#bertrand baudelaire x ernest denouement

[the-nonsense-is-mine]

"Why," asks Ernest, pushing himself up on his elbows, "are you here?"

Bertrand pauses in his task of unbuttoning his shirt, and looks up at Ernest with those wide eyes of his. The tiniest of frowns twists the corners of his mouth, and Ernest suddenly feels very warm all over.

"I thought I was rather clear about that," says Bertrand, abandoning his buttons altogether and crossing the room to stand at the side of the bed. "Was I not?"

He looks down at Ernest, genuine concern pinching his brow, and Ernest feels the weight of his gaze keenly. He lifts his chin to meet Bertrand's eyes - his tie is loose and the top buttons of his shirt undone in a way that he knows shows off the beginning of the collarbone quite nicely. He is only a little miffed when Bertrand is unmoved by the display.

"Oh, you were very clear, B," he says, changing tactics. He moves to kneel on the bed in front of Bertrand, hands trailing down the exposed v of Bertrand's chest. Bertrand adjusts his glasses, a nervous tell, and blushes. Victory curls delightfully in Ernest's chest.

"I suppose the question I'm really asking is," he continues, lowly, as his hands find their way to Bertrand's waist, "why me?"

He pulls Bertrand in a little by the belt, so that their hips knock together and their faces are inches apart. Bertrand's hands fly to Ernest's shoulders, not pushing him away or pulling him closer but simply holding. He smiles at the obvious ploy, finally finally allowing himself to look Ernest up and down.

"Fishing for compliments isn't very nice, E," he says, hint of teasing in the back of his tone. He leans in, so the breath of his words brushes over Ernest's mouth. "You know very well why you."

One of his hands slides to the back of Ernest's head as he closes the rest of the gap between them and kisses Ernest, warm and heavy. Ernest really would like to let this blow past their conversation, but the question has been nagging him unbidden since he recieved Bertrand's note, so he pulls away and sits back on his knees, looking up at Bertrand in his best approximation of Jacques' ridiculous sad puppy eyes that seem to work so well.

"But I'm not nice," he pushes. "I'm not the safe choice."

Bertrand frowns, even as he finishes undoing the buttons of his shirt and discards it on the floor.

"Why ever not?" he asks, as he climbs onto the bed beside Ernest.

Ernest obligingly turns so that he is sitting with his back against the headboard, facing Bertrand. Bertrand settles between Ernest's legs, tracing slow figure-eights against Ernest's knee with one finger. Ernest tries very hard to focus on the conversation at hand, but indulges in one long look at Bertrand's now-exposed chest.

"I'm not-" he says, dragging his eyes back up to meet Bertrand's. He isn't usually prone to such fits of moral concern, it's more Frank's area of expertise, but Bertrand makes him unusually forthcoming. "We're not on the same side," he decides.

Bertrand moves further into Ernest's space with a soft smile, one hand resting on Ernest's hip and the other tugging lightly on the knot of Ernest's tie.

"That's precisely why it's safe," he says, and reels Ernest in for another kiss.

This kiss is urgent and fierce, and almost as soon as it's begun Bertrand has already moved on, trailing kisses down the side of Ernest's neck. Ernest tries to keep hold of the conversation, even as he finds his hands running up and down Bertrand's back.

"One day," says Bertrand, lips still pressed against the hollow of Ernest's throat, "you will do something I find so despicable that I won't be able to look at you."

He bites at Ernest's collarbone, hard enough to make Ernest gasp.

"And one day," he continues, "I will do something you find so despicable that you won't be able to look at me."

Bertrand is busily undoing the buttons of Ernest's shirt, while Ernest hooks one leg around Bertrand's to pull him closer.

"If we both know that from the start," concludes Bertrand, logic still unfairly intact, "there'll be no harm done, no hearts broken."

Bertrand sits up and away from Ernest, hair ruffled and glasses a little askew. He looks at Ernest searchingly, and Ernest is finding it harder and harder to convince himself that this is maybe a bad idea.

"Is that alright with you, Ernest?" asks Bertrand, hands skimming over Ernest's thighs absent-mindedly. "Because I can go, if this isn't-"

Something twists in Ernest's stomach, and he does not give himself the time to consider it. Whatever it is, it is not worth abandoning how Bertrand's neck is exposed when he tilts his head, or the buzzing in his chest when Bertrand looks at him. He pushes himself forward, knocking Bertrand over onto his back.

"This," he says, crawling on top of Bertrand and smiling sharply, "is perfectly agreeable."

[emmettverhoogen]

Beatrice pushed the photos towards Ernest and Ernest left the fork with a piece of the root beer float pie on the plate almost immediately, instead picking up the photo with curiosity to look at it and absorb everything.

“A little bird said you would like it,” she said with a soft, discreet smile. Ernest felt as if it were Kit speaking through her voice something Dewey would say if he were there. He didn’t even notice the equally soft and discreet smile that had formed on his lips as he gave Beatrice a quick glance before turning back to the photographs.

The woman in the first photo was very beautiful, a remarkable woman, with a gentle smile and an expensive and elegant costume, highly fashionable as he remembered that Beatrice was—the one from the past, at least. She was elegantly holding a glass with one hand and pointing toward the camera with the other as if to catch the attention from the man next to her. That was Bertrand. He looked surprised, but happy, too, with his eyebrows raised behind his glasses and a more open smile than Beatrice’s as he had one hand behind his back and the other waving at the camera awkwardly. He had a mustache grown specifically for a character, Ernest recalled. The play was alright, though his character was more of a buffoon than a hero.

The other photo was older, worn out. It was a shame that the cameras were not colored back then. Beside an energetic Bertrand, there was a man who, if anyone else looked, would assume it was Frank or Ernest—it was Dewey, hiding half his face with a book. It was from when they were younger, since Bertrand’s hair was more voluminous and longer than in the first photo. He had his lips open in a smile that showed all his teeth, so happy, so innocently noble, with eyes almost squinting but full of glow. Ernest sighed and blinked successively, deep down hoping that photo would suddenly come to life and he’d be able to say again, “No one can recognize this place, Dewey. When you take another photo, don’t hide your face behind a book!”

Ernest put the photos back on the table and went back to eating the pie. “If I ask you pretty please with sugar on top, will you tell me how or with whom you get these photos?”

“No,” Beatrice said.

“Does it have anything to do with those maps and letters in your file folder?” Ernest asked, and Beatrice and Frank looked up at him.

“No, either,” she said. “Not necessarily. I would appreciate it if you didn’t peek at my stuff again.”

“She’s been growing up,” Frank murmured, finishing chewing his piece of pie. “She no longer needs our care.”

“I’m sorry,” Ernest said, sincerely. He did had become fond of her, and cared about her talking and traveling to places with any adult supervision. But it was also curiosity, simple and pure curiosity to know how she could be as skilled and intelligent and free as Kit without having grown up in a solid residence with her, for obvious reasons. Ernest was sure Dewey would understand him.

“When it’s time I’ll tell you everything,” Beatrice said calmly, scraping her fork to eat the rest of the pie.

[beatricebidelaire]

prelude to a game of monopoly

Whatever Lemony Snicket was expecting to see when he enters the room, it definitely wasn't this.

~1.9K. Lemony Snicket / Ernest Denouement / Bertrand Baudelaire

__

Whatever Lemony Snicket was expecting to see when he enters the room, it definitely wasn't this.

He's here to receive certain documents on certain information, relevant to events occurring two weeks ago on 7th floor of the hotel. He could technically have contacted any of the Denouements for such information, but he wants to keep a low profile about the fact that he's digging into this. There are some people in the organization who would not approve, and while Lemony's never particularly cared about approval from higher ups, in this case if he showed his hand too soon he might more likely encounter obstacles that could have been avoided. Going through either Frank or Dewey might risk this going into official records of who has requested the relevant information, but if he tries to obtain information from Ernest - who hasn't exactly made his opinions on disregarding VFD rules a secret, well, that might just be what Lemony needs right now. Luckily, Lemony has a - sort of cordial alliance going on with Ernest Denouement. They're not exactly friends, but they share a tacit understanding that they've never directly talked about. It's unsurprising, considering Lemony himself is considered to be quite troublesome for the organization at times as well.

For a moment he thinks that he may have interpreted the whole situation wrong - perhaps the coded message wasn't from who he thought he has been corresponding with; that it wasn't actually Ernest, with his disdain for VFD's methods, who has asked him to come to this room at this time. Or maybe it was Ernest who sent the message, but something went wrong and now he isn't here, and instead somehow it's one of his brothers in this room, along with Bertrand. Or maybe Lemony himself has knocked on the wrong door. He did check the number on the door twice before knocking, but still. What if he read it wrong? What if he misremembered the room number from the message? Wait - what if the message had been intercepted and altered?

Because there had to be some kind of explanation to why Bertrand - perfect, perfect Bertrand who Lemony has heard so much praise about, the wonderful apprentice who could do no wrong - is right here in this very room along with the Denouement triplet who's supposed to be Ernest, considering that's who Lemony supposedly have been in correspondence with? Not just in the same room together, but also with an easy, casual intimacy between them that Lemony was definitely not prepared for. The Denouement triplet is leaning lazily on one side of the sofa, reading a book. Bertrand leans on the other side, but with his legs extending out long across the sofa, his feet propped up on the Denouement triplet's thighs.

[continue reading on squidgeworld] [ao3]

[aseriesofhyperfixation]

Cry For A Wedding, Cry For A Funeral

i finally finished this ridiculous oneshot and jfc wow okay i’m a lil emotional ngl  enjoy? ig? if you can? ;asldfkj best of luck  WARNING: ANGST AHEAD, like so much angst, like wow  i’ve outdone myself lowkey 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you ready?” Frank called, straightening his tie in the mirror. 

He stepped into the parlor of the basement, and to his great confusion, his triplet lay curled up in a ball on the couch. “Ernest?” Frank wasn’t quite sure what to do, seeing his brother like this, but he sat down on the couch next to him and shook his head to clear his thoughts anyway, “Ernest, buddy, what’s wrong?”      

Ernest lifted his head slowly, and to Frank’s great dismay he saw that there were tears on his cheeks, although he was chuckling in exasperation, “Did you just call me buddy?” 

“I, uh,” Frank sat up a little straighter, “You seemed like you needed comforting.  I wanted you to be comfortable. Buddies are comfortable with each other. Right?” “I don’t think I’ve ever been more uncomfortable than I am with you calling me buddy,” Ernest paused, giving his brother a soft and shaky smile, “I just… I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can go.” 

Frank nodded, as though he understood, although in reality he didn’t. His brother was in a position that they had never experienced, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. 

“I think you should,” He said softly, considering his words carefully, “But that’s just me. You did RSVP, it would be rude of us not to go. But I don’t know that anyone really expected you to RSVP in the first place, so maybe…” He trailed off.

Frowning, Ernest mumbled something under his breath that was probably insulting, and then he spoke a little louder, “Do you think O will be there?” 

With a little shrug, Frank considered this, “You’d probably know better than I would, huh?”

“He will be,” Ernest sounded unsure of himself, although he knew he was right, “I think a decent amount of… of people like O, people like me, are going to be there. Just hidden away. Besides, it’s Beatrice. O wouldn’t miss this.” 

Frank wanted to ask Ernest why he had asked Frank his opinion in the first place, when Ernest was already well aware of this, but Frank knew that Ernest was in an emotional place, and Frank didn’t want Ernest to think that Frank thought there was something wrong with Ernest being in an emotional place, because Frank knew that there was nothing wrong with Ernest or anyone else being emotional, Frank simply wasn’t used to being exposed to much outward emotion, especially from Ernest. 

Ernest knew that Frank was probably wondering why Ernest had asked Frank’s opinion in the first place, when Ernest was already well aware of this, but Ernest knew that Frank probably wouldn’t say anything because Ernest was in an emotional place and Frank wouldn’t want Ernest to know that Frank knew that Ernest was emotional, because Frank would worry that Ernest would think that Frank was judging Ernest for being emotional, and Ernest knew that Frank didn’t think there was anything wrong with Ernest or anyone else being emotional, Ernest simply wasn’t usually one to exhibit much outward emotion to anyone, especially Frank. 

“Maybe I can just hide out somewhere, so I’m there but they don’t see me,” Ernest proposed, considering it, “Maybe I could do that.” 

His voice was shaky, as though he knew that this idea was not the best but wanted desperately for it to be good, and Frank laid his hand out carefully, palm up, so that if Ernest wanted to make contact with him he could, but if he didn’t want to be touched he wouldn’t have to be.

Ernest rested his hand against Frank’s.

“It’s up to you,” Frank brought his thumb curving upward, so that it touched the back of Ernest’s hand, “If you don’t want to go-”

“It’s not that I don’t want to!” Ernest jerked his hand away, his shoulders hunching slightly, he was closing himself off from his brother, from the world, “It’s not that I don’t want to. I don’t, of course, but I do lots of things I don’t want to do. It’s… I don’t know if I can.” 

Frank shifted away, just a bit, to give his brother room to breathe, although he left his own hand in place. “Okay, I’m sorry. I said the wrong thing. I understand. But I mean it, it’s totally up to you. If you can’t go, if it’s not something you can do, no one will blame you. No one will be mad at you. They just might be a little sad, that’s all. They’ll miss you. But they won’t be angry. You’re not a bad person if you don’t go.”

“I am a bad person,” Ernest whispered, and then he let out a sob, his voice rising, “I’m a bad person! We’re bad people, Frank, all of us, but especially me. I’m a bad person, and I’m gonna die alone and no one will come to my funeral except you and Dewey and maybe Bertrand, not because he wants to be there but because he’s too nice for his own damn good. But he’s too good to come. I don’t want him to have to be at my funeral, even though I know he will because he’ll feel obligated to, because I’m not good enough for Bertrand to care about. Just ask K. She’s been telling him for years, she’s always said I’m the evil one, you’re the friendly one, and he always laughed it off but now he knows it’s true and I don’t know what to do.” 

He had curled back into a ball, his body shaking as he cried, but he rocked to the side so that he was leaning against Frank, and awkwardly, Frank wrapped his arms around the ball of discomfort that was his triplet. 

“You’re not a bad person,” He said firmly, hushing Ernest as he started wailing in disagreement, “You’re not. You’re a good person, Ernest. And K, you know I love her, but she’s a bitch. Everyone knows that. Don’t use her opinion of you to judge your self worth. You are a good person, and you deserve to be cared about by a lot of people. You are good and kind and loved, and you deserve that love.”

Ernest did not believe his brother’s words, but he found himself comforted by them anyway.

“Are you ready?” Frank called, straightening his tie in the mirror.

He stepped into the parlor of the basement, and to his great confusion, his triplet lay curled in a ball on the couch. 

Not as confusing as last time, at least.

“Not again,” He murmured to himself, as he still wasn’t quite sure what to do in this type of scenario,  and he made his way over to sit beside his brother, “Ernest? Ernest, pal, it’ll be okay.”

Ernest didn’t even bother to lift his head, but Frank heard him let out a quiet snort, “Pal?” 

“You didn’t like buddy,” Frank defended quickly, “I figured fifteen years wasn’t enough to change that.” 

“I don’t like pal either, and fifteen years from now, if we live that long, I won’t like whatever other stupid nickname you come up with,” Ernest lifted his head just a bit, finally, only enough for Frank to see his eyebrows, and then he very quickly shifted his position so that his face was buried against Frank’s leg. Nodding, Frank brought a hand up to stroke his triplet’s hair, feeling tears begin to soak the fabric of his pants, “Okay. I’m sorry. Do you, uh, do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Ernest’s voice was muffled, “I’m fine.” 

If you are not aware of this, there are two possible meanings behind the phrase “I’m fine”. Sometimes, “I’m fine” means “I’m fine”. More often, however, “I’m fine” means “I am about to fall down a deep dark hole of oblivion, and cannot possibly consider myself in a worse scenario, but I either don’t want to inconvenience the person I am talking to or do not want to acknowledge the feelings that are enveloping me in their chilled, angry grasp, and so I am going to say that I’m fine even though I am absolutely the furthest thing from it”. 

Ernest meant the second of these two options. 

“Of course,” Frank almost laughed at the absurdity of this, but he managed to hold himself back, “Just. Can you do this?”

“Can I?” Ernest echoed, letting out a mirthless chuckle, “Good question.” 

“Ernest, it’s okay to talk about how you’re feeling.”

Historically speaking, that was untrue for these brothers, but they decided not to talk about that. 

“It can’t be real, can it?” Ernest had been silent for several moments, but he spoke finally, “They… he can’t really be dead, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Frank said softly, and because he wasn’t quite sure what to do he patted his triplet on the head, being as gentle as he could manage, and repeated, “I’m sorry.” 

Ernest leaned into the touch, just a bit, although it didn’t seem intentional, and then suddenly he jerked upward frantically, “The kids! They had kids! What’s going to happen to them? Are they...are they going to be there?”

“I doubt they even know about it,” Frowning, Frank mused on the thought for a moment, “That idiot banker friend of the Baudelaires, do you remember him?”

“They’re living with him?” Ernest looked disgusted by the very thought, “They’re going to catch that ridiculous cough.”

Frank shook his head, “They’re not living with him, at least not for long. He’s been placed in charge of their affairs.” “Why is a banker in charge of that?”

“Because he’s in charge of their estate,” Shrugging, Frank considered it, “It does seem a bit ridiculous. But I don’t think he even knows about the funeral, so I doubt the kids do.”

“There’s three of them, aren’t there? Two girls and a boy? Those children, they must be so frightened. So sad. It’s not fair that they don’t get to go to the funeral, that they don’t get to say goodbye,” A new track slid its way down Ernest’s cheek, and he looked away from his brother as though that would do anything to hide it.

“We didn’t get to say goodbye either,” Frank reminded him, jumping back when Ernest spun to face him again with a snarl.

“And that wasn’t right! Nothing that happened to us was right! And those kids, they, oh god,  they don’t deserve this...they don’t deserve any of this! Frank, do you…” Ernest’s voice broke for just a moment, “Do you know who they’re going to?” 

Frank knew.

“I don’t know.” Ernest hissed, “You’re lying to me. Who are they going to?”

“I don’t know!” Frank insisted, and after a moment under Ernest’s glare, a look in his eyes so desperate that Frank quailed ever so slightly, he relented, “I’ve...heard a rumor. But I don’t know anything for sure.”

“We should take them!” The look in Ernest’s eyes changed, ever so slightly, still desperate but now more frantic than Frank had ever seen them, “We could give them a good home! They’d like living in a hotel, wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t that be a fun place for kids to grow up? And we could take care of them, we could do it, watch out for them, keep them safe from...from all the things that no one kept us safe from.”

“We can’t do that.” “We can!” Ernest was on his feet now, pacing in front of his brother, “We can, Frank, we have to! We owe it to them. We owe it to those children and we owe it to B and we owe it to, to, to-”

He crumpled onto the floor. 

Voice dripping with pity, Frank gazed down at his triplet, “We can’t. You know we can’t.”

Ernest let out a hollow sob.

“I’m sorry, Ernest, I am,” Frank rose to his feet, extending a hand out to his brother, an offering. 

Raising his head, Ernest looked at his triplet’s hand coolly, although he was still crying, he had managed to quiet himself. He stared, hard, and then shook his head, “At least I know I’m evil.” 

He stood without taking Frank’s hand, grabbed the jacket that lay over the back of the couch, and walked to the door, throwing his brother one last glance before he disappeared. 

Frank did not want to believe that his brother meant what he had said, but he knew that he did, and with a sigh, he followed. 

[unfortunate-sapphic-disaster]

asoue abc’s

A: a series of unfortunate events/arson/ Al Funcoot

B: Baudelaire/Beatrice/Bertrand/books/bad beggining

C: Count Olaf/captain sham/couplets/coach Ganges/Caligari carnival

D: Denouement/Dewy decimal system/Duncan/duchess of Winnipeg/dunklaus

E: Ernest/Esme/”eagles aren’t mammals!”

F: Frank/fire!/Fiona/Fernald/Figley, my only hetero ship/for Beatrice...

G: Grim grotto/gay/”gum isn’t lunch, it insn’t even a snack.”

H: Hostile hospital/hookey/henchperson of indetermineate gender

I: “If you are interested in story’s with happy endings you’d be better of reading some other book”/Isadora/”I’d rather jump of a cliff”/”I’m married to the sea but my girlfriend is a large lake”/increadably deadly viper

J: Jacques/Jaqulyn/Justice Strauss

K: Kit/”keep chasing your schemes”/ “Klaus, it can’t understand you.”

L: Lemony/”look awaaaaay”/Lachramose leeches/lumber mill

M: marvelous marrige/miserable mill/”my name is Carmelitaaaaaa!”/

N: “No happy endings, not here and not now, this tale is all sorrows and woes”

O: Olaf is the woooorst!/Orwell is an optomistrist.

P: Phil is an optimist./”people aren’t either wicked or noble, they’re like chef salade.”/ “Perished means killed.”/ Poe

Q: Quagmire/Quigley

R: R

S: Snicket/slippery slope/sunny

T: “The world is Quiet here.”/

U: Unfortunate/Uncle Monty

V: Violet/VFD is not a cult/Viodora is the best ship!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

W: when we drive you away in secret, you’ll be a volunteer, so don’t scream when we take you..../well read people are less likely to be evil/we didn’t lose our family, only our parents.

X: Xylophone is not an adjective, Bruce!

Y: Your parents have perished in a terrible fire./Yessica haircut

Z:.........Zippered?

Okay! That’s all of the letters, if you think of something to add you can tell me. This was fun, why can’t I be this creative everyday?

[aseriesofhyperfixation]

Some Bertrand/Ernest "How They Meet” Headcanons

They meet sitting in the audience of a play that Beatrice and Olaf  do together

Bertrand has heard of the Denouement’s but has never met them, and vice versa. Olaf is pretty chill with the Denouement’s and invites them, getting them tickets right by Bertrand’s so that it’ll be easy for them to all meet up after the show 

Bertrand meets Frank first, in the lobby, and they realized they had tickets for the seats right next to each other and are pretty pumped about it

Bertrand doesn’t know that the Denouement’s are coming and the two don’t exchange last names, so he doesn’t realize who this is. He goes to his seat and Frank waits for Ernest to come in 

Ernest and Frank like to mess with people, and so Ernest takes Frank’s ticket and is going to pretend not to know what’s going on when Bertrand starts speaking to him in the theatre 

Ernest goes in, Frank lingering nearby to observe and laugh at it, and Bertrand  isn’t really paying all that much attention, he’s reading Beatrice and Olaf’s biographies in the play bill and chuckling at how utterly overdramatic they were

But when Ernest sits down next to him, Bertrand looks up, his eyes running over the familiar features

Ernest was excited, ready to get on with the act as he watched Bertrand straighten up just a little, but 

“I’m sorry, I think you’re in the wrong seat.” 

“What?”

Ernest was flabbergasted, staring at the man 

Bertrand shrugged, “Someone else is supposed to be sitting there, someone who looks remarkably similar to you. May I see your ticket? Perhaps I can help you find the correct seat.”

Ernest was at a total and utter loss for words, staring at Bertrand, who was smiling softly and patiently. 

Frank swooped in, then, nodding to Bertrand, “What, did you hear us going over the plan for the prank?”

“Hmm?” Bertrand hummed softly, only breaking eye contact with Ernest for half a second to acknowledge Frank and then going back with extreme intensity, “I don’t know what you mean. I just knew he wasn’t you.” 

Ernest still isn’t speaking, and Frank can’t think of a time he’s EVER seen his brother be this quiet for this long, and little matchmaker that he is, he takes it upon himself to give the two a helping hand

“Well, I was going to take my seat back, but I think you two might enjoy getting to know each other.”

Finally, Finally Ernest can speak and he smacks his brother on the arm, turning to Bertrand with a nervous smirk on his features, “I’m sorry for him. I’m Ernest.”

“Bertrand.”

The show is beautiful in ways they hadn’t expected, Beatrice and Olaf reflecting each other’s energy in ways that were truly radiant.

Bertrand was shy, blushing away the few times Ernest made commentary to him, but Ernest was not one to give up. 

And although he was shy, Bertrand kept his hand resting on the arm of his chair through the whole play.

And the most beautiful heart was Ernest slowly placing his own hand over Bertrand’s, their fingers interlocking, their faces soft with smiles. 

[beatricebidelaire]

volunteering is a pyramid scheme

they were always more entangled with vfd than it seemed, in more ways than one. 

~3.2k, pre-canon. beatrice/bertrand, beatrice/kit, frank/bertrand, ernest/bertrand, kit/dewey

****

Kit usually comes on the afternoon of the second Thursday of the month, or the third Monday, if she’s in The City. Or occasionally they will reschedule for some other times too, via letters carried by carrier bats, or secret notes slipped into the pockets of trench coats when one walks past another at the financial district pretending to be strangers, or handwriting scrawled onto the back of temporary bookmarks thrown inside a fake postal box which was actually a woman in disguise.

Because you can’t be too routine in their line of work, or their line of volunteering some may call, since it makes it easier for your enemies to track you. Except for the times you do want to establish a routine to mislead your enemies and make them fall into your trap. Or if you run a large hotel in The City, then most part of your life would be nothing but routines, at least on the surface.

But also, some kind of rule must be established and complete randomness is out of the question, because Beatrice is a mother now. So their not very routine schedule is still slightly routine-ish, a compromise of sorts.

Relationships, after all, are about compromises. Well, parts of it, at least.

It’s 2pm and the kids are at school, so technically Kit is in no hurry to leave yet, but she does have a meeting at the headquarters later that she doesn’t want to be late for, so she thinks she should probably get going sometime in the next 13 minutes. She rolls around to her side, and glances at Beatrice. She lets her glance slide from Beatrice’s disheveled hair to her collarbone to her arms and eventually the ring on her finger, the ring that once belonged to The Duchess of Winnipeg. With a sigh, Kit slowly drags herself up from the bed and starts putting her clothes back on. She frowns at a coffee stain on her tie that she didn’t realize is that noticeable underneath the light.

“Damn it,” she mutters under her breath.

“What’s wrong?” Beatrice asks from the bed, tilting her head slightly but not getting up. “Did you realize you dropped your fashion sense somewhere on the street? I told you those earrings have never been in, not even when they’re in.”

Kit ignores that. “Can I borrow one of Bertrand’s ties?”

Beatrice shrugs, “Sure, sweetheart. Just go and take one.”

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver,” Kit says, heading towards Bertrand’s wardrobe.

“Obviously,” Beatrice agrees grandly.

****

Kit grabs an iced cold brew coffee on the way back to her taxi and skillfully flips the lid off and gulps down a large sip of coffee, mixed with two ice cubes. She feels the usual satisfaction as her teeth crack down on the ice, a sudden shot of refreshness surging through her. Cold brew coffee at this hour will most definitely keep her wide awake past midnight, but Dewey has plans for organizing the 18th century poetry subsection tonight and she likes to be of help when she can.

New Order’s Round & Round comes up on the radio after she starts the taxi, and with a frown Kit switches the channel and switches again when Duke Ellington comes up. Hell, but she hopes jazz isn’t back in again, it dredges up old memories Kit isn’t too keen to revisit. Finally she lands on one channel playing heavy metal she knows Jacques loathes, which is always an amusing thing to remember, when she remembers.

A bird chirp comes from her phone, and she picks her phone up as she speeds through a yellow light, noticing the incoming text notification from Frank asking her about the details of a report she submitted last week. She throws the phone back to the passenger seat again and grabs the cold brew instead, drinking the coffee and chewing on a particularly challengingly large piece of ice cube. It freezes her brain for a moment, in a good way, or at least that’s how she classifies it.

She runs a stop sign.

****

“Well, these numbers look wrong,” Bertrand frowns, “I’ll run by Mulctuary Money Management to check with them before I pick Violet and Klaus up at the school.”

“I’ve been saying for a long time we should station a secretary there,” Frank covers the speaker end of the phone briefly to grimace at Bertrand before removing his hand from the speaker and talking again, “Yes, of course, Ma’am. One luxury suite for the next weekend, you got it. Thank you for the reservation.”

He hangs up the phone, and picks up the conversation naturally, “But they’re running short on mid-level volunteers right now, so that’s probably not an option.” He gives Bertrand a slightly resentful glare, as if that’s his fault.

“What, you’re blaming me for the shortage?” Bertrand asks.

“I’m not blaming you,” Frank says archly. “But you can’t deny that you and Beatrice’s decision to keep the kids uninvolved required more time and effort of pretense on your parts that ultimately detracts from the time you’re able to do volunteer work.”

Bertrand gives Frank an incredulous, are-you-fucking-serious look. “You agreed with me that it’s best to let the kids have a childhood outside of the organization until they’re old enough for it,” he points out.

“I do, so I didn’t say it’s your fault,” Frank says, “it’s just the natural consequences of things, so to speak. Calm down.”

Bertrand scoffs.

“And we do have a shortage -”

“Yes, due to the schism and other larger environmental reasons,” Bertrand snaps. “Not because Beatrice and I are leading double lives, thank you very much.” He grabs the document from Frank’s desk in a rather brisk manner. “Anyway, I’ll be going.”

He’s almost to the door when Frank says, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Bertrand doesn’t respond, but he does stop in his tracks. He starts counting to five in his mind, because if Frank thinks that a single line is all it takes -

“I was just … frustrated about the current situation of the organization, and I took it out on you. Look, I don’t actually think it’s your fault. And I’ve always supported your decision to raise the kids away from the organization. You guys were right, we need a change from the previous generation’s model if we were to adapt.”

He thinks, realistically, that this is probably all the apology he’s going to get. And admittedly, it’s a quite sincere and honest one, as far as their standards go.

“Fine,” he shrugs, as an acknowledgement, because that’s just basic manners. And also, in the grander scheme of things, he probably owes Frank one.

Frank gets up from his chair and walks up to him, and then gives him a soft, quiet, and chaste kiss on the lips. “Thanks for taking care of the report,” he says. “I hope the line at Mulctuary won’t be too long.”

Hell, he hopes so too. Bertrand hums in vague agreement.

“Alright, I really got to go,” he says again, softer this time.

Frank nods.

Bertrand leaves Frank’s office and heads for the hotel entrance. Just before he’s about to leave the lobby, a concierge runs up to him. “Mr. Baudelaire,” says the concierge. “The manager asked me to give you this.” He hands him a chocolate croissant in a paper bag, one of the hotel’s specials. Judging by the warmth of the bag, it looks like it’s fresh out of the hotel’s bakery’s kitchen just now. It’s one of Bertrand’s favorite pastries, all the managers of the hotel know that. So do a few of the concierges.

There’s an “F” signed on the lower left of the bag.

“Thank you,” Bertrand smiles his usual polite smile at the concierge that he’s perfected over the years. “Please tell the manager that I appreciate it.”

“Will do,” says the concierge.

****

Jacques frowns when he sees the tie Kit’s wearing. “You’ve been at the Baudelaires again,” he says disapprovingly. Flatly. It’s not a question.

Kit rolls her eyes impatiently, “Yes, and?” Just because her twin is being a celibate who decides to forever pine after obtuse rich idiots, that doesn’t mean she has to suffer in solidarity.

“If you’re going to continue to sleep with Beatrice, don’t you think you should also try to convince her to actually listen to the orders of the assigned missions, instead of liberally interpreting them how she wishes?”

“She’s following the instructions,” Kit says. “Very literally, too. Most of the time.”

“Way too literally,” Jacques scowls. “She should know better.”

“It’s not like she just started doing this now, she’s been like this when we were kids,” Kit waves her hand. “So there’s no reason for you to get so pressed about it now.”

Jacques narrows his eyes in displeasure.

“You,” Kit says sagely, poking Jacques’s shoulder. “Need to get laid. That would be my advice, J.”

****

Late night library organizing with Dewey is always a nice, peaceful time. An oasis from the ever so chaotic world that keeps on spinning and spinning and spinning. It would be ideal if they weren’t occasionally interrupted by his triplet.

Ernest Denouement is sprawled out on a sofa, earphones on, reading what looks like a movie script.

“Can’t you be literally anywhere else that’s not here?” Kit asks.

She watches as he presses pause on his mp3, “What?”

“Why can’t you go to your office? Or, you know, I don’t care, anywhere that’s not here.”

“I like it here, it’s nice,” Ernest says languidly. “Dewey’s set up a very nice place for reading.”

Dewey smiles, pleased. “I’m so glad you like it. I redecorated a bit over the weekend.”

“And it’s excellent,” Ernest reassures him. “Very nice atmosphere.”

“I didn’t know you knew anything about reading,” Kit says critically.

“Well, now you know, Snicket,” Ernest drawls. “Surprised that anyone who’s not a volunteer can read, huh?”

Dewey sighs. “Are you two going to fight again? It’s very tiresome, you know.”

“Sorry, Dewey, but you see how she is,” Ernest shrugs, looking slightly apologetic, a look he generally only reserves for Dewey.

“If you’re not going to help with the organizing,” Kit scowls, rearranging some books on the shelves. “I don’t see a need for you to be here.”

“I’m here, reading quietly, if you’re bothered by my presence that’s your problem, not mine,” Ernest points out. “By the way, nice tie, I have to assume it’s not yours.”

****

The party hosted by the third most important financial advisor of The City is boring, but one they have to make a presence at, due to VFD’s arrangement with the said financial advisor’s real estate company. Josephine used to handle this, but that was before she and Ike moved away  to a small town after what Kit usually refers to as The Gregor Incident. Kit initially thought it was a temporary thing, but as years go by, they’re all starting to realize perhaps the Anwhistles have no plans of coming back to The City. They still take on assignments outside The City, and attend important meetings if it’s really needed, but most of the time they like to stay away.

Frank’s on her arm as her plus one, as he often is on such occasions. Most people, volunteers and outsiders they meet on party occasions such as today’s alike, assume they’re a couple. They don’t correct the misconception. Encourage it, even. After all, Dewey’s presence is a secret and Ernest’s loyalty not so much of one, and Occam’s Razor says the simplest explanation is always the best, of something of that sort, Kit imagines, so they go with the easiest, most straightforward explanation people can accept.

Frank’s keeping a neutral expression that isn’t particularly enthusiastic nor particularly displeased, which is very business as usual when they’re outside. He greets people with a professional tone that she used to be impressed with, a decade and half ago.

She sees Esme in the crowds.

“Katherine, darling,” Esme simpers. “What a coincidence to run into you here.”

Esme’s wearing a necklace that Kit recognizes as once belonging to Beatrice. Or maybe it had been Esme’s, and Beatrice just stole it and then Esme stole it back again. Kit can never keep track. She used to be jealous of this weird, strange, almost ritualistic behavior between them, like a secret that only belongs to them, like a game that only the two of them can play, but she’s long over that jealousy now. Well, not completely, but old bitterness and jealousy tend to mellow through time, they don’t completely go away but she’s learned to live comfortably with them by now. It’s actually a little comforting to know that some things stay the same, no matter what. Little truths one can always rely on.

“Nice necklace,” she says, just to let Esme know she recognizes it.

Esme smiles brightly, “Why thank you, darling,” so Kit’s not completely sure if Esme catches the hint or not. It doesn’t really matter, she supposes.

A Daily Punctilio reporter hurries forward, and Kit recognizes her as Geraldine Julienne, one of Jacques’s coworkers. The annoying one. Not that Jacques isn’t annoying himself, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Miss Esme! Can you comment on the Back to the 60’s Fashion Week starting on Sunday?”

In the corner of her eyes, Kit sees Frank pocket a very nice pen from one of the tables.

“And you claim you’re nothing like Beatrice,” Kit comments drily.

“I am very different from Beatrice,” says Frank matter-of-factly, without any trace of shame or guilt. He’s always liked collecting nice pens when he goes out. It’s a hobby. When one runs a large hotel and stays inside it for long periods of time, it’s important to develop hobbies like this. “For instance, she sleeps with you in secret away from the public eye, the image of a perfect mother, while I go as your plus one to social functions. I do wonder if she’s jealous.”

Not more so than Dewey, probably, but Kit doesn’t say that out loud because that will be too much of a low blow and it will ruin the atmosphere here as Frank will actually wallow in guilt for the rest of the party, and they can’t afford that there. She herself will also feel the guilt, not towards Frank, obviously, but towards Dewey. So she says, “Whatever. Let’s dance.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Gladly, Miss Snicket.”

****

“We should really stop doing this,” Bertrand says when they’re done.

“You said that the last time,” Ernest reminds him as he pulls up his pants and then neatly adjusts his cufflinks. “And the time before that,” he adds thoughtfully. “Which is, granted, quite a while ago, since we don’t really get many chances.”

“And I meant it,” Bertrand makes a face. “This isn’t part of the arrangement I have with Beatrice.”

Ernest knows what arrangement he’s referring to, the one which Beatrice and Bertrand are happily married but also Beatrice sleeps with Kit and Bertrand sleeps with Frank and it’s an open secret amongst their small friend circle - for some definition of friend - but only in this little circle, whereas Kit and Frank pretend to be a couple when they attend social functions but she is actually dating Dewey. It’s all very tight-knitted and inclusive and also extremely exclusive because it’s excluding him and he’s bored and frankly, he doesn’t see why Frank should get to have all the fun. Ernest refuses to be excluded like some overly loyal lovesick volunteer pining over a clueless rich idiot. Fuck them if they think he can be kept out of this.

The first time was more or less an accident, though the second one wasn’t. Frank found them out on the third time, but luckily Ernest and Frank have too much stake together over the same things that he managed to convince Frank to cover for them. It’s a tight balance to walk, this can’t happen too often because if covering for them is inconveniencing Frank too much who knows what he’ll do. He might not rat them out, but he can be very annoying in various small ways when he wants to be, it’s a talent of his. Ernest both loves and hates his brother for that. Hates because it’s genuinely so inconvenient at times, loves because he can’t help but admire that a little, plus it’s always nice to see Frank being a little petty, since he’s usually so incredibly uptight that Ernest thinks it must be making world record.

Ernest doesn’t know how Beatrice will react if she ever finds out, though sometimes he thinks it wouldn’t be that big of a deal to her. That it shouldn’t. After all, he’s pretty sure she’s always been vaguely fond of him, even if they’re technically on different sides. He likes to think that he did something she wished she had the courage to have done, but it’s not something they’ve ever talked about. He might just be overly narcissistic in imagining someone like Beatrice Baudelaire could admire or envy him. Still, it’s nice to imagine.

It’s Beatrice Baudelaire, after all.

Kit Snicket, on the other hand, Ernest thinks, might actually kill Bertrand if she finds out, though in Ernest’s opinion, he doesn’t really think Kit gets a say in this. It’s between Beatrice and Bertrand, mainly. But Kit likes to voice opinions on things that’s none of her business, which is so very typical of her. Sometimes he doesn’t know how Dewey can stand her.

“By the way,” he says, changing the subject, but not really because he thinks that this is relevant to the whole arrangement thing. “Did you lend Snicket your tie? I saw her wearing the green checkered one on Thursday.”

****

Kit receives a text message. “K, you go into my house, you sleep with my wife, and you steal my favorite tie?”

She texts back “<3”.

The reply comes fast. “I better have it back by next week.”

****

Beatrice is talking on the phone when Bertrand gets back.

She smiles at him and tiptoes and presses a kiss to his cheek, before continuing on the phone, “That’s wonderful progress, Monty. You know what, fax me your rough plan tonight and I can read over it tomorrow. Alright, bye, love you.”

“Hi, darling,” she says after she hangs up the phone.

“Monty’s latest snake poison research going well?” Bertrand asks.

“Oh, we were actually talking about his planned proposal to Gustav,” Beatrice says. “But I do know the research is going splendidly. Jacques said yesterday we may be able to move forward to the next stage.”

“That’s faster than we anticipated,” Bertrand says, impressed.

“I know, M’s always been an overachiever,” Beatrice agrees. “Hey, what do you say we take the children to that newly opened salmon place for dinner tonight?”

“Cafe Salmonella?” Bertrand raises an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Beatrice nods.

“Let me guess, Daily Punctilio said it’s in,” he smiles wryly.

“Oh no no, not yet, it will be saying so, in tomorrow’s paper, or so Jacques told me,” Beatrice says. “We’re going to be way ahead of Esme, riding on the very tip of the wave of fashion, darling.”

He smiles fondly. Indulgently. “Are we?” He says. “Well, it has been a while since we have nice seafood.”

“Exactly!” Beatrice beams. “I’m going to get dressed. Oh, by the way, did I remember to tell you Kit borrowed one of your ties? But don’t worry, green isn’t in right now, you can wear the pinstriped one instead.”

“Is pinstripe coming back into fashion again?” He asks, easily sidestepping the question about Kit.

“J says so, so if it isn’t, I’ll call his office at DP and play one of those heavy metal songs he hates so much at him,” she says cheerfully. She looks at the clock. “Give me 30 minutes, and then let’s go pick Violet and Klaus up.”

[beatricebidelaire]

🔥 ernest and bertrand perhaps please? (Love your blog btw)

(thank you! this got a bit long so i’ll put most of it under the cut)

“So, you and Beatrice are leaving,” Ernest said. The two of them were standing on the balcony outside his office. “After the wedding.”

“Yes,” Bertrand said, his voice calm and even. “We are.”

Ernest looked thoughtful. He took his time surveying the city streets. It was a busy day, the traffic, mixed with horses and cars, flowed underneath the cloudy gray sky. Then he turned slightly, leaning against the railings and offered Bertrand a smile. “So, you’re willing to leave VFD for her, but not for me,” he concluded, keeping his voice pleasant.

Bertrand’s expression did not falter. “I don’t recall you asking me to,” he pointed out.

“Fair point,” Ernest agreed, his tone cordial but his gaze challenging. “But you wouldn’t have done it anyway even if I had asked … or would you?”

Bertrand shrugged. “You know I’m only ever going to answer that, no, I wouldn’t have.” Because even if I would have, there’s no use in letting you regret - or pretend to regret - that you never asked.

“There you go,” Ernest said lightly. “You wouldn’t have.” He casually met Bertrand’s eyes and held his gaze.

Bertrand didn’t look away. “My apologies,” he said. There’s some sincerity in his voice now, not too much, just enough to convey an acknowledgement.

Ernest waved it away. “Nothing to apologize for,” he said magnanimously. “I’d like to know why though.”

Bertrand studied him. “Well, leaving VFD for you actually meant something different, doesn’t it? It would’ve meant switching sides and joining the firestarters, which I’m not willing to do. It wouldn’t have meant running away from all of these.”

“Because you think I’m not going to agree to actually leaving and not coming back?” Ernest challenged.

Bertrand raised an eyebrow. “Would you have agreed?”

A pause.

“No,” Ernest conceded. “And you know why.”

Bertrand did. It would’ve complicated many things, put his brothers and his own life in danger, and ruined the current balance of the schism. There had never really been a choice for him. “Hobson’s choice,” he murmured.

Ernest smiled faintly. “Yeah.” He leaned forwards against the railings and sighed. “I do envy how you two could just leave, VFD’s just willing to let you go like that? If I knew it’s that easy - maybe I should’ve just waited - ” He whirled around to look directly at Bertrand. “You know, we never properly fought. After the breakup. Well, not before the breakup either. And of course, it’s even debatable if it counts as a breakup in the first place but - we never fought.”

Bertrand looked at him, but didn’t say anything.

Ernest’s lips pulled up, “Don’t you think we should?”

Bertrand tilted his head slightly. “In the name of closure?”

“Maybe,” Ernest said. “I mean, it’s always been fun with you. Pleasant. Enjoyable. And I liked that. Like that still. But you’re leaving, Bertrand.”

“Let me guess,” Bertrand said. “There’s no need to worry about not leaving on good terms if we fought, since we might never see each other again?”

“Exactly,” Ernest agreed. “Plus, it feels … not real without a proper fight. Like it’s never meant to be a serious thing. Like neither of us cared enough to fight.”

It hadn’t meant to be a serious thing. That had been what they’d agreed upon. A fling. Casual, fun, no fights, staying friends after the breakup.

“Which,” Ernest continued. “Was what we intended, so there’s no problem there. But we also chose not to fight because we worried that would ruin the possibility of being friends again - but you’re leaving. We don’t have to worry about that.”

Bertrand arched an eyebrow. “So you want a proper fight, is that it?”

A smile danced across Ernest’s lips briefly. “Are you refusing?”

Bertrand glanced at the city streets for a moment. “Very clever,” he murmured. “I suppose you have a topic in mind. I wouldn’t mind listening to what you have to say.”

“Ever the gentleman, you are,” Ernest said wistfully. “You make it very hard to fight with you.” He paused. “But since you don’t mind listening, I’ll go ahead.”

Bertrand nodded, and Ernest opened his mouth again before closing it. He frowned, deep in thought, as if to prepare himself, and then spoke again. “I’m jealous, actually. Not so much about the idea of you marrying Beatrice, but the idea that you two get to leave VFD - just like that. Easy, no repercussions. You get to be free. I wish I can say I’m not jealous but -” He drew a sharp breath.

Free wasn’t completely accurate, but it was close enough - or so Bertrand hoped it would be - so Bertrand didn’t correct him. The truth was a little more complicated.

VFD didn’t let volunteers go easily, especially not in the current climate. But he’d long wished to leave - and apparently, so had Beatrice. The opera night and the darts shot from their hands left a mark, but that really was just the last straw that broke the camel’s back. They both knew leaving wouldn’t have been easy, not without a good reason, not while they could still contribute to their side of the schism.

Beatrice and he ended up concocting a plan, that even if they couldn’t completely leave, it would help them distance themselves from the more dangerous and more morally questionable missions for a while. With Beatrice’s eloquence and charm and his well known good student reputation, they’d managed to convince the VFD higher ups that at the rate things were going, there wouldn’t be enough volunteers left to raise children who could become the next generation’s volunteers. Sure, they could always recruit outside of the organization, but experience had shown that in the times of the schism, children recruited from outside of the organization, children whose parents weren’t VFD, were more likely to defect to the other side than those from old VFD families. It would be useful to have two volunteers to “pretend” to leave VFD, raise children outside it but teaching them important VFD skills, and eventually provide the organization with useful new recruits.

At least, that was what they had told the higher ups. Of course, it’s also just an excuse for now, to cut ties because some days Bertrand felt he’s quite close to a line that once crossed, everything would change. If he kept going, some day he’s not going to be able to take all these. And that day was getting closer. It’s a delaying tactic, to catch a break for a while.

It was also a lie - or rather, the part about the children was. They would have to keep up pretenses and actually teach the children important skills, just in case someone was spying from a distance. But he and Beatrice both agreed that they didn’t actually want their children to join VFD - at least, not a VFD that was like this. But maybe it would change for the better in a few years, maybe in a decade it would be an organization they could accept. Or maybe VFD would cease to exist in a decade. And worse case, they would move away and go into hiding and get new identities. It’s a lie that they hoped would buy them at least a couple of years. Hopefully even a decade. Maybe even forever, but he knew the chances were quite low and he shouldn’t get his hopes up high.

He and Beatrice had worked well as a team before, and now they’re going to continue working as a team, only for a very different kind of challenge. They both wanted out, and marriage and kids were a perfect excuse. Plus, they liked each other well enough, had been friends long enough, and respected and understood each other. It’s not love yet, but they’d agreed that one day it might be. And they dreamed of kids, too, kids who could be raised in a very different environment than the one they had both been raised. Sometimes one could only choose the practical choice and hoped for the best. This was never a fairy tale, but a carefully concocted plan to earn a certain kind of freedom away from the organization.

He didn’t explain all these to Ernest. He’d always liked Ernest, but heart to heart conversations were rather not their thing. He could only offer an apology. “I’m sorry,” Bertrand said. “I know it’s not fair.”

Ernest smiled bitterly. “Not fair at all.” He looked away. “I think I hate you, just a little. Well, not really, but I’m so angry that you get to leave. I don’t have that choice. I never had that choice.”

“I know,” Bertrand repeated. “I’m sorry.” Because what else could he say?

“You’re so understanding,” Ernest muttered. “So damn polite. Aren’t you supposed it��s my fault that I impulsively switched sides? That I only have myself to blame for being stuck in the current position?”

“That’s not what I think, though,” Bertrand said, which was the truth. It had always been far more complicated than that.

Ernest huffed, exasperated at how amicable Bertrand was, but then he deflated. “Do you love her?” He asked.

Bertrand froze. The only correct answer was of course “yes”, it was what he and Beatrice agreed on to pretend. It was necessary for the marriage, for the wedding all their friends would still attend. But he didn’t like lying to Ernest. For all they were never completely honest with each other, they usually did it by being deflective, by redirecting the topic to side step the questions artfully. Outright lies were never their style, it was an unspoken agreement but it was there. Perhaps he didn’t have to continue following it after their breakup, but a part of him still wished to.

Ultimately, though, the current plan with Beatrice came first, came before anything, including nostalgia brought by ex boyfriends. Still, he supposed he did love Beatrice as a friend, as a mission partner, as a long term partner who was about to go hand in hand with him into this new challenge. He couldn’t deflect this question, because then Ernest would realize he’s hiding something. But Ernest never specified which kind of love, so there’s a loophole there. “Yes,” he said, calm and sincere, if only a beat too late.

The moment of hesitation was too long, his posture was too tense for a minute, and Ernest’s previous frown shifted into a curious expression, and then a thoughtful one, until realization dawned on his face. He looked amused, now. “Aha,” he said softly. “So it’s like that.”

This isn’t good, Bertrand thought. He considered his options on how to bluff his way out of this one.

“Don’t worry,” Ernest smirked. “I’ll keep your secret. Won’t even tell my brothers. I always approve of people plotting against and lying to VFD.”

Bertrand considered denying, perhaps pretending that he didn’t know what Ernest was talking about. But one wrong move could make Ernest decide to not keep this a secret, and he couldn’t afford that. Plus, all that weird not lying unspoken agreement loyalty thing was getting in the way. He should be less sentimental than this but unfortunately he wasn’t.

“In that case, thank you. I appreciate it.”

Ernest smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Not a problem.” He moved close to Bertrand at a fast speed, and gave him a quick peck on the lips - the first (and the only, the last) one after their breakup. “Happy marriage, darling.”

send two characters and 🔥 for an argument scene between them

[beatricebidelaire]

mixtape for my mistakes

character study, bertrand-centric, mentions of jacques/bertrand and bertrand/ernest, kit also gets a cameo

word count: ~1.1k

alt: ao3

Sometimes he thought that one of these days he would like to see Jacques and Ernest have a serious argument about things. By “like to see”, he really meant, preferably from a safe distance just in case things got too heated, and ideally on a recorded tape so he wouldn’t have to deal with it real time.

After all, with his conflict-adverse tendencies, and how he tended to get nervous when hearing people fight, he knew he would just try to break up the argument by saying a few diplomatic words and trying to distract everyone, to change the subject.

Nevertheless, out of - perhaps academic curiosity, perhaps a desire to try to understand how he really felt about the sides himself - he really did want to see them have a serious debate about this.

Because Bertrand had already listened to Jacques’s various arguments about VFD ideals, about how they were doing the right thing, how the methods the other side was taking were too drastic and horrible and how the volunteers must battle them. He’d heard the justifications such as getting permissions first, down to Jacques citing his own experience as an example.

Jacques sounded like he genuinely believed what he was saying, wholeheartedly and unwaveringly. Or at least, he’d convinced himself that he believed that. Bertrand wasn’t sure how much of a difference was there between those two, still, even if it was just a small, subtle one, it felt worthy of distinction in his mind.

Jacques was articulate, and argued his points in a logical manner that Bertrand considered would be easy to believe in, had he not heard equally articulate arguments arguing the contrary. (And had he not already seen enough that could cause his own uncertainties about VFD.)

The thing was, they were all trained to be articulate, so how much did articulate arguments matter, anyway?

And speaking of counterarguments - 

Ernest’s professional, ambiguous mask slid away for a moment as the corner of his mouth pulled up into a lazily flirtatious smile and he nodded in Bertrand’s direction from behind the front desk. Bertrand smiled back, a more measured one than Ernest’s, and focused on heading down to the library again. Dewey wasn’t there, presumably Beatrice had talked him into wearing a disguise to explore the city.

His mind went back to Ernest again. Ernest, when they were alone, had more than once tried to get him to see the firestarters’ side of things. His arguments, no less eloquent than Jacques’s, featured heavily the flaws of VFD, so detailedly listed that Bertrand suspected like it was a list that was passed down from experienced firestarters to the newer ones.

And while Bertrand didn’t exactly agree, and he certainly thought quite a few things were exaggerations, it troubled him that he could sort of see where those arguments came from. He didn’t want to even consider those had a point at first - he had thought he’d just be humoring Ernest a bit by listening, or as a courtesy. He hadn’t wanted to actually consider or analyze them at ll, at first.

And of course Bertrand had wondered if maybe he found some points - while not entirely what he considered correct, did have some sense behind them, simply because he found Ernest attractive. It wasn’t that out of the bounds of reality. Objectively, Ernest was fairly attractive.

So is Jacques, a voice within him said. That didn’t really help. He would like to think he found Jacques’ points logical because they were logical points, not because it was Jacques voicing those points.

He tried to reason all those points from different sides in his mind, because if they were both logical sounding points, surely when put together side by side he could figure out how exactly it didn’t match up.

Except they didn’t seem to be addressing the same points, not really. Jacques focused on the virtues of the organization and avoided the shadier parts by insisting those were all for some greater ideal, while Ernest focused solely on those points Jacques avoided and insisting that the firestarters’ measures were necessary evil for taking down VFD, and dodging the questions about how necessary were some of those measures by saying not all firestarters did that.

When heard separately, they both made a lot of sense. They both articulated their points well. (Perhaps that was why they had never argued with each other, a voice inside him said. Because it’d be harder to avoid certain points by the other.)

Still, they were all trained to be articulate. Being articulate wasn’t a guarantee of being right.

He wasn’t sure why he felt drawn to both of them, although Kit had already accused him of always falling for people who believed in what they were doing was right, or needed. Or at least act very convincingly in believing in that, anyway. She said he always got drawn to those with that kind of confidence or belief, even if he didn’t completely believe in the same things.

And if he was being honest, she probably wasn’t that wrong. He just thought it was incredibly rich coming from her, considering her own history with Ellington Feint. He knew Kit disagreed with Ellington’s beliefs in things, especially regarding her father and her opinion on VFD, but she’d fallen in love with Miss Feint nonetheless. 

Personally, he suspected it was because Kit didn’t always believe in what she was doing, didn’t believe the ideals were really so pure and good and could justify all things. She did things because the alternative seemed to suck even more, because that seemed like a practical choice. That didn’t mean she believed so wholeheartedly, nor did she try to convince herself or others anymore that those ideals were still so perfect.

But that’s why he suspected she liked people who believed in things, why she couldn’t be helped to be drawn to their confidence in their beliefs - or at least, very real looking confidence regardless how much of it was faked. It was partly wanting to be convinced by them, and partly skeptical of how much they really believed. The kind of skepticalness that turned into a fascination that might not be the healthiest, but fascination regardless.

The unpleasant thing about drawing such conclusions on Kit was he was almost forced to consider if he was just projecting his own feelings onto her. If his suspicions on her thoughts were merely a reflection of why he felt drawn to people like Jacques or Ernest.

He would rather not consider that.

Probably.

But still, he found himself circling back to thinking about how they both seemed to believe in what they chose. Or at least, how they pretended to believe, anyway. He couldn’t rule out the possibility, and it made them feel - realer, in a way. Like a secret side he wanted to unravel slowly.

He frowned to himself, and then decided to put on some of Dewey’s music collection to clear his mind.

[beatricebidelaire]

13 words fics

Beatrice / R: Hey, darling, remember that night we made flower crowns in my family garden?

Kit / Esme : summer secret rendezvouses in city alleyways, winter very fast drives through the hinterlands

Ernest / Bertrand: “Well, I’m hardly the only one here wearing a mask at all times.”

Beatrice / Kit: it’s the way you held my hand tightly, the things we left unsaid

Jacques / Frank: you slot our meetups perfectly into schedule, like routine tasks (i hate it)

Georgina / Bertrand: sure one catches more flies with honey, but are you flies or honey?

Georgina / Esme: is there anything more romantic than committing crimes with the woman you love?

Jacques / Bertrand: it’s alarming, how every taxi on the road still reminds me of you

Beatrice / Esme: “It’d be insulting if you consider someone other than me your biggest rival.”

Jacques / Jerome: secrets/feelings i never told you, dangers i tried to warn you from

[beatricebidelaire]

mutually beneficial ; esme squalor / sally sebald

a last minute argument arose, and esme and georgina, who had previously planned on going to the masked ball together, were now going separately. didn’t have the ability to hypnotize someone into being her date like georgina could, esme decided to strike a deal with someone she knew who was definitely not happy about the georgina’s act of hypnosis.

caramel salt ; georgina orwell / bertrand baudelaire

long letters filled with complicated words discussing different fields of topics, polite pleasantry catching flies with honey, subtle suspicious glances at each other behind the glasses. it’s not a love story, but maybe it could have been, once, had things been different.

3, 2, 1, Action! ; gustav sebald / larry your-waiter

gustav sebald got on his nerves, and larry really only put up with him for jacquelyn’s sake, knowing he was jacquelyn’s good friend. gustav sebald with his annoyingly handsome hair and his annoyingly husky voice as he talked about zombies in the snow. gustav sebald with his ridiculous black cape that was supposed to make him look like a ridiculous vampire wanna be but only somehow made him look ridiculously attractive. it’s becoming a problem.

another first kiss ; beatrice baudelaire / r, the duchess of winnipeg

the first time beatrice and r kissed, it was at a rehearsal for a play. it was r’s first kiss ever, but she knew it probably wasn’t beatrice’s. the moment ended far too soon, and before she could realize it, esme was already loudly saying the next line, and everything that happened that afternoon afterwards felt like a blur. it was just a rehearsal, a kiss that didn’t mean anything, r told herself. but why did she keep thinking back on it?

unsent ; ernest denouement / bertrand baudelaire

he wrote a letter every week, and then stashed it into the locked drawer of his desk in his office at the hotel. “thought i saw your from afar when you came to visit dewey yesterday, i like your new haircut.” “did you have the chance to do the crossword puzzle of daily punctilio last week? 13 down reminded me of an inside joke we had.” “i miss you i miss you. i’m starting to think frank’s music taste is getting worse, i didn’t know that was possible.”

[beatricebidelaire]

when bertrand was undercover in the firestarting side for the firefighting side to gather information, he was especially under instruction to obtain optometry knowledge and ways of hypnotizing from dr georgina orwell. (vfd claimed they wanted those to prevent their own from being hypnotized.) during the undercover assignment they might’ve started dating a bit. he also did some lion training during this time, as the lions were owned by the firestarters.

at the meantime, ernest was already secretly meeting up with some firestarters and attending some of their gatherings, unbeknownst to his brothers. but since bertrand was working with georgina, he found out. and while georgina and other firestarters had no idea bertrand was undercover, ernest, who learned the information from dewey, knew full well. so at that point they both had secrets on each other.

they started buying each other drinks weekly to ensure the other person stay quiet about the secret. also they had polite and formal conversations while trying to decipher each other all the time.

not wanting the other person to expose their secret, neither of them told other people what they knew. it was a stalemate for a while. though eventually, without either of them saying a thing, the secrets still came out via other means. georgina felt betrayed and was livid and vowed revenge, and frank and dewey felt betrayed too, though f more angry and d more hurt. in the light of the reveals, georgina also suspect ernest must have known since his brother was on the other side (she was right), meanwhile frank and dewey thought bertrand must’ve also known way earlier since he was undercover at firestarter gatherings.

to avoid everyone’s betrayed and hurt feelings and annoyance and anger the two of them just went off grid together and disappeared. they ended up sharing bed in many small inns they stayed in. one thing led to another. meanwhile back at hotel denouement dewey had to pause library work for a bit to help with hotel maintenance.

when they went off grid, bertrand had used some of the fake identities he acquired from olivia, who was good with forging documents. olivia, who sometimes got visits from jacques snicket who wanted to know information on lemony’s current status. that time olivia did not have any lemony updates to offer and she decided to offer something else in compensation instead and told him about the fake identities she knew bertrand and ernest were using after they went off grid.

jacques, who had been busy with his own investigations and was very out of loop with the city rumors: bertrand and ernest were missing?!

olivia: you didn’t know?!

jacques then told beatrice what olivia told him and the two of them teamed up and tracked bertrand and ernest down together and beatrice threatened to cause a huge ruckus if they didn’t come back to the city with her. eventually they all went back.

[beatricebidelaire]

There was a time when E wasn’t completely / openly on the firestarting side yet and was assigned to go on a mission with B, a mission E knew some firestarting side people wanted him to secretly sabotage and E was seriously considering that because like, some things were personal some thing were business etc etc. This was business, no matter how much he liked B personally.

Anyway they were planning together at the hotel and the atmosphere is casual and somewhat flirtatious and when they were discussing about some infiltration plan E suggested B could be disguised as his secretary and B said, pleasantly, that it was hardly needed and he would suggest they go with another disguise instead.

Then E said slyly, “ah, so I noticed you’re not willing to be my secretary but have no objections to being Miss Orwell’s,” because they’d all heard some rumored about the disaster that went down with G/B, but apparently it was the wrong thing to say because B immediately froze and then he changed from flirtatiously polite to frostily polite which was a signature move of some kind like he was still polite and responded to E’s questions but suddenly in a much colder and more blank way and E was startled by that and wasn’t sure what to do. (Apparently things between G/B were even worse than the rumors had suggested, he thought.)

In the end E changed his mind and did not sabotage this mission and ended up drinking liquor with D in the underwater library “hey if you could casually mention to him that I had great incentive to sabotage the mission but I didn’t do it and that’s just because of him that would be great” and D was like “.... okay back up a little bit let’s talk about your incentive for sabotaging the plan” E: “only if you promise to tell him first”

[beatricebidelaire]

anyway i am just thinking abt georgina and ernest hanging out and chatting at the hotel bar or something as they drink together when she visited the city, and how a part of him enjoyed hanging out with her was she’s like one the very few people he knew that would just, expressed dislike about bertrand in contrast to everyone around him who mostly liked bertrand. and it’s not like e/b parted in bad terms per say it’s not like e hated him he still was mostly fond except b was an ex who had left, and e still liked b well enough most of the times but it could also be exhausting that everyone around him also adored b and rarely spoke badly about him and hanging out with georgina who had mostly complaints in contrast sort of balanced things out, in a way.

it’s stress relieving and somewhat amusing and he didn’t always agree completely with what georgina said but it’s just, good to know at least not everyone was fond of his ex, particularly when he himself was still in some way fond too even when he didn’t want to be. and like georgina’s really one of the only people who could do this and esme and olaf, while they did not like bertrand either, were much too focused on their hatred on other members of the firefighting side to talk about bertrand and very rarely acknowledged him to exist which in some way almost made e offended on bertrand’s behalf like “hello beatrice did not do that alone that was team effort you idiots give credits where it’s due” and some almost weird, fond, nostalgic admiration like “the ability to curate this image and stay under the radar .... the elegance”

[beatricebidelaire]

okay so

b/r mutual pining is different from b/k mutual pining in the way that in the latter neither kit or beatrice were aware of each other's feelings and they both thought it's impossible the other returned the feelings and they both didn't really admit to themselves their own feeling most of the time, it's very repressed but in case of b/r beatrice was aware of at the very least once suspected about r because r had been bolder in expressing her feelings and they just didn't manage to really worked it out because there were too many complicated factors like they almost dated but didn't

also like

j/b nostalgia is different from e/b nostalgia in the sense that j/b actually thought they'd managed to make things work because they became friends and got together due to their similarities and understanding but in the end they parted ways because there were actually more differences in their opinions on things than they originally thought and they grew up to have different views on things and despite trying to make it work they couldn't so they parted ways, it's the kind of nostalgia from "we gave it a shot but it didn't work out i'm moving on now and so are you we're both moving on i just miss you sometimes but it's fine thank you for being so important in those younger years", whereas e/b never really tried to make anything work they both went in with the mindset of this is just for fun no expectations no disappointments it'll end one day we both know but right now we're having fun so it's not "we tried but it didn't work" it's "we both have realistic expectations so we decided not to give it a try it's a mutual mature decision we're both fine with it it was fun that's all" it's slightly wistful mixed with a certain fondness type of nostalgia instead

thanks for coming to my ted talk

[beatricebidelaire]

poisonous fungi can break hearts   (lovers arguing about the methods of the supposedly noble organization they were loyal to, hypocritical best friends running a long term secret plan concerning a dangerous biological weapon, coffee shop co-owners not talking about their feelings, a flirtatious hotel manager, an ex opera actress skilled at smokes and mirrors, a taxi ride in the rain that happened years too late)

Kit studied him closely, and then slowly said, “You fell in love with how idealistic he is, but ironically his idealism was also the reason why you didn’t trust his judgments on certain things.”