#beatrice (sugar and spice)

[foulbearobservation]

lilith surging up towards her like she’s breaking the surface of water, or the world. the astonishing softness of her mouth, not her usual bruising pressure but a languid, almost peaceful tending-towards. it’s like she’s adrift, unmoored, and bea can feel the hum on the edges of everything as lilith sighs and almost, almost ribbons her wings into the world.

she tastes faintly sweet, a citrus-and-syrup tang that drapes over bea’s teeth as lilith’s tongue glides across. and stupidly, there in a tangle of hands and bated breath, bea finds herself thinking that lilith is something akin to a bridge.

not merely metaphysically; not in the sense of gathering here and there inside her hands, but in the sense that she is a bridge between beatrice and what she has always been afraid to want.

sugar in her mouth.

it might be coca cola, the original flavor cans Ava keeps in the car, rolling around under the seats. or maybe alcohol.

or Ava’s lip-balm.

she’s sweet, and unusual, and beatrice leans down, barely balanced on the edge of the sofa. hardly aware of any other object occupying this space. their space.

lilith’s hands reach for her hips, land there, thumbs pressing into the divots, the soft parts. beatrice teases her tongue through lilith’s lips and the taste of her is layered, then, with the charcoal and spice of somewhere else. but it’s lilith, so it’s also home.

lilith makes a noise in her throat, half of a growl, and something else that makes beatrice think of cam’s hand under lilith’s waistband. her full-bodied shiver, lilith’s legs curled against the sofa and the opaque O of her mouth, gathering shadows to it. her whisper, as cam leaned close, ‘don’t stop.’

the simplicity of that sentence. heady, like stealing a spoonful of molasses from the tin.

once, laughing, lilith told beatrice, ‘i did that too, licked the spoon clean and put it back in the drawer, so there could be no evidence. curled the lid back down, and the tin looked undisturbed.’

a smirk, ‘it wasn’t.’

what were they doing, when lilith told her that? were they covered in blood? was someone dead?

she can’t remember.

beatrice leans further against lilith as teeth graze her top lip, trying to capture her. she grabs lilith’s hands where they are pressed into her hips, hard enough for bruises if she leaves them a little longer.

but she doesn’t. she grabs lilith’s wrists and feels a slow smile against her mouth, the rasp of breath traveling over the roof of her mouth. lilith keeps trying to steal her breath and she’s smiling, and beatrice used to believe in miracles but now she only believes in them.

which just might be the same thing.

she has lilith in a loose wrist-lock, prying her fingers away, unfolding them so she’s pressing her palm into lilith’s. knees between lilith’s legs, left wide as a parting gift from camila.

‘i have you,’ she mutters, and feels lilith try to chuckle. but she whimpers instead, leaning into each kiss, arching her back for reach. and beatrice lets her take it, let’s lilith take and take and take.

thinking, this is alright. this body is mine to give.

she pushes liliths hands down onto the sofa cushions, pulling away - an inch that lilith tries to close immediately, but bea turns her face and darts a kiss between her eyes instead. the kind of place you put a bullet.

she feels wild, somehow, with lilith beneath her, latent power pressing up into her hands as lilith tries to surge off the cushions, to meet bea’s body in mid-air. she feels daring, still caught somewhere in the image of cam’s hand and the sound of her fingers fucking into lilith.

in the dark, lilith takes advantage of bea’s position to lean forwards, putting her mouth right into the faint ridges of cartilage in her throat. in the dark she says, ‘take it.’

and bea, breathless, says, ‘what?’

mumbles it, really, into the always-feverish skin of lilith’s forehead.

‘take what you want,’ lilith says, and she’s never been like this. not when it’s just the two of them.

but beatrice is a soldier, among so many other things, so she swallows her fear - because there is nothing to fear, anymore - and taps the insides of lilith’s wrists, ‘these stay where i put them, understand?’

and there it is again. that smile. unseen, but felt, as lilith kisses her bared throat again.

as lilith lets out a breath, shaky with anticipation, a laugh hidden inside it. disbelieving in the same way that beatrice is; that they’re here, together.

‘do you hear me?’ beatrice asks, ducking down to take lilith’s mouth again.

sweet. she’s so sweet.

lilith, hers, saying, ‘i hear you. i understand.’

and the crowd (me) goes wild!!! (this is a continuation of this ask from a few days ago)

lilith offering herself to bea just as bea offers herself to lilith. a person can be a lighthouse, stalwart and tall, but a lighthouse is nothing without their keeper. but neither of them are anything without the sea or the light. I am shaking u by the shoulders. do u understand. they are everything to each other. I am normal about the ot4. I am normal about the dynamics contained within the ot4. (I am lying.)

[sea-dukes-assistant]

To reply to the last anon who talked about misogyny in the fandom (who was totally right) here’s my add on to the take.

I’ve always felt like being a man in the royal family would be so easy because you can wear the same 5 or 6 different suits and no one will bat an eye. You don’t have to come up with a new stylish on trend but “age appropriate” inventive outfit, a full face of professional looking makeup, freshly blown out hair, and a perfect nude pink manicure every time you step outside of the house while managing to walk in 4 inch heels while your 8 months pregnant. You don’t have to worry about getting berated for wearing the same outfit over and over and not being “fashionable” and you don’t have to worry about getting bitched at for constantly buying new clothes. Harry was at one point wearing the shittiest oldest beat up shoes and other than like here, in close quarters within the fandom I feel like no one really talked about it at all but if his wife, sister in law or granny had dry cuticles or something tiny like that I’d bet good money we would’ve seen zoomed in microscopic pictures everywhere of them and people bitching about how the royal women are unkept and need a manicure, let alone if they wore busted up heels.

Speaking of Harry, he goes idk years or some shit looking unkept as fuck grooming wise sometimes in military uniform and no one says anything but his wife doesn’t wear a hat to an engagement, has a rough hair day as a result and she’s still getting berated for it a few years later and the whole time Harry’s hair looks like a sucked fuzzy mango but nearly no snark there. His wife doesn’t wear tailored clothes and yes to be honest it looks less than great but I can almost swear he wore some poorly tailored suits a time or two and.... nearly nothing.

I’m a person who has my own personal reservations about Meghan (and Harry) and that whole situation but people need to be fucking for real when not noticing the double standard that they imposed on Meghan and still impose on Kate. Williams not going to sleep with you, neither is Harry. Someone’s probably going to jump 4 inches deep in my butt crack for “defending” Meghan but I’m not defending her at all, like *at all* just pointing out that her husband did the same shit if not worse for a decade or more before Meghan came on the scene and they all wanted to hop into bed with him.

Also, Catherine gets shit on for wearing “dowdy” coat dresses but if you do try to be different in your royal fashion you will get bullied online for it for years. see: Beatrice and Eugenies hats at William and Catherine’s wedding. People don’t understand because of royal dress code (*not protocol, for the love of sugar, spice and everything nice it’s not protocol*) there’s only so many new and exciting things you can do with your fashion without becoming a walking model and fashionista which is not what being a royal lady is about.

Kindly, everyone needs to stop caring about if a royal family member who happens to be a woman has worn those heels before and start focusing on the causes that she’s trying to draw attention to. People are big time missing the point of a working monarchy.

I’m sorry for the even longer rant, just a woman in the royal fandom who proceeds to also not get the internalized misogyny.

This, I think, sums up the fandom in this aspect.

Something that has irked me is that this fandom has mantained a "men's fashun is booooorrring" attitude because one guy really likes blue. Meanwhile, Sir is over here wearing professionally tailored suits that usually look good as fuck (he's had times where this hasn't been the case), with the occasional novelty tie that relates to the place he's visiting/activity he's doing (pandas for WWF for example) but nobody wants to speak on his fashun because "ew, man." He has literally been declared Britain's best dressed man more than once but no, that doesn't count.

ALSO. YES. Thank you for addressing Harry's avoidance of combs and inability to dress himself. I swear he just puts on the least wrinkled shirt in the pile on the floor...right after getting out of bed. It's bothered me on a professional level that he does not shave while in uniform, because only the Royal Navy allows beards. He wants to make his service his personality at any event he can, but refuses to shave ergo not being in proper uniform. Because of course he gets a pass from (at the time) granny because oh my god, if he didn't he'd throw an entire tantrum like "MY MOM DIED WHEN I WAS 12 I SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO IGNORE THE REGULATIONS I KNOW VERY WELL THE ARMY HAS REGARDING FACE HAIR. I'M SPESHUL! OH MY GOD THE TRAUMA." I used to bring this up myself but, as usual, got told to shut the fuck up and that "regulations don't matter." Me, an active duty Sailor:

[poke-muns]

Pokemon antag team ideas

Spite

group of trainers who didn’t have the money/connections/opportunities MCs & their buddies have, most clearly talked about in not having a professor just hand them a strong, rare-species starter that’s easy to care for from the get-go.

They can’t develop the opportunities since their opponents have better (in battling context) starters from the start so always lose, their Pokemon don’t gain xp & they lose money.

Spice themed names? Purely because I want the leader to be called Sal. Then protag or professor can be something to do with sugar… MCs Beatrice & Cane?

Relative deprivation kinda story maybe? They have pokémon that they love and love them but don’t see it because they’re envious of others and want what they have (all of leader’s Pokemon or at least their starter knows max. Return)

Like to think they’d get to have an equal end? I don’t know how to phrase it. But they learn to appreciate what they got while the professors/government/league system/whatever change their policy. An actual game with this wouldn’t have Spite wholly win, they’ve gotta learn something too, but I want them to win.

Since the Arven & Az stuffs allude to a pokémon dying, you can use it here? Partner fainted while poisoned, couldn’t afford to travel to a place with a center or buy potions or etc. Not attached to this for someone in the team though, just a thought.

Monopoly

Take advantage of battling as a way to make money.

Would they realise making everyone else broke either means no one battles anymore or societal expectations change so battling can keep happening regardless of money? Who knows.

If boss wants the legendary it’s because it’s a fucking legendary, it’s strong, they’ll win so many battles with it guys

Paragon

Want to make the perfect Pokemon. No weaknesses, super effective to all, resists as much as possible.

If boss wants the legendary they plan to use it to make their perfect pokémon either by altering it’s biology, splicing it with something else, using it’s power to strengthen something else, or something else. (Paramon? Works nicer if there’s a parasitic element since then it feels less cheap than just paragon but mon)

Hell they could make the box legendary? Maybe? If they prioritise no weakness or full effective they get a different one.

[hunty627]

Sugar, spice and everything nice. These were the three ingredients chosen to create the perfect little girl. But Professor Utonium did everything correctly and there were no accidents. Thus, the run-of-the-mill girls were born! Using their ultra normal abilities, Bertha, Beatrice and Betty have dedicated their lives to just hang around and do nothing extraordinary.

[lemonpeter]

Sugar And Spice

Chapter 1

So, here is the beginning of a new fic! I’m really excited about this one, I love pregnancy fics so this is my kinda unconventional take on one lol I hope everyone enjoys 💕 I’m a little nervous to post it because I love it but I’m not sure other people will, so please don’t be too harsh 💕

On ao3

Warnings: discussion of pregnancy (not mpreg, this is not that kind of fic), surrogacy, Peter’s age isn’t mentioned (but he’s somewhere in his early 20s)

————

The first time Peter proposed his wish it was completely out of blue.

He and Tony were cuddled up together, just holding each other and whispering sweet nothings that made the other blush uncontrollably. It was one of their favorite pastimes together, always entertaining.

But one thing Peter whispered was completely different than the others:

“God, I want a baby with you.”

To say it surprised Tony was an understatement.

The older man choked on his own tongue, coughing and sputtering until he caught his breath again. “You...Peter. Honey. Love of my life. You realize that’s...impossible, right?”

His husband just sighed a little, kissing him gently. “I mean, it’s impossible from us, but we could still have a baby. We could adopt. Or something like that.”

Tony watched him, trying to gauge if he was serious. But the dreamy look on the other’s face told him that this really was something he wanted. “Yeah...something like that….”

They’d talked about kids before. Peter wanted them, Tony wasn’t sure. He’d never even considered the possibility for a multitude of reasons before he met Peter. But then they got together and he saw the appeal of having children. Of course, it wouldn’t just happen, but there were other ways. They just hadn’t really discussed them too much.

Although he figured maybe the time of not talking about it was over.

But then it didn’t get elaborated on. Maybe Peter got embarrassed, maybe it was just a fleeting thought he shared. So it was a while before it was talked about again.

It wasn’t brought up again for nearly six months.

But then they were buying their first house together. Not an apartment, not a penthouse over Stark Industries. An actual house, complete with their own land and-

And it had a couple extra bedrooms.

Tony’s thinking was that they could use them for storage, maybe knock out a wall between a couple of the rooms to make an extended lab.

Peter, on the other hand, touched the door frame of one with more gentleness than Tony had ever seen. A tiny, dreamy smile pulled at his lips.

“What, honey? You got any ideas for this one?”

The younger man nodded a little as he turned to face his husband again. “This room would be so perfect for a nursery.”

And Tony was taken by surprise all over again. He didn’t choke this time, at least.

But his heartbeat sped up considerably and suddenly he could see exactly what Peter was talking about.

His eyes darted around the room as he mentally mapped everything out. A crib in that corner, a changing table there, play area, dresser. He envisioned Peter entering the room with a little baby in his arms as he hummed under his breath.

Wait- no, the humming really was coming from Peter.

“What do you think?” He asked nervously. “Is that stupid? I mean, I know we can’t really...yknow. But I still….” he trailed off, sighing a little. “Never mind.”

The nervousness and shutting himself down made Tony think that maybe that was why it hadn’t been talked about again.

“No, no,” Tony quickly assured him. “I can definitely…” he looked around the room. “Yeah, I can definitely see a nursery in here.”

The younger man still looked down, sighing again. “But it’s not...possible. I know.” He rubbed his arm, an action Tony knew he used to calm himself down. The fact that they couldn’t have kids genuinely upset him.

That just wouldn’t do.

“Hey, don’t say that. We could still have a baby. We could adopt, like you’ve talked about. Or there’s the surrogate route.”

Peter watched Tony, nodding a little. “Yeah...you’re right….” he just didn’t know how to really go about anything.

Tony hummed a little, one finger tapping to his chin as the ideas flooded his mind.

His husband watched curiously. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing, nothing. But all I’m saying is it’s not impossible. Maybe in one way it is, but there’s always more than one way.”

The younger man finally smiled a little, nodding. “Yeah. Maybe we can...look into other ways?”

“Of course, honey. Of course we can.” He picked the man up and spun him around, laughing softly before kissing him. “We’ll have our baby.” He looked around the room. “You’re so right about this room, honey. I can’t wait to see it in action.”

———

The house was purchased and a week later they started moving in.

They worked hard, filling every room that they had plans and decor for. The rest of the avengers helped as well as some of Peter’s non-powered friends. Everything was unloaded pretty quickly and then Peter and Tony were alone again.

Peter disappeared for a while after Tony started on sorting out his tools and things in the garage. But after a while, he started missing his husband and went looking for him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find him in the vacant room that they had discussed being a nursery.

The younger man was sitting on the floor, fingers sliding over the soft, new carpet.

There was no furniture or any boxes in the room, as Tony specifically told everyone to keep it empty. They had plans for it, even if the plans weren’t set in stone yet.

Tony moved to sit next to Peter, groaning a little as he felt his knees creak in protest. “God, my knees and back are really feeling the heavy lifting we did.”

His husband looked at him, laughing softly. “I told you to leave the lifting to the super people. Your poor old man back can’t handle it,” he teased.

The older man snorted. “Oh, shut up. I’m not old. Just got a decade of superheroing and being thrown around under my belt. My poor body has been through a lot.”

“Uh huh. So you should have left it to us.”

Tony chuckled. “I know, I know….” he smiled a little. “So...have you just been sitting in here?”

“Yeah,” Peter admitted. “Is that super weird?”

“I kind of expected it,” Tony told him. “You’ve got baby fever,” he teased. “Of course you’d be in the nursery.”

“Not a nursery yet.”

“Yet.”

There was a moment of silence, almost tense as Peter audibly took a heavy breath.

“I want a baby so bad, Tony. I don’t know why it’s so sudden but it is. We would be such good parents! And we’ve got a new house with space, a big yard, more than enough money to support a child.” He sighed a little. “But I know...you don’t really….”

“What? I don’t what?”

“You don’t...really want kids. I know we’ve talked about it but-“

Tony made an offended noise. “I do want kids. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. Peter, I would love to have a child with you. It just takes time to look into everything, a baby isn’t just a split second decision.”

“Then let’s talk about it. Let’s talk. Plan. Find the best plan for us. Let’s do this, Tony!” Peter looked at him, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. He had put himself down for so long because he didn’t think that Tony really wanted kids. So he would jump at the chance to talk knowing that wasn’t actually the case.

“Okay. Okay.” He smiled a little. “We’ll talk about it. But for tonight we need to relax. Most of everything is set up and we have a new house to christen,” he joked.

“You’re so dirty,” Peter laughed, covering his mouth.

“Is that a no?”

“No, we definitely need to do that. Doesn’t make you any less dirty, though.”

———

They did months of research.

Adoption was ruled out after a bit, it seemed too emotionally complicated from their points of view. And they’d determined that they want one of them to share genetics with the baby. Even if both of them couldn’t be biological parents, they wanted to have one. They wanted their baby to look like them.

So they began looking into surrogacy instead.

They got in touch with an agency to draw up a baseline contract while they looked for the perfect candidate. And there were many candidates to talk to.

All of the women they interviewed were nice and seemed like good people, but none felt like the One.

Until they met Beatrice.

She was on the younger side and sweet, helpful and seemingly right for them right from the first phone interview. So they set up an in person meeting next.

The first thing that Tony noticed was her eyes.

He didn’t want to say that they looked like Peter’s, because no one could match the level of beauty that his husband’s eyes held. But they were similar enough that he instantly felt a connection to her.

And his immediate thought was that if she was a good match, their baby could potentially look like both of them. Since Beatrice looked so much like Peter.

That wouldn’t be a bad thing at all.

“Come in, let’s sit down,” she murmured, gesturing towards a table and chairs.

They’d set up the meeting at a cafe, so it would be a nice and relaxed setting. And so Peter could have a cup to fidget with nervously as they talked. It seemed like the perfect setting.

“I’ll go order, what do you want, Beatrice?” Tony asked. He slid his fingers over the back of the chair as Peter sat down.

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Stark, I can do it,” the woman told him, starting to stand.

“No, it’s alright. I can order so you and Peter can talk and I’ll pay for your drink.”

She sat back down, smiling a little. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. That’s very kind. I think I’ll just have...oh, anything mocha. Surprise me. As long as it’s got chocolate.” She laughed, looking across the table to Peter.

Tony nodded. “Perfect. I’ll go place the orders. Be back in a moment.” He walked into the building, humming to himself as he did.

Peter smiled at the woman across from him once Tony was gone. “So, have you ever done this before?”

“The interview part? Or the actual end goal?”

“The second one. Have you been a surrogate for anyone yet?” He asked curiously.

“I have. Just once before.” Beatrice smiled a little. “But I’m still in tip top condition so I’m happy to help someone else. And I have my own kiddo at home, so I’ve actually done the whole pregnancy and birth thing twice.” She laughed.

“How did it work the first time? For you and for the family?”

She leaned back in the chair a little. “Well….”

———

When Tony came back, the other two were getting along fine and laughing.

“Glad to see you two are having fun.” He grinned, setting the drink carrier down on the table and sitting next to Peter. “Oh, and I got you a salted caramel mocha,” he told Beatrice. “I hope it’s good.”

“I bet it’s perfect,” she assured him, taking her drink.

Peter smiled, grabbing his cup and taking a sip. He hummed. “Absolutely perfect. Thanks, Tones.”

“What did you get? Probably something fancy-shmancy, being married to this guy,” Beatrice joked.

Tony snorted. “He doesn’t even drink coffee. He has hot chocolate.”

“Fair enough.”

“So what did you guys talk about while I was gone?”

Peter hummed, sipping his drink before talking. “Just about the first time she did this. Carried for someone. It sounds like it went smoothly.” Which was typically a good sign. Even though pregnancies were fairly unpredictable. “And how it all worked between them.”

“Them?” Tony asked.

“Me and the family,” Beatrice told him. “Things were good. They still are. I still get to see the kid if I want to. We’ve had a few meetings.”

The older man nodded. “That sounds really good.” He glanced to Peter.

His husband was absolutely beaming, eyes bright and excited as they kept talking.

He didn’t have to say anything for Tony to know what he was thinking. Of course they’d have to talk about it...but she seemed like the one.

They went on for nearly an hour, discussing every little detail, talking about their lives, things that mattered and things that didn’t matter for the arrangement. They ended the interview with a promise of a next meeting and friendly goodbyes.

Peter and Tony got into their car, taking a moment to relax and process everything that had gone on in their time with the candidate.

Then Peter started crying.

“Honey, what is it?” Tony asked, worried. “Hey, talk to me. Did it not go well?” He was worried that maybe he misread his husband’s reactions to everything. Maybe everything wasn’t as good as he thought.

But, “She’s perfect,” the other man whispered, wiping his eyes. “Tony, it has to be her. She has to be the one. Do a next meeting, all the background stuff, whatever. But it has to be her.”

A smile tugged at Tony’s lips and he nodded. “Of course, honey. Let’s contact the agency. See how she felt about everything. But I think we’ve found our girl.”

“She’s gonna have our baby,” Peter said happily. “God, this is so perfect.”

And Tony couldn’t disagree with that.

[multixgods-blog]

Tag dump

[luluwquidprocrow]

and i’ve written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones

originally posted: august 25th, 2019

word count: 13,060 words

rated: not rated

beatrice/bertrand/lemony

heavy angst,  canon compliant,  with enough canon divergence that makes the canon compliance worse,  epistolary

summary:

and if you don’t love me, let me go.

[a much less than 200 pages break up letter.]

opening notes:

title from the engine driver by the decemberists

.

By the time you read this

I guess an at least interesting description of us could be like ships passing in the night

I think now is

I think now might be the time for us to

First of all, I have canceled my subscription to the Daily Punctilio, which was just a good move on my part to begin with, and second of all, I couldn’t believe all that anyway, but third of all, do you know, Lemony

You’ll think me such a damn hypocrite, won’t you.

Why now? Why would I

Why would you do this now?

My Heart and I

I.

ENOUGH ! we're tired, my heart and I.

We sit beside the headstone thus,

And wish that name were carved for us.

The moss reprints more tenderly

The hard types of the mason's knife,

As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life

With which we're tired, my heart and I.

II.

You see we're tired, my heart and I.

We dealt with books, we trusted men,

And in our own blood drenched the pen,

As if such colours could not fly.

We walked too straight for fortune's end,

We loved too true to keep a friend ;

At last we're tired, my heart and I.

III.

How tired we feel, my heart and I !

We seem of no use in the world ;

Our fancies hang grey and uncurled

About men's eyes indifferently ;

Our voice which thrilled you so, will let

You sleep; our tears are only wet :

What do we here, my heart and I ?

IV.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

It was not thus in that old time

When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime

To watch the sunset from the sky.

Dear love, you're looking tired,' he said;

I, smiling at him, shook my head :

'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I.

V.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

Though now none takes me on his arm

To fold me close and kiss me warm

Till each quick breath end in a sigh

Of happy languor. Now, alone,

We lean upon this graveyard stone,

Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.

VI.

Tired out we are, my heart and I.

Suppose the world brought diadems

To tempt us, crusted with loose gems

Of powers and pleasures ? Let it try.

We scarcely care to look at even

A pretty child, or God's blue heaven,

We feel so tired, my heart and I.

VII.

Yet who complains ? My heart and I ?

In this abundant earth no doubt

Is little room for things worn out :

Disdain them, break them, throw them by

And if before the days grew rough

We once were loved, used, — well enough,

I think, we've fared, my heart and I.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who knew what she was talking about

My Dearest Darling,

You call me a lot of things but, to be perfectly frank (not Ernest), Lemony, I think I’ve always liked that one the least. There was that summer where, among other things, Bertrand was trying to come up with nicknames for us in that charming way of his, and he came up with a real mess of awful nicknames and then I came up with the list we could Never Repeat In Public (capitals necessary) and then you said something very sweet to both of us, and anyway, we know what happened there, but the point of this is that you held us close and said, very seriously, that you would never ever ever ever ever (for the span of what I’d figure would be maybe two pages, short but evenly-spaced), no matter what happened, call Bertrand ‘Bert’ and that was damn good of you because Bertrand is not a Bert and never will be. We were right to veto Bertie, as well. He is a Bertrand, through and through. The other point was that you wound up calling us nicknames too but dearest darling was maybe the worst of all of them. Bea was my favorite. I liked the way you said it and I liked the way it sounded and I felt noble perfect unstoppable invincible worried fragile good when you said it. And that was good.

Speaking of, right now, Bertrand is with Kit, and don’t worry, they’re not talking about you (I know how you worry). They’re talking about boats and maps and cooking spices and Widdershins will probably come by later to give them both his version of A Stern Talking To (capitals debatable) about open water expeditions, which will probably be something like, ‘Fire this harpoon at anything suspicious! Aye! Shoot first and ask questions later! Aye!’ and it’s a real miracle that man doesn’t have a whole boatload of albatrosses hanging around somewhere. (Unless he does, and I just haven’t seen it.)

Bertrand and I—well, we’ve kept the house up. Even though he has that thing for natural light, you know what I mean. But we’ve managed to decorate it nicely. I got the Gothic Furniture (capitals required), he got his large windows, there is a last unopened root beer bottle in the fridge because every time we look at it both of us think about how you said it’s impolite to take the last one, and I thought, maybe I’d save it for when you came back but I don’t

The last thing I want is to

Bertrand and I, we’re going out to dinner tonight, because we’re still not all that comfortable with the kitchen yet. I mean, why did we get such a fancy kitchen? I’m sure one of these days I’ll come around to it and it’ll be fine but right now it’s, it seems a hassle, I guess. So we’re going out and I’ve already decided that I’m going to order this truly egregious amount of pasta and no one will stop me!

We don’t really have any plans for tomorrow. As it stands right now. We’ve both been sort of taking things as they come lately. Bertrand, Bertrand’s been very busy. Both of us have been busy, but I think he’s been trying to keep his mind occupied. A lot of us have. Even Hector looks more concerned than he usually does. I saw him the other day—not here, in town—and I didn’t think it was possible for Hector to look that harried. So much has been happening lately, I feel like even I haven’t had time to catch my breath, even in this part of the city. It’s like everything’s been going a mile a minute, taking me with it, and the moments where it stops, the moments where I have the time to think, are unbearably, agonizingly slow. But most of my life has been like that, you know.

And I know, I know you are too. Busy. And concerned.

I know.

When you

Did you

The last performance of our play was three days ago. Since the Daily Punctilio doesn’t have a theater section anymore, Bertrand and I haven’t been reading any rave reviews but we were rereading but, what can you do. Geraldine’s moved on to some other column now too, something about, I don’t even know, tax evasion? Shoes? I can never understand a single thing she writes. Even that ‘Secret Organizations You Should Know About’ thing didn’t even pan out, can you believe that? All she did was write about Esmé! All that trouble for

It looks like it’ll be the last play for a while. I know they wanted us to go on longer, but, well, that’s how it has to be. Don’t know what I’m going to do with myself without a script to lug around, but I’ll probably memorize something for kicks. Gilda Farrell’s lines, maybe, that’d be fun.

But it’d be better if you

This is really the first time I’ve had one of those unbearably slow moments in a while, and of course the first thing I think of is you. You and Bertrand have always filled those gaps for me, but now it’s different. It’s just

I saw Jacques the other day and he

Ramona’s the only one who hasn’t been so

I want to see you so much, Lemony. With everything I have, I want you with me, and I keep hoping that if I close my eyes, when I open them again, there you’ll be, alive and well and next to me and real. Or I’ll walk away from my desk and this letter and when I look back it’ll all have been a bad dream, the worst nightmare I keep stopping and hoping and when you’re not there and I’m still here I

I don’t know how to do this. I can’t

I didn’t want to do it like this.

I don’t want you to I’m, burying the lede, or doing any of this on purpose or anything, because by now you’ve definitely noticed how long this is (although, personally, I’m only at the beginning, but I have a feeling this is going to get long—I know I’ve said I could run laps around the city in the time it takes you to finish a single metaphor but between the two of us we both know I could go on for much longer and will), and you have a vague idea, or a concrete idea, or an idea you don’t want to think about, of where I’m going to go with this. If it was something simple it wouldn’t be like this. If I was just, telling you the news, I wouldn’t need so much time, and I need so much of it. I’m setting the stage trying to making sure I wanted to I can’t just

I am a weak woman, Lemony Snicket. And that is a complete lie, you and I know, but I am a weak woman and I don’t want to be but my hands are shaking.

You and I. You and I know so many things.

So why should we

We both know how to make Ramona laugh, and the right amount of sugar for Olivia’s tea, and where Jacques will be on Tuesdays even though he pretends he doesn’t keep a regular schedule, and where Monty has his keys stashed in his garden, and everything possible about Bertrand, including what book he’s reading right now even though you haven’t been home in two months (it’s still that cat book because he says he wants to see the look on your face when he reads it out loud after dinner) (it’s still that cat book), and what kind of records Kit wants for her birthday even though she never has the time to play them, and even what Esmé is going to eat tomorrow because would you believe that herring is still in, to her continued consternation. She can talk all she wants about how good herring is but I still see that look on her face when she eats it! Every meal, Lemony! I’m giggling as we speak and I wish you could see her because it is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my LIFE

Maybe those things are superficial, but they’re things we know about people, about ourselves, and that counts, doesn’t it? And—and I know what you look like when you wake up and I know what you look like when you’re fixing your typewriter and I have to help and I know what you look like when you think I’m not looking at you, and there was a time where that meant you didn’t look like everyone you knew had just died. You know what I look like at my worst, the worst I ever let you see. You knew it anyway. You It was enough.

And Bertrand. I know I’ve said it before but, you and I were so lucky. Lots of good things came from of this, right? The three of us, you and me and Bertrand. Our apartment and that wallpaper we took down in Bertrand’s when he moved out of his, with those horrendous yellow stripes. The cat we pretended to have and the elaborate medical history we made for it so we’d all have an excuse to go home early. (That poor cat, though. I don’t think it would’ve been possible for it to really survive like that. We should be better to our imaginary pets next time in the future.) Watching Bertrand dance to my records, which was terrible because we hadn’t taught him to dance yet. Trying out those new recipes. Keeping the windows open in the summer. The diner down the street, the ice cream shop on the corner, that night it rained and we all stayed outside and got soaking wet because why not? Bertrand making that excessive amount of soup the next day. You telling us we were the only things that mattered. Bertrand would push your hair out of your face when you were sleeping and I wanted to watch that for the rest of my life. I wanted it to be the last thing I ever saw.

Those moments, every moment. Reading in the dark, losing my glasses, you stopped dead the first time we were out with Bertrand and he was under a streetlamp and you both looked so beautiful and you kissed him for the first time and you didn’t even remember to be nervous.

And those million citations Jacques didn’t give us for public indecency during that spring he was disguised as a police officer. (He was definitely kidding when he brought it up. There was no way he could’ve seen us.)

It makes me so happy, to think about all that. I love you and Bertrand so much. I

Oh Lemony. I don’t think I can do any of this.  

-------

In other better happier general news, Gustav let Bertrand and me see the pictures from the wedding, and then he archived them, because we agreed that was for the best, and Bertrand figured you’d probably say the same. I look absolutely stunning, and Bertrand looks incredibly handsome even though he finally admitted he agrees with you, that hat was not his style, and you, Lemony, in that white suit that matched Bertrand’s with those peach-colored flowers because peach is a better color than I ever gave it credit for and it looked so good in the spring because it was the color the wall in the living room turned when the afternoon sun hit, you look

It was such a beautiful day. Still spring, and right after Bertrand’s birthday. Us, Kit, Jacques, Ramona, Olivia, Dewey, Hector. Jerome was invited—or he was supposed to be, who knows what happened there. We barely saw Gustav the whole time too, since he kept climbing up into trees for better angles. The smallest place we could find that would hold all of us and be so out of the way. The cake Kit made, against everyone’s expectations. Ramona cried, because of course she did. All those flowers, no one could move the whole time for walking into at least six bees, but no one minded. So much love. It was palpable, and my whole body was alive with it, with such a soft warmth I could barely breathe. I don’t think I ever stopped smiling, not while dancing or singing or kicking my shoes off because such mortal trappings cannot contain me, or when you and Bertrand danced and you cried, or when a crow flew overhead and we all stopped, just for a single second, before every one of us decided not to care. For a few hours one glorious afternoon.

You look happier than I’ve ever seen you before and now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you like that again or forever and I’m sorry, I was right, I can’t do this, I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this

-------

I’ve taken a few deep breaths and I’m ready to

Oh who am I KIDDING

Lemony I love you so much and I need you so much my heart is going to break with it

justice does not need eyes to see,

but truth built himself eyes

in the porcelain patterns of his world

and let them do the talking

in the skies he

so kindly

let them see,

with the eyes he gave them,

one after another

after another

after another

i

i was something else

but i lived so close beside

that they could not accuse me

of being blind

but i could’ve seen everything

if i could see with every eye,

one after another

after another

after another,

every eye

a certainty,

every eye

the truth,

every eye

mine alone.

You told me when we were younger that I should give rhyming verse a try and, well, Lemony, not everything you said was good advice.

-------

I do, though. I love you a great deal. I think it confuses people. Besides the fact that some of them never understood our relationship with Bertrand (cowards), I get the impression some of our associates don’t know why I love you. Which is just stupid of them, and I don’t owe them anything, none of them are going to read this. It’s not their business why I love you, it’s ours. And I love you because

How can you explain why you love someone? Someone can say ‘they make me laugh’ as much as they want and sure it’s true but is that really why? Can you ever really say why? Isn’t it enough to love somebody, with everything you have? To say, that’s the one I want, for the rest of my life? Who could I possibly need to defend myself to?

I love you because I love you, because I look at you and think I love you, because I inhale and exhale that I love you, because every part of me only feels right with you.

I love you because you embarrassed me but I thought you were kind. I love you because I didn’t ever have to explain anything. I love you because you always came back to me. I love you because you made me happy. I love you because you didn’t let anything stop you from loving me. I love you because you loved me. I love you because when you took my hand I thought I could do anything with that love.

I love you because you were mine. I love you because you looked at me. And I love you because it was more than that, it always was.

I love you because of the records you played. I love you because of the time we taught Bertrand to make root beer floats. I love you because you’d rehearse our lines with us even though you can’t act. I love you because of the way you would stand in the kitchen and wonder what you should make for dinner. I love you because you said you’d plant strawberry bushes in the backyard. I love you because you could never stand Geraldine Julienne. I love you because we would all sit around the table in my apartment and critique the newspaper articles together. I love you because you’d never take the train. I love you because Bertrand and I found every shortcut in the city for you. I love you because you and Bertrand would knit me the ugliest sweaters on purpose. I love you because you would take care of the bats for me and you were terrible at it.

I love you because you were wonderful where it counted. I love you because we’d stay up late and watch movies. I love you because you would hold Bertrand like it was the most important thing in the world. I love you because you would furrow your brow when you read something you didn’t like. I love you because you’d take me to the beach when it was cold. I love you because we went on picnics in the summer. I love you because when I walked into our apartment and then when I walked into our house it always felt like home. I love you because we made up that cat. I love you because you’d sing with me. I love you because Bertrand would take us bird-watching and name the birds with us. I love you because you bought me flowers.

I love you because you told me what happened. I love you because we went back there with you. I love you because I went into the lighthouse. I love you because I wasn’t going to not go. I love you because no one else would’ve gone. I love you because we let you walk out the door there and I knew you would come back.

I love you because we used to make out in the back of the movie theater and we’d take turns with Bertrand and then try to piece together what even happened in the movie when we got home. I love you because you used to sit in dark rooms with me and pretend we were ghosts and scare the other volunteers. I love you because we could just read for hours and not say a word. I love you because you let me cry in the bathroom. I love you because you would make up songs on the accordion when I was upset. I love you because I would whistle along when you did songs I knew. I love you because you would go out of your way to buy crackers. I love you because you would say things like “when we first met, you were pretty, and I was lonely” and you let me laugh. I love you because you would write me notes during class. I love you because you looked the same way I did the first time we saw Bertrand—shocked, and then a little impressed, and then irritated, because who did he think he was? I love you because who did any of us think we were, really. I love you because we grew to not care. I love you because we became people I was proud of.

I love you because you would feed that cat in the back alley on your way home and I would watch you from the window. I love you because that cat followed us to our house and then we had a real live legitimate cat until someone across the street put out better cat food. I love you because of the way you would read out loud, because you couldn’t act but when you read it was like seeing the sunrise for the first time. I love you because the one thing you did that was better than Bertrand was make tea. I love you because you taught me all your cookie recipes. I love you because we got you to sleep in the middle so we could protect you. I love you because they couldn’t take that away from me.

I love you because I’m here in an otherwise empty house, some boxes still unpacked, letting the dust settle, pouring my heart out when I don’t want to, because I do love you with everything I have, every part of me, every bone and every sigh and every drop of blood, and that’s the end of that. That’s all there is, I love you. That’s what it comes down to, I love you. That’s the only thing I want to say, I love you.

I do, I do love you. Lemony, please believe me.

-------

I know Bertrand has his own thoughts, his own opinions. He doesn’t want to admit that he does, but he gets this, look, on his face. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, like he’s lost something special but it was there a moment ago, wasn’t it. He thinks I haven’t noticed. After all this time, he thinks he’s not supposed to be here, and you it hurts, is all.

And as much as Bertrand is a part of us, indelibly, forever, just as you are, both of you so a part of me that I ache with it, this letter is between you and me. Not because it was the two of us first. But because you know, for as much as I don’t want to, I’ll say the things Bertrand won’t.

That’s how this has to be.

-------

So.

Olaf’s started talking to me again, which I didn’t think would happen in a million years. Although maybe I shouldn’t call it talking? More like, he sort of shows up if he knows I’m at headquarters (which is far and few between anyway so, really, what the hell?) and lounges in doorways with these big smiles and says these dramatic things at me instead of to me, which he can’t possibly expect me to believe. How stupid does he think I am? Because I’m not. He keeps going, hey Beatrice, have you read the Daily Punctilio? And I don’t say anything to him, even though yes, I’ve read the Daily Punctilio, dammit.

You and I both know what’s in the Daily Punctilio, and for a while I thought, maybe you were writing those articles yourself, part of another fragmentary plot, and that you’d tell me about it later, and you’d explain it to me, even though I wouldn’t need it to be explained, not really. But you didn’t. Not that you didn’t explain, you just, you just didn’t tell me anything. And you were gone and I couldn’t even see you anyway and that was what really made it hard? It wasn’t like I doubted you. I didn’t. I didn’t doubt you. I knew you wouldn’t do any of those things.

But everyone looked at me and they looked so damn pitying, like, oh it happens to the best of us, only he’s not the best of us. Maybe you should’ve seen it coming, well you know what he’s like, as if nothing had ever happened? As if we hadn’t grown up together? As if we wouldn’t have followed you to the ends of the earth because we believed in you? It’s not everyone, but it’s enough. Like some of them don’t owe you their lives.

Bertrand says that people deal with things in different ways, and saying those things about you is probably just another way they’re dealing with everything. Don’t you think it’s harder, it’s gotten harder, as we’ve gotten older? But they don’t have to throw you under the bus to do it. They don’t have to vilify you to make themselves feel better. They don’t have to look me in the eye like that, like I’m some, some poor miserable thing, or like I have to be protected, or like I don’t know what I’m doing, or like they can’t even trust me.

But what does that make me?

And Olaf would grin at me and I would hold my head high and look him back and spit in his face. I wasn’t going to let it get to me. It had only been a month. How long is a month, in the grand scheme of things? What does a month matter, against the beginning of a lifetime? And when a month became two, what did that matter?

-------

I wouldn’t say that Hector and I were ever particularly close, but I’ve actually seen a lot of him lately. We meet up for tea because he keeps saying there’s something he wants to talk to me about but mostly he sits there and looks at his tea and I pretend I’m not super uncomfortable. And then he insists on paying the check, in exact change.

When I see Hector, I think about Haruki. I know how close they were. And Haruki respected you so much, more than anyone else. As in, he respected you more than he respected any of our other friends, but also more than maybe anyone else respected you, because that was how Haruki was. Loyal, the best of the best, and so fierce about it. I wanted him there at our wedding.  

Haruki was really the first person we lost, I guess. And I hate how we’re never going to know how it happened, because they say no one else was there, and the one person we do know was there, he’s never going to say a damn thing about it, and we all know that for sure. But I remember everyone gathering around to write Haruki’s obituary and how little we had to say. Not because we didn’t know him. But because, what were we going to say? What did we have left to say, who did Haruki have left, besides us? And what were we?

Hector looks at me and I don’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know what to say to me. I’m terrified he’s going to tell me I should’ve known better too because then I won’t be able to stand it. But he just looks at me and I try not to cry and I’m trying not to cry now because he’s feeling it too, this awful business of feeling like things are starting to break. Sometimes I feel Hector is going to disappear, too.

--------

I guess the question I started to think was, how long was I going to wait. Bertrand and I had waited for longer, and then there were times where we never waited, and hadn’t we reached a point where we weren’t supposed to, anymore? But then, when you’re married, aren’t you supposed to do whatever you have to?

But doesn’t it go both ways? One half can do their part but doesn’t the other half have to do something too and how much is it before you’re asking too much but how long is it before you’re not doing enough and when you’re married aren’t you supposed to know the answers to all the questions, the right and the wrong ones, you’re not supposed to care and you’re supposed to be there and it’s all is supposed to be okay, and

We never did do anything traditionally, though, did we?

-------

I saved the article. I didn’t save all of them, but I saved this one.

-------

UNIDENTIFIED BODY IDENTIFIED

The unidentified body recently pulled from the downtown river has been identified as local ex-theater critic and renowned person of interest, Lemony Snicket, who was last seen surveying the river and saying, “How deep do you think it really is?”

“For the record,” said the local police, who preferred to remain nameless and sent in their response by postcard from three towns over, “it was three feet.”

Mr. Snicket was identified by a source who was also unidentified, but proved their credentials by singing a variety of showtunes for the newspaper staff, to great applause.

“Yes, I suppose that’s him,” said the source, when asked to identify the photo of the river, which was presented to them while they were drinking a glass of water, because they were parched after the showtunes. When the glass of water spilled on the photograph, the source went on to say, “Oh, that’s definitely him.”

The body in question disappeared as soon as it was found, but the police have no reason to suspect foul play, as no livestock was found at the scene, the morgue, or the local bakery, and neither does our source.

“Can I leave now?” asked the source. “I need to go pick up my glasses.”

Mr. Snicket has recently been the suspect in a number of crimes, including arson, lockpicking, theft, and jaywalking without a license. He has been described as “that’s not what I would call a grey suit, it leaned closer to charcoal.” There is no planned funeral service at this time.

-------

Bertrand and I laughed a lot, because it was the most outrageous article we’d ever read, and we kept talking about what sort of bakery would even allow livestock inside, and of course we knew it was about you, but of course it wasn’t you, because we didn’t know where you were but we knew you were alive. You were alive, so no matter what we read or what anyone told us, no matter who wanted to believe what, we knew the truth.

And, again, Lemony, it wasn’t that I needed you to explain. It was that I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to let me in on it. I wanted you to call or come by and tell us, your husband and your wife, hey no big deal but I’m gonna fake my death for the foreseeable future, is that okay? And instead I have to find out from Olaf waving it in my face? I have to find out from some absurd article I shouldn’t have even looked twice at? I have to find out from people I thought were my friends telling me I should have known better?

I sure don’t need to tell you, but, we just got married, Lemony! And we had a house and a life and plans and no matter what happened, no matter what else we had to do, because there was no way we were ever going to give this up and we knew that, we were going to stay together, we were going to do this, what we promised, not to other people but to ourselves, and each other,  and

Sometimes I want to think that you planned it like that, that you sat down and thought to yourself about the best worst way to do it and you thought, leaving us alone like this and faking your death and not saying a single word was the greatest way to break our hearts, especially after marrying us, that would hurt the most, you wanted to do it so you did it and you got away from us for good like you always wanted because you were never going to stay and you knew it, because then I can hate you like I’m supposed to and stop thinking of the way you smile at me

I hate that you aren’t a cruel person, I hate that you didn’t do it on purpose, I hate that the real true human tradition is that people are human and nothing else

How am I supposed to do this?

a bird up in her chamber

eats love for breakfast lunch and dinner

and steadily gets thinner

sings songs she won’t forget,

in the darkness by the lamps

says the shapes of lonely words

said by lonely people

in lonely rooms

to feel better about

being

so

so

what is a life with this alone

what is a life

like this?

“when we grab you by the ankle, where your life is ours to take

you’ll soon be doing wicked things, they’ll keep you long awake

when your whole life is a secret then you’ll be a volunteer

and you’ll scream a long time later, for

the world was never quiet here.”

-------

Bertrand has been making lists. You know his tendency to organize, but the funny thing is he just keeps leaving them places. I’m sitting on like, three of them.

To Do

-Check maps

-Apologize to D

-Extra key

-Secure boat

-Study family trees

To Buy

-Thick, sturdy rope

-Do they make portable record players?

-Paintbrushes (for then and now, so get extra)

-White curtains? Will they match? Check ‘To Think’

-Extra wires, no candles!

To Think

-Ask Kit about Bernadette

-Examine garden for hiding spots

-Turtles or foxes?

-What if it turns out to be true?

-Or birds??

Definitely not birds.

-------

You know, I haven’t seen Jerome in a while. Maybe it’s also been two months, I’m not sure. I feel like, even before the wedding, we weren’t seeing much of him—although it wasn’t like Jacques paraded him around or anything in the first place—but since then, I don’t think Jacques has even talked about him.

This means Jacques’s Tuesdays are open now, although you’d never know it. He still only shows up when he wants to. And if he doesn’t want to, then you have as much luck finding him as finding a grammar rule Jo doesn’t know. It must run in the family. I hate to

I had Kit get ahold of him for me. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what to say to Kit anymore, which is unsettling, but Kit acts like she always does. She comes over and makes herself at home and talks to both of us like this is average everyday Kit business for her. I don’t know if I admire her tenacity or if it’s going to be something else I can’t stand down the line. I don’t know yet. She hugged me when she left, though. That’s just how Kit is. And I don’t really want to lose that.

I wasn’t sure if Kit would know, the thing I wanted to ask Jacques. I guess it wouldn’t surprise me if she did, but when I saw her I thought, maybe she didn’t know. She didn’t talk about you at all. And it wasn’t the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I’m Being Purposefully Vague For Reasons, Now Deal With It’ sort of silence, it was the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I Refuse to Admit I Don’t Know This Piece of Information, So I’m Going to Rearrange Your Bookshelves’ sort of silence. Still don’t know where she put T.S. Eliot. I think she took it with her.

Jacques didn’t want to talk to me. He’s too polite to say it, but I could tell. He kept making excuses, and by the time we finally got him to come here, he was uncomfortable and I was on edge. He came right out and said he couldn’t stay long. He knew why I wanted to talk to him and he told me straightforward that he couldn’t tell me.

I’m not proud of what I said to him.

-------

If it was the last day, but it probably was but Lemony, I don’t I sure didn’t know.

I will remember every second until the day I die.

We waited until after the wedding to move into the house, especially because the only honeymoon we wanted was for the three of us to be there together, alone, for a little while. It was on the outskirts of the city, away from everything else, and we barely told anyone. We didn’t even tell everyone from the wedding.

I watched the sunrise, the soft shadows sliding along the sheets on the bed, catching on the suitcases we still hadn’t unpacked all the way, you and Bertrand warm beside me, and I didn’t want to get up. We put the best bed in the whole world in our room, and rightly so. High bed posts but no canopy because Bertrand was worried about dust. Crisp white sheets and I was so excited to look when we finally got up and see the wrinkles mashed down in them from where we slept because that meant it was ours for real. That rich wine comforter that it was too hot to use the first night so we still had it folded up at the foot of the bed, but you had this look in your eyes when we spread it out like you couldn’t wait for winter and when we’d be squished up against each other underneath it for warmth.

That morning, I just wanted to lay there and savor it. It wasn’t like we’d never been in the same bed before, or that we even needed to be married, but! To know I could hold it in my hands, that’s what it was.

And then Bertrand rolled over and got an elbow into my side somehow and you mumbled something about Wedding Pancakes (capitals implied) and then we had to eat breakfast.

I checked. The wrinkles were all there.

-------

Bertrand and I.

We haven’t

We’ve been

We’ve been angry at each other.

And you know Bertrand, he doesn’t get angry, really, he gets, more disappointed than anything, but he’s. He’s been angry. At me. I know.

I get scared, because I don’t know what to do, so I, I can’t hold a conversation without yelling at somebody, and it’s usually Bertrand, and I hate yelling at him and sometimes he starts to yell back.

We’re not. Okay. Right now.

We weren’t supposed to do this without you and I don’t want to find out that we can’t, Lemony. And I know we can but I know it’s also not a matter of doing it with or without you, because that’s awful, I just keep wondering what if you were what held us all together and if you’re not here how are Bertrand and I supposed to go on like this. Saying the wrong things, avoiding each other, not coming home. I guess that’s how we’re ‘dealing’ with it but that’s sure some sick way to do it.

I don’t want to lose anybody and fighting for them means that I want to keep screaming until everything stops.

-------

Jacques said you’d be back soon enough.

I told him I needed to know how soon was soon.

He said soon enough.

I said that wasn’t enough.

I never though of Jacques as one to yell. And he didn’t really yell, he mostly raised his voice, like I couldn’t hear him. I mean I was definitely talking over him but it was because I could hear him and I didn’t want to.

No one can tell me anything I don’t know. I know they think I haven’t felt the same worries as everyone else but that’s because I never wanted them to think that I did. And I did too good a job, apparently. I know we live hard lives, Jacques. I know it requires sacrifices, Jacques. I know there’s no guarantee, Jacques. I know there’s things you have to give up. I know you can’t be childish or selfish in this business. I know we knew what would happen. I know sometimes no matter how hard you try, you’re just going to fail.

He told me to wait for you.

-------

After breakfast, we organized the library, because we still had so many things in boxes but we agreed we had to get that done. We put everything in, every repeat copy and every notebook because we actually had room for everything instead of trying to cram it all into smaller bookshelves. The library was the biggest room in the house and had that beautiful windowseat. (It still does. We’re still in this house, after all, but this moment, this day, just isn’t right now.) I’ll admit I spent more time lounging on it than I did organizing books, but, you sat on that windowseat with me, you knew how comfortable it was. I loved those windows and how bright the sun was (really.) and how good I knew it was going to look when it was raining. And you agreed, and Bertrand rolled his eyes at us, and I told him, he got his natural light, what more did he want?

For two people to stop lazing around and figure out if we were going in alphabetical order or by genre or by which ones most recently made us cry over lunch, Bertrand said.

It was alphabetical, of course.

We forgot about lunch, because we put the record player in the library until we could find another place for it and started playing our favorites. Bertrand could dance by then, obviously, we wouldn’t have married him if he couldn’t. We were very good at dancing together, after practicing for so long. No one was ever going to do a better three-way tango and we all knew it.

We picked through the fridge and some of the wedding gifts, once we got hungry and tired of dancing. We found out Jerome somehow still sent us at least thirty coasters, and learned that he apparently wildly overestimates our social life, because there was no way we were going to be inviting thirty people at a time over anymore, or at least, not for a while. You and Bertrand stacked them in the dining room in a cabinet, and those you organized by color. Then we stood at the window there and looked out into the garden (the best view of it was from the dining room) and talked about the flowers we were going to plant, and how Ramona was going to send us (express) a clipping from one of the rosebushes in her garden, the ones we’d look at during her family’s masked balls.  

We went to the corner store down the street and you and Bertrand pretended to fuss over tomatoes while I was looking at loaves of bread and when I turned around you were buying flowers for me, red and bright and beautiful. We put them in the kitchen while we all made dinner (salmon, with cherry tomatoes). Somehow I found the time to make sorbet for dessert and it was only then we realized how late it was and we laughed a lot that day and laughed a lot then because we didn’t need to care about things like that. Our house was barely put together and we tried to find a way to use every single coaster from Jerome and we hadn’t had words with the city about the electricity yet because there was so much we’d had to do beforehand that we had to use candles. We all had matches, and we weren’t naive enough to think we wouldn’t have them.  

I can’t tell you how powerful I felt, lighting those candles, because I know you and Bertrand felt it too. This was our doing and ours alone. This space was ours. We looked at each other over the candles, the shadows on our faces, and we’d never looked clearer.  

We could’ve lived forever, in that moment.  

-------  

I called your brother a coward and I told him that whatever happened to Jerome now that he wouldn’t protect him was his fault and his alone and if he could live with himself that’s fine but I couldn’t if I didn’t try to do this and if he didn’t tell me where you were I was going to kill him where he stood and he shouldn’t even think for one second that I wasn’t capable of doing what had to be done and if that meant I had to kill for what I wanted then I would.

-------  

You kissed us in the morning. You smiled. You walked out the door and then came back because you forgot your hat and Bertrand and I were still laughing even as the door shut behind you.  

And then you were gone.  

-------  

Kit came by again, after.  

We sat in that silence.  

She told me that it was the one thing they hadn’t told her. She hadn’t known, until I asked Jacques. We don’t have anywhere else to go, she said, in a moment of unprecedented candidness. So we always come back.  

“I underestimated him,” she said.  

I told her she could keep The Wasteland, since it was practically hers because it had been yours. Kit smiled. She didn’t say much else.  

-------  

Bertrand and I aren’t the only ones losing someone here and I forgot that.  

Jacques and I looked at each other for a long time. I tried to apologize and he kept shaking his head. He told me where you were. He told me he didn’t know when you’d be back—or if you would at all. He told me he was the one writing the articles in the Daily Punctilio. He turned away from me. Then he gave me his handkerchief, and put his hand on mine, and got up and left.

-------  

What it feels like, Lemony, is like you

It feels like you picked

It feels like we didn’t matter and

And it’s not like we could ever choose or have one or the other I know I know I know but

We’re never going to be without it but I thought that

WE GOT MARRIED, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, LEMONY SNICKET

You picked an idea of nobility that you spent the past ten years struggling with and denouncing and promising you’d never

It wasn’t like we ever set out to save you anyway I

At the end of the day, that’s it. You picked the organization over us. And I didn’t think we were going to have to draw lines like that. At least not now. At least not right now. Because that means I have to make a decision. Because it means I can’t only think about me. Because it means I can’t keep waiting. And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.  

-------  

I found out the other day.

I had a feeling, though. You just, you either have the feeling or you don’t, right? And I did. And I keep thinking about what your reaction would be. What you’d say. I keep thinking about your eyes, bluer than blue. I keep thinking about the world we said we were going to make when we were kids, the people we said we’d be. We were tiny and young and idealistic and you’re really only that way once in your whole life and when you’re not anymore, you can’t go back.  

-------  

We can’t go on like this.  

stripped off my dress like a skin,

peeled

so you could see everything

not only then,

but always.

didn’t know i was doing it,

guess i never really ran out of clothes.

you took off you shirt

and I was jealous.

you only needed to do it once and there you were.

I thought.

but now I keep finding shirts

in the places where I found you

and I can’t

find anything

that was mine

to put back on

I really can’t do anything

-------  

Enclosed you’ll find the ring. I know it’s not just the ring I married you with, but the ring I married Bertrand with, but whenever we look at it we think of you and I’m the one who has to wear it all the time and I can’t.  

But I don’t want to give it back because what if it’s the only thing I get to keep of you? But it wasn’t ever mine anyway, or yours, and who knows, maybe Ramona will marry Olivia with it someday, and maybe you’ll be there, only you wouldn’t be if you got the ring back, you’d never show your face again.  

And that’s not what I want, I don’t want you out of my life, Lemony, but if I give it back then maybe I do. Maybe that is what I want. Maybe I never want to see you again like this.  

-------  

Okay, I have to ask. I have to, because Jacques kept his mouth shut about this.  

The last time you saw us. Not the day, but the morning, walking out the front door. Did you know you weren’t coming back? You just left like you always did, to go to the newspaper, before Bertrand and I went to the theater, and as far as leaving someone for good goes that’s so

Did you meet up with Jacques, or Hector, or Jo, or even Kit, and did they tell you? Did headquarters address you personally? Did you take an assignment from someone else? Did someone corner you and were you trying to protect us? Was that the only way you could do it, going into hiding and faking your death? Who else was involved, besides Jacques? How long was it going to go on for? Did they expect you to do it by yourself? Did you have a plan, did any of them have a plan? What fragmentary plot was it even a part of? Did you know you weren’t coming back? Could you even come back? Did it even happen right away? Did it start out as some mediocre assignment you were going to tell us about later and then what happened so that I was reading the paper and there you were being accused of things I knew you’d never do? Why didn’t they ask me? Why didn’t they ask Bertrand? Why didn’t they ask us? You knew we’d do it together, we swore we’d do it together, why didn’t you tell us? What made it so that you couldn’t?  

Or did you really decide for yourself that that was it?  

I don’t want to believe that. I don’t, Lemony. I want to believe that it was one thing and then another but do you know why I can’t, why I keep asking? Do you understand why I need to know the truth? Why I need to be able to put it together? Why waiting and trusting isn’t enough anymore?  

--------  

No one could ever extinguish my love, Lemony, no one, nothing, not a single solitary thing ever, nothing could do it, but my trust is a different matter. Loving someone and trusting someone are two different things and I know you know that as much as I do. You. Knew. All. Of. This.  

-------

You know. If it had ended at the article. I might’ve been okay with it. I might have. Not making any promises, because we both know better than that. But I might’ve. I could’ve.  

It didn’t end with the article.  

Olivia had a short-lived assignment working the telegrams recently. She gave Ramona a very specific telegram. Olivia was honestly surprised it had come through at all. That something like that would be sent over such an insecure line. And of course she showed Ramona. They didn’t show it to anyone else. Which was lucky, because you know Olivia. She wanted to do whatever she could.

Ramona sent it to me. Right away. I got it yesterday. She said she’d never felt worse in her entire life. She said she was sorry. She’s the only one who didn’t sound patronizing about it.

J.S.,

AS WELL AS CAN BE EXPECTED STOP GOING ON FULL STOP

M.K.

I never liked Monty Kensicle all that much as a name either.  

-------  

Lemony I can’t help but think that you’re sick of me, sick with me

It wasn’t like I ever—like I did it to be similar, I would NEVER, because both of us had our reasons for why we did what we did, you on that train, me and Bertrand at the opera. We knew what we were doing. Did we regret it? Enough for it to hurt, on the wrong days. Not enough for it to matter, in the long run. But enough for it to stop me every once in a while, in the way I know it stopped you.

But, but did you think, you couldn’t love someone who

Which would be, extraordinarily hypocritical of you, not to mention

I know you still think about it and I know how much it

I paid my price for what I did, Lemony, and so did you, and I didn’t

Is that how it works? Is that what happens? Is this what else I have to give up, for some shred of nobility, is my life going to be one mistake after another because I followed an order and I though they were right enough? Not even right, right enough, how stupid—is everything that happens to me going to be because of that? Am I losing you because it’s what I deserve?

Don’t I deserve good things? Don’t I still deserve happiness, and stability, and love, and a family, and all those things I worked so hard for? Because nobility wasn’t the end of it for me, this was what we wanted, something better, something for us, something we deserved, and this can’t be it, this can’t be the only thing we get for all of that, there has to be something else! And if I lose everyone close to me because of this organization Lemony I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do I feel like I’m going to lose my mind like this

--------  

I think of you out there, alone, and probably cold because you never bring a damn jacket with you anywhere. It’s summer but I’m imagining you as being cold, but I think that’s just because it’s sort of what you do when anyone thinks of someone as being anywhere alone.

Or, I’m just—I’m thinking of you out there, alone, for sure. I’m doing that. I’m thinking. About you. Alone.  

I’m

thinking.  

I think of you. Out there. Letting Jacques know, letting Olivia know, because you had to know who was working the telegram, otherwise you wouldn’t have sent it, I think of you going out of your way to tell your brother and not me and Bertrand and maybe you thought they’d tell me anyway but I had to pull teeth to get it from Jacques and if it had been anyone else! No one but Olivia would have said! You got lucky! But not enough! Because you still didn’t tell us! You went out of your way to not!! You! I think of you! Doing that instead of having the nerve! The decency! To tell us first! You!

How could you

How could you

-------  

I think of you, out there—hiding in the middle of nowhere with only the occasional newspaper for company, which, let me tell you, Lemony, is a very frustrating existence. You know what? I keep wanting to hope that you are dead because somehow that would make this easier, I can be angry at a dead man. But I can be angry at anyone, can’t I. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter. I can be angry.  

I want to hope that you never sleep comfortably again. I want to hope that every sea is too uneven and every desert is too hot and every mountain is too cold and everywhere you go it’s too much. I want to hope that you try and come back and see how good and happy Bertrand and I are without you and you have to realize, you really did mess up. I want to hope that your boat goes down in the middle of the ocean and I know for sure! I want to think that you’ll be so miserable without us and it’ll never have been worth it!!  

You’re out there, without us. Without me.

I hope it was worth it.  

-------

What am I going to do?

I’m not picking. It’s not—I’m not capable of that, picking between you two, and I know you both had this ridiculous fear that I was going to, but I wasn’t, and I’m still not. I am selfish and clingy and I know what I want and I love what I have, and I love both of you and Bertrand loves both of us and I was ready to stake my life on the fact that you loved both of us too.  

And I hate that I have to say it! Because I do! Apparently I do have to, Lemony! If it comes down to, who would I rather do this with, who would I raise a family with, who would I trust more than anything, and you made me make this choice, I’m sorry it can’t be the man who ran away from me! And part of me keeps thinking I’m not even me for saying that, I’m not, I’m not the Beatrice that was going to tear a room apart with her bare hands to get what she wanted, who would scale walls and climb buildings and shoot a gun and could ski and fence by fourteen, I’m not, taking risks, I’m not doing whatever I have to, and that everyone who told me Bertrand was boring (because there were people!!!) and safe and uncomplicated was right and that I’m betraying some fundamental aspect of myself by not even trying, and that I’m hurting Bertrand especially for making him a damn pawn in what I think my life is

But it’s not like I never did! It’s not like I didn’t spend years and years of my life trying to be a good person, trying to create the life I wanted, all of this is me, every ugly thought and every bad decision and every unfinished book and every theater script I keep leaving around places and every single page of this as I try to figure out where I want to go from here! And it just comes back to one thing, Lemony, just one thing! That we can’t do this! That I can’t have you in my life like this! That I didn’t believe it would happen but here it is, it’s happening!! I can’t avoid it! You walked away from me and expected me to be okay with it! You expected me to wait! You expected me to do it! You expected EVERYTHING from me and I only have so much to give, I’m only so much, I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING

And do you know what I am? Do you know what I am, really, when I get right down to it?? I am this, this awful woman with blood on my hands asking you for something that even I could never give anybody, not you or Bertrand or myself and I’m so sick of everything, I’m so sick of myself, I hate everyone and myself most of all, for being like this, for turning into this person, I hate hate hate hate hate all of this and how we were raised and what our future is going to be and what I’ve done and what is it going to take, for things to be better, for me to be better, for—what is it going to take, Lemony, for you to walk back through that door again and not do it over and over and over and I can’t keep letting you do this, I can’t, not to me or to Bertrand, I can’t keep hoping you’ll be there when I wake up and I can’t keep dreaming we’re going to die and I can’t keep pretending that anything about us has ever been okay or ever will be okay! Nothing about this is okay and how am I only realizing it now? How long have we been fooling ourselves into thinking that we could do this? How long do I have to be kind about this? How long do I have to play nice about you and this?  

I’m UPSET and I’m ALLOWED TO BE and I

don’t

know

if

I

can

forgive

you

I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I can look at you anymore.

I don’t know.  

Do you know how it was, Lemony? It was us first. You and me. From the second we saw each other in that green-walled room, it was you and me. Lemony and Beatrice. Root beer floats and being purposely mysterious to each other when we talked and being too clever. And I thought that meant we could do anything. We could die and I’d be happy because I was with you. As long as I had you.  

And then there was Bertrand. And life felt different. Bertrand made it different, Bertrand made life different, he made it worth something else. And the bond that you and I had? Irreplaceable. And what we created with him only made it better. We had room in what we had for something so good. It really was Bertrand. I don’t know what would’ve become of us if it hadn’t been for him. And I saw that in you, too. You thought it too.

That was when I worried. When I started dreaming about terrible things happening to us. To you. I kept running from it because I didn’t know what else to do. I just didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose.  

I’m scared to do anything. I’m scared to be wrong. I’m scared to know anything else.  

I’m scared to die.  

I don’t think you are.  

I’m not sorry.  

-------  

Here are some questions. Here are some facts. Here are some things.  

1 – I’m tired.

2 – I can’t even wonder if we should have done things differently anymore, right after that moment we met. In that room, I never imagined any of this.

3 – Sometimes I do think you lied all along. And that’s not a reflection on our associates or anything but just, see question/statement 1.

4 – You had to have thought about what would happen.

5 – How could we have a family like this?

6 – Did you think you could run all your life? Did you think that would work out? That Bertrand and I would be satisfied with that?

7 – Did you want me like that?

8 – What am I supposed to do?

9 – How long did you think we could keep this up?

10 – Was I wrong?

11 – What did you want?

12 – I know you’d thought about what a family with us would look like and I didn’t think you’d let anything stand in the way of that and maybe that was where I was naive.

13 – What would you say if I asked you this in person?  

-------  

After all this, I—  

Bertrand has asked me if I have any spare pens.  

-------  

Lemony—

A long time ago, I sat in the diner near your apartment. We’d all known each other for a while, and you and Bea were very much together, and I didn’t quite feel like a third wheel anymore but I also didn’t feel like I was a part of everything yet. We were still dancing around each other, and I was doing it truly, incredibly badly.  

I was in the habit of meeting Jo on weekends, when we would go over our reports together because we worked in similar places. We’d meet in the diner. I would arrive early and take a seat near the door. It had the best view of your window. You never turned the lights on, but I would look at it and think about you and—I’m completely serious—write the worst poetry ever to exist. You and Bea have always been much better at it. Jo would take it upon herself to help and suddenly they were these grammar-specific poems, which meant I definitely was not going to send them. Jo is many things; Jo is just not particularly a writer of romance.

I never told you or Bea, because it didn’t seem noteworthy, once we were together. But, things happen in your life and you wish you’d been able to say so much more than you did. I wanted to tell you about the face Bea makes when you aren’t there. She bites her lip and frowns around the kitchen when there’s a lull in the conversation in the spots you would usually say something clever. I wanted to tell you how the bed doesn’t feel the same when you aren’t in it. Bea says the wrinkles don’t set the same, and I feel like it’s emptier without you. I wanted to tell you that the hottest summer days—and I feel like there have been an endless amount of them so far this summer, humid and muggy and not the least bit sultry—even they feel cold when we can’t see you. I wanted to tell you that every time I do the laundry, I remember how you can’t fold socks. I wanted to tell you that I’ve stopped folding socks altogether, which has become quite the problem. Bea and I have stacks of socks in the bedroom now, which is just silly. I wanted to tell you that I love watching you put your hat by the door when you come home, resting it on the table as gently as possible, giving such a small gesture has such a big importance.

I took those things for granted. So much of my life, I’ve thought that loving things so fiercely and so determinedly could be enough, and I’ve relied on that love to get me through what we had to do. Even when the three of us weren’t together, I think I would’ve been happy to stay that way, because I could still love both of you regardless, and just that would’ve been enough. Just to be able to love you, and have your companionship. I would have cherished that always.

I’m the one who’s been so lucky, Lemony. When we all got together, I felt like my life began. I felt like you and Bea pulled me along into something beautiful and breathtaking and nothing would ever compare. I felt like it would always be there, for the rest of my life.

And I’m—

I don’t hate you. I could never. You need to know, that no matter what happens, I will never hate you. I can’t promise to not be upset with you, because I am, and a little angry, and a little disappointed, and a lot sad. But I don’t hate you.

You and Bea have such beautiful ways to say things, and I’ve always been so jealous of the way you two write. You told me that both of you were jealous of my tendency to be a little more forthright, at least when I got down to it, because let’s not forget, I did spend two months coming up with nicknames for all of us instead of just telling you how much you meant to me. But I don’t have lengthy or passionate ways to say certain things, is what it is. Actions, definitely. But when I have to say it, it comes out.

I love you.

And I wish you were here.  

I never wanted to think about it, I guess. I’ve done a very good job of not thinking of things I didn’t want to think about. We do difficult things and live difficult lives. It takes its toll, and I’ve watched it happen. I thought if I held on tight enough—to you, to Bea, to myself—that we could escape some of it, no matter what we’ve done. And we’ve done a lot. We’ve been kept up in turn by sleepless nights and bad dreams and wondering too much. We’re not going to leave—not for good, and each of us know that—but it could be more manageable, together. We would figure it out, when we needed to. Perhaps I was a bit too optimistic about how well I could do it.

I hate to think it was something we did, or something we didn’t see. I hate to think that you gave up on yourself or on us. I hate to think I didn’t do enough. I know it’s not necessarily anyone’s fault. I know Bea keeps telling me I’m too kind for my own good, and I think it’s because I’m afraid to really feel anything. Feeling it makes it too real, something I have to actually contend with, and I don’t want to. I really don’t.

I want to say—I don’t want to tell you, I just want to say it—that I’m more hurt than I’ve ever been, and I don’t feel like I belong here without you, and that I think, you didn’t want to do it, but you knew what you were doing, and you did it because some things just sound easier, or hurt more but hurt less than others, and that I despise the people that we’ve become. I despise the things that we’ve been made into, and I don’t know how much of it we did to ourselves. I don’t know how much I can change.  

I won’t lie, Lemony, because I’ve never been much of a liar. It’s been hard without you. Bea and I haven’t been talking very much, and we get into arguments when we do. We’ve been avoiding each other. It’s hard to avoid someone you live with, for a lot of reasons. But we’ve been managing to do it. I’ve been hiding at the Denouement. Absolutely, definitely hiding. Dewey’s not pleased but he doesn’t say no to the help organizing the archives. Bea’s been going to the theater, even though she’s technically off-duty for the next seven months (it was self-imposed off-duty, which I’ll admit was surprising). When we do talk to each other, Bea has a tendency to raise her voice, which I don’t mind, necessarily, because I understand why she keeps doing it. I have a tendency of late to do the same, which I’m not proud of. Taking it out on each other isn’t good or responsible of us, but it’s where we are right now. It is a miserable place to be.

Bea assumes I’m upset with her, but I’m not. I’m upset with myself, mostly. I keep thinking that none of this would have happened if I wasn’t here, that I made things worse. If you and Bea had just gone on by yourselves, maybe there would be so much less unhappiness. Maybe I was what made it hard for you to stay. Maybe I pressured you, maybe I pressured myself. Maybe this is my lot in life. They’re awful things to think, but I’m thinking them. That’s what people do, when upsetting things happen. We try to figure out where we went wrong. We don’t come up with any answers, but it’s better than sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves, which we do enough of too. I know eventually we’ll stop hurting each other, Bea and I. It just feels a long way away right now. A lot of things feel that way. You, myself, my friends, anything I thought I knew or had.

I’m being very unkind, to myself. That’s not your fault. It’s just something I’m realizing now. I’ve spent a lot of my life being unkind to myself. I don’t know how not to be. There are many things I don’t believe that I deserve, a sentiment I know you understand. It’s hard to feel like we deserve anything, even what we love. The more I think about it, the more I think, maybe that was why. And that breaks my heart and scares me so much, Lemony, that we—you��are capable of feeling such sadness.

Honestly, part of me wants to keep waiting. The part of me that is a fairly patient person is probably willing to do so. But the other part of me that is less patient and a husband to both of you is the part that hurts, and the part that reminds me that I am allowed to say that there is only so much I can take. I want you here more than anything, but I know for sure none of this is ever going to be that simple again.

But going forward from this, I want to feel like I deserve things. There’s only so much time I can spend regretting, or hating myself, or wishing that I had done something different. It’s easy to get caught up in all of that, and I think I still will be, for a while. I think I’m going to keep thinking miserable things for some time to come. But on the other side of that is something else. Not necessarily a happiness, or a satisfaction, but a certain kind of existence. Or, I guess, a kindness.

I love you very much, Lemony, and I can’t imagine doing this without you. I still don’t want to.

But if you have to—Bea and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll still be here. I can’t promise in what way, but we’ll be here, if or when or anything at all. I hope you can meet us in that something else one day.  

Until then, with all my love,  

I wish you bluebirds in the spring,

to give your heart a song to sing,

and then a kiss, but more than this,

I wish you love.

And in July, a lemonade

to cool you in some leafy glade,

I wish you health,

and more than wealth,

I wish you love.

My breaking heart and I agree

that you and I could never be,

so with my best,

my very best,

I set you free.

I wish you shelter from the storm,

a cozy fire to keep you warm,

but most of all,

when snowflakes fall,

I wish you love.

  Bertrand    

face the sun

in the night,

find it in the night

in the pieces,

dig for it,

dig it out with my hands alone.

yes.

what I left –

fragments,

every last eye,

unwelcome.

piling it back in.

new sunlight.

-------  

So—the sad truth is that the truth is sad. The real truth is that I never wanted to believe you were right about that. I thought I could get by on good looks and sheer force and well-hidden optimism and believing I was right. I was wrong. We were all wrong, some of us more wrong than others.

Where you went wrong is thinking that we—that I—would be okay with this. And that was where I went wrong too, I admit. The blame could be with all of us.

What I do know is that we can’t be together like this. Not like this. This is where it ends.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. I don’t know what Bertrand and I will do. And the two of us—Bertrand and I—can figure that out. In whatever way that is. Whatever you’re doing, I leave you to it.  

You will—always, always, always—be (somewhere) in my mind, and (deep) in my heart, and wherever (wherever.) (parenthetical required.) you are. Be it a boat, or a cave, or the city, or a grave, true or false. That’s the way you want it. That’s the way I will accept it. Good luck.

Beatrice

[halequeenjas]

Love Bites || Jasmine & Savannah

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @savannah-lim & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Jasmine and Savannah go out for a night on the town and to pick up some hot musicians. Things don’t quite go as planned. 

Considering she was hanging out and making a new friend, Jasmine decided it was high time she tried out a new venue. She’d never been to the jazz night at this club before, but a change of pace seemed nice. Plus, this place was a little closer to Beatrice’s so less time spent in a likely sketchy uber. She hardly doubted Savannah would mind much either way. She walked up to the entrance and was tentatively impressed with the establishment. The music pouring out sounded good and the place had a sort of speakeasy vibe that she could get down with. She saw Savannah approaching and waved eagerly. “Hey,” she greeted with a bright smile, “So this isn’t my usual haunt, but it looks promising. Here’s to hoping the musicians look as good as they sound.” 

Regan had said she needed to get out and meet people, and reluctant as Savannah was to take advice from someone who had just quit their job and vanished like a hermit into the woods, she realised Regan was right. She didn’t have the excuse of recently discovering she was fae. She just had her work, and White Crest wasn’t the sort of mystery she could solve alone. “You look lovely,” she greeted with a smile. “I think this is the first time I’ve put on a dress in weeks.” She followed Jasmine inside where a hostess led them to their table and left them with a drinks menu. One of the acts was already performing, so Savannah took a moment to check them out. “That one’s married,” she observed, seeing his ring flash under the lights as he played his sax. 

 By nature, Jasmine had always been a social person. In a crowd was where she thrived and she always enjoyed being the life of the party or a night on the town. Making a new friend was always welcome. She lit up with a megawatt smile and said, “Thanks, this is one of my favorite dresses.” Red and Dior had always suited her well. “You look pretty great yourself though I do say we need an excuse for you to wear dresses more often.” Which more likely than not meant more girls’ nights which she was always here for. She looked over the performers and her eyes looked them over. She hadn’t even noticed the ring. No wonder Savannah was in the FBI. “Good eye,” she said with a tilt of her head and a tone that indicated she was impressed, “We’re not here to be home wreckers. I’m sure there are enough attractive single people here for us to flirt with.” Her eyes fell on a trumpet player who noticeably had no ring and swayed with the music in a way that was entrancing to say the least. “Dibs on the trumpet player,” she nudged with a smirk before she asked, “Any wine preferences? Figured we could share a couple of bottles.” 

 Savannah couldn’t help her flirtation as she gave Jasmine a small wink. “Well, I’m sure we can find someone who can’t wait to get your favorite dress off you.” In another life, she might have been that person, but her gaydar really wasn’t picking anything up. Jasmine only ever talked about men. “If we find me an attractive person to go on dates with, I might have an excuse to change out of the business suits,” she snickered, situating herself and looking through the drinks menu. “I was married once. I’d have gone crazy if anyone tried to put the moves on my wife. Not because I didn’t trust her. Just because it’s disrespectful.” The harmless flirting was one thing, but flirting with intent, knowing someone was in a committed relationship was something else entirely. “I’m easy,” she said, in reference to the choice of wine rather than her pants. “But if you’re having the trumpet player, I’m claiming the cellist,” she joked. She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties and Savannah was a little more hopeful about her preferences. 

 Jasmine chose to ignore the wink. It wouldn’t be the first or last time a woman was a bit flirtatious with her. “That’s never the problem. It’s always more of a finding someone I’d actually let take my favorite dress off,” she joked with a small laugh. She’d been told by too many men that her standards were too high and that she’d never find better than them. She also knew they were all wrong. “I formally request to be the one helping pick out the dresses. It’s one of my areas of expertise.” She glanced over at the bartender to indicate they were ready to order as she agreed with Savannah, “Can’t say I’ve been married, but you are right it’s disrespectful. Plus, anyone that would cheat on their significant other is hardly worthwhile.” Once the bartender came over, she gave him a winning smile and ordered a bottle of mulled wine for them to share. It was a cold night and something about the spices made it feel warm. “If it makes no difference to you I figure ‘tis the season and all.” Her eyes fell on the cellist and responded, “She’s all yours. Not really my type anyway.” The set ended as they got their bottle of wine and she gave Savannah a devious grin. “I think that just might be our cue.” 

 “Standards are important,” Savannah said. She wasn’t too picky when it came to one night stands, but a real relationship was far more elusive. She rarely found anyone who truly interested her, and she doubted most people would be too happy with her fascination with murder and the macbre. “My wife would never have cheated on me. Nor I on her. It was just… complicated.” Savannah drank the wine, watching as the set ended, returning Jasmine’s grin. She waved over the cellist and sax player as they left the stage and started mingling at the bar. “Hey,” she said. “Care to join us?” 

 “You’d be surprised how many people don’t realize that,” Jasmine said as she thought over the partners of some of her high school friends. She’d never understood dating someone who didn’t appreciate who their significant other was as a person or bothered to treat them with basic respect, but she couldn’t just make people have more self-respect. She sipped her wine and nodded as Savannah spoke. “Sometimes things just don’t work out and that’s okay.” She wasn’t about to press into the details there when they were about to take a go at flirting with some of the musicians. Thinking about ex-lovers wasn’t exactly a fun time no matter what way you sliced it. She gave the saxophone player a wink as Savannah invited them over. Jas had never been one for subtle. If she wanted something, she went after it. He seemed intrigued and the pair walked over to join them. “That was a great set,” Jasmine said as they sat down with them. “Which I’m sure you knew. Anyway, I’m Jasmine and this is my friend Savannah. We couldn’t help but notice you’re both talented and beautiful people. It seemed only right we should meet.” Her eyes lingered on the sax player who introduced himself as Jean as he smoothly responded, “It takes beautiful to know beautiful.” And boy was he right. 

 Savannah nodded appreciatively. Jasmine seemed to understand that sometimes relationships just didn't work, and thankfully, she didn't seem interested in going into detail or rehashing it. She'd rather move onto something else anyway, and right now, that something else consisted of an attractive cellist who hopefully, unlike everyone else attractive in this town, was single. "Nice to meet you," she said to Jean. He had a hint of a French accent and somehow made the cheesy introductory remark work. "How about you?" she asked the cellist. 

"Lucille," the other woman said, extending her hand to Savannah's and holding onto it a moment too long. "Glad you enjoyed the set. The next guy's are really good too. You'll like them." 

"I'm sure I will," Savannah said. "Your hands are a little chilly. Should we get you a drink to help you warm up?" she asked, smiling, because apparently, the French didn't get to have a monopoly on cheesy. 

 Jasmine was pleased with how considerably well this was going. Maybe checking out this new joint had been one of her better ideas. Which was saying a lot considering she was filled with great ideas. Jean and Lucille seemed eager to join them and at Savannah’s suggestion, she got the bartender’s attention with a small wave. “Two more glasses, please,” she said brightly before turning to them, “I hope you like Pinot Noir. If not, we could always get a bottle of something else.”  

She watched as Jean eyed the bottle of wine with a seemingly approving look. “You clearly have good taste,” he stated. Expensive was left unsaid though it was true all the same. “It only seems right that a fine woman should have a fine wine.” It was cheesy, but the way his dark eyes looked her over like she was the most enticing thing he’d ever seen cancelled it out. Savannah and Lucille seemed to be hitting it off, too. With drinks poured all around, Jean suggested, “You know, we have a nice VIP lounge in back.” 

 Savannah was happy to take Jean’s direction on the drinks. She was far more interested in getting to know the two people who’d just joined them for drinks. She quirked an eyebrow at the mention of a VIP lounge. “Oh, that’s very flattering.” The waiter returned with two more glasses and a fresh bottle of wine, but Lucille held up her hand.

“Could you actually take it into the back for us, please?” she said, her voice sugar sweet, but something deviously charming lingering in her gaze. Something Savannah was all too keen to dissect. 

“I think that’s a great idea,” Savannah said, looking to Jasmine. “Shall we?”

 Given the musicians were both attractive, talented, and seemed to have a fair amount of class, they easily agreed to hanging out in the VIP lounge. There was nothing Jasmine loved more than a good VIP section and this spot delivered. The couches that lined the area were a tasteful black, but comfortable and plush… and surprisingly clean. Always a plus. The lighting was dim and the red of the walls gave it a sort of prohibition era vibe that she could get down with. Maybe it wasn’t quite Speakeasy, but she found she enjoyed it all the same.  

The group had chattered on for a bit and the flirtation seemed to be natural between both pairs. Chemistry was definitely there and the time seemed to be moving quickly. She set her own wine glass down as Jean took her hand. She swore she saw a flash of red in his eyes momentarily, but wrote it off as part of the lighting. That was until he placed a kiss on her wrist and she felt something knick it. “Ow,” she said, attempting to draw her arm away from him but his grip on her wrist tightened. Now, the red eyes were definitely not something she could write off as given the glow and sinister look they were delivering now. “Uhm, Savannah,” she said uneasily, not daring to take her eyes off Jean as she fumbled her free arm back for her bag. 

 Savannah could be incredibly awkward, but she could also be endearing and charming. Fortunately, the latter was winning out tonight and Lucille seemed interested. They talk, drank, flirted, and right when she thought maybe she'd be able to actually invite this woman back to her house for some privacy, she heard Jasmine yelp.

"Jas?" she answered, turning to look at the others, and then she saw the glowing red eyes and the hungry expression. "Hey!" She grabbed some pepper spray. "Back off, buddy."

Lucille also jumped up, eyes widening with a gasp. "Jean! Have you gone mad?! Where are your manners?" She waved Savannah's pepper spray holding arm away. "That won't be necessary." 

But Savannah wasn’t convinced and still kept it upright, finger on the trigger. “Get him off her then!” 

 Jasmine still fumbled trying to fish through her purse for one of the iron rods she kept in there, but Jean’s grip only seemed to pull her closer. The smile on his face was daunting to say the least and she noticed just how sharp his teeth were and she noticed a bit of the blood from her wrist on one of them. Great, she finally hits on a hot jazz musician and he just happens to be a hungry vampire. 

Savannah had pepper spray raised up and ready to go, but somehow she doubted that would slow a vampire down. Lucille was saying something about manners that caught Jean’s attention and he pouted, “But Lucille, I’m hungry now.” Before she knew it, he was sinking his teeth back into her wrist to turn her into his dinner. Or a light snack. She didn’t really know. Either way, she shrieked and defensively slammed the heel of her Louboutin into his foot hoping to give new meaning to the whole red bottoms thing. 

The action seemed to distract him enough for him to release his grip on her and she quickly fumbled to grab an iron bar from her purse. Her hands gripped around it and she looked at Jean with a glare. “Come any closer and I will whack you in the face with this thing.” Not the worst threat, but she definitely didn’t have a stake on her. She glanced over at Savannah who was still ready to wield her pepper spray and noticed Lucille’s eyes. “Savannah, watch out!” 

 Savannah stared on in awe at the madness unfolding before her eyes. Lucille had seemed disappointed in this manner of behavior, but not surprised. She had known what he was, probably because she was one and the same. At Jasmine’s warning, Savannah turned, eyes widening at the creature that now had its sights turned on her. 

“Sorry, love,” Lucille said. “He’s not usually like this, but you’ve seen too much now.” Savannah’s heart was in her throat, threatening to force its way out, and as the vampire lunged at her, she sprayed almost the entirety of the bottle into Lucille’s face, causing a scream and a long enough hesitation for the two of them to begin to flee. 

“Let’s go!” She grabbed Jasmine’s free hand, still holding up the spray and firing it into the air behind them as the two of them fumbled through the door and out into the hallway. She could hear the grunts and growls behind them. There was a large heavy box of sound equipment by the door, and Savannah shoved it in front so it would prevent them from being chased for a few moments. She followed the exit signs on the wall. They needed to get the hell out of here.

 Not surprisingly, Jean cared little for Jasmine’s warning. After all, her frame didn’t look like it could wield all that much damage, but as he leaned toward her again, she gave him a good whack in the head with the iron rod. At the same time, she heard Savannah releasing the contents of the pepper spray directly onto Lucille. The pair of musicians were stunned momentarily and she was quick to run off with Savannah. 

Much to her relief, Savannah had managed to block off the hallway so they could get away. Running in heels was less than ideal, but adrenaline worked wonders. She could hardly even feel her feet as they bolted out of the bar. She kept running up the block until she saw a few officers outside of one of the bars. No one would try anything in front of an on duty cop, right? 

She let out an exhausted breath and mumbled, “Holy crap.” While she wasn’t sure how much Savannah knew, she was able to act quickly in the face of supernatural danger. So she cautiously asked, “So… did you know what Lucille and Jean were?” 

 Had they truly cared to track them down, Savannah didn’t doubt that the vampires would have caught up to them, but now that they were in a crowded place, it wasn’t worth the effort, which was fortunate for them. She recalled Carrington’s concern for her a few nights ago when she’d ended up in Teeth. Had this encounter happened first, she might have been a little more cautious about going in, and certainly what had unfolded once she was there. 

“Me?” she asked, sucking at the air to attempt to catch her breath. “No, no, I didn’t know. I thought you were the expert.” Jasmine might not have said as much, but Savannah had read between the lines. Jasmine was savvy and smart. She knew the secrets of this town. “I just wanted a nice night with a hot musician,” she sighed. 

 Initially, her question had come out rushed and Jasmine found she was still trying to catch her breath. Despite her regular cardio there was something about sprinting in heels was definitely enough to leave her winded. That and the face a vampire tried to turn her into a snack didn’t help. That was decidedly not the kind of snack Jasmine wanted to be. She leaned against the brick wall of another bar and kept her arm close to her. “That’s not what I meant,” she said as she shook her head, “It was my idea to come here anyway. I just know-- you seemed hesitant about the idea of haunted houses before.” 

This was a risk, but given what they just experienced, she couldn’t not tell Savannah the truth behind their encounter. It was a matter of safety which was slightly more important than her reputation. She sighed. “Those were vampires. Hence the red glowing eyes and the trying to eat us. Not really my expertise, but I know some about them. If you don’t think I’m totally crazy, I do know a vampire free bar not far from here.” 

“Oh.” Savannah had just about caught her breath now. She was sure she looked a mess, and she’d used the last of her pepper spray. “I… knew that, but only after they bit you.” She pulled a compact out of her purse, examining herself in it to make sure she didn’t look too worse for wear. Her hair needed some attention, and her clothes needed straightening a little, but she was intact. Self consciously, she favored her inner thigh where Carrington had fed from her during their encounter a few nights earlier. “I think we have a lot to talk about.” She nodded to the bar behind them. “Is this one safe? I don’t think we’re done drinking yet.”

[onlyhorn]

@rcguna​

A soft rap on the door sounds before Raguna opens his way into the library. It’d only gotten easier and easier for him to get into the normally ‘forbidden’ pocket space, now to the point that opening the door appeared to be as easy as finding the bathhouse, kitchen, or similar room in the manor. Whether or not this had to do with Beatrice appreciating the farmer’s presence more and more wasn’t something he would be asking. It wasn’t in his character to look into that, much less call it out from the small spirit.

And yet what was in his character was to bring her a pie from the kitchen, one he had hidden away from the rest so that Ram or anyone else wouldn’t be able to snatch it and do who knows what. And so coming with him into the forbidden library was the pleasant scent of nutmeg and spice as he approaches the girl at her chair. The dish is offered with a smile, a warm and vibrant pie decorated with sugared cranberries and pie crust leaves around the edge.

“Here you go, Beatrice, just like I promised, one of my homemade pumpkin pies. Yours to do with whatever you like, but uh, I’d definitely prefer if you ate it. Of course.” He chuckles awkwardly before pulling up the second chair that had appeared not too long ago and taking a seat. “…one last time I’ll extend the invitation. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Arlam for the festival? At the very least, is there something you’d like me to bring back?”

——————————

This wasn’t the first, second, third, fourth, or even fifth time he’s extended the invitation. The more Raguna had extended it to her, the more uncertain of herself she seemed to become. At first, it was a dismissive ‘no.’ The second time, it was a no again– and a rather dismissive shooing gesture. From that point on, however, it looked like she was hesitating to answer his question. Every attempt at asking her to go only made her more and more uncertain, to the point where it started to exceed beyond its annoying capabilities and moved right on into ‘frustrating’ territory.

Raguna is no longer greeted with the same, dismissive, distasteful or disgusted look that she used to give him and commonly gives Wylan. Instead, he is greeted by soft features remaining wholly neutral up until the scent of the pie meets her nostrils. At that point, her eyes widen slightly, and her gaze shifts up from her book to the pie that was held in his hands, on a platter accompanied by a fork and a knife. It smelled heavenly, and it was still warm and fresh, and its soft, slightly-cinnamon-y  scent pleased her and eased her…. but she knew what he was going to ask before the offer was even extended.

He is persistent in his pursuits. Unrelenting in his kindness. Were it not so wholesome, so bearable compared to the usual rabble she has to deal with, she would have disregarded him long ago and kicked him out many more times after. Even now, he stands there as a testament to both his patience and her’s – a trial he has yet to give up on.

He wants her to go with him so bad– he wants her to leave her library and join the rest of the mansion’s staff and residents in a nice, wholesome festival to celebrate the coming of fall… so why? Why couldn’t she just say yes? 

“ I still don’t understand you, I suppose. “ She’d slip out of her seat and approach him to take the pie platter from his hands. She takes a closer look at the sweetened, candied cranberries that sat atop the warm delicacy, taking in both the scent and its vibrant colors, but choosing not to waste too much time admiring the colors and instead focus on the topic at hand– because despite his genuine kindness, despite his desire to feed her, she knew what this was about, and she needs to address it.

“ Tell me, Raguna. What am I to you? “ The question is offered in a non-rhetoric tone. For a moment, she seems genuinely curious, but the question seemed to be so out of left-field that it leaves Raguna somewhat speechless for a second. She continues on with her thought, looking away from him with her back turned, eyes glazing over the confection she currently held in her hands.

“ You have treated me with such stubborn kindness despite my attempts to disregard you or remove you from my presence. I’ve grown more tolerable of you since then, I suppose. I find your presence far more …. pleasing than that of the others. “

“ … And I resent that. “

Her hands clutch the platter a bit too roughly– the fork on the plate shudders as her intense grip on the plate causes the utensil to shiver. She quickly moves towards her nightstand and leaves the plate there, refusing to turn around to face him again.

“ I don’t want to like you. I don’t want you to like me. There is a reason I try to force you or anyone else out of my life. Yet all you do is keep coming back, refusing my requests to let me remain in peace. So I stopped. I stopped demanding that you leave my presence because I knew it was no use to remove you from it. “

“ Because despite how much I wanted to keep you out of my life, you somehow always found a way to come back into it, I suppose. “ One hand clenches tightly into a fist, her grip against the hems of her dress. Her head ducks forward slightly, keeping her gaze to the ground instead of that pie which begged her to eat it.

“ And I.. am in a dilemma, I suppose. Because as much as I want to say no to your request, I… “

… I want to go so bad. But I know that I can not leave.

“ I can’t. I can’t deny you. I don’t have it within me to deny you anymore. All it does is frustrate me whenever I say no to you. I can’t say no to you anymore because it reminds me of how long I’ve been suffering here by myself for hundreds of years, Raguna. It makes my chest hurt. “

The longer the thought of it sat on her mind, the more and more frustrated she wanted to be. She wanted to be mad enough to kick and shatter her nightstand, she wanted to be angry enough to say no to him and to demand he come back later with maybe a stuffed toy. But she can’t. No matter how much she wills herself to say no to him, all it does is make that unending ache in her heart worse and worse.

“ When you were sick the other day – from exerting yourself, too hard – I had sped up the process of your recovery because seeing you in that state pissed me off, I suppose. “ She says this with an almost indignant huff. She knows she didn’t owe him an explanation, but if she was venting, she might as well let it all out. “ It reminded me of how you were when you were comatose after the maiden had saved your life. “ A moment passes between her saying that, and the noticeable shift in her tone as she takes on a more aggressive approach to this topic. This has become less of a acceptance or a denial of his request, and instead, has become a rather emotional rant.

“ But that would be a lie, I suppose.. “ She finally turns to face him, but her gaze is transfixed and almost appears to be angry.

“ That’s not how I really felt. I understand it now. I helped you because I felt indebted to you, after you had given me nothing but kindness and all I have been doing is dismissing it. “

“ And I’m TIRED of it. “ Her voice raises suddenly in volume. “ I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care. I’m tired of pretending like I’m alright. I’m tired of YOU coming back to ME every time I’ve tried to shove you away. Rough, gently, dismissively, or without word– it doesn’t matter! No matter how many times I’ve tried to push you away you’ve always come back to me, I’m sick of it, I suppose! I’m sick of it! “

I’m sick of pretending like I want to be lonely. I’m sick of pretending that I want to be angry at the world, at everyone. I’m sick of pretending that no one matters to me.

Words begin to warble as her eyes clench shut– when they re-open, they’re sparkling with the sudden formation of tears behind heavy lids. Lips quiver into a grimace as she chokes back a brief sob- when was the last time she was able to cry in front of someone? She had let herself grow so used to hiding her emotions or intentions that she had not been given a chance to cry to someone for hundreds of years.

                         Raguna would be the first person in several centuries                             to hear the wounded spirit’s heart plead for help                                                         for the first time.

“ Someone like you– doesn’t deserve to have to worry about someone like me. So why? Why do you keep coming back? Why can’t you just leave me alone? I don’t want to be a burden to you. You’ve already suffered too much, you’ve already almost lost your life, you’ve already almost lost the love of your life, so why, why?! “

The burden of my existence is too much for anyone to bear.

“ Be honest with me! I need to know…! Why do you keep giving someone as despicable as me a chance!? “

I need to know if you will be that person for me.

No doubt in her mind that unloading something like this to him would have thrown him for one of the biggest loops of all time. Never before had the spirit allowed herself to get as emotional in front of people as she does with him right at this very minute. The pain in her heart had grown too unbearable to hold back anything anymore. The facade in her mind refuses to play this dumb little game of lying and pretending that she’s someone she’s not.

For the first few years, she was the stalwart, undeniably powerful guardian of the forbidden library.

For the next decade, she was a staggering barrier between those who sought infinite knowledge, and the reserves of her mother’s library.

For the next century, she had been ruined by loneliness, torn apart by the darkness that settled on her mind, the dwindling hope that she would ever find someone who could save her from this horrid cycle of repeat.

And for every year onward, there is not a passing day where she wishes that she was not a spirit– that she were mortal, unbound by her contract, and given the freedom of choosing to take this horrible life away from herself. For the longest time, she wanted nothing more than to bring this unbearable pain to an end– so she was forced to live with it instead. She started to form a shell, forced away everyone who would attempt to get close to her. Even now, she still does so, denying multiple people the opportunity of friendship.

But even the hardest, most durable masks eventually degrade, and like water to a sea-battered boulder, her hard-to-shatter exterior has crumbled away, and inside of that powerful, stalwart and rude librarian sat the wounded heart of a scared little girl who was never given the chance to live a normal life.

…..

And only after she yells at him, does she turn around to grab the pie platter from her nightstand, shakily take the fork from the plate, and use it to scoop some of the contents of the pie into her mouth. Give herself a reason to shut up, she supposes. The pie is good, and warm, and made with love, and she hates it. And yet, she can’t help but love it, too.

“ … I’m sorry. I don’t want to force you to answer if you don’t want to. “ Her tears hit the platter and stain the pie. She ignores that the tears ruined the glistening exterior of the lovely treat.

“ You’re better off worrying about your own life rather than mine, I suppose. “

In the end– she would still prefer to try a last-ditch effort to remove him from her life altogether.

[soymimikyu]

Food in Netflix’s Series of Unfortunate Events: Season 3

It is over. I finally finished season 3 about 2 hours ago and needed the time to recover and process the ending. While I have only faint memories of the ending in the book, this ending seemed very different (and I want to say I liked it more? I just recall being let down by the way the books ended; however, I was quite young at the time...).

Here is the final set of food notes from the show. The final season was comparatively sparse, but there were some interesting culinary choices. I hope you enjoy!

(Also, since this is the final installment, if anyone enjoyed my rambling carefully curated notes on food in TV shows, I would happily take requests to do this for a different show in the future. It was fun and gave me much to think about in the kitchen.)

Today’s notes are brought to you by Glassworks - Opening played by Ólafsson (because that I what I’m listening to).

Food in The Slippery Slope

Sarsaparilla

What Olaf drinks and discards while driving. It is flat. The bottle helps Violet and Klaus determine which fork to take.

Coffee and Tea

What pretentious people drink according to Olaf

Absinthe

A random beverage that popped into Olaf’s mind.

Marshmallows

Made Brucie the Snow Scout Leader sick after eating too many.

I really want to make these! Gelatin is such a fun platform for cooking so many things! The real goal would be blooming marshmallow flowers with whiskied caramel hot chocolate!

Rutabaga

What the circus freaks plan on growing on their farm.

Hot Dogs

What Olaf’s cooks with this troupe.

Brandy Sidecar or Coffee

What Esme wants with Breakfast.

A Brandy sidecar is a cocktail of cognac, cointreau (orange flavored liqueur), and lemon juice. Sounds pretty tasty -- I think (I know next to nothing about drinks...).

Frozen Orange Juice

Found by Sunny in trunk.

She uses this to make Sorbet.

Salmon

Caught in the stricken stream by Hook-handed man and given to Sunny. She prepares Sashimi with this.

Hot Cider [X]

Quigley’s last meal with his mother. What saved him from the fire.

Canned Peaches

Quigley’s meal at Montgomery’s.

Montgomery had a lot of canned peaches (or just two cans) because the Hook handed man in season 1 is also eating canned peaches when posing as a detective. Nothing wrong with this -- canned peaches are delicious.

Poisonous Berries

Mr. Poe tries to help by finding Breakfast.

I often see poisonous berries as red in TV (I am thinking mostly of a specific seen in the Netflix Witcher series) and it made me curious if real poison berries are always red. Nope: nightshade (duh) is black, and several other harmful berries are also black/blue. Some are orange. Given the brightness of these berries I am going to guess they were Mezereon or Elderberry.

Granola Bar

Mr. Poe has these. Kit has some.

Poe always has granola bars.

Lox

Sunny’s idea for dinner

Pistachios

Lemony is saying something and thinks they are for everyone one.

Parsley Soda

What Sunny gets when she requests a fizzy drink.

Boysenberry Jam

The darkest Jam in the VFD fridge.

This really makes me want good jam or to try jamming. Roasted lamb and jam...not sure where I would easily source lamb right now and is likely to be a far greater headache than I care.

Olives

There were 5 green olives filled with pimento in the jar. It indicated the gathering was on Thursday.

Mustard

All I wrote is the last safe place. I don’t recall the details -- but it was probably a clue.

Mustard is my favorite condiment. I can (and have) eat it plain.

False spring rolls

What was prepared for a meal for Olaf’s troupe by Sunny and Hook handed man.

How did they get wraps on a mountain...maybe you can repurpose a part of a fish to use as wraps. The skin or various internal linings? Seems less appetizing / food safe.

Rutabaga (again)

What Olaf’s troupe wants to grow.

Food in The Grim Grotto

Chewing Gum

Phil only cooks meals with chewing gum.

Chewy Casserole

Chewing gum casserole.

In my experience heating gum or gummy like things often goes very poorly. You can add them towards the end of the cooking process to create some sort of layer -- but definitely not from the start.

Potato and Cod Chowder

Non-gum based meal that Sunny and Phil prepared.

Calamari

What Sunny thinks Olaf’s sonar symbol is.

I fully accept that the children are seriously smart, but where is Sunny learning all of this? Did the books have cooking books (I think so..)? I shall assume that Sunny demands to be read only cooking books as bed time stories.

Soft Pretzels

Olaf wants these. I do too -- I should make them!

Turmeric

In one of Esme’s evil laughs.

Cabernet

Olaf wants wine and gets lost in the octopus submarine looking for some. He pronounces it as Caber-NET.

Horseradish

Cure for the Medusoid Mycelium.

Taragon, Wasabi

Contents of kitchen cabinets while Sunny is sick.

The wasabi is what is used as a culinary substitute and cure. Interestingly, it is Mr. Bobby brand. Would anyone know if this has significance? Brand names in this universe are interesting.

Lemon Lime Soda, Gorgonzola Cheese, Birthday cake for Violet

Contents of the fridge while Klaus and Violet are looking for horse radish.

That is a damn impressive cake. Fondant is really well done. Can you make fondant from gum? Probably not, but Sunny is resourceful and likely found a suitable culinary substitute.

Sub Sandwich

Prepared by Hook-Handed man to delay Olaf form assisting in torturing the children.

Looks like a pretty standard sub on a softer baguette. It appeared to have sliced deli meat.

Chef Salad

Fernald’s analogy for people to emphasize that categorizing people as noble, good, bad, or evil is invalid.

Pig Eating Pork

Ok -- this one is not food, but I was amused by Olaf’s simile to describe his joy.

Food in The Penultimate Peril

The Picnic Basket

I absolutely lost my mind with this scene. We only briefly see the contents of the picnic basket as Violet removes the top layer to reveal the concierge disguises Kit prepared. I paused and replayed this seen maybe 10 times to examine what was in that top layer. I then needed to cross reference some incomplete descriptions with two large pastry books (thankfully they have an entrement section...). I feel reasonably successful:

Millefeuille [X]

This is napoleon. Adding a flavor to the custard is a great way to modernize this dessert.

Cream Puffs (Might be a profiterole) [X -- I’ve done eclairs]

Choux pastry is very forgiving and a good entry point into fancier pastries. It forms the basis of eclairs, cream puffs, and, if you are crazy, croquembouche.

3 Layer cake

Unclear what more to say. Since these are all french pastries, perhaps the sponge is genoise?

Mini Opera Cake

Opera cake is layers of Joconde sponge (almond sponge) flavored with coffee syrup, layered with italian butter cream, and then topped with chocolate ganache. It was something I planned on making before everything closed down (I can’t eat it myself X.x).

Madeleine or Beignet [X]

Since this was a picnic basket, I am leaning in favor of Madeleines. They fit the other set of deserts better than a Beignet.

Nut Entrement

I think is this another cake, but it is unclear. I can’t seem to source this one either. Maybe it is carrot cake! That often has nuts around the perimeter.

Sauvignon Blanc

Olaf’s wine of choice

Aqueous Martini

Jerome’s drink of choice.

Indian Food

Larry, in his last waiter position, poses in an Indian Restaurant. Poe orders a glass of milk.

The Barking Gin Distiller Dry Goods

Interesting brand on the bag belonging to a lady on the trolley during the sequence when Justice Strauss is searching for the Children.

Tea

In flash back with Kit and Esme. Kit likes her tea as bitter as worm wood and sharp as a double edged sword.

Sausages

Crow meat and an analogy for learning the Law (you don’t want to know how the sausage is made, just like you don’t want to know how the law works).

Too much pepper and makes the court audience cough.

Food in The End

Root Beer Float [X]

Lemony has one. It is his thirteenth.

Waffles

Partially consumed by the man following Lemony at the diner.

Mixed Nuts

All that is left to eat on the boat. Sunny offers some to Olaf, but he knocks it into the sea.

Ceviche

Since the islanders don’t have any spice, they eat raw fish.

I have never had this, but recall reading in a book about sushi how it was integrated by some sushi chefs in South America into more traditional Japanese cuisine.

Fermented Coconut Cordial

I have no idea how you could get anything resembling an opioid from fermenting coconut water. Unless Ish is adding something, this seems suspect. Fermenting something sweet and earthy also does not really sound appealing.

Wasabi and Wormwood

Sunny’s suggestions on how to treat the Medusoid Mycelium.

Wormwood and related foods appear often.

Apple

Modified by Bertrand and Beatrice to contain the sugars giving immunity to the Medusoid Mycelium.

Chocolate Cake [X]

SQUEEE this was adorable. Sunny makes a cake for Beatrice II’s first birthday.

Salad

Shared by Fiona and Fernald.

Root Beer Float

Shared between Lemony and Beatrice II as she tells him the remaining story.

I want to believe that this is his 14th root beer float.

Black Bean and Mango Salad

Sunny makes this during the Finnish Female Pirates incident as told by Beatrice II.

This sounds amazing! Slightly ripe mango with a citrusy black bean mixture would be delightful!

[magical-marvelous-mistoffelees]

I would love to hear more about Ruzzilo, Beatrice, and Theophilus, too, if you're okay with sharing!

I’d love to! I don’t have great refs for them currently, but I’ll update with refs in the future when I get the chance to make them.

I’m also going to try and keep all of these a little briefer since they aren't my main oc (but still important to me!)

Ruzzilo:

Ruzzilo is Domoria’s long lost twin brother. When she was adopted from the pet store, he ran away, and somehow ended up working as a low level henchman for Macavity. He’s considered expendable, so he’s practically a living weapon. His jobs are to keep shady allies in line, fight on behalf of Macavity when needed, and work for respected allies from time to time. 

One of these allies is a rich queen named Bastet ( @your-missing-period). She despises strays and the Jellicles, and Ruzzilo is basically a bodyguard of sorts. Their relationship is comical since they never see eye to eye, due to being raised with very different lifestyles, but Bastet can’t afford to lose him. A small witchy black cat named Sugar Spice ( @jelliclegifs) works for Bastet as well, and Ruzzilo hates her and her ghost friend Oblivion ( @fandomsandmore394). 

Ruzzilo hates Sugar because of his deep loathing for magic. It is also the only thing he fears. He’s worked for Macavity far too long and has seen the extent of his powers. Macavity’s magic is also how he lost his left ear.

Personality-wise, Ruzzilo is the direct opposite of Domoria. Where she is open and optimistic, Ruzzilo is cold and seemingly apathetic. 3 personality traits I'd use for him are 

Resourceful

Tough

Cynical

He has spent his life building a reputation to scare others away from him. It makes living as a stray easier; he can find food and shelter more secluded since everyone avoids him. He has never lost a fight, and since he will fight to the death need be, the day he loses is the day he dies. 

That’s not to say he is completely incapable of caring for anyone. When he does care about someone, he is extremely loyal and protective. He also has a sharp wit and understanding nature, since he knows he’s probably committed worse atrocities. Currently, his only friend that he cares about is Macavity’s son Alexei ( @star-freckled-kitten). They are one hell of a disaster duo.

Beatrice:

The easiest way to describe Beatrice is lawful good. She’s a very quiet queen that few have ever heard speak. She actually only ever speaks when someone else speaks to her first, due to both shyness and only ever wanting to engage in deep conversation, not small talk. However, if/when you do talk to her, you will find she is very sage. She gives the best advice and is incredibly unbiased and understanding. Her mind is beyond her age. 

However, very few actually talk to her. She is tentative acquaintances with Jemima and Victoria, and has a crush on a much more outgoing queen named Nouvel ( @fandomsandmore394). But that's about it so far- at least for her living friends.

Beatrice is a medium and can speak to essentially what are the ghosts of the junkyard, otherwise known as shadow cats. These are the cats that didn't quite make it to the Heaviside layer. To Beatrice, her powers are both a blessing and a curse. Her best friend is the aforementioned Oblivion, and she has close connections with other shadow cats as well. But not all of the shadow cats are kind. Some are restless spirits, more angry than rational. This can get extremely overwhelming for Beatrice, who strives to help as many shadow cats find peace and move on past this world as she can.

3 personality traits I use for her are:

Reserved

Benevolent

Wise

She also has a deep love for nature, since its quiet, unlike the junkyard.

Theophilus:

Theophilus, or Theo for short, is my newest oc. I’m still unsure of all the details on him, and hopefully I can develop him more over time.

Theo is the definition of a scaredy-cat. Literally everything alarms him at first, from pollicles to butterflies. He’s small and timid, so many even mistake him for a kitten at first! In actuality, he’s a young adult and smarter than most. 

If you need information on anyone or anything, Theo is probably the best person to go to. He knows everything about the Jellicle tribe, both current information and the history. He also is extremely intelligent and logical. The only thing holding him back from sharing this knowledge frequently is his own fear. 

As always, three traits I’d use for him are

Jumpy

Intelligent

Cautious

Since he’s new and also not very outgoing, he doesn't have any friends yet. However, as a friend, he’d be very kind and rational, perhaps just a little clingy from time to time. He’s kind of like a younger brother, even though he’s probably smarter than you. Theo also likes to share random trivia or fun facts from time to time; it’s practically his way of saying “I like being around you and want to share things I find cool with you because you're important to me”. 

I also have two (mostly) NPCs, Sophronia and Gehenna. Sophronia is a mostly blind cat who lives in the local opera house, but breaks out to join the Jellicles. Gehenna is extremely motherly, but she lost her two kittens a few months before joining the tribe. She still wants a family though, and she reminds me a lot of Jane Seymour (SIX).

Thank you so much for asking, if you or anyone else has any more questions or just wants to know more, send in more asks or privately message me! I love hearing about other’s ocs and finding new friends for my ocs!

[incorrectuminekoquotes]

Original: https://incorrectuminekoquotes.tumblr.com/post/174609727400/beatrice-well-arent-you-sugar-and-spice-and

(Screenshots made by @Nucleartrice on Twitter!)

[jacobsnicket]

sugar, spice, and everything nice

“Some say that all girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice and that all boys are made of rats and snails and puppy dog’s tails. This is obviously not true, because all people have the same basic blueprint, if you will, I am, although primarily of the male persuasion, not made of rats or snails, and Beatrice, a girl, is not literally made of sugar or spice, although she is quite nice.”

Or, a sort-of kiss, an almost-date, and two kids learning about each other.

I don’t know anything about poetry, so I just googled ‘worst poets’ and William McGonagall came up. Have some fluff!

Read on AO3

Some say that all girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice and that all boys are made of rats and snails and puppy dog’s tails. This is obviously not true, because all people have the same basic blueprint, if you will, I am, although primarily of the male persuasion, not made of rats or snails, and Beatrice, a girl, is not literally made of sugar or spice, although she is quite nice.

I told this to Beatrice as we munched on our pretzels, omitting the part about Beatrice being quite nice for obvious reasons. She had taken me to an outdoor shopping mall, under the pretense of getting a few novels from the expansive bookstore there, and we were currently walking out of the food court, drinks, bags of chips, and cinnamon pretzels in hand.

I had read multiple romance novels, being less disgusted by the idea of romance than I had imagined a normal twelve year old would be, and I had become something of a hopeless romantic, as Kit as termed me when I told her about my newfound crush on Beatrice. I was silently thinking of this as a date of sorts, which was rather stupid, because we had gone on a large number of excursions like these before, and they were never dates.

Beatrice’s voice shook me out of my thoughts. “Lem, why don’t we play truth or dare?”

“What sort of dares would we do?”

“Normally I would say anything, but we are in a crowded public place, so nothing too crazy.”

“Maybe we can keep track of the dares now, so we can do them later. I brought my commonplace book.”

“You always bring your commonplace book. I’m half-convinced it’s glued to you or something.”

“If it was glued to me, how would I take it off to write in it?”

“Touché. That’s a good idea, though.”

I most certainly did not blush at that comment.

“I’ll start. Truth or dare, Mr. Snicket.”

At that point in time, we both found it hilarious when she called me Mr. Snicket, as usually pretending to be much older than we were was rather funny; at least until it wasn’t anymore. “Dare, dear Ms. Baudelaire.”

“Hey, that rhymes!” she said, before suddenly becoming mock-serious. “I dare you… to kiss Jacques.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Okay, fine… ” I made a note in my commonplace book and stopped to take a few bites of my pretzel. “Truth or dare, Bea?”

“Hmmm… Dare. You’re hardly creative with coming up with ways to embarrass someone.”

“All of your dares are just daring me to kiss random volunteers. Next, you’ll dare me to kiss Olaf.”

“Ew, why would I do that? I’m not that cruel. Okay, maybe now I’m doubting your lack of evil genius. Truth.”

“What’s your least favorite poem?”

“Aw, that’s tame. Well… it’s probably that McGonagall one, The Nithsdale Widow and Her Son. It’s so stupid! Like, he literally rhymes cruelty and merrily.”

“Good to know. Then again, McGonagall poems tend to be horrible as a rule.”

“Well, he is known as the worst poet in the world.”

Least favorite poem: The Nithsdale Widow and her son, William McGonagall.

“Hey, Lem! Lemmy! Lem-Lem! Lemon meringue! Truth or dare?”

“Did you have to call me Lem-Lem?”

“Well, you were too busy having a love affair with your commonplace book.”

“I was literally just writing down your least favorite poem. And I mean that in the literal sense. Also, truth.”

“What was the weirdest moment in your life so far?”

That was a rather unexpected question, but then again, this was truth or dare. “Probably when you took me to the movies and I got kicked out for ‘too much pencil scratching’.”

“Well, maybe you didn’t have to be keeping up a running commentary in your commonplace book.”

“It was really the only way to stay sane. That movie was dreadfully boring.”

“That it was.”

If you have ever eaten a cinnamon pretzel, then you will know that over the course of eating the cinnamon pretzel, you will get cinnamon everywhere, much like glitter, if one is the crafty sort.  I did not know it yet, but somehow, in the course of eating the pretzel, I had gotten some cinnamon on my nose.

“Hey, Lem?”

“What?”

“You’ve got some cinnamon. Right there.” She darted out and, in one fluid, graceful movement, kissed my nose. Or perhaps it was just licking. Either way, it was difficult to hide the flush of red that overtook my face, not unlike a bottle of cranberry juice spilled on a white tablecloth.

“Erm… thanks? What… what was that for?”

“I’m not wasting perfectly good cinnamon, Lem.”

“Ah… right. After all, cinnamon is extremely pricey.”

“That it is.”

We shared an easy moment of silence between each other until Beatrice spoke again.

“You know, Lem, I’m really glad you’re my friend.”

“Really? Why?”

“I mean, you’re really smart, and funny, but in a quiet way, and we’re really different but we click, you know? And you’re always patient with me where anyone else would say that I’m being annoying or insufferable and… I’m just really glad we met.”

“Even though it was incredibly awkward?”

“Even though it was incredibly awkward.”

“That reminds me. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I… I dare you to, at three in the morning, recite the entirety of The Nithsdale Widow and Her Son from memory while doing a handstand, in front of the girls' dormitories.”

“Well, Lemony, I was wrong about you. You are rather creative when it comes to embarrassing people.”

“I keep it well hidden.”

We spent the day laughing and joking, buying ice cream and books and a new commonplace book for Beatrice. A year later, I would do something I didn’t regret until the next day, at the edge of a town I didn’t like until I had left it. The next time we saw each other, I would sit in silence, scared to speak to the person I had adored so much. I still did, and I still do. But after all, everything must come to an end, and most ends are messy, and ambiguous, and bittersweet. We would have a few more years together after that, and then would come the treacherous villain and the fake death and the real death and the running for years and years, and I never saw her again.

But until then, it was best to grab what wonderful moments were lying around, and with Beatrice, every moment was a wonderful one.

[lemonpeter]

Sugar and Spice

Chapter 2

Sorry this one is slightly shorter, I just wanted to get the actual information and plot with all the complicated bits out of the way lol and liked the way this ended 💕 next week will be a much longer chapter with more fun stuff. I hope everyone enjoys 💕

Warnings: medical discussions, talk of a procedure (IUI) (Intrauterine Insemination), discussion of pregnancy

1.7K words

————

So much paperwork.

Peter and Tony felt like they were drowning in paperwork, something new to fill out or finalize every time they got a chance to relax. It was exhausting.

They kept telling themselves that it was worth it. It would all be worth it to have their beautiful baby in the end.

They’d had in their minds that Beatrice was going to be their surrogate since that first in-person meeting with her. So all it had taken was finishing up the remainder of the official process for them to have it all in writing. No more tense meetings, very little questions or concerns. She was who they wanted. And she was happy to work with them.

It was beyond relieving when they got the notice that they had finally finished all of their side of the legal process. And Beatrice was finishing up hers as they spoke.

It wouldn’t be too much longer before the insemination process started. Then things would really get rolling.

Everyone involved was excited.

Peter laid in bed with Tony the night it was all finalized, arms wrapped around his husband. They had laid in silence for a while, each thinking their own thoughts and processing the events of the busy day.

They’d finished up their paperwork. Beatrice had finished hers just before their lawyer closed his office for the night. Just in time. So the rest of the process could be started in the morning.

Tony sighed softly, breaking Peter out of his thoughts.

“What is it?” He asked softly.

“I just...are you sure that you’re okay with the baby biologically being mine? And not yours,” Tony asked quietly. It had been on his mind a lot. He knew they’d been through it all, pros and cons, and decided together. But he wanted to be sure that his husband wouldn’t regret it.

Peter’s expression softened. “Of course it’s okay. And- aside from all the paperwork for it being finished now- there’s nothing I’d do to change it. This is the best option, Tones.”

It was no secret that Tony was getting older. And there was no telling how much longer he would be fertile enough to help conceive a child. Peter was still younger, if they later decided to have another child then he would be the donor. But for this baby, it was decided that Tony was the best choice.

“Okay, honey. Okay. If you’re sure.” Tony turned slightly, kissing Peter gently. “This is just such a big thing. I want everything to be perfect. No regrets.”

“I promise you there won’t be any regrets. I promise, Tony,” Peter whispered. “Now...it’s been a long day, yeah? We should get to sleep. You get cranky if you don’t get your eight hours,” he teased.

Tony huffed softly, trying to mask the laugh that came with it. “Says Mr. I’ll kill you if you wake me up before eight.”

Peter laughed, holding his husband close. He moved one leg over his hip, relaxing as he got into a more comfortable position. “Sleep. Then we’ll both be happy.”

“Uh huh. Goodnight, honey.”

“Goodnight, grumpy.”

————

They were in contact with Beatrice the next morning, going over all that would have to be done.

A meeting was set up for a few days later so they could talk face to face. And it was the last time they’d see each other before the actual procedure.

Being so close to the big day made both nerves and excitement high.

They met up at the same cafe as before, gathered around the table and were comfortable as they talked.

“You don’t need to worry, I’ve already been monitoring my cycle for weeks now, since we started talking. Just so we wouldn’t have to wait too long to see where things were, yeah?” Beatrice told them with a smile.

It wasn’t her first time, so she already knew what to expect. And she was happy to walk the couple through the entire process.

“Yeah, that’s really helpful. Perfect, even.” Tony nodded. “So...what’s next?”

“Next we do the actual IUI because if we don’t within twenty four hours of ovulation, we’ve gotta wait all over again. And that’s not ideal.”

“And- so you’ve already got the stuff?” Tony asked her, fingers tapping at the table. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of what they were doing- it just didn’t seem like appropriate coffee shop conversation to ask if she had his sperm samples. So he tried to casually avoid the actual phrasing.

“Don’t make it sound like I’m doing drugs, please.” Beatrice laughed. “But yes, I have the stuff. If you don’t want to call it what it actually is. The procedure is gonna be done tomorrow, if you want to come see me or anything.”

Peter tugged on Tony’s arm gently. “We’ll definitely come see you,” he assured the woman. “You have to stay there a little while, right?”

“Yep! Gives everything a chance to settle in and…” she gestured vaguely towards her stomach. “Yknow. Take hold.” She chuckled.

The man nodded. “That makes sense. But...there’s a chance it won’t take after just the first cycle,” he said nervously. “Right?” He’d done a lot of research, wanting to understand what she’d be going through for them.

She sighed softly. “There’s always that chance. But we just have to hope for the best. I’ve been on medications that are supposed to increase fertility, your man here has nothing wrong with his end of the bargain, so we should be good to go.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

“You’re just going to say everything but the technical term now, aren’t you?” Tony asked, trying not to look amused. He failed.

“Oh, that’s on you. You refused to say it first, now I’m gonna do everything I can to avoid saying it as well,” Beatrice said innocently. “Wouldn’t want to make my intended parents uncomfortable.”

Peter laughed, covering his mouth. Oh, there was no doubt in his mind that she was the perfect person to be helping them. There were a lot of other good factors, but the fact that she had a sense of humor and was even willing to tease Tony made everything that much easier. Nothing tense between any of them. It was all light and fun and as easy as possible.

“Okay, yeah, I guess I did start this,” Tony agreed, snorting. “Whatever. Have your fun.” He gave her a more sincere smile. “But I do hope everything goes well tomorrow.”

“It’ll be fine,” she assured them. “Nothing I haven’t done before.”

“Not too much pain?”

“Not much. And I’ve been through worse, so it’s alright. And it’ll be worth it,” she told them. “It will all be worth it to me for your baby.”

Her phone chimed and she glanced down to check the notification. She smiled a little. “My ex is dropping off Nikki. So I can let you guys go,” she told them, answering the text quickly. She’d told them all about her own daughter during their various meetings, gushed about how much she loved her.

She really loved being a parent. And she loved being able to help others be the same.

“Maybe we could-“ Peter stopped himself, shaking his head. “Sorry. That was definitely overstepping. Forget it.” He didn’t want to overstep, asking to meet the woman’s child. It was different than asking to meet a child she was just a surrogate for, he knew, but he still didn’t want to make her uncomfortable at all.

“No, finish what you were going to say. It’s okay,” she told him.

“I just...maybe we could meet her? I don’t know, I just kind of want to meet your daughter.” He smiled a little. He wanted to meet the girl that would technically be his child’s half sister. And he kind of wanted to see Beatrice interacting with her daughter.

“Of course! Yeah, that’s totally okay,” Beatrice assured him. “She’ll be here in just a couple minutes. I’ll warn you, she’s kinda shy, but you two are fairly calm so she should warm up quickly.”

Peter glanced to Tony. “I mean, I’m calm. You might have to work on it,” he joked.

“I bet she’ll like me sooner than she’ll like you,” he challenged.

Beatrice snorted, shaking her head. “Are you fighting over my kid now? Maybe you two should just get home and relax. Already trying to be competitive.”

Tony laughed. “Nah, we’ll be fine. I wanna meet the little squirt. And-“

His phone went off, lighting up with a notification from Pepper. “Shit, I must have forgotten something.” He read over the text, wincing. “Forgot to send her that document...Which is sitting on my desk at home. Tell Nikki we’re sorry we missed her, next time. I’ve gotta get this to Pep.”

Peter pouted, bottom lip poking out. He knew they had to get home. But it didn’t mean he had to like it. He had really wanted to meet the girl. But he figured that it could wait until a little later. It wasn’t like there was much choice. “Okay, okay.”

He stood up, pushing his chair in. “We’ll see you tomorrow, B, the procedure is at…?”

“Noon,” she answered, a soft smile on her face.

“Then we'll be there at one. Does that sound alright?” He asked, grabbing his phone and tucking it into his pocket.

Beatrice nodded. “Of course. I’ll see you then!” She said happily.

“We’ll be thinking of you,” Tony told her. “Hoping everything goes smoothly. And we’ll be right there once it’s done.”

“That sounds perfect,” she told them. “Now shoo, don’t want you to miss anything for work. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll text you when I’m going in and once I’m out.”

The couple nodded, saying their goodbyes and heading to the car.

“Sweet guys,” Beatrice murmured to herself, smiling. She glanced up when she heard an enthusiastic ‘Mommy!’ and caught the four year old that ran to her.

Being a parent was something she loved more than anything. And as she hugged Nikki close, she watched Tony and Peter’s car drive away.

Being a parent wasn’t something she’d recommend for everyone. But she was beyond thrilled to be able to help others that clearly were going to be good parents. She was happy to be able to give them the opportunity.

[incorrect-umineko]

Beatrice: Aren’t you sugar and spice and everything nice?

Battler: Well, aren’t you rudeness and sarcasm and everything… uh…

Beatrice: No, go on. You find something that rhymes with sarcasm and makes sense, and I'll take the fall tonight

[virtualfindingsdocumented]

ASOUE S3: The End

No introduction needed.

- The choice of having The End as only one episode may have seem like a good one aesthetically speaking, but I don’t feel it was that good when it came to it.

- We all hated The End at some point but really, it is a thick ass book, and you want to merge it with TBL in less than 2 hours??

- That being said

- BEATRICE!!!!11!!!

- SHE IS BEAUTIFUL

- SHE IS LOVELY

- SHE HAS MORE IT ENERGY THAN KIT

- THE RED HAT THINGY

- I loved the scene with her in the tunnels

- I loved her in general

- That paper where Lemony had typed the possible places where the Baudelaire children could be

- Why was his handwriting ugly it shouldn’t be ugly

- It all looked so bright. My eyes hurt after all the darkness. I loved it.

- Friday! They didn’t cut her!

- I know it’s still perfectly possible for Olivia and Miranda to be related and even sisters with one of them being white and the other black, but I feel like they wanted to dismiss this possibility and I disliked that.

- They are sisters.

- Try to say otherwise and I will say they are twins.

- Miranda’s last name wasn’t even said.

- Everything felt rushed but how could it not be, with the time they had?

- Ishmael’s tattoo reveal was well done, while Kit’s tattoo reveal felt pushed aside. 

- Ishmael’s backstory was cool and all, with him being Prufrock’s director and having recruited most people we know from sugar bowl’s generation, but it went downhill when they said he is the founder of VFD.

- That just doesn’t fit even what Netflix established. I know Ishmael is old af, but is he old enough to have taught the Arsonists as well? Are the subway tunnels in disuse for just one generation? The eye-shaped locations? TIHOSO had a super cool thing about the Schism timing but they just threw it away. What even does the official fire department has to do with it all?

- I will probably make a whole post about the VFD lore later.

- Ink coming out of nowhere was an interesting development.

- The island’s apples actually look good. I guess Prufrock’s apples were maybe prototypes that went wrong or something.

- Changing Kit’s “true love” to “Dewey” was not good. The ambiguity was nice, and the parallel to Olaf’s lines, and stuff.

- You could see in Olaf’s eyes the change when the kids said “Kit”.

- I think it would be better if Kit was not as cold to him.

- I think the last point together with the “true love” thing are Mr. Handler’s way of calling Kitlaf gross. (This is a joke don’t sue me)

- I actually liked how they split the lines so both Kit and Olaf said both poems. 

- I can’t believe so many of you guys read that thing in TIHOSO and thought Olaf would say “fuck”

- I liked the island being eye-shaped.

- Who brought Kit down? Did she eat an apple in the end? What with that “the apples didn’t work”? Are they really opening the precedent to the cure to the Mycelium not working or did Kit secretly spit it so she could receive the sweet embrace of death without making it obvious to the kiddos?

- I can’t believe they *did* use the worst sugar bowl theory. Is that the definite answer? Am I supposed to believe people killed and died for some spice? Is this a metaphor to colonialism or something?

- No, really, Beatrice dropped the “bitter sugar” from the sugar bowl when she stole it and Esmé still had sugar in her penthouse years later what the heck.

- If the bitter sugar wasn’t inside the sugar bowl then why did Beatrice need that sugar bowl? Just because it’s magic and the lid doesn’t open unless you want it to?

- I was not expecting for those flashes of everyone else. I was not ready.

- It made me happier than I should

- I know it is only fanservice but who cares we deserve some happiness once in a while

- They weirdly fit Lemony’s speech. When the speech in the books give you the opposite feeling

- I was weirdly happy that Fiona and Fernald found Widdershins when he is not even worth it

- Beatrice’s meeting with Lemony felt a little weird. He just blindly believed the letter. He was actually optimistic once. But who cares that was not the wildest thing I had seen that day

- Female Finnish Pirates!

- How am I supposed to tell people that those happy parts are not book canon but the things Beatrice was telling are?

- “We can’t be sure the Quagmires are together and happy, but sure we do know that the Baudelaires met Female Finnish Pirates!”