this to Exist. i hope it reads well and is. soft

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miriel-therindes · 1 year

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sugar bowl gen class photo at prufrock prep for @larryy0urwaiter for @asouefanworkevent <3

(i'm still learning to draw so i'm afraid this isn't very good, but I hope you like it!)

#wicked way exchange #asoue #snicketverse #esme squalor #r duchess of winnipeg #beatrice baudelaire #frank denouement #earnest denouement #georgina orwell #count olaf #kit snicket #jacques snicket #bertrand baudelaire #josephine anwhistle #lemony snicket #my doodles

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snicketbae · 1 year

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my contribution to @asouefanworkevent! some Olivia/Jacques for @accidentallylita 🥰 I imagined this to be a brief moment of downtime shortly after they met... and shortly before things went sideways.

hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun!

#wicked way exchange #asoue #a series of unfortunate events #olivia caliban #jacques snicket #asoue netflix #my draws #i tried some new techniques here and um... ended up really liking it.......??/ wow...#asoue fanart #oliques #idk if there's other tags for this ship um #olivia x jacques #also hiiiii :)we got each other that's amazing ty asouefanwork mod #your fic is almost like a spiritual successor forthis art i'm laughing i love how same brain we were

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jacobsnicket · 1 year

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anyway, don't be a stranger

written for @missingmae as part of the wicked way exchange run by @asouefanworkevent! this was so so much fun to work on

The first thought that Lemony has as he steps off the Thistle of the Valley and into Stain’d-by-the-Sea for the first time in two decades is this: the town seems smaller than he remembered. The streets don’t stretch on into oblivion the way they used to, unending rows of boarded-up shops.

Perhaps it is simply because there are people here now. Busyness seems to suit Stain’d much better than silence did.

Though he’s sure that a reliable taxi service is available, Lemony takes the walk anyway, attempting to situate himself via a large, unwieldy map of town that he’d found at the train station. Between the map, his briefcase, the oversized scarf covering one half of his face, and the oversized sunglasses covering the other, he must look like a tourist. It’s an entertaining thought, almost reassuring. Maybe, at some other time, Lemony might have visited Stain’d-by-the-Sea for pleasure, rather than because it was the only place he could think of where the citizens would not actively try to arrest him.

(Perhaps the citizens of Stain’d might try to arrest him anyway, false arson charges or no. Maybe he deserved it.)

After an unreasonably long walk, Lemony finally stops in front of his destination, a spindly little building with a faded sign. The flowers in the windowsill are blooming despite the cold, and the flowerpots are new, but the roof still sags the same way he remembers it.

He could have chosen any other hotel— with the town booming as it was, he was sure there was no shortage of them. And yet, for whatever reason, he comes here, For whatever reason, he chooses what is familiar, what is easy.

For whatever reason, he shoves the map into his briefcase and steps inside the doorway of the Lost Arms.

Ornette pauses in the middle of the stack of memoirs she’s reshelving when the library door creaks open.

“Hello,” she says, without looking away from the shelves. “What brings you here today?”

“I just need a little help getting settled, I suppose.” A man’s voice— deep, wavering a little. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. It’s… a lot bigger than I remember.”

She finally turns around to get a good look at the newcomer. He’s decently tall. She can’t get a good look at his face because a scarf, absurdly bulky, is covering half of it.

“I understand. We’ve recently done extensions, repurposed the old police station as part of the library. Even I get lost in here sometimes, and I’ve been coming here my whole life.”

The man nods, and then pauses. “You’re… you’re Ornette Lost. You run the hotel, don’t you?”

For a second she stops in her tracks, wondering how a stranger would’ve known her name so quickly. Then she remembers that she’s still wearing her name tag. “Yes, but I do like to come and help out here whenever I can. Goodness knows the Bellerophons—they’re the regular librarians— have their hands full between this place and the taxi.”

“So you’re a sub-librarian,” he says, looking at her strangely.

She smiles. “I suppose I am.”

There’s an awkward silence, in which Ornette reminds herself that this man has probably come here to browse the shelves, not to make small talk with her. “So, what would you like to find today?” she asks.

“I’m… not sure, actually.” The stranger fidgets with his gloved hands. “Do you happen to have any recommendations?”

“As a matter of fact, I do! We have this biography of Dame Sally Murphy that’s very detailed, has a lot of information on both her and the history of the region. It should be in the theatre section— second row on the right, just over there.”

“Dame Sally Murphy,” he repeats. “I’ve heard she’s a local legend.”

“She is.” When he moves to walk away, Ornette adds “You can take off your scarf, you know. It’s plenty warm in here.”

Turning the majority of her attention back to her memoirs, she watches the man pick out the book she’d mentioned, and then sit at one of the corner tables and begin to read. He doesn’t take off his scarf.

The following is a transcript of a conversation between two teenagers, shoved into a booth at Hungry’s Diner.

GWEN: You know, this might sound crazy…

CECIL: Crazier than usual?

GWEN: But I think Lemony Snicket’s come back to Stain’d-by-the-Sea.

CECIL is silent.

GWEN: No, really, I’m being serious! I saw him come in when I was doing my shift at the check-in desk.

CECIL: Oh, this is so stupid.

GWEN: He was covering his face. He bought a room under the name Monty Kensicle, which really confused me for a second— but then after work, I got out the alphabet soup, and it’s an anagram!

CECIL: That doesn’t even mean anything! And I still can’t believe you think Lemony Snicket is real.

GWEN: We are not having this argument again—

CECIL: Lemony Snicket is an urban legend! He’s a myth parents made up to scare their children out of misbehaving, like Santa or the Bombinating Beast, like oh, if you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, you’ll end up running away into the forest with blood on your hands.

GWEN: That’s just your parents, and anyway, he’s in history books!

CECIL: That one memoir Cleo Knight wrote does not count as a history book.

GWEN: Yes, it does! She was there! She’s a primary source!

CECIL: There is no way there is a real person in the world named Lemony Snicket.

GWEN: Do you not read the Daily Punctilio?

CECIL: Why on earth would I read the Punctilio?

GWEN: It’s been front-page news for weeks— Lemony Snicket’s on the lam for multiple counts of arson. Here, I have a copy with me, I’ll show you.

CECIL: I haven’t seen anything about that in the Lighthouse. That’s strange.

GWEN: I know!

CECIL: Okay, assuming, of course, that Lemony Snicket is a real person, and everything people say about him is true, and the Lemony Snicket in there is the same man, you’re saying that now he’s come back to Stain’d to continue his streak of arson and murder—

GWEN has gone silent.

CECIL: Gwen?

GWEN: That’s him.

CECIL: What?

GWEN: He’s here. I see him at the counter, he’s wearing the same coat. I swear, if I’m right— he’s here.

Hungry’s Diner is nearly empty, save for two kids at a corner booth, but Lemony figures that’s less about the popularity of the establishment and more about the time— it’s a bit early for breakfast. He might have preferred more people; easier for him to slip in and out near-unnoticed. But at least now all the counter seats are vacant.

“Hello and welcome to Hungry’s! What can I get for you?”

In other circumstances, he might not have recognized the man in front of him— it had been quite a long time since he’d seen him, after all. But despite the added twenty years of age, he couldn’t help but remember Jake Hix.

“What would you recommend?” Lemony asks, out of habit. In all the times he’s been there, he doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen Hungry’s menu.

“Hmmm…” Jake tucks his hand under his chin, thinking. “Today’s breakfast special’s a baked Florentine omelette— spinach, tomatoes, ricotta, the works. You want that?”

“That sounds nice. I’ll have the breakfast special.”

“I’ll get right on that for you, then. Thanks for stopping by!” Jake disappears into the kitchen, presumably to go make that omelette, leaving Lemony alone at the counter.

He figures he looks silly, still wearing his scarf, but he hesitates to remove it— he can’t help but feel that the kids in the back are staring at him, even if it may be a trick of his mind. But then, he reasons, he’d have to take it off to eat anyway. So he slips it away and places it on the chair.

When Jake reappears, he thinks, for a second, that he sees him double-take, sees a flash of something in his face— but he must be imagining things, because now Jake is smiling again, warm and genuine.

He hands him the plate. The omelette is exquisite— but then again, he didn’t expect anything else.

“So,” Jake says, almost casual. “I feel like I’ve seen you around here before.”

And what is he supposed to say to that? Yes, Jake, I came here every day for lunch and dinner when I was twelve years old because I didn’t have anywhere else to go and you were always so kind to me, and then I murdered a man in front of you and disappeared forever and if I told you all this you’d have every reason to kick me out with my breakfast.

“I’ve been told I have one of those faces, I suppose. No, it’s my first time in Stain’d-by-the-Sea.”

“Oh.” Jake frowns. “Well, how are you finding the town?”

He wracks his brain for something to say, deciding on something mostly truthful. “Haven’t been here long, but it’s nice. I went to the library yesterday.”

“Oh, I love the library. It’s so comfortable.” Jake’s expression shifts. “You know, I’ve been rereading The Wind in the Willows lately myself. What are your thoughts on Grahame?”

There was no possible way Jake recognized him. How could he? The last time he saw him, he hadn’t even hit his growth spurt yet. It’s been twenty whole years, Jake couldn’t have— shouldn’t have remembered him.

And yet Kenneth Grahame.

Even if he was right, Lemony tells himself, it’s not safe here, in public, at a diner counter where people could be listening in. Circumstances have changed. It’s best to be cautious.

“I haven’t read it in a while; don’t think it would hold up upon reexamination,” he hears himself say, before finishing his omelette and bidding Jake goodbye.

He probably should seek elsewhere for meals in the future.

The town square is crowded today, Moxie notices, filled with tourists taking pictures of the lumpy statue and the little museum and, in a much smaller amount, the library. Usually, Moxie is expert at navigating crowds; she has to be, given her profession. But today, she nearly walks face-first into someone.

The person gives her a strange look. The scarf he’s wearing has slipped down onto his shoulders, letting her look at him straight in the face.

“Snicket?” she says, before she knows that she’s saying it.

In any other case, she would have thought she was mistaken, would have thought that she was dreaming. But Jake has told her about seeing him at the counter for breakfast, and Ornette has told her about his alias on her registry, and when she says his name, he jolts back like he’s about to make a run for it.

(“I know he’s in a lot of trouble, he’s trying to hide, but— he doesn’t need to hide from us,” Jake had said, slumped over on her armchair. “He should know that, right?”

Moxie had told him that she was surprised he expected Snicket to do anything else.)

Then he stills, scribbling something down on a notepad that he must have retrieved from his coat.

Moxie stops herself from speaking further. After a few seconds, Snicket stops writing with a little hum of finality and walks right past her.

She almost chases after him. Then she feels a note pressed into her palm.

If you’d like, meet me at the cliffs near the lighthouse at exactly 10:16 PM sharp.

With all due respect,

By the time Lemony arrives at the spot near the lighthouse he had mentioned, Moxie is already waiting for him. He isn’t sure whether it’s out of a sense of duty, simply wanting to be early, or wanting to show him up somehow, I can’t believe you didn’t think I would come.

Knowing Moxie, it’s a mix of the latter two. “So,” she’s saying, “why here? Why now?”

He hesitates for a second. “Have you been reading the Daily Punctilio recently?”

“I always read the Punctilio. It’s a valuable resource for what not to do in journalism.” She sits down on the ground, legs folded. “I saw all the articles about the arson case. Why’d you do it?”

“What?”

“Come on, Snicket. Whatever you do, I know you always have a good reason for it.”

It takes him a second to understand just what Moxie’s implying. “ No— no, you don’t understand, I didn’t start those fires. I was framed.”

“Oh.” Moxie looks almost surprised. “I knew you’re on the lam— that doesn’t answer my other question. Why come to Stain’d, of all places?”

That’s the question Lemony’s been asking himself since he arrived in town. “I… I don’t know. I suppose it was just the first place I could think of.”

She hums. “You talked to Jake at the diner and Ornette at the library. Why didn’t you just tell us you were here?”

Lemony should have expected it, inviting Moxie here, but this conversation is starting to sound more and more like an interview. (Or, another, slightly unkinder part of his brain proposes, an interrogation.)

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “It wasn’t safe— I’m a wanted fugitive, after all. And… I didn’t think that you would really want to see me anyway. We all didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.” Meaning, of course, that he’d killed a man in front of them and they were mad about it.

“What did you think? We were all going to go on hating you for two decades?”

“... yes?”

Moxie laughs at that. “I don’t have the time or the energy for that these days.”

Lemony smiles a little too, at that. “I didn’t even know if you’d remember me at all. It’s been so long.”

“Snicket.” She looks him straight in the eyes. “Stain’d-by-the-Sea would never be able to forget you, even if they try. You know that, right?”

Lemony doesn’t answer, instead looking down the cliffs to where the sea used to be. It was nearly the same, barring a tour bus or two rattling around on the old ocean floor. “Didn’t they try to bring the sea back?”

Moxie chuckles. “Oh, they tried. Cleo ran experiments and tests and surveys for years, looking for a way to do it. It’s impossible, not without destroying the whole town.” Her fingers tap along the dirt. “I think it’s fitting. We brought Stain’d back from the brink, but we’re never going to go back to how things were.”

“But you’re running tours in there,” he says, pointing to the buses.

“It’s a bit depressing, but visitors flock from all over to see it. These are geological formations you can’t find anywhere else.” Moxie paused. “Hey, you’re a visitor. Maybe I should get you a ticket for one of those bus tours.”

“No thanks,” Lemony says, laughing. “I think I’ve been down there long enough.”

#kiran writes #atwq #wicked way exchange

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navree · 1 year

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It's not very quantifiable, she doesn't share her mother's hair or eye color, but the evidence of blood ties would be obvious to anyone who knew Kit. He can see Kit in her face, and in the way she moves her hands, and the crinkle of her eyebrows when she's pondering a question.

Lemony tells his niece about the Snickets that came before her.

Fandom: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV) Pairing(s): Beatrice Baudelaire II & Lemony Snicket Words: 2112 Chapters: 1/1

( for @acacia-may from @asouefanworkevent !! loved all the prompts, hope you like this!! )

#wicked way exchange #asoue #a series of unfortunate events #lemony snicket #beatrice snicket #beatrice baudelaire ii #my stuff #is this my best work? honestly no not by a loooooooong shot #but i got to ramble about lemony and his family for a bit and that's always a treat

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noodle-the-queen · 1 year

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Reposting this bc I realized tagged with wring person like a big ol dumb idiot 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

ANYWAYS. here’s my fan work for the ASOUE Wicked Way Exchange, this time with the correct tag bc I’m dumb. Ha ha. This is for @drpinkky !! A lil background on the piece: I had this scene in my head of Esme and Jacquelyn running into each other and getting into an argument, and Jacquelyn is trying so so so so hard to keep her composure but Esme knows just how to piss her off and says something that makes Jacquelyn SO mad. I liked this idea if their dynamic with each other being the opposite of how they usually are, with Esme being more calm and smug and Jacquelyn being more emotional and angry since those are usually swapped when they’re with other people. Anyways!! Here’s the art! I’m so glad I got to do this!!

#asouefanworkevent #wicked way exchange #jacquelyn scieszka #esme squalor #asoue #a series of unfortunate events #fan art #art #my artwork

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larryy0urwaiter · 1 year

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@odd-kid-42 @asouefanworkevent

#wicked way exchange

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littlestsnicket · 1 year

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title: all the news in fits of print

word count: 1.9k

geraldine julienne & moxie mallahan, referenced kidnapping and minor character death, (character death is not explicitly canon but after researching for this fic i am 90% convinced that it is canon)

@whoslaurapalmer's prompt fill for the @asouefanworkevent

Moxie Mallahan took a sip of her now cold tea, sighed, and looked back at the title and byline of the article she was studying from yesterday’s mid afternoon edition of the Daily Punctilio.

Baudelaire Orphans at Large, by Star Reporter Geraldine Julienne.

Moxie was—she suspected—the foremost expert in meta journalism, and her familiarity with the Daily Punctilio through that lens was peerless. This article—the additional title in the byline, the sloppiness of the reporting even by the standards of the Daily Punctilio—struck her as suspicious. Something out of the ordinary might be going on, and Moxie had built her life around investigating suspicions that others might ignore, as was her job as a journalist.

She folded up the newspaper, packed up her portable typewriter, straightened her waistcoat, put on her jacket, laced up her boots, checked the angle of her hat in the mirror, and walked out the door to begin her investigation.

[read more on ao3]

#wicked way exchange #asoue #mayo writes fic #moxie mallahan #geraldine julienne

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randomsprinkles · 1 year

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Hello 👋

I made this art for the Wicked Way exchange @asouefanworkevent

For @bittersbetter for their prompt of the Snicket siblings hanging out 💗

They are drinking root beer floats and Lemony and Jacques are playing Beethoven as Kit rolls her eyes at their shenanigans

I hope you like it 😊

#asoue fanart #asoue #lemony snicket #jacques snicket #kit snicket #asoue event #my art #wicked way exchange

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asouefanworkevent · 1 year

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and that's a wrap on the wicked way exchange!! always a little sad the day after an exchange ends, isn't it? everything is over now. no more working and editing and waiting and getting in last minute details and everything. but now there's so much exciting fanwork to see! look at it all!!! we all did this!!!!!

thank you all again for participating!!!!!! i'm so happy and so proud of you all. ⭐⭐

@lesbianscieszka: Interesting (esme and jerome), for @gray-zelle

@library-child: Associates (beatrice and olaf), for @hitsuzenhusbands

@gray-zelle: Hearts & Hives (jacquelyn/esme, jacques/jerome, olaf/esme), for @archangelsunited

@accidentallylita: Jacques and Olivia fic, for @snicketbae

@acacia-may: Good Things Find Their Way Back (baudelaires and quagmires post-canon), for @junowritesstuff

@memento-fugaces: Jacques and Quigley fic, for @nothing-to-see-here-bye-yall

@snicketbae: Jacques and Olivia art, for @accidentallylita

@volunteerfelinedetectives: SBTS Associates fic, for @cherrycokeisnice

@nothing-to-see-here-bye-yall: Snicket siblings art, for @bittersbetter

@hitsuzenhusbands: The Shattering of Thalia and Melpomene (beatrice and olaf), for @virginian-wolfsnake

@bittersbetter: SBTS Associates art, for @miriel-therindes

@virginian-wolfsnake: death of an enemy (esme after beatrice dies), for @navree

@navree: Two Scoops (lemony and babybea), for @acacia-may

@littlestsnicket: All the News in Fits of Print (moxie and geraldine), for @whoslaurapalmer

@miriel-therindes: Sugar Bowl Gen Class Photo art, for @larryy0urwaiter

@larryy0urwaiter: Bertrand and Lemony art, for @odd-kid-42

@snckt: Denouement edit, for @lyeekha

@lyeekha: Beatrice/Bertrand/Lemony) Lion Tamer art, for @littlestsnicket

@somewhat-bored: Late Night Thoughts (ellington/cleo), for @volunteerfelinedetectives

@whoslaurapalmer: sweetest things (pre-canon baudelaire family), for @snckt

@junowritesstuff: A Chance Encounter (violet/quigley post-canon), for @noodle-the-queen

@noodle-the-queen: Jacquelyn and Esme art, for @lesbianscieszka

@jacobsnicket: anyway, don't be a stranger (lemony returning to stain'd-by-the-sea), for @missingmae

@cherrycokeisnice: Two Years After "Why Is This Night Different Than All Other Nights?" (ellington and cleo), for @somewhat-bored

@odd-kid-42: Non-restrictive Clause to Some (lemony and moxie talk about asoue), for @library-child

@archangelsunited: On That Account (dewey in vfd), for @memento-fugaces

@missingmae: the misadventures of a very kind editor (lemony and the editor), for @jacobsnicket

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #atwq #all the wrong questions #wicked way exchange

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lyeekha · 1 year

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For @littlestsnicket as a part of @asouefanworkevent !

#asoue #littlestsnicket #beatrice baudelaire #bertrand baudelaire #lemony snicket #wicked way exchange #a series of unfortunate events #lemonberry ice

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library-child · 1 year

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Associates

"Because I promised you, remember?"

After entering headquarters at ten, Beatrice and Olaf were not too happy to study Theatrics alongside each other. But when their dedication began to get them in trouble, they discovered something quite unexpected.

Fandom: Lemony Snicket

Genre: Humor, Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Beatrice Baudelaire, Count Olaf, Lemony Snicket, OC

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 2931

This work is for @hitsuzenhusbands

Thanks to @asouefanworkevent

#wicked way exchange #a series of unfortunate events #lemony snicket #all the wrong questions #the beatrice letters #the unauthorized autobiography #fanfiction #beatrice baudelaire #count olaf

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acacia-may · 1 year

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Good Things Find Their Way Back (Wicked Way Exchange Fic 2023)

Story Summary: Violet Baudelaire knew better than probably anyone that some stories simply had no happy endings, and though it would be easy to believe that her own life and that of her siblings was one such story, a cloudy, quiet day at Briny Beach and an unexpected reunion has her questioning if perhaps they had a chance at a happy ending after all. Maybe, just maybe, no matter how much they had lost, good things could still find their way back to them in the end.

Fandom: A Series of Unfortunate Events

Genre: Friendship and Family Fluff, Quiglet Fluff, Tearful Reunions, and Much Deserved Warm and Fuzzies

Relationships: Baudelaire Siblings & Quagmire Siblings Friendship, The Baudelaire Siblings & Beatrice II, Quigley Quagmire/Violet Baudelaire Pairing [Quiglet]

Characters: Violet Baudelaire (POV Character), Klaus Baudelaire, Sunny Baudelaire, Beatrice Baudelaire II, Quigley Quagmire, Isadora Quagmire, and Duncan Quagmire.

Rating: G

Warnings: Very brief and generally vague mentions of the unfortunate events that had befallen the Baudelaires and Quagmires in the past. A short sequence of worry when Violet briefly loses sight of Little Bea in the fog. But really this is pretty much all fluff and happy reunions.

Word Count: 2057

Link to original posts on AO3. Please do not repost to another site.

Written for @junowritesstuff as part of the Wicked Way Exchange hosted by @asouefanworkevent

A/N: Hi Juno! I absolutely loved both of your prompts for the Wicked Way Exchange so I combined them into one story. I completely understand what you meant about how'd you give almost anything for a solid Baudelaires and Quagmires reunion. I absolutely feel the same way, and I really hope you will like what I've come up with for that. (I also loved your Quiglet fluff prompt so I tried to incorporate some of that into this story as well). Here's to much deserved happiness for the children! Cheers!!

Beatrice Baudelaire II giggled and laughed as Sunny chased her around the shallow waters of Briny Beach—splashing her short, sandy legs and the already damp skirt of her dress. Watching them play brought a certain, almost bittersweet ache to Violet’s chest. Sunny had rarely been given the chance to play, the chance to have these happy childhood experiences that they were determined to give Little Bea. Since returning to the City, Violet and Klaus had worked hard to give Little Bea as happy a life as they could manage, and a smile tugged at Violet’s mouth seeing her now, smiling and laughing like a normal toddler who had never experienced the kinds of misery, despair, and misfortune that had followed the Baudelaire siblings since they had learned of that terrible fire on a day quite like this one—cloudy, foggy, and overcast, spent together on an otherwise empty beach.

Klaus soon intervened in Sunny and Bea’s splash fight—his already patched-up suit getting appropriately soaked in the process. The girls laughed as Klaus sighed and wiped the dripping water off of his glasses, but a slight smile twitched in the corners of his mouth as he splashed Sunny right back and lifted a giggly Bea up on his shoulders. Violet had missed her younger brother’s smile and was glad to see he was learning to be happy again, slowly but surely. They all were, and Violet knew they had Beatrice to thank for that. Without her, as Klaus had once said, they would likely have given in to despair long ago. She saved them, and for that they wanted to give their littlest sister the world and did everything in their power to make sure she never experienced the kinds of hardships and tragedies they had.

As Klaus carried Bea over to show her some of the tide pools he had loved to watch as a young boy, a sopping Sunny came running over to excitedly to unload the picnic basket she had packed for lunch.

“Are you ready to eat?” she asked with a wide smile, and Violet shrugged.

“Whenever you are.”

Sunny laughed. “Well, I’m always up for eating.”

Nodding, Violet chuckled lightly and turned to help Sunny unpack the contents of the picnic basket—a delicious meal she had spent the morning preparing.

“Violet! Violet!” called Bea running across the beach with a somewhat weary Klaus following after her barefooted, with the damp legs of his pants rolled up over his ankles. “Klaus says you can skip rocks. Can you show me how?” Her eyes widened as she practically begged her. “Can you, please?”

Klaus sighed apologetically as Violet turned to him then back to Bea with a smile. “Alright.”

Violet reached out to take her tiny hand as she began tugging her along the beach. She turned back to her brother. “Help Sunny set up the picnic, please.” Klaus nodded and began unpacking the picnic basket.

Violet stopped on the waters’ edge with Bea and told her to start looking for smooth stones they could use for skipping rocks. Bea nodded excitedly as she began her collection—though like any young child she tended to get a bit distracted by seashells and hermit crabs.

“Ah!” she cried, and Violet startled—whipping around to face her. She sighed in relief when she discovered that she was okay. “My hat!” Bea continued before taking off and running across the beach after her tumbling sunhat which was being blown about by the wind into a thick patch of fog.

“Beatrice! Beatrice, come back!” exclaimed Violet taking off after her.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she lost sight of Little Beatrice in all the mist, but she took a few deep breaths as she heard her giggling and a kind voice asking, “Little Miss, have you lost your hat?”

Through the thick cloud of mist, Violet could see the hazy figure of a young man bending down to return Beatrice’s hat to her as she said, “Thank you” with a bit of a curtsy.

“You’re welcome. Now you should hold on to that hat while it’s so windy out.” Something about his good-natured chuckle was so familiar somehow that Violet’s legs seemed to move on their own propelling through the mist at rapid speed. The man must have seen the outline of Violet as well because he added politely, “And go back to your mother since she’s probably worried about you.”

Violet made it through a clearing of fog just as Bea laughed and explained, “That’s not my mother. That’s my big sister Violet.”

The figures of Little Beatrice and the young man suddenly began to come into focus as they both turned to look at her. Bea was giggling clutching her hat in both hands as the man rose to his full height. He was tall with dark hair and kind eyes which widened as soon as he saw her. Violet froze in her tracks unable to believe her eyes.

“Violet…” he repeated in a soft, gentle voice as she met his gaze. “That’s a beautiful name.”

Still, Violet couldn’t bring herself to believe it. It couldn’t be…

She blinked at him and at Bea in disbelief as Bea tugged on the sleeve of his sweater. “My name is Beatrice, but you can call me Bea. What’s your name?”

The young man turned back to Bea with a kind smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Bea. My name is Quigley—”

“Quagmire,” Violet interrupted unable to stop herself now that she had irrefutable evidence.

Quigley’s smile widened and there was such kindness, such tenderness in his eyes as he replied, “Hello Violet.”

Her feet began to move on their own, and she ran a few feet forward throwing her arms around Quigley’s shoulders with misty-eyes. She squeezed him tightly—afraid that if she loosened her grip for just a moment he would disappear once again in the fog.

Quigley, however, didn’t seem to mind, and she could hear the light, breathy laugh reverberating in his chest as he said, “I was beginning to think you had forgotten me.”

“Never. I just…” She pulled back to look at him. He was older now as she was, but she would recognize his thoughtful smile and gentle eyes anywhere. She sniffled. “I just can’t believe it’s you.”

Quigley nodded in agreement as he gently pressed his palm to her cheek. “I know. I’m having trouble believing the same thing.”

“I never thought I’d see you again.” Violet’s voice hitched—choking on the emotion of those words.

Quigley nodded understandingly, but his mouth twitched in the corners. “I was worried too, but I always wanted to believe that we’d find each other again.” He gently pushed a long piece of dark hair out of her face. “I like to think that good things always have a way of finding their way back to you in the end.” He paused and chuckled rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “Though I’ll admit, I never expected to meet again on Briny Beach of all places. We’re not even supposed to be here. Hector has a cold so we were just trying to get out of the house to give him some peace and quiet, and we were mostly just driving around until Isadora suggested we stop at the beach for a while.”

Violet’s eyes widened and she gasped. “Isadora? Hector? We?” she began tripping over her words in incoherent disbelief. “You mean…?”

A bright beaming smile spread across Quigley’s face followed by a somewhat apologetic, concerned look of realization. “Oh right, um…”

Before he could finish that thought, however, another figure appeared in the mist calling, “Quigley? Quigley, where did you go?”

“Duncan,” Quigley called back excitedly. “You’ll never believe—”

It seemed Quigley did not need to finish that thought, however, as Duncan appeared in the clearing and stopped in his tracks exclaiming, “Violet?” He immediately dropped the basket he was holding and ran down the beach and hugged her tightly, calling almost immediately for his sister. “Isadora! Isadora, come quickly!”

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” called a faraway voice as the figure of a young woman began to stumble through the mist. As soon as she reached the clearing however she practically squealed with excitement and joy as she flung her arms around Violet and her brother joining their hug.

Realizing, somewhat guiltily, that Violet herself hadn’t called for her siblings yet in the all the excitement, she turned her head to yell for Klaus and Sunny but found she didn’t have to as she watched the tiny figure of Little Beatrice dragging Klaus by the arm through the fog with Sunny in concerned pursuit.

“Come on. Come on. Violet’s acting strange…” said Bea.

Klaus chuckled lightly as he reassured her, “Okay. Okay. I’m coming.”

Duncan and Isadora Quagmire both perked up at the sound of Klaus’s voice and took off after him, calling his name. They practically collided into him and pulled him into a tight hug the minute he appeared in the clearing.

“What…? How…?” he stumbled in disbelief as his eyes began to grow misty. Even Sunny who Violet worried might not remember the Quagmires shrieked excitedly and ran up to hug Quigley.

Soon the entire group, save a rather confused Bea, was hugging and crying and laughing. After the long, painful, and arduous series of unfortunate events that had marred their lives, the Baudealires and the Quagmires could not describe their joy at having been reunited once again with their dear friends.

“What’s going on?” asked a perplexed Bea, and Klaus scooped her up in his arms with a bright smile.

“These are our friends, the Quagmires, we told you about,” he explained.

Isadora laughed. “You told her about us?”

“I hope it’s mostly good things,” quipped Quigley, and Violet’s smile widened.

“Only good things.”

They all laughed.

“Are they going to come to our picnic?” asked Bea curiously, and the Quagmire triplets looked amongst themselves.

“Well…I did kind of drop our dinner in all the excitement,” said Duncan with a sheepish chuckle as he scratched the nape of his neck. He tilted his head towards the Quagmire’s picnic basket which had been spilled on the sand and forgotten in all the excitement.

Quigley gave his brother a pat on the back. “I don’t know,” he teased good-naturedly with an affectionate smile. “I tend to like a little bit of sand with my sandwich.”

Sunny chuckled, but reassured everyone, “Don’t worry. You can join us. We have plenty of food.”

And so, I am happy to say, the reunited friends settled in for a lovely picnic together on Briny Beach. Though it felt like it had been a lifetime since they had last seen each other, they picked up as if they had never left off—talking, laughing, and catching up for hours as they ate the delicious meal Sunny had prepared for them. They shared a little about what they had been doing since they had been parted and about some of their many failed attempts to find each other again, but many questions were left unanswered. There would be a time and a place for them on a much less joyous occasion, Violet thought, or perhaps they simply didn’t matter anymore.

As the sun began to set that evening, Duncan, Klaus and Isadora finished up the sandcastle they had been building with Sunny and Little Bea, and Quigley took a seat next to Violet on the picnic blanket.

“This is a very lovely view,” he said with a smile gazing out over the water and the bright orange sun disappearing on the misty horizon.

A knowing smile twitched in Violet’s mouth.

Many things had been taken from the Baudelaire siblings: their home, their parents, many of their previous guardians, their privacy, their sense of safety and security, and their friends. But now, sitting on Briny Beach and watching the sunset through the mist with her head resting on Quigley’s shoulder, Violet Baudelaire felt for the first time in a long time that maybe Quigley was right. Maybe no matter how much they had lost, good things could still find their way back to them in the end.

“Very lovely indeed,” she replied though she wasn’t looking at the sunset.

#wicked way exchange #asoue #a series of unfortunate events #quiglet #violet baudelaire #quigley quagmire #sunny baudelaire #klaus baudelaire #duncan quagmire #isadora quagmire #thanks for reading!

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