#its like total unbridled joy. its so wonderful

[dysaniadisorder]

i have a confession i really like xmas

[mindsmade]

[SHIMMER] viNCE AND SO MI 😌✨️

meme

Of all places they could've wound up in, a small lake that isn't a toxic dump has to be the most pleasant. There's not a landfill, factory or other polluter in sight — they're well and truly alone with the water. In fact, as he takes his sights beyond the far edge, he can trace its origins up the slope of one of the mountains encasing them and the side of the road they'd parked on a way's back.

To think that just days ago, they'd set out from the miserable wasteland outside of NC, a ways south of where they are now. It's almost like he'd forgotten where those endless roads could actually take him.

Now, it can't take more than half an hour for the sun to sink behind the ragged shoulders of the mountains ahead ...

Tracing the reflection across the water surface back to where they stand, his gaze – as it so often does – effortlessly finds its way to So Mi; and just as their eyes lock on to each other, he smiles. She grins, and he somehow, against his expectations, knows what it means.

Or maybe he's projecting; making it mean what he wants it to mean.

Either way, he throws caution to the wind — his black shirt comes off, and just as he gets to kicking off his shoes, So Mi's jacket piles on top of it. A grin splits his features, teeth flashing in unadulterated excitement; amusement. He feels like a child again; like the eleven-year-old that would later get in trouble for diving into a river downstream from a power plant, or the thirteen-year-old that ended his day grounded for using the family's vehicles for an unfriendly race against the Wraiths.

But this is so much more innocent. It has to be in the face of this total lack of risk. The water looks crisp, clean, and all too inviting to be left unstirred by them!

No one here to tan their hide for disturbing the peace with their unbridled joy while it lasts, anyway.

V laughs and a small flock of birds thrusts up from one of the trees, and he's briefly left to wonder if this is all a dream. He wouldn't be surprised if it was — the setting's almost too idyllic to be real, and his company even more so.

Dream or not, he intends to make the most of it.

Once down to his shorts, he looks So Mi's way again, and the frantic chaos of his glee somehow subsides. It simmers down into something calmer; something centred on his appreciation of their surroundings, of them against this verdant, painting-like backdrop, in fact.

He stands still a moment longer, marvelling at the sight of her — not the amount of revealed skin, but most of all how her gold-streaked eyes catch the citrine light, and how it in turn casts an orange highlight across her purple hair. It could bring a tear to his eye if only he'd let it.

Instead he swallows and approaches, his expression bespeaking the tenderness of his feelings for her. His slow pace concludes about half a step away from her, placing him close enough to her to necessitate the angling of his chin to hold her gaze. His mind's set on keeping them moving, however, so he takes her by the hand ( skin against RealSkinn ), and nods towards the lake.

He saves his words, leading her to gently lapping water, pausing only to process the biting cold at his feet upon first touch. A breathy 'whoo!' escapes him as he stops momentarily. He looks over his shoulder again, finding her ... unflinching.

He doesn't speculate as to the reasoning behind it for too long ( maybe RealSkinn doesn't need to perceive it so accutely; maybe this isn't the first time she's taking a dive into a lake of glacial water ... ). Rather, he sucks in a breath and carry on, walking backwards just to continue facing her — farther, farther; deeper and deeper, until his toes are hardly touching the pebbles below his feet.

Laboured breathing for the first twenty seconds or so aside, he feels fine — alive and energized, in fact. So much so, his former smirk makes a return as he shifts his weight to float on his back, holding on to her hand still.

Coasting by in front of her, an airy chuckle leaves him as he looks skywards.

❛  You seen those videos of otters holdin' hands while they sleep in the water?  ❜

[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

When I was new to fandom I was bored by Dany and Jon story. Dany for me was typical fantasy heroine who was winning and getting everything and Jon has basically underdog story which wasn't that new. When I saw the so hyped boatsex I was like eh? I found Arya more interesting and Sansa started to grow on me. It's through jonsa I started admiring Jon and loving Sansa. Also through Sansa and jonsa fandom I realised Dany is a villain which is better than savior of world.

Hi nonny, well you were not alone in seeing Dany as a fantasy heroine (lots and lots and lots of people saw her this way). I suppose I’d disagree with the idea that she is typical...mainly because she isn’t the heroine, and her story is one fantastic inversion of the hero’s journey. I love Dany’s storyline for what it’s doing. Unfortunately, many people don’t see it. I also love Jon’s story, especially as this wonderful parallel to Dany’s, except where Dany’s experiences only heighten her sense of “specialness”, Jon’s experiences are constantly forcing him to see and even “live in” other people’s perspectives. Dany’s arc is about hubris and upholding this idea that she alone deserves unbridled power, while Jon’s is about humility and seeing the inherent value in other people’s lives. He pays dearly for his mistakes, especially when he tries to push his friends away and take on the burden of leadership alone (but that’s getting way ahead of what I want to talk about today). 

Almost immediately, Dany’s chapters are infused with the language of “specialness”. She is the “blood of the dragon”, she is the khaleesi, a princess, a queen...and almost immediately, Jon Snow is disabused about any such notions he may have had, even as a bastard. 

Jon stared sullenly at the smoke rising from the brazier, until Noye took him under the chin, thick fingers twisting his head around. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy."

Jon looked. The armorer had a chest like a keg of ale and a gut to match. His nose was flat and broad, and he always seemed in need of a shave. The left sleeve of his black wool tunic was fastened at the shoulder with a silver pin in the shape of a longsword. "Words won't make your mother a whore. She was what she was, and nothing Toad says can change that. You know, we have men on the Wall whose mothers were whores."

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.

"You think you had it hard, being a high lord's bastard?" the armorer went on. "That boy Jeren is a septon's get, and Cotter Pyke is the baseborn son of a tavern wench. Now he commands Eastwatch by the Sea."

"I don't care," Jon said. "I don't care about them and I don't care about you or Thorne or Benjen Stark or any of it. I hate it here. It's too … it's cold."

"Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that's the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you're here for life, same as the rest of us." 

A Game of Thrones - Jon III

As soon as Jon arrives at the Wall, his uncle gives him the cold shoulder and goes so far as to verbally reprimand Jon for believing he’d get special favor for being Ned Stark’s son, and then Donal Noye also knocks him down a few more pegs, calling him boy and reminding him that he is no better than anyone else at the Wall. 

"Yes, life," Noye said. "A long life or a short one, it's up to you, Snow. The road you're walking, one of your brothers will slit your throat for you one night."

"They're not my brothers," Jon snapped. "They hate me because I'm better than they are."

"No. They hate you because you act like you're better than they are. They look at you and see a castle-bred bastard who thinks he's a lordling." The armorer leaned close. “You're no lordling. Remember that. You're a Snow, not a Stark. You're a bastard and a bully."

A Game of Thrones - Jon III

Two chapters later, Dany is a married woman and riding in Khal Drogo’s khalasar. While she is miserable at the start (and rightly so. She is sold and raped. I’m in no way pretending that Dany’s life doesn’t start out horrible. It’s far more horrible than Jon’s start to life), she is in a position of power for the first time ever, and lets just say she takes to it just fine. 

Jorah tells her about ghost grass (that passage deserves its own meta - the writing was on the wall from book one, people), and Dany doesn’t want to hear it: 

"I don't want to talk about that now," she said. "It's so beautiful here, I don't want to think about everything dying."

"As you will, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah said respectfully.

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys III

Jon doesn’t want to hear people calling his mother a whore = Tough luck kid, your mother was who she was. Face reality. 

Dany doesn’t want to hear about ghost grass murdering all life = conversation ends and Dany gets to enjoy the beautiful day without others spoiling it. 

"Wait here," Dany told Ser Jorah. "Tell them all to stay. Tell them I command it."

The knight smiled. Ser Jorah was not a handsome man. He had a neck and shoulders like a bull, and coarse black hair covered his arms and chest so thickly that there was none left for his head. Yet his smiles gave Dany comfort. "You are learning to talk like a queen, Daenerys."

"Not a queen," said Dany. "A khaleesi." She wheeled her horse about and galloped down the ridge alone.

The descent was steep and rocky, but Dany rode fearlessly, and the joy and the danger of it were a song in her heart. All her life Viserys had told her she was a princess, but not until she rode her silver had Daenerys Targaryen ever felt like one.

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys III

Their stories are inversions of each other from their very first pages in AGOT and it culminates in ADWD which is this wonderful deep dive into how these divergent viewpoints color their leadership styles. 

I don’t have time to go on and on about this, but I find Dany and Jon’s stories fascinating and I love them as foils. They just don’t make any sense from a shipping perspective. 

That being said, for the show, I totally bought into the pol!jon theory. That was the only thing that made season 7 fit any kind of narrative sense, and with that lens I didn’t mind the season or the boat sex scene, because I thought the lack of chemistry was the point. LOL. I’m a clown. 

However you came to Jonsa, I’m glad you did! I agree. Dany makes a much more interesting villain than she does a heroine. We don’t need any more white savior stories. Blech. 

[whitherliliesbloom]

in the eyes of the beholder

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #22 - fluster ]

[alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,042 words ]  ★ [ post-canon ]

fluster-  to put into a state of agitated confusion or embarrassment 

they say an artists always inadvertently pours their heart’s true feelings into their drawings.

The apartment has never been this empty - not since the day he moved in. With cardboard box towers stacked high, and a few other empty ones that have yet to be packed, Alphinaud pauses for a moment to straighten himself up and admire the empty space around him, wiping the sweat off his brows.

This has been his home for a good many years, not quite the kind that he would liken to Leveilleur manor back in Old Sharlayan where he grew up in.. but a home nonetheless- with the bonus of knowing his most trusted friends and allies are ever close by, Rising Stones being just a mere stroll away. So he cannot help but to feel a pang of sadness and longing swelling in his heart, especially as he casts a glance out the window to look upon the slow spinning aetheryte that stood in the center of Revenant’s Toll. 

But, Alphinaud reminds himself, as he finally turns his gaze to look at the young woman standing upon a lalafellin stool in front of the bookcase, her arms stretched high above her head as she grabs at the rows of dust coated tomes and gives each a thorough pat and sweep with her feather duster, that the feeling was more sweet than it was bitter. 

His girlfriend- or rather... his fiancée has busied herself with clearing his impressive collection of tomes and scrolls, cleaning them of months of neglect, before sorting and then packing them into the half-filled box next to her aptly labelled with a thick brush pen as ‘Books’. She’d even sorted the titles out by alphabetical order, just like he’d requested.

They’ve been packing since morning now, and he’s beginning to feel hours of prior strenuous labor catch up to him as he stretches his arms and flexes his fingers. And yet Illya seemed to be none worse for wear, for as used to physical strain and tireless work as she justifiably is. 

Alphinaud takes a second to stop and stare at the woman for a fleeting moment. Her silken white hair that normally cascaded down past her shoulders and waist was now pulled up into a high ponytail and secured with a floral patterned scrunchy, her hair bopping and swaying side to side with every of her movements. Her pink overalls is stained and caked in dust, as is the once pristine white of her shirt underneath - but her dirtied wardrobe hadn’t seem to even be noticed at all, let alone bothered the woman.

And as she took her time to take a book by its spine and read the title before quickly dusting it, she’s merrily humming to the tune of an old Doman piece, volume soft and barely audible, yet soothing as her voice rose and filled the dusty air with an uplifting song.

When the young elezen man finally regains enough of his senses to snap out of his gawking, he can only twist his lips up into a bright smile before calling out her name.

“Liya.”

Her head swivels around instantly, amethyst bright eyes shimmering with immediate affection as she looks at him and mirrors his smile with her own, dazzlingly warm one.

“Yes, alphy?” 

Her voice is sugar coated and dripping with sickly sweetness that he drinks up like he’s a man starved, heart soaring with an unbridled joy as he catches a glimpse of the ring on her fourth finger, a radiant crystal blossom sitting upon the painfully detailed golden band.

No matter how many times he attempts to fathom the reality of his present, there was always a more rational, disbelieving side to Alphinaud that would struggle to believe it. To fathom the great fortune he must have to be engaged to the woman he loved more than anything in the world, let alone someone who has been his biggest inspiration and source of admiration and motivation for years. And he cannot believe that he will soon be living under the same roof as her.

The Warrior of Light... soon to be his Warrior of Light. Even thinking of her as his threatens boyish laughter and cheers out of him. 

Snapping out of the revelry of his daydream, Alphinaud gestures towards the metal canister next to her stool, long since emptied and left neglected with its contents drained. 

“You must be tired. How about a break? I’ll refill your bottle for you.”

“No,no that’s okay-” Unsurprisingly, Illya is quick to refuse his offer with a shake of her head.��“I’m not that tired. Don’t let me bother you.”

“It’s not a bother, dearest.” With a sigh, Alphinaud moves over to grab the canister, amused snicker leaving his lips when he looks down at the exasperated pout on Illya’s lips. “Let me do this much for you at least. I won’t be long.”

Ever a woman who much preferred relying on herself, it took a good many years for Illya to come to terms with accepting her own limitations and weaknesses - let alone entertaning the idea of burdening her loved ones with her troubles... no matter how trivial or small they may be.

But she’s come far - they both have... and the girl who would once stutter and burst into a blushing fluster is nowhere to be found in the presence of a older, more confident woman, who merely drops her shoulders in defeat before accepting his offer.

“If you insist, love. Make sure to refill for yourself too, okay?” 

With a quick nod, Alphinaud swiftly take his own bottle before leaving the apartment before crossing through corridors past other closed doors and speed walking down flights of stairs to get to the Seventh Heaven.

Bloezoeng greets the elezen with a cheery grin, graciously refilling the two canisters full with a topping of ice cool water while making small talk, asking how the packing was going and even asking the young man to send his regards to the Warrior of Light. Nearby, the wandering minstrel sings as he strums at his harp, and Alphinaud only spares a single seconds glance towards the door leading into the back where the Rising Stones is, before leaving the Seventh Heaven, heavy and damp water canisters in hand.

Alphinaud hadn’t been lying when he said that he wouldn’t take long - it’d been a total of four minutes maximum by the time he reaches the third floor and walks down the hallway towards the only open door. 

And yet when when he hears what the voice of his beloved says as he approaches the apartment, along with the tell tale sounds of sketch paper flipping, his blood runs dry in his veins and he feels himself freeze in instinctive panic.

“This book... it has no title?”

A book with no title.... Oh gods. She could only be referring to one book - the only book he’d kept purposefully hidden away on his shelf between other innocuous books for reasons unknown to all save himself. The only book with a blank cover, the only book with a well used bookmark made from a pressed lily that Illya had gifted him so many years ago slotted between its pages. A book that he had not wanted anyone to find or to see the contents of - especially not her.

“W-wait- Liya! Don’t-” He bolts into the room and drops the canisters onto the floor with a responding thud that leaves wet patches upon the wooden planks, navy blue eyes blown wide in terror. His heart pounds loudly in the confines of his tight chest, which then quickly sinks into the pits of his stomach when he stares dumbfoundedly at the lalafell and the wide opened book in her hands.

She’s staring down, speechless herself. 

The pages of the book was not filled with words - but drawings. Black and white sketches created with a fine pencil and quill, soft water colored paintings that left dried patches of color upon the pages, colored line art that had been meticulously cell-shaded with an array of colored ink. 

It was Alphinaud’s sketchbook- but not the one he carries in his travel bag or has laying open on his desk. He wouldn’t go through such lengths to conceal a sketchbook if it had just been that - and his dearest has always expressed how much she loved to look at his art.

But this was no ordinary sketchbook - for countless pages between the lavender purple covers of that book, marked with a bright white flower was filled with visages of the Warrior of Light - of the woman he loved. 

From a quick sketch of the lalafellin woman with a stern expression as she was lost in her focus upon an embroidery hoop, a more detailed, colored drawing of her in her adventuring garments, long starlit hair radiant against a dark starry night background as she casts her eyes upwards at the sky... and a small painting of her surrounded by a sea of flowers, the gust of spring wind blowing her hair and pink dress behind her as she holds a single flower between her clasped hands as if in prayer, a serene, ethereal expression upon her face.

Illya can barely even recognize those figures as herself- is disbelieving as she flips through drawing after drawing of what was clearly Alphinaud’s favorite model in various clothing, settings and circumstances, in different mediums to boot.

But the one thing that remained a constant was the heart of the art he painstakingly filled the sketch books with, the heartfelt emotions and earnestness he must have felt as he was working on a single page.

There is a saying that says an artist will always inadvertently pour their truest, deepest feelings into the art they create - that a piece of drawing was a piece of an artist’s heart.

Illya could only wonder then, as she stares with heat pooling in her cheeks that spread rapidly to the tips of her pointed ears... what was it that Alphinaud was feeling whenever he held this sketchbook or drew within it? 

What was it that he was seeing within his wide, observant eyes when he drew her? What compelled him? What will continue to compel him?

She holds his heart in her hands delicately, as if it would break if she were not careful, and slowly closes it before turning to look at the man, who has an equally, if not brighter, darker blush upon his now cherry red face.

“T-that is! I-I.... I was just- I-I-It’s not-” 

Alphinaud was not often a man who got this flustered. Even when he is teased by the likes of Krile and Alisaie who threatened whenever possible and the situation was appropriate to spill unflattered secrets about his past to her, there is a sort of calm elegance to the way he’d diffuse the situation and more often than not lead her away from the two ‘gossip mongers’... as he would so eloquently put it. Though, to be fair, years of putting up with that has taught him to be a little more dexterous in navigating forbidden subjects about his time in the Studium around them. 

But when the blame of the situation was nobody but his own to bear, and it involved a deeply hidden secret he’s kept for so many years from her... it’s destroyed whatever little of his poise he’s pretended to develop over the years... And Illya was absolutely the last person he wanted to have see him in such an unsightly state.

 While Alphinaud attempts futilely to scrounge up a believable excuse, the lalafell has climbed down from her stool and is walking towards him. 

The afternoon sky is bright, casting sunrays through the window panes and forming spotlights upon the wooden floor, as dust bunnies bounce and float carefreely around the room. Illya steps into the light, and the afternoon rays immediately reflect off her head like cut crystal... and above reddened nose are a pair of shining eyes that gaze up at him, and Alphinaud momentarily forgets to breath as she closes the distance between them and smiles delicately.

“I-If..... If you wanted me to model for you, you... you could have just a-asked me...”

[bang-to-the-tan]

Lullaby

Oneshot

Reader x Min Yoongi

► Soulmate!AU

Comfort

Warnings: None

Words: 2K

↳ Summary: He can’t sleep when you’re awake, crying over the things you aren’t.

why hello readers yes i am hyperfixating away from my problems why do you ask

@teawithkpop​ and I had a discussion concerning vaguely psychic BTS that in one eight-hour work shift turned into a full soulmate AU in my head. I made myself cry writing this. (psst, this song goes really well with it, especially once he gets on the balcony)

Please enjoy, and don’t forget to love yourself.

You’re crying again. 

The sensation of tightness in his chest, head pounding—this feeling so like drowning sinks claws into Yoongi’s dreams, coiling about his neck until he can’t breathe and suddenly he’s staring at the muted darkness of his room, watching his mind carve whirling shapes into the shadows. His mind reels with phantom pain, heartache that isn’t his, a tight throat and burdened soul that don’t belong to him. He feels sick. 

Except, and this is always the weirdest part, that he doesn’t. 

Instead, he blinks, eyes heavy, and fumbles for his phone, arm made of granite. The screen is too bright in this darkness, and it takes a moment of blinking, squinting, frowning, before the symbols spearing their way through his retinas make any kind of sense. 2:37 AM. 

Holding his hand out in this position is something of a task and its job done, he allows his arm to drop limply to the covers, his head following suit with a short breath of exasperation. It isn’t your fault. He never blames you. He knows you don’t know about the day he’s going to have to have tomorrow. The promotions he’s been getting ready for, the difficult and involved choreography he’s learning. 

And even him knowing his own schedule doesn’t mean he’ll be going back to sleep anytime soon. Not like this, not with you rending yourself in two in his head. So, he gifts himself one more moment of stubborn sprawling, playing like he’s still sleeping to a dark and empty room. 

You’re crying harder now. He can feel it, that wracking, all-encompassing sense of the world crumbling underneath your feet. The fear of falling, the desperate clawing for any kind of hold on a surface that dissolves in your fingers. This time, the twinge of his heart is his own, twisted with pity and longing. Always longing. 

Mindlessly determined now, he kicks his legs out from under his covers and crawls off the bed one limb at a time, swaying to and fro. The lights in the hallway are too bright to be turning on at this hour, so he navigates by the glow of various electrical devices in his apartment, ambling his zombie-like way to the kitchen. 

2 in the morning is a little early for you. Or possibly late. He doesn’t really know—despite that week or so where he’d managed to convince himself that he’d pinned your timezone down. He flicks the kettle on, fumbling for a mug through the cabinets, some tea, still musing absently, half-asleep, on you. 

He thought he was dying when it first happened. 

Halfway asleep one late night, just before he drifted off on top of his covers, phone in hand. His chest suddenly swelled with such immense joy that he actually cried. After the initial shock, the fear of actually, finally, going clinically insane, he elected to ignore it. Told no one, hoped if he just forgot it happened, then nothing would have to come of it. A few days later, he nearly jumped through his ceiling with a sudden flash of anger, red-hot, searing its way through his lungs like righteous fire, first thing in the morning. The warlike shout that had forced its way out of him tore his voice asunder and made recording that day incredibly difficult and awkward to explain. You really have a penchant for experiencing extreme emotion around his bedtime. He’s already made the mental note to berate you for it, once you finally meet. 

Once he finally meets his soulmate. 

The doctors had reassured him that it was actually shockingly normal for celebrities to unintentionally ‘awaken’ their soulmates before either was aware they existed. It’s just a numbers game, they’d said. If you’re plastered across screens and billboards all around the world, eventually, one of the millions who pass by it is going to be yours. And having seen him, somewhere, sometime, you’d been bound to him. Emotional telepathy. The first step in ‘total soul connection’, or whatever it was they’d called it. Anytime you felt anything strong, anytime you experienced something important, it bled through to him, in the form of unchecked, unbridled feeling. 

Jimin had helped him in trying to narrow the timeframe, chasing this frantic energy that possessed him in the beginning. This manic desperation to find you, culminating in long fingers dug into his hair so hard he could have pulled his brain through the strands, eyes squeezed so tightly shut it hurt, curled into a ball at his dining room table and fighting back the urge to cry until he died from it. He’d spent three days tracking his group’s popularity from when he’d first felt you, and ended up with nothing but a sour taste in his mouth and a sick feeling in his stomach at the impossible unfairness of it all.

Yoongi nearly falls asleep on the counter waiting for the water to boil, jumping violently at the click of the tab coming back up. He pours it into the mug, smacking his lips absently, running a sluggish hand through his bangs to try and shift them out his already limited vision. The room fills with the thick sound of water, the smell of fresh tea. He takes a minute to appreciate how nice it smells, whole body stilling, eyes closing, concentrating. A beat passes. 

He opens them, tiredly, sniffing once and reaching for the mug. It’s warming against his palm, radiating heat down his hand, his arm. There’s a soft, nearly threadbare blanket draped over the back of the sofa that he collects as he shuffles towards the balcony. He pauses to force his feet into the slippers by the door before he slides it open, deciding he could just as well fix them once he’s sitting down. They flop stubbornly against his toes as he walks, situated just barely off from fitting right. 

It’s a gorgeous night. Morning. Whatever. The temperature is mild, the air feels almost warm, and the breeze that passes through is gentle. It threads careful hands through his hair, kisses his cheeks, bringing with it the dusky scent of night.

He slides the door shut behind him, shutting him off from the apartment and completely baring him to the view of Seoul’s cityline in the distance. Lights glittering across the river like stardust, casting heretical flares into the velvet above. Buildings rising from the horizon like shadowy hands, reaching out to grasp the heavens in their palms. And all of it reflected in the water, an imperfect mirror of black glass throwing the sleepless eyes of the city back in its face. 

The company had assured him it was perfectly normal to want to find his soulmate, especially now that you’d awoken to him. But it just wouldn’t be feasible. Not now. Not with how things are. He told himself that he would’ve quit on the spot, but he’s far too practical for that kind of thoughtless drama. And if you were really his soulmate, he knew you’d understand. 

Instead, he scanned every set of eyes he could in every crowd. Played leapfrog through social media sometimes, when the longing in his chest was especially loud. He had no idea if he’d seen you already. Sometimes, especially when he felt ugly things, he wondered if you were there with him. If you waited for him like he waited for you, chasing ghosts and always doubtful whether you were even going in the right direction.

He’d attempted to be casual about writing a song for you, but it took very few words slinking out between numb, awkward lips before Namjoon immediately saw straight through him. Good ol’ Rational Namjoon smiled that soft smile of his and told him with that soft voice of his that Yoongi would send all the world into a panic, writing a song like that. He’d end up with enough “soulmates” to populate a small country. And beside, it wasn’t something he could do without passing it underneath the company’s scrutiny and catching flack for trying to sneak. So for now, it seemed, he’d just have to sit here and miss someone he’d never met.

The next pang that screams through him shakes him the worst of all, to his core, and it comes close to taking him out at the knees as he moves to sit on the chair he set up out on the balcony when he moved in. He physically winces at the sensation, grip tightening on his mug, other hand digging blunt, anxiously chewed fingernails into the wicker of the chair’s arm. Hate. It’s hate that you’re feeling now. Yoongi knows it too well, it bleeds into his own emotions, muddles the line between you.

The excitement you’d clouded his senses with last week made him grin for an entire day, your heart beating inside his ribs like a caged bird.

The fear from a month ago sent him into a panic, had him packing a suitcase before he’d given pause to the fact that he doesn’t even know where you are. (Hoseok talked him down from that one; popular theory was that you’d been thrillseeking. Watching a horror movie or riding a rollercoaster. Yoongi wasn’t entirely convinced until you ‘checked back in’ a little later with a deeply satisfied feeling of content. He’d breathed a sigh of relief that felt like the first time he’d tasted oxygen in all his life.)

But this emotion has a texture to it that feels all too familiar against Yoongi’s teeth, coiled around his throat. Self-hate. You aren’t just crying, you’re losing a battle against yourself. And not for the first time he wishes more than anything that you could be here. With him. Where you belong. Where he could take you into his arms and promise you that you are so much stronger than your shadow. Where he could take up a light of his own and help you chase that darkness away, as best he could, at your side. Where he belongs.

He blinks up at the sky, as if he could watch your thoughts chasing his in the night. He takes the blanket, wrapping it studiously around his legs, tucking it into the sides, bundling up until he’s warm and comfortable and safe. He takes the mug in his hand, sips gingerly at the tea that’s still just a little too hot to drink steadily. 

Yoongi looks out over the river, watches it ripple and sparkle, counts the airplanes, satellites, crawling across the domed sky. He notices how beautiful it is. How warm he feels. Secure. 

He has no idea if he’s seen you yet. He doesn’t know if you can feel him. 

He closes his eyes. He focuses on how he feels content. Safe, and happy. Tea on his lips, you on his mind, hope in the palm of his hand. The world with his voice perched on its tongue, waiting for a new day to share with him.  

He has no idea how long he sits there. 

You calm slowly, painfully, clawing first by force into exhaustion. Your emotions, bleeding and ragged and so, so tired, but triumphant for one more night, trail slivers and snippets through his mind as you begin to fade from his grasp. 

You leave him alone on his balcony, set against a backdrop of manmade stars. His tea has gone cold in his mug now. 

He sends you one last reach, one last sliver of soft comfort, one last shared moment of pride in your strength, before he gives up. He yawns, decadently wide, and shifts upwards to head back inside, the blanket dogging his steps like he were a weary king with a crown of lead. 

[luluwquidprocrow]

love was made for me and you (and you)

originally posted: february 15th, 2019

word count: 22,821 words

rated: teen

beatrice baudelaire/bertrand baudelaire/lemony snicket, beatrice baudelaire/lemony snicket, beatrice baudelaire/bertrand baudelaire

violet baudelaire, klaus baudelaire, beatrice baudelaire, lemony snicket, bertrand baudelaire, kit snicket, the duchess of winnipeg, dewey denouement, olivia caliban, beatrice snicket

alternate universe – modern setting, alternate universe – everybody lives/nobody dies, alternate universe – parent trap fusion, family, romantic comedy, humor, with occasional required sad undertones, screenplay/script format, less of a fic and more of an outline but one hell of an outline, with enthusiastic swearing by yours truly, referenced but very background kit/dewey and duchess/olivia

Summary:

[so beatrice is nicholas, lemony is elizabeth, violet is annie, klaus is hallie, bertrand is the absolute worst at being meredith because he is a Genuinely Nice Person so honestly he’s really not meredith at all, and those parallels are all a little loose anyway because i moved places and conversations and character roles and basically everything around, everyone is just a mess. where is vfd????? i sure don't know.]

Notes:

back in march 2018, the good the iconic the legendary the CLASSIC ace attorney parent trap au came back on my dash and I decided to rewatch the parent trap a few days later, and as I was watching it, I thought, ‘i wonder how that would work with asoue, and lemony and beatrice, and of course with them getting together with bertrand,’ because I will of course ship the three of them together in any fic I can, but I told myself ‘girl, you cannot write this fic. you have too many other fics to write, you canNOT write this fic.’

I then told myself, ‘well, yeah, okay, but that doesn’t mean I can’t outline it.’

and then the outline spun wildly out of control, to the point where i was never going to write it as a full actual fic because it wasn't going to work like that anymore, but also to the point where it had a life of its own and was in my opinion somehow still worth reading like an actual fic. this is over 20k of a lemonberry ice parent trap au half-fic/half-outline/half-weird-script/wonderful mess of conversations and headcanons, and I genuinely hope my weirdly detailed ramblings (and unapologetic swearing) bring people as much unbridled joy as they bring me. I wrote this with the intention to have fun, and I hope!! you have fun too!!!

I think you can get through this with a working knowledge of the parent trap movie (1998 version) but a thorough knowledge is also very good

title obviously corrupted from love by nat king cole

.

lemony and beatrice, young and definitely foolish and definitely in love but totally not thinking this through, marry (fairly soon after college) and beatrice has twins, violet and klaus (violet is two minutes older, their birthday in this splits the difference between (what I personally image to be) their canon birthdays, so that’s, what, january 8th or something???? first I had it as the 3rd but nick and liz marry in the movie on january 8th and I was like ‘well that’s not too big a change to make in the name of a good reference’).

not long after, their marriage dissolves (for, well, pretty much canon reasons???? I mean like with less accusations of arson and criminal activity. lemony has Radical Commitment Issues and beatrice is Impulsive and Angry and Not Taking Anyone’s Shit and honestly how they made it through marriage and having kids with all those problems completely in tact and never doing anything about them is anyone’s guess, love is Occasionally Not Cool), they divorce, and lemony takes violet and beatrice takes klaus.

they both leave The City which I have always imagined as new york even though i’ve never spent a second there in my life, but anyway, beatrice does go to california (she likes the weather, but she does not end up in sanfran (danhan’s hometown) – the part of me simultaneously obsessed with a different fandom is screaming santa barbara!!!! but no i’m going to stick with the movie and say although she’s not in a vineyard she is in napa), the idea of lemony just being in england as like, a concept, and especially with a broken heart, is hilarious to me

kit: do I have to confiscate your copy of keats?

kit: do I?

kit: do I, lemony??????

beatrice raises klaus with the help of the duchess of winnipeg (and ramona’s delightfully sentimental and frankly adorable wife, olivia caliban, I will sail this ship single-handedly I guess) (what is ramona doing in california????? OH MAN DO I FINALLY GET TO BUST OUT THIS LINE I TOOK OUT OF THE BAYBEA FIC

ramona: have you seen winnipeg lately???

ramona: there’s not much for me to duchess over.

actually it’s probably that ramona’s mother is still alive in this (otherwise what would be the POINT of everybody lives/nobody dies modern au???? fucking fight me) and she takes care of winnipeg and ramona was like ‘…...canada’s not doing it for me’ and her mother was like ‘canada doesn’t do it much for anyone, dear.’ and ramona skedaddled to california with olivia, which worked out because they have banging careers as artists out in california.) (ramona paints (she likes watercolors and pastels), olivia actually writes historical fiction lesbian romance novels (where everyone also lives!!! she writes an on point jazz age novel only everyone lives and it’s great) (why historical fiction??? olivia is a sucker for romance and loves big sweeping romance epics….and ramona) (are her books just. period piece self-inserts with her and ramona??? well why the FUCK not), they are both………..really too good for this world.) (anyway bea has zero (0) family with which to raise klaus so ramona and olivia offer to help her out. out of the goodness of their hearts and long-standing friendship, not because they have any experience raising a child. they do not. have any experience.)

and lemony raises violet with the help of his sister. kit and dewey get together earlier, and have their daughter earlier (violet’s….five or six when she’s born?), and name her (obvs not beatrice) bernadette (I have Specific Reasons for naming her bernadette, however that is in my giant list of bernadette headcanons, which is a whole other Thing). beatrice is an actress (klaus can’t act for shit, sorry), lemony is a writer (violet doesn’t have a poetic bone in her body, sorry). (but violet can act and klaus is pretty good at putting words together.)

ELEVEN YEARS AGO BY, or, well, eleven and a half, I guess, eleven and a half delightful years filled with the following –

-lemony and beatrice fervently denying they ever married each other and trying to forget the other even exists, what do you mean you have photographic evidence, we were definitely not married

-ramona’s mother briefly going to california to tell three grown women how to change a diaper

-klaus, age one and a half, crawling up the staircase in their house all by himself to get to the library, beatrice promptly dies out of sheer terror

(true event. I did that.)

-violet getting ahold of a wrench at the same age and fixing one of the loose bars in her crib

(not a true event. I did not do that.)

-dewey and jacques, trying to fix the curtains in violet’s room, immediately and silently agreeing to never tell lemony they were The Worst Uncles In Existence for five seconds for accidentally dropping the wrench in violet’s crib

-beatrice training herself not to do a double-take every time she sees klaus with a book because he looks fleetingly like lemony, just for that second

-lemony lulling violet to sleep with a variety of accordion songs, violet’s favorite is his rendition of what he says is ‘a song about spending a day on the beach’ but is actually why I cry by the magnetic fields (particularly danhan’s rendition of it with ben gibbard.)

-hey I never said they were successful at forgetting each other, especially when the kids were kids

-a truly harrowing number of children’s birthday parties

-kit snicket, who firmly kept her maiden name, going through what she called ��The Chillest Pregnancy In Existence, Look At Me, I’m Completely Fucking Calm’ in the middle of labor

-klaus going through a period where he only read poetry, which caused bea and ramona and olivia to speak in rhyme for a week

-violet insisting she could fix the toaster and promptly not fixing the toaster because nothing was wrong with the toaster (it just wasn’t plugged in.)

-beatrice appearing in a number of plays, klaus being enchanted when she’s in les mis and reading the book but, in fact, only finding the outrageously long sewer chapter interesting

-violet trying to write a poem for lemony for father’s day and rhyming ‘orange’ with ‘mortgage’

that summer, they both wind up sending violet and klaus to the same summer camp excursion, because what sort of comedy would this be without the wildest coincidence ever, honestly

kit drops violet off at the camp a la martin – will lemony get on a plane?? that is a resounding No (also he would have just cried the whole time. the whole time. the. whole. time.)

however lemony is the one who does the ‘fruits, vegetables’ thing, only before violet leaves, and he gives her a million hugs and honestly doesn’t want her to go to camp oh my god, it’s only because violet tells him he’s sort of squishing her that he stops hugging her, lemony is???? like the most concerned parent of all time

kit, meanwhile….

kit: I was going to give you a new dart set but I was informed that they would not let you through customs.

violet: uncle dewey told you, didn’t he.

kit: I married a real killjoy, violet.

I honestly cannot think of a scene for klaus to parallel hallie meeting glasses and tie dye girl while getting her duffel bag. I thought of putting the quagmires in this but I think that’s…...pushing the identical envelope a little here (would’ve been worth it though for the brief note I used to have here that was just isadora shouting ‘HOW DID THEY TAKE SO LONG TO REALIZE THEY WERE RELATED THEY LOOK EXACTLY ALIKE’)

i’m sure they hang out with like-minded people before running into each other, it’s a good camp and they literally never talk to those other characters again anyway, which is, a real shame

we can all at least rest assured that klaus gets to camp in once piece regardless and doesn’t have a conversation about darts and airport customs, anyway beatrice, ramona, and olivia each smuggle a deck of cards into his suitcase as a surprise and he has three card decks and impresses all the other kids in his cabin with a giant architecturally sound house of cards made to resemble thoreau’s cabin at walden pond

hey annie and hallie are both allergic to strawberries and KLAUS AND VIOLET ARE ALLERGIC TO PEPPERMINTS

before they meet there’s probably a moment like with marva sr and the strawberries (I just had a horrifying thought that JEROME is the camp counselor (esme is nowhere in this. olaf is nowhere in this.) and that’s…………..awful, but, as I was writing the following scene, you know who I wrote him more like?????? arthur fucking poe, what did I just fucking do, honestly poe is a WORSE choice but…...well

mr. poe: we have peppermint brownies today!

[I just saw someone on the food network make peppermint cheesecake brownies and I want them so bad]

klaus: oh, i’m allergic

mr. poe: oh, well, please live

mr. poe: I cannot perform cpr

klaus: …………………………………………………………….shouldn’t you maybe –

mr. poe: for your own personal safety and especially my own i’m going to have to ask you to step away from the brownies

[violet shows up on mr poe’s other side]

violet: oh! peppermint, i’m allergic

mr. poe: another – didn’t I just see you? how did your hair get longer that fast? that’s not an allergic reaction, is it?

violet: ……………………………………………………………...i don’t think that’s –

mr. poe: i’m going to eat this entire brownie pan to save lives, but also because I want these brownies

he came out more like show!poe instead of book!poe but, I do not care, no one cares about mr. poe.

SO, violet and klaus eventually do meet and have practically zero immediate animosity, also through fencing!!! lemony and bea are both canonically badass fencers but I stand by what I said in fight me, that lemony is the better fencer, and violet wins. klaus concedes his loss to a talented fencer. they take off their masks and are like WHOA WE LOOK REASONABLY SIMILAR

violet: I don’t know, I think your eyes might be little farther apart than mine.

klaus: oh, don’t worry, i’ll probably grow into them. it can take some time before people really grow into their faces.

however this does get them talking and they find out they have so much in common! they’re like, ‘you like books and only have one super weird parent??? what a coincidence!’

then they find out they both play cards. (this stays, cause poker games are gold and I am reasonably sure watching the parent trap so much as a kid was what instilled this love of ‘hilarious poker games’ in me because I used to jam them into my fanfics all the time.) (also explains why I only know two poker hands….)

they hold an (amicable!) poker game that night with all the campers, and they do like a round robin tournament sort of thing and swap tips all night until it’s just the two of them facing each other, and klaus wins. (lemony is Pretty Good at cards and definitely taught violet BUT you’re damn right bea taught her kid how to count cards. not that klaus wins through cheating, he also has a natural talent and bea’s impeccable poker face. klaus also hangs out with ramona, who has repeatedly kicked lemony’s ass at cards as well.)

since they still have to wind up in the isolation cabin (because how else are they going to secretly plan swapping identities with NO GODDAMN COUNSELOR noticing???), CARMELITA is at camp and busts them for the poker game. she got eliminated pretty early in the game and camped out outside the cabin the rest of the kids were in waiting until someone won and then got mr. poe.

mr poe: gambling is not for children! unless of course you have a verified accountant or, perhaps, an established banker who wanted to embark on a personal journey and decided to run a camp for small children but has always wanted to go back and manage money again because, you know, even after the two scandals, I was good at – but we don’t have time for this, violet, klaus, it’s very irresponsible to try and get adults going on a tangent to avoid your responsibilities.

violet and klaus: but we didn’t –

mr poe: i’m afraid that I have no other choice but to send you to the isolation cabin.

carmelita: cakesniffers in the isolation cabin!!! CAKESNIFFERS IN THE ISOLATION CABIN!!!!

oh……..that was painful.

AT LEAST THE CABIN IS LIKE A NICE GOOD CABIN AND NOT the orphan shack, also like how far into the woods is the isolation cabin???? do the marvas really just leave kids out there?????? come on, marvas…..

and so our heroes get stuck in a windy lil cabin out in the woods.

what do they do when they hang out there, since they have Zero Animosity???? talk about books. read books. klaus does sketches of various local leaves. violet rewires the lamps so they don’t flicker and rigs up the windows so they don’t bang open in the middle of the night. the only thing they argue about is how to make toast, which isn’t even IN the cabin (unless violet makes something into a toaster), whatever

does klaus have a stuffed animal like cuppy???? damn straight he does. because why the hell not. (some boys play with dolls? SOME BOYS HAVE STUFFED ANIMALS)

i’m being really basic here but it’s a teddy bear BUT bea made lil wire glasses for it because klaus got glasses when he was real little so she thought he’d feel better if his favorite stuffed animal also had glasses (bea wears glasses but she HATES wearing them although I think after klaus gets glasses she tries to wear them more because bea is supportive as hell) (she needs new glasses though like they’re still these big thick black frames from her goth phase and she hates them but she hates the idea of an eye doctor appointment more) (bold of me to assume bea has ever honestly stopped having a goth phase, though…)

oh gosh what is the bear’s name

what’s something like super nerdy but cute for a small book-loving child to have named a bear

oh no, he names it kenneth. bea reads baby klaus the wind in the willows and he names his bear kenneth and this is so cute. I can’t fucking handle this, oh my god

honestly I am one of those people who thinks oreos w/ peanut butter would be pretty disgusting. (I mean, without the cream in the middle, sure, that probably tastes good, but like, with the cream and the peanut butter???? no) their snack of choice is………….hey isn’t there a snack in penultimate peril at the picnic it’s mentioned they like

or is just because I have that particular book within three feet of me, i’m gonna check

okay, it does mention that klaus likes custard eclairs, violet makes a smoked fish sandwich and wants to try the chocolate spread. maybe they just like oreos, sans peanut butter. I like oreos. (also, you can’t stash eclairs in a suitcase.

olivia, staring at a series of freshly-baked custard eclairs and a collection of tupperware containers: ….do you think I made too much??

ramona: olivia, he’s – he’s just going to summer camp.)

ANYWAY, how do they realize they’re siblings???? like???? how do

do they have half pictures in this??????? I think that’s honestly going to be the easiest way

like, of course lemony and beatrice would have a wedding picture, and they are both absolutely extra and dramatic enough to have each other’s half

it probably is still a ‘sitting at a table, staring lovingly at each other’ sort of thing, lemony in a white suit and beatrice in a suitably extravagant but actually still somehow very low-key for her wedding dress (there’s a lot of tulle though, like………..layers of tulle………………………..), their color scheme flower-wise was red and white roses because like, what fucking else would they pick at that time (they are only JUST convinced by like, jacques, probably, to do red/white instead of red/black, beatrice personally wanted purple/black)

kit gave violet the picture of beatrice, because while she hasn’t spoken to beatrice since her brother’s divorce, she does think lemony and bea could stand to talk to each other

(although I headcanon kit as the kind of person to firmly forget about past romances and put them behind her THROUGH ANY MEANS NECESSARY this is not strict asoue canon, and she always liked beatrice, anyway. lemony and bea breaking up isn’t like kit and olaf breaking up, which, i’m not even gonna try and touch in this)

klaus found the picture of lemony when he was reading through anna karenina (beatrice forgot she put it in there when she let klaus read it) and figured immediately that it had to be his father, and he kept it (maybe he showed it to ramona, who was like, ‘yep, that was your father. goodness, I forgot how awful his hair looked back then.’)

they’re probably reading some book about geography (klaus is into geography at the time)

klaus: my mother says that for my birthday next year, she’ll take me on a trip to see the famous hinterlands sunset.

violet: my father’s shown me pictures, but he agrees that it’s a lot prettier in person, but he’s also not one for planes.

klaus: well, I don’t believe hinterlands are technically confined to one geographical area, i’m sure there’s more than just in california – here, i’m sure there must be more information in the index.

violet: when’s your birthday, klaus?

klaus: january 8th.

violet: !!!! that’s my birthday!

klaus: !!! that is an extraordinary coincidence.

I never said these kids were smart.

klaus: violet, what’s your father like?

violet: he’s kind of quiet, but he’s very kind. oh, I have a picture of him – well, sort of –

she pulls out from one of her own books a picture of lemony, from behind, sitting at his desk at his typewriter, absolutely no recognizable features present whatsoever

violet: he didn’t know aunt kit was taking the picture, otherwise he would’ve turned around.

violet: actually, even then he probably wouldn’t have? he insists he’s not very photogenic.

violet: what about your father?

klaus: i’ve never met him. he’s – my mother doesn’t talk about him much, but I got the impression that they divorced shortly after I was born.

violet: oh, gosh. i’m sorry, klaus.

violet: ….sometimes I think I get that impression too, about my parents.

klaus: i’m sorry too, violet.

and if this were a snicket novel, insert soft, gentle explanation about divorce and commiseration and finding kindred spirits in your friends and how sometimes love does not work out and the affects we don’t realize it has on the children who watch it happen or see the aftermath and are left with the gnawing wonder of what went wrong and how violet and klaus each wonder, a little, what the cause was, and it can be very lonely, at the end of the day, to know that even if you have one parent who loves you very much, there is someone out there who may not love you at all, and never got the chance to know you to love you, and an even deeper part of you that wonders – no matter how young you were – were you the cause of it?

violet: oh, but I – I have a picture of my mother, my aunt kit gave it to me – I have it in my suitcase

violet: /gets up to get the picture

klaus: I, I have a picture of my father, too, in fact I think it’s stuck in this book somewhere in the back, I didn’t want to forget it

and

as violet goes to sit back down with the picture of her mother, the half-picture of beatrice from her wedding day, klaus pulls out from the index the half-picture of lemony from his wedding day

and they are

STUNNED

to realize

this is, of course, the exact same picture.

there’s a lot of hugging and crying.

so they realize they’re siblings!!! and then decide try to figure out what the hell even happened with their parents, because now that they know they’re fucking related and still somehow wound up meeting each other they realize that there has to be some incredibly detailed story behind the reasoning for their parents splitting up and now they have not just proof but an actual opportunity to find out and maybe, just maybe, get their parents back together in the process!!! it worked once!!! it could work again, why not!!!!!

AND SO THEY DECIDE TO SWAP PLACES. (contrary to hallie having the idea, it occurs to them at the same time.)

meanwhile

for the past, say, YEAR, or so, bea has been seeing bertrand, a friend from her childhood (just narrowly managing to keep it from klaus BECAUSE it will involve A Conversation About Lemony and Commitment and Marriage and Things Not Working Out and Falling In Love With Someone Else and look bea is good at a lot of things but it’s a really heavy subject for her that even after eleven years she hasn’t quite figured out how to parse, so she’s really been putting off trying to explain all of that to klaus, in a case of her vastly underestimating her son [bea you see all the books he reads…….talk to your son]), and things are going well between them and they love each other a lot and!!! they decide to get married.

how do they meet up again??? bertrand winds up going to one of her plays completely on accident. he’s been on the other side of the country for years and years and he happens to go to napa and hears about this play happening and he’s like ‘well that sounds really neat!’ because bertrand had a short-lived theater career in high school and doesn’t act all that much anymore but appreciates a good play! who doesn’t appreciate a good play??

(bertrand played lieutenant frank cioffi in his senior year production of curtains to rave local newspaper reviews. bea, meanwhile, gave a stunning performance as carmen bernstein [esme wanted to be carmen so fucking bad and she’s never forgotten that bea got the role instead, and that would not even factor into this au even if esme WAS in this au] [esme was, instead, jessica cranshaw (if it was a small school she maybe doubled as bambi), ramona was niki harris, olivia played johnny harmon, olaf was…...daryl grady……..which pains me to write cause the guy I had a crush on in high school played daryl, josephine and ike played georgia hendricks and aaron fox, jacquelyn and gustav were head of stage crew, lemony supported them all from the audience – unless lemony was sasha????!!!!!!!! okay lemony was totally sasha.]) (wow I got unnecessarily invested in their high school drama club.) (IS THEODORA THE DRAMA ADVISOR?????? oh my god. oh my god she’d be so bad at it but so good. i’m dying.

theodora: snicket you need to FLOURISH your baton with MUCH MORE GUSTO

lemony: I am going to flourish this baton right up your –

bertrand: HE’S DECIDED AGAINST IT THANK YOU MISS MARKSON)

(hey you ever write a parallel that’s so good you hate it????? olivia is johnny. olaf is daryl.)

(I usually headcanon bertrand as two years older than bea and lemony but for the purposes of this au they’re all the same age – however bertrand joined drama club first, and I picture lemony as more of a band kid than a drama kid, they probably just pull him in for curtains.

was lemony drum major???? I want to say ‘hell no’ but I also want to say ‘most cryptic drum major ever, lead the most bizarre championship performance in the school’s history, somehow still won’) (I wonder what song it was to???? that right there is where my secondhand band knowledge conks out.) (but if I HAD to supply ‘bizarre, cryptic song for championships’ I would probably pick like, david lynch’s dark night of the soul or something, idk.) (but like, listen to it and just imagine it with marching band instruments……….i kind of like it. i’m kind of digging it.)

ANYWAY BERTRAND LOVES SEEING PLAYS and he goes to see it and he has NO IDEA bea is even in it and he’s like SUPER THROWN to see her but also???? really excited! it’s been eleven years!!! he can talk to her!!!! he finds her after the play and bea immediately drops whatever she was holding and is just like???? absolutely breathless to see him again (it’s been ELEVEN YEARS, cats. oh god no it’s been more like FIFTEEN YEARS since bertrand has seen bea cause they haven’t spoken since high school oh no that hurts even MORE). a giantass hug is involved. bea spins bertrand around. they make plans to see each other later. then they start hanging out, and they like, reconcile from their weird high school fallout and have a really neat relationship)

(so

the high school fallout

lemony and bea and bertrand were all delightful friends since they were kids (well, lemony and bea were, bertrand moved to town and joined their class when they were freshman in high school). they all had stupid crushes on each other, uggg. there was. an incident. at the end of their school escapades that resulted in a falling out with bertrand (maybe they had an idea of how they all felt and just couldn’t or weren’t ready to figure it out and it sort of. drove a wedge between them. not on purpose, it was just the way it happened to work out, with teenage emotions and refusing to talk about things and uncertainty. lemony+bea and bertrand went their separate ways after graduation, lemony and bea married right out of college, bertrand does his own thing, life goes on.) (maybe there was like some prom drama about who was gonna take who and who asked who first or something (at my junior prom, I was ready to kill the guy I asked who turned me down for that very reason). I mean that’s legit???? prom drama is incredibly legit. why is there so much drama at prom??????)

(honestly after going back and writing the production of curtains and remembering the (specifically romance-related) drama I witnessed happening among the drama club at my high school (I wasn’t in drama but I had a startling number of friends who were) i’m surprised they had the drama at prom and not in the middle of drama club, but i’m still going to stand by ‘prom drama.’)

(and I feel like it was prom drama of the type that’s like, low-key there and A Thing people think about but no one talks about or addresses so the whole night is real awkward and you worry something is gonna break out at any second but nothing does but you’re still obsessively on your toes about it. like, that simultaneously high-strung just-there high school romance drama angst that’s just this ever-present layer coloring everything that people say and do, hyped up specifically because it’s PROM. they probably all danced with each other and the dances were all cut short because of Feelings and Awkwardness and no one knew what to do, the whole damn night.)

and like, bertrand, going off to college and a little heartbroken but unwilling to try and do anything about it, is upset, but bertrand is also bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire, and honestly he wants them to be happy (bertrand is……..very non-confrontational……….and it is honestly his downfall, he likes to have fun and be nice and kind, and to acknowledge scary things is to actually deal with them and that scares bertrand so much, he buries a lot of things – so do bea and lemony, and in fact all of vfd, but in very different ways. bertrand has achieved a sort of Chill™ that bea and lemony just do not have) so he just goes on with his life, he does date other people but nothing ends in marriage, he becomes a librarian in maine and is actually only in california originally for a few months to help manage some of the collections at local libraries. then he runs into bea and he doesn’t like INTEND for a romance to happen (and neither does bea, which I also firmly stand behind for their canon romance too), he still planned to leave at the end of the few months, but it happens and bertrand feels a lot more secure in himself and his feelings about people than he did in high school and they really do love each other, a lot

oh he went to college for library science!!!! obviously lemony majored in lit and bea majored in theater and music)

(OH NO WAS BERTRAND AT THE WEDDING?????? oh no bertrand was not at the wedding. I mean he’s certainly invited but bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire is also bertrand ‘vaguely heartbroken, does not want to interfere, can actually honestly only take so much’ baudelaire and he says that he’ll be unable to make it. sigh. I want to say he sends a sweet wedding gift or even just flowers but man that makes me so sad to think about lemony and bea getting that on/around their wedding day and THEM being sad and i’m too sad now, bertrand does not send a gift. (he’s torn up about not sending a gift for some time. years later, walking through an antique shop, he is struck with the ‘Years Later But Still Feels Like It Just Happened And Oh Shit Why Did I Do That’ brand of Lingering Awful Anxiety™ about all that.)

HE DOES NOT KNOW ABOUT THE DIVORCE until he meets up with bea and she tells him.

bertrand: so how’s lemony????

beatrice: ahahhahahhahahhahhahahhahhahhahhahhahahaaaa!!!!!!

beatrice: ahahaha

beatrice: ahaha.

beatrice: …….oh you genuinely do not know oh shit i’m sorry

(I wanted so badly to put in my ‘bertrand and olivia were good cute friends and actually are penpals and like lemony and ramona’s ongoing card game they have an ongoing checkers game’ headcanon but it just. won’t. fit. in. here. cause why wouldn’t olivia have told him about the divorce???? I mean it’s bea’s thing to tell, NOT olivia’s, but to occasionally write to bertrand for YEARS and never mention she and ramona live with bea?????? I think that’s a little much.)

(does bertrand ever try and convince bea to reconcile with lemony???? I feel like at this point in his life he WOULD but bea would have very early on and very firmly vetoed that. and bertrand wouldn’t necessarily be happy about it but respects her wishes. not because he wants bea all to himself. but because bertrand is also quite frankly still. a little nervous re: navigating relationships. like he’s for sure A LOT BETTER at it now but like!!!! especially with lemony like bertrand is TERRIFIED of seeing lemony again. he really is. I think he thinks lemony blames him for stuff even though lemony does not. and I don’t want it to seem like bertrand’s……….just sort of swooping in and taking bea and not letting her talk to lemony????? cause it’s not that, it’s not that at all

they do really love each other

and just because bertrand’s grown as a person doesn’t mean he’s PERFECT

and bea certainly Does Not want to talk to lemony

it’s just, nick never mentions to meredith that hallie’s a twin and meredith HATES hallie and annie anyway, but bertrand does not hate kids and I just wonder, has bea told him about violet???????? like why wouldn’t she????????

so I mean yeah they probably have talked about it, and probably still came to the same conclusion, bea Does Not want to talk to lemony either, just, not right now, and yeah bertrand isn’t delighted about it but he’s like ‘alright, okay.’ because he still understands her reasoning and for all his talk he really doesn’t want to talk to lemony either

but it’s, I think it’s a thing, in the back of their minds, a worry that hits them sometimes, have they done something wrong, trying to forget)

(and this is why planning takes so much time because I always have so many stupid questions about characters)

(when bea and lemony were young and in college and extraordinarily drunk they would come up with new titles for bertrand, because they forgot they were trying not to talk about him

beatrice: bertrand ‘best hair this side of the mississippi’ baudelaire

lemony: bertrand ‘smooth hands’ baudelaire

beatrice: bertrand –

beatrice: wait do you mean like, his legit hands or like what he DOES with his hands

lemony, trying very hard not to think about Doing Things with Hands: ……..both

lemony: I definitely mean both

beatrice: good, I agree

beatrice: bertrand ‘i WILL dance the charleston and no one will stop me and I do not care’ baudelaire

lemony: bertrand ‘softest reading voice’ baudelaire

lemony: no no, wait, bertrand ‘BEST reading voice’ baudelaire, remember when he read ee cummings

beatrice: bertrand ‘i read lord of the flies and cried at the end’ baudelaire

lemony: oh bea are you complimenting him or being mean

beatrice: lemony I read lord of the flies and threw it out the fucking window when that kid killed piggy

beatrice: that was a compliment)

(ee cummings is because I have a scene in another fic where bertrand reads ‘maggie and milly and molly and may’ to beatrice and lemony and gosh…..i hope I get to use it at some point, it was a beautiful scene)

(they probably stop talking about bertrand like, sophomore year of college, idk, it just gets too hard and they become really miserable drunk nineteen-year-olds about it, and that’s not cool) (AT LEAST THEY HAVE THE WHEREWITHAL TO DO THAT)

ANYWAY, back to violet and klaus, who are still at camp and have decided to switch places!

ultimately, violet (like hallie) is supposed to find out how bea and lemony got together, and klaus (like annie) is supposed to find out why they broke up

violet cuts her hair (she’s a little bummed because she likes her hair but at least it won’t get in her way when inventing) and pierces klaus’s ears (klaus is so UP FOR THIS he’s very excited, also he keeps himself calm during it by telling violet the history of ear piercing) (these kids are either canonically very good at rationalizing or it’s just me radically projecting again…..or both), klaus practices wandering around without glasses (he bumps into EVERYTHING), violet practices how to fucking wear glasses and not die (she falls over EVERYTHING), of course violet already has an appreciation for books but she has to get the definition thing down (and growing up with lemony ‘a phrase which here means’ snicket left her with a pretty unorthodox idea of word meanings sometimes

klaus: so an optimist is someone who sees a positive side in any situation, like –

violet: say, if their arm was bit off by an alligator, a pessimist would say, “ahh! my arm!” and an optimist would say, “well, this isn’t too bad, no one will wonder if i’m right or left handed now.”

klaus: ……….what sort of person is our father

violet: he’s very specific about words.)

klaus has to figure out?????? how to invent on the fly????? (he’s seen beatrice macgyver a million things together but he’s still not sure how she does it) and the two of them teach each other about their lives, beatrice and lemony, ramona and olivia and kit and dewey and bernadette

violet: bernadette is really delightful, but you need to watch out for her

klaus: well, she is six years old –

violet: no, I mean, she can appear at a moment’s notice, and I don’t know who taught her how to pick locks, because I certainly didn’t and father can’t pick locks, but she can do it in under seven seconds.

(jacques taught her how to pick locks (he also taught violet). I don’t know where vfd fits into all this or if it even does in this fanfic but like, just try and tell me these guys don’t still act like absurd spies in any universe anyway.) (also I think lockpicking is, in general, a handy life skill, even if you aren’t living the absurd spy life.)

klaus: mother is, um

klaus: a little embarrassing

violet: how so?

klaus: she once scaled a ten foot wall because I forgot my lunch.

(ramona: hey so why did becoming a parent rob you of your top-notch secrecy skills?

[not necessarily, though, I mean, she does a great job scaling the ten-foot wall in complete secrecy. bea just, has a lot of love for her son, and is VERY OBVIOUS ABOUT IT, is the thing]

beatrice: ramona have you SEEN my son

beatrice: I will take a BULLET for him

beatrice: preferably in a non-critical area so we can hang out afterwards.

beatrice: but if I have to embarrass the shit out of him to make sure he eats, I WILL)

violet: father is the same way, a little. he keeps crying on the first day of school and I don’t have the heart to break it to him that I might be too old for that.

klaus: mother calls encouraging phrases from the car, which I think she does to prevent me from walking into school too fast.

violet: you know, they really sound like they were made for each other.

(lemony and bea, like, separately, are such legit disaster parents and I love them, they love their kids so damn much.)

the last day of camp comes, and it is time for them to officially swap places – violet goes to beatrice, klaus goes to lemony!

klaus recites book themes to himself the whole plane ride to england to keep himself calm because he’s trying not to think about how worried and excited he is!!! he’s going to meet his father for the first time!! truth be told, he knows pretty much nothing about lemony, even after talking to violet!!! IT’S A LOT FOR ANY KID TO TAKE IN, to suddenly think ‘yeah this was a good plan – oh fuck’

anyway, he meets kit at the airport, because kit is there to pick up violet. (kit and violet do not have a secret handshake. they have, of course, dart-throwing contests. of course that doesn’t make sense in an airport, but whatever. that’s their thing.)

why does kit pick klaus up at the airport instead of lemony??? I mean kit is in martin’s role but she’s NOT martin, you know, she’s lemony’s sister and definitely does not wait on him, but she does drop violet off at camp anyway, although in the movie that’s to prevent elizabeth (and nick) from showing up until the kids switch for Maximum Emotional Impact, but like lemony is obviously not THAT fucking busy he can’t pick up his own daughter

I had the thought that like kit is maybe his manager (on the side, otherwise she has….god some other job)??? does that work for a writer???? i’m a writer and I don’t even know. whatever. and kit maybe scheduled a reading that day by accident months in advance and couldn’t change it, or it runs long, so she has to get violet (klaus) from the airport

(moxie is still his editor, only she lives way out of town and they send angry emails to each other all the time about his work)

also ties in with hallie’s scene where she looks at elizabeth’s vanity and says she’s super cool about the wedding dresses cause I love that scene a LOT and I want klaus to think his stupid dad’s cool!!!

kit: violet, I am all for the beginning of your teenage rebellion with this new hairstyle but I should inform you that your father may just die.

klaus: you think he won’t like it??

[read: YOU THINK HE WON’T LIKE ME]

kit: he’ll probably come around to it. he’s still at his reading, do you want to surprise him?

klaus: !!!!!!

klaus: yes!

the reading is huge. I have no damn idea what lemony writes in this au, definitely not danhan’s stuff cause it’s not his vibe, but he still writes the picture books (although there are YEARS between them irl he wrote the composer is dead and the dark for bernadette before she became, in her words, Too Old For That Sort of Thing although she still secretly really likes them and reads the dark every night before she goes to bed. bernadette, in contrast to babybea, is fucking terrified of the dark but tries to like rationalize it out by thinking through the science of light or something, and then by just rereading the dark), oh he probably like, okay so he can’t just write asoue but he probably writes some other great children’s book series with the same sort of writing style and moral discussion, and the picture books

and violet told klaus he wrote stuff and bea like…..knows he does and refuses to talk about it but reads ramona’s copies in the middle of the night (and then has to stop doing that cause it bums her out too much), but klaus has no idea about it or how good it is and he’s so impressed, sitting at the back of this giant giant theater, and klaus loves books, he loves them with all his heart, and to sit there and see his father, for the first time in his whole life, doing something that klaus thinks is so incredibly cool

klaus: wow.

okay, so, the damn relief and happiness on lemony’s face when he sees kit and klaus

has he been imagining terrible airplane accidents for the past week? weeks? MONTHS??? yes he has.

he sees them once he gets offstage and immediately runs at this child (or, at least, definitely fastwalks.) and sweeps klaus up into this giant giant hug

klaus is!!! overwhelmed by the amount of sheer unadulterated love in this hug oh no i’m crying

putting aside that he’s pretending to be violet, this is the first time he gets a hug from his father and even if lemony thinks he’s violet klaus is still the one getting the hug and it’s just, a lot, man, it’s a lot, that scene in the movie where elizabeth hugs hallie is exactly the vibe right here god it’s so fucking sweet

lemony: oh, goodness – what happened to your hair?

klaus: I – I cut it. do you –

lemony is in the process of remembering that scissors and haircuts exist, he’s a little blindsided here

lemony: no, no – haircuts are things that happen, at one time or another, to all of us.

lemony: i’m just so happy that you’re back.

he just. hugs klaus again. god I can’t handle how much lemony loves his kids. klaus is really emotional and I’M really emotional I have to move on

on the ride home (kit is still driving)

lemony: so how was it at camp?

klaus: /frantically thinking of how he’s going to pull off something violet would say now that he’s HERE and has to act like her and decides to just be honest and hope it comes out okay

klaus: I had a lot of fun; the outdoors are incredibly pulchritudinous.

lemony: /thoroughly convinced that the outdoors has finally instilled violet with a greater poetic sense

I NEVER SAID THEIR PARENTS WERE SMART EITHER

do you know how wild the plot of this movie really is, when you get down to it, parents not recognizing their kids wtf have I done

violet can act pretty passably as klaus, but klaus, even employing beatrice’s acting techniques, just can’t act. but the one who finds him out is bernadette, like half an hour after he gets home.

[you can tell what scenes originally started this outline because they’re actually written like scenes, this was one of them]

[bernadette stares at klaus with wide, curious eyes over the top of her book. “you’re not violet,” she says.

the bottom of klaus’s stomach drops clear out. “what?”

“violet doesn’t squint when she’s confused,” bernadette says. “she frowns and puts her hair up. and it’s something she’s used to doing, so even if her hair was cut, she’d still reach for a ribbon, out of habit. you’re klaus. shouldn’t you have glasses? mother says aunt beatrice wore glasses.”

“how – how did you know about me?”

bernadette rolls her eyes. “i know everything,” she says loftily, for a six year old. “i can read, after all.”]

bernadette is the best kid. so I love babybea so much but babybea in canon is like…..still very on point but very quiet about it, because she’s grown up with really so little interaction with people????? she’s like a really subdued kid because she’s had to be so independent and do so many things herself. and she’s got her firm, almost unshakable optimism. so bernadette is still very quick and clever but a LOT more precocious about it and pretty boisterous for six years old and just. even more like kit than babybea is. her optimism is a little more…..sharp in this. I don’t think she understands embarrassment, as a thing that people experience, because she sure doesn’t. she’s just like, ‘well why don’t you just try again??????’ and it’s so great to see that inherent commitment to existence in a six year old

(an important sidenote from my bernadette headcanon list, though, is that she really does just read everything. she reads cereal boxes and magazines and reports and all the papers on lemony’s desk and really just absolutely anything she can get her hands on, and she’s easily bored so she goes looking for stuff sometimes and she’s good at putting things together, so that’s how she knows about klaus.)

[“i’m not gonna tell anybody,” she says. “i wanna see what happens. uncle lemony’s kind of lonely, you know? and aunt beatrice – when they talk about her – always sounded really nice.”]

bernadette makes it her MISSION to help klaus act more like violet and cover for him as much as she can

bernadette: you need to walk different

bernadette: and hold yourself a little taller

bernadette: here, keep this wrench in your pocket, violet likes wrenches

bernadette: and this ribbon!!! she didn’t give you any????

bernadette: oh, make sure you stare off into the distance while eating and think about machines or something

klaus: how do you notice all these things???

bernadette: ?????? doesn’t everybody?????? she’s your sister, you two didn’t follow each other around to try and pin down how you act????

klaus: …..do you do that, bernadette

bernadette: regularly. I can impersonate anyone’s footsteps. except my mother’s, because I think she keeps wearing different shoes on purpose. i’ll show you sometime.

so, armed with This Random Wrench and a lot of acting details that he can’t process very well, klaus HANGS OUT WITH LEMONY

so klaus spends a lot of time in the library in lemony’s house (which also doubles as lemony’s office, it’s big enough that he and violet can take separate corners and know each other’s there but not run into each other if they don’t want to (especially good for klaus pretending to be violet because no one has to see him TOTALLY FAIL AT INVENTING)), and it has so many books and klaus is so thrilled

klaus has to try and bring up bea and find out how they met, only, DISCREETLY

[gosh this one is a lot harder without “so doesn’t designing all those wedding dresses make you think about getting married again?”, especially because the truly spectacular “f word” line doesn’t make sense with lemony but what can you do]

he probably goes up to lemony while lemony’s at his desk because klaus figures, the easiest way could be to relate to something on the desk

AS purposeful narrative coincidence LUCK WOULD HAVE IT lemony is looking for something in his desk and you know lemony keeps the most inconsequential things and has accidentally dug out his plaque for ‘one semester of cheerleader participation’

klaus, immediately thrown by this news: you were a cheerleader?

lemony: mm? oh, my, I forgot about that.

he smiles at the plaque and dusts it off and my heart is m e l t i n g

lemony: yes, in high school. I wasn’t the only boy on the team, as a matter of fact. a – a friend of mine did it with me.

klaus: why were you on the cheerleading squad?

lemony, trapped in this conversation now: well – your mother was on the soccer team. I was not what you would call athletically inclined at the time, so I joined to support her.

klaus: !!!!!!!

klaus: my – my mother?

this was a fact he did not know about beatrice, as a matter of fact

lemony, realizing that children are going to be curious about their parents and, well, okay, it’s been eleven years, I probably won’t see beatrice again (ahahahahaha.), and my child deserves to know: yes. she was very good at soccer, among other talents, although she didn’t last very long in her soccer career.

klaus: why not?

[if this man was PAYING ATTENTION he would have noticed for sure that klaus is much more straightforward than violet.]

lemony, remembering that time beatrice launched herself across the soccer field and accidentally tackled the assistant coach and dragged him through the mud: she and the coach disagreed on some of the physical aspects of the game.

klaus, dying to hear what lemony���s going to say: what was she like?

lemony, immediately remembering the details of their divorce but also a series of Shenanigans from their school days that he should never repeat to anyone, then resolving to be kind about it: very charming and resourceful.

lemony: she had a great deal of verve.

lemony: I see a lot of it in you.

klaus is touched, I’M touched, god fucking dammit

klaus resolves to leave it there and decides to dig around lemony’s desk later for other things about bea and lemony when lemony isn’t looking

which he promptly does, that night.

klaus sees his typewriter and pictures of kit and jacques and there’s probably one of ramona (in a drawer) (sorry, ramona.) and in a secret compartment in the desk is a pic of bea (maybe one of bertrand too?) (definitely one of bertrand too) and some letters from bea (klaus recognizes her handwriting)

(watch it be something like, some stupid candygram she sent him for valentine’s day that says dear lemony, [the content of this candygram has been censored by the school administration] love bea!!!!!) (bea gets detention for a week for the content of the candygram.) (the second candygram gets through but it’s only because bea writes it so thoroughly in code that the school administration, at a passing glance, cannot see how raunchy it is. but also very heartfelt. it is genuinely heartfelt.) (so of course he has some from bertrand too. because bertrand sent everyone a candygram. they’re all so friendly but so sweet and so cute and bertrand’s just breaking my heart in this whole fic I love him so much) (they’re stuff like, i’m so happy we’re friends! happy valentine’s day! i made sure this candygram doesn’t have anything that will conflict with your peanut allergy! like some fucking NERD and i’m SOBBING) (because you know bertrand was on student council and helped with the candygrams, bea and lemony were definitely not on student council)

(bea: what gets me is that they still sent it!! they censored my loving sonnet about your ass but they still sent it!!!!!!

bertrand: I guess nothing stops true love?

lemony: or, nothing stops beatrice mariner. [you’d have to kill me before I conceded to ‘beatrice kornbluth.’ anyway one of kornbluth’s pen names was mariner so that’s my compromise.])

klaus thinks the candygrams are so fucking embarrassing and also had no idea his mother was capable of such language but then again, no, she is, but he also thinks they’re charming and evidence that lemony still has feelings for beatrice, if he kept them!!

he’s, intrigued, a little concerned, but not very worried about this mysterious picture of a strange man and his own candygrams, although klaus concedes they too are very sweet.

MEANWHILE, back in california

bea is so so so so so excited to pick up klaus (not knowing it’s violet) from the airport, like she manages to sit still for most of the wait but in the last half hour she just sort of bounces around the airport and buys a series of irritating, tasteless teas (“fuck this tea is so bland yes i’m ordering another one, ramona, don’t judge me”) and reads the same newspaper over and over again and when the flight comes in she’s ECSTATIC, MY GIRL IS BOUNCING ALL OVER THE PLACE

she’s the kind of like……...vaguely silly but a little (a lot) overprotective (?) parent

like beatrice is the one SHOUTING AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS WHEN SHE SEES HER KID CAUSE SHE’S SO THRILLED, she’s just very vocal about how much she loves….

[I actually rewrote some of bea in this (or, changed the amount of capitals I had her using) because, like, bea is delightful and charming and very smooth but she’s also got such passion for life, she loves to be delighted and she loves to laugh, and she’s so smooth and sarcastic but like!!!! I love beatrice when she’s having a good time, but I got worried that she was leaning too silly in this which. irritated me.

like, in canon I feel like she is incredibly mischievous but once she gets married and has kids, she’s still very on point and loves her kids very openly but she becomes a lot more straight-laced because she’s so intent to protect them, so much so that I think she loses a little of that mischievousness. but considering the fluctuating capacity of vfd vibes in this au, I think she is a little more…….loose in this. the other thing about bea is that her veneer of perfection is her best acting job of all time, and divorcing lemony and being a single mother and raising klaus puts a big dent in that and makes her even more determined to try and wring as much joy out of life as she can without letting people know how much she has to deal with]

violet, upon getting off the plane and seeing beatrice: oh.

beatrice: look at youuuuuuuuuu LOOK AT YOU!!! you’ve got everything??? all your limbs???? nothing broken????

she says all this while like running straight at violet and patting her down and then giving her the biggest hug of all time. violet is engulfed in this hug and!!! she thought her father gave tight hugs but this is something else

I think lemony puts a lot of warmth in his hugs but beatrice puts this endless amount of joy, along with love, into her hugs, and violet’s life up until this point has been very low-key and surrounded by adults who excel at deadpanning their dialogue so this is!!! very strange but very exciting!!! because violet herself also has this very bright enthusiasm that other people in her family don’t have the same way she does so as much as it’s so different to meet beatrice it’s really cool!!!!!

[for the record, bertrand’s hugs exude safety]

re: pierced ears

beatrice: oh, ramona and olivia are gonna be real upset.

beatrice: they definitely wanted to be involved in your first rebellious teenager act.

beatrice: then again, so did I??

violet: doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a rebellious act?

beatrice, going in for a side-hug: …...i missed that snark so much

does beatrice have a dog???? she’s really not a dog person. neither are ramona and olivia (dogs scare olivia. in fact, most things scare olivia. the toaster scares olivia. she’s so nervous and I love her.) (it’s less of a josephine fear and more of a ‘please leave me alone!!!’ sort of startled fear, is how I see it)

if there is a pet, ramona and olivia have a cat that olivia named annabelle, and she’s a sweet, all-white cat who loves cuddles. she does not even care that violet isn’t klaus. she’s just like, ‘this person has arms!! this person can cuddle.’ annabelle is the best, most chill cat. (although I headcanon that bea is allergic to cats – but that was just cause I was allergic to cats, and now that i’m not allergic to cats????? GUESS IT’S FREE REIN NOW) (anyway the cat is still ramona and olivia’s.)

so bea has to introduce klaus (violet!) to bertrand, and, oh, bea

she really has been putting this conversation off for quite some time, and she decides to just, go for it, as she’s driving violet home

beatrice: klaus, there’s, there’s someone i’d like you to meet

violet: who?

beatrice: an old friend of mine. we’ve been talking recently, and he means a great deal to me, and if you don’t like him, then that’ll be it, but – I really want him to be a part of our lives, klaus. I know it’s a big change, but I’d like you to give him a chance.

violet is REALLY, REALLY THROWN HERE because she and klaus are supposed to get their parents back together!!! this isn’t supposed to happen!!! this is supposed to be a happy ending without this NEW CHALLENGER (UNACCEPTED!!!!), how is she supposed to ask about lemony now???????

violet: oh, um

violet: well, I would like to meet him

she resolves to be HARD AND UNCOMPROMISING when she meets bertrand, but, well, then she meets bertrand fucking baudelaire. bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire. bertrand ‘just desperately wants to make a good impression on his fiance’s son’ baudelaire. god I love him. what a guy.

especially because bertrand really does just want to make a good impression, and he knows klaus is into geography right now so he brings this absolutely impressive atlas as a gift

not as an attempt to bribe klaus into liking him, but to show that he’s supportive of his interests!!!!

bertrand, sweetest man alive, shaking violet’s hand: i’m so excited to finally meet you!!

violet, blindsided by the sweetest man alive: oh, thank – thank you. it’s very nice to meet you too.

bertrand: I heard you were into geography, so I brought this atlas for you! I hope it’s alright.

violet, holding the biggest, heaviest atlas she’s ever seen in her life: oh. that’s very kind of you.

they spend some time looking through it because it has so many cool details

he stays for a while and then bows out gracefully because he cares so much, hello i’m dying, and then beatrice asks violet what she thought

violet: I –

violet: I liked him a lot.

beatrice: are you sure? because I swear, it’s fine, klaus, if you’re uncomfortable, it’s absolutely okay, it’s –

violet: no no! it’s fine!

[read: IT’S NOT FINE]

violet: I have this….atlas, now.

beatrice: you could kill a man with that.

violet: probably! I probably could.

beatrice: ….so it’s okay?

violet: ….it’s okay, mother.

[read: IT’S NOT OKAY BUT WHAT ELSE CAN SHE SAY HERE] [hey you know when you take out how much of an awful person meredith is you are left with a lot less humor in this situation.]

beatrice: I don’t know what I did to deserve a child like you, klaus.

cue good, squishy hug.

[personally I cannot fathom marrying someone else and having twins and raising one of them and not trying to have a relationship with your other child because you didn’t want to work things out with first spouse, but I never said I myself was smart either, in what I chose to write (I NEVER SAID I TOOK THE EASY WAY OUT)

anyway, I do think when bea says that, she thinks about it for a second

that (as far as she knows) this is klaus, she’s known him his whole life, and she had so little time with violet and maybe she would be sweet and clever too and she doesn’t know

she doesn’t know!!!!!!!

and it tears her apart for a split second that she doesn’t have everything and before she can let it eat her alive she shoves it down and forgets about it like she does with everything else and just, moves on] [time is a scary thing – if this much time has passed, what can you do? do they care? is it easier to do nothing or does that hurt more? does it even matter when both parents know their kids don’t know about their sibling or their other parent (or as far as they know at this moment)??? does that possibly make it even a little easier????] [anyway.]

because of bertrand – or, not necessarily bertrand, but more, ‘wedding shenanigans,’ but also, yeah, bertrand – violet also spends comparatively little time with beatrice

she wants to dislike him on principle, but can’t because he’s just???? so nice!!!! he talks seriously to her about her parents and about her (well, klaus) and really wants to get to know her (well, klaus) violet is begrudgingly impressed. violet thinks klaus would be really impressed too. but she’s real worried about what means for lemony and beatrice

especially since they did this not only to get their parents back together but to spend time with the opposite parent, like!!! violet has spent practically zero (0) time with bea to get to know her!!!!

so she holds off for a little bit and just genuinely hopes bertrand will somehow be less nice

this is hard, when bertrand helps bea make dinner ever night (klaus was VERY EXPLICIT that beatrice allows NO ONE in the kitchen when she’s cooking so there’s that) and he talks so damn OPENLY to violet about being a presence in her life

bertrand: klaus, I hope you don’t think i’m intruding in your life.

violet: I understand where you’re coming from when you say that but remarriage is in fact a part of life that occurs with some frequency.

[not only death and taxes, but haircuts and remarriage….]

violet: mother said you were an old friend, though?

bertrand: yes, we went to school together.

violet: if you don’t think it’s too rude of a question

violet: you strike me as the type of person who would have had a high school sweetheart and I am perhaps a little concerned that you didn’t marry my mother earlier.

inside, violet is cringing but it’s a very klaus line.

bertrand: !

bertrand: oh, well, we didn’t date each other in high school.

violet: ! you didn’t?

bertrand: no, there was –

bertrand has been. avoiding these feelings for some time. but he’s so struck by them that he has NO poker face in this situation

bertrand: – it just didn’t work out at the time, that’s all.

but fuck violet is absolutely stunned by that look on his face

she’s never seen someone look so heartbroken before and she is, concerned, but that’s mostly ignored in favor of the sheer stress of the situation

and violet does actually get kind of angry!! about bertrand being such a good person!! she starts to get really frustrated!!! like I picture this happening over, maybe a week

she hates that she can’t tie her hair back and her thoughts are all jumbled and that she has to wear glasses and she misses her dad and she loves beatrice a lot but NOTHING IS WORKING OUT LIKE SHE WANTED IT TO

and she has to wear klaus’s glasses and keeps taking them off when she’s sure no one’s looking to rub her eyes man I want to give this kid a hug

but she also wants to make her mom happy!!! fuck this is a mess

violet: he’s been – a lot kinder than I thought he would be.

beatrice: yeah, he has that effect on people.

beatrice: when we were in high school, we called him “bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire.”

beatrice is viscerally reminded of Being Drunk In College and tries to shrug it off

however, violet, growing up with two detail-oriented snickets, does not miss a single thing

violet: we?

beatrice: oh, you know – nicknames, nicknames stick, klaus, everybody calls everybody things!!

violet: it just sounded as if you were….

violet: /casts around for the correct grammatical term, she’s committed, but comes up with nothing because hell even I don’t know, apologies to my grammar professor from college

violet: ….using ‘we’ to mean just you and someone else and not necessarily lots of people.

beatrice is actually vaguely suspicious to hear Less Technical Grammar but chalks it up to the situation

beatrice: well, I mean, we had friends, of course – ramona and olivia!! that’s!! that’s who i’m talking about!! that’s all!!

violet remembers that ramona gave klaus his half of the wedding picture, and klaus told her what ramona said, that ramona didn’t like lemony’s hair at the time, and violet’s done the math, she knows how old lemony and bea are and that she and klaus were born not long after they left college, and with this sudden but persistent reluctance to talk about An Additional Person from high school from both bea and bertrand, violet is terribly suspicious that there could, in fact, be much more to this than she initially thought

beatrice: don’t forget, we start looking at hotels for wedding reception venues this week, okay?

violet: okay.

so, that night, violet, now alerted to the possibility that there could be a connection between bertrand and her father, and also DESPERATELY HOPING THERE IS ANYWAY BECAUSE THAT WOULD CAUSE HER SO MUCH LESS STRESS, goes digging

she grew up with bernadette for the past six years (and has also seen lemony create giant information webs to map out books), VIOLET KNOWS HOW TO GET INFORMATION AND PUT IT TOGETHER

she starts looking for yearbooks – they all went to the same school, for years, they have to be somewhere, but violet can’t find anything in the library, or ramona’s studio, or olivia’s office, or beatrice’s hiding place (the kitchen), and then looks through their desks for papers or plaques or photographs or anything that could give her a hint (nope)

if there is one thing she’s learned from bernadette, but also her father, it’s that the best place to hide something is usually in plain sight, which leads violet back to the library, pulling out boring-looking books to see if anything is stored behind them or in them (still nope)

this leads to violet CLIMBING THE BOOKCASES to reach the top shelf because adults are taller than her and put things on high shelves

and lo and behold, there it is, the senior year yearbook.

violet has a HEART-STOPPING MOMENT in the downward climb (which she’s doing one-handed anyway) where she almost steps on annabelle who she hadn’t realized was sleeping on a shelf and violet is TERRIFIED but annabelle, chillest cat in the world™, just yawns at her and picks a different shelf

annabelle is no sammy.

so, curled up in a library chair, violet finds not only pictures of beatrice and bertrand and lemony in the yearbook, but also a giant section of papers that fold out from the back cover where apparently lemony had more than the average length of a yearbook comment to say to her

violet, vaguely skimming this hardcore romantic comment, incredibly used to her father’s verbosity: yes that sounds about right.

and she finds a (significantly smaller but still lengthy and painfully heartfelt) signature from bertrand nearby, that definitely reads as a guy in love

but she’s still not sure how they feel about each other now, like a few yearbook signatures are no indication of how a person feels over eleven years later, so she’s still nervous about this and decides to sleep on it

this takes the whole night, violet is exhausted in the morning

now re: chessy unpacking hallie’s (annie’s) suitcase in the movie, it’s not that ramona did the same, but when doing the laundry earlier she did notice this weird amount of ribbons stuck in the lint filter/in pockets/pant legs/sleeves

and she barely even thinks anything of it at first and asks olivia and olivia has no clue and she’s not asking beatrice because beatrice has so much on her mind and ramona’s like ‘….hmmm,’ and goes to talk to klaus (violet)

ramona: hey klaus, I keep finding ribbons everywhere and I just wondered –

violet, in the process of running her hand through her hair cause she’s tired and processing a lot and misses being able to tie it: /JUMPS

violet: oh

violet: bookmarks, i’ve been using them as bookmarks

[actually violet has a million ribbons because lemony never wanted her to be without one, and it was so natural for violet to bring them with her she just legit forgot she wasn’t supposed to have them, like hallie with cuppy]

ramona, vaguely concerned: ….yeah, your mother used to do that

ramona: anything wrong with your hair?

violet: oh, no, not at all!

ramona: everything….going okay?

violet: yes, absolutely!

[the thing about violet acting as klaus though is that she can get like his speech patterns down but her own natural cheeriness still shows through in the places where klaus is in general quieter]

this is gonna get discussed right after this but ramona knows violet ties her hair up to focus because lemony told her in a letter, years ago

so ramona frowns and walks over to her and ties her bangs back with one of the ribbons, and violet just so visibly relaxes

ramona, incredibly emotional: oh

ramona: violet?

violet: ….yes.

ramona: so I can’t necessarily abide by breaking up a marriage but HECK YEAH i’m down for helping you reunite them. beatrice got me in the divorce and it’s very irritating just writing to lemony, which he actually hasn’t done for a while, now that I think about it.

violet: why don’t you just visit him? i’m sure he’d love to see you.

ramona: he makes me send the letters to a post office box. I do not know that man’s address.

violet: ……...that sounds about right.

(bea still does not find out until the hotel shenanigans, though.)

(I love ‘beatrice got me in the divorce’ like that’s fucking hilarious, cause I picture ramona as lemony and bea’s best friend so when they aren’t together it’s like…...well, what happens to ramona???? WHO DOES RAMONA HANG OUT WITH?? WHO GETS CUSTODY OF RAMONA)

(but also like, wtf lemony and ramona write to each other and bea never finds out???? I mean ramona was their best friend so like yes I think they do keep in contact but then does ramona never tell lemony about klaus????? and for them to write to each other and ramona to get these letters and BEA IS IN THE SAME HOUSE??????? I can’t tell if this is just angsty or poor thinking through on my part

but like ramona has to know for the reveal scene here to work out right, otherwise she’d never guess specifically violet

unless I rewrite the scene, but? nope. i’m committed to this ribbon reveal. I like it a lot. fuck it.

THIS WAS WHY I TOOK OUT BERTRAND AND OLIVIA AS CUTE PEN PALS auuuuuggggggg

I don’t know I mean. it is weird and stretching this (already shenanigans-filled) fic a little but. I don’t think it’s the WORST illogical thing I can stick in here. and they are friends, they can write to each other, just, yeah, probably not a lot and they actually probably don’t talk about the kids a lot, cause then lemony would know about both kids and since r wouldn’t tell bea she was writing to lemony bea wouldn’t know anything at all about violet and THAT’S what’s not good (although r telling lemony about klaus is cute i’m gonna have to nix it here. no can do.), so yeah r probs never brings up klaus and lemony rarely brings up violet, he probably only mentions the ribbon thing back when she was really really young because of how much it reminded him of bea and lemony was One Sad Man in his twenties trying to cope with the emotional reality of raising a child that reminded him of his wife and needed to tell someone

that is a lot of weight on ramona though and she doesn’t say anything but lemony apologizes for bringing it up in the next letter anyway and actually after that they probably talk a lot less cause it’s hard on both of them)

(writing is hard! writing is hard.)

ramona: so what’s your plan now?

violet: first, I have to make a phone call.

VIOLET CALLS KLAUS, keeping in mind the concept of time zones a little bit better than hallie and annie

violet: so, it turns out that mother is engaged????

klaus: engaged????? to who?????

violet: this man named bertrand, and, honestly, klaus, he’s such a nice person, he brought me, well he brought you, an atlas –

klaus: oh. that is very nice.

violet: it’s the sort of atlas you could probably use to incapacitate a reasonably-sized adult.

klaus: wow.

violet: and mother said that apparently she knew him when she was younger, and they get along so well, but –

klaus, remembering the picture he found with the extra candygrams: wait

klaus: is he sort of tall, and thin, and blonde

klaus: and sort of, idly optimistic

violet: yes! although I would say more….calmly steadfast

klaus: hmmm

klaus, trying to describe bertrand’s facial expression in this picture: disarmingly kind?

violet: humorously honest?

klaus: I think father has a picture of him in his desk!

violet: !!!!

[myth: confirmed!]

klaus: and some notes from high school from mother and him!

violet: !!! klaus, based on some other things i’ve found, I think all of them might have had feelings for each other.

klaus: !! that makes a considerable amount of sense here. if they all still do, that could make this much easier.

violet: but we won’t know for sure unless –

bernadette: who are you two talking about???

klaus: BERNADETTE

violet: bernadette, are you on the extension again

bernadette: well why wouldn’t I be?

bernadette: it sounds like you guys are talking about bertrand.

violet: how do you know who bertrand is?

bernadette: dad talks about him all the time???

bernadette: well, not when uncle lemony’s around

bernadette: he sent dad that book of poetry that mom immediately burned

bernadette: the elephant guy?

violet: …….oh, now that you mention it! that’s right!

klaus: wait why did your mother burn the book

violet: aunt kit has very little patience for certain poetry.

klaus: she doesn’t like john godfrey saxe??

violet: it’s a big deal, it’s best not to get into it.

violet: look, I think what we need to do is get everyone together and sort this all out.

violet: we’re scouting hotels this week for the reception, you can come here and meet up with us at one of them!

MEANWHILE, kit finds bernadette on the extension, for an honestly longer than usual length of time (bernadette does eavesdrop regularly), and also klaus on the phone in general (and violet rarely uses the phone, like, as a phone. usually she’s taking the phone apart), and really, nothing gets past kit fucking snicket. (you know kit denouement does have a great fucking ring to it, but as I said before, just try and tell me she didn’t insist on keeping her maiden name when she got married.)

so she goes and finds klaus and hears the end of the above conversation and is like ‘oh shit, they totally switched on lemony and bea, what badass kids’

[what if she tries to corner bernadette first

kit: bernadette, I didn’t know you knew anyone to call on the phone.

bernadette, without missing a fucking beat: I called the international operator to ask about time zones, but she caught me up in a conversation about soap operas and whether or not their use of sudden death is considered theatrically cathartic or not.

bernadette: I told her it happens way too often for it to be cathartic.

kit is too impressed to counter her. kit loves her daughter so fucking much.]

so then she sort of shows up in klaus’s doorway when he goes to leave the room after the phone call, arms crossed over her chest

kit: is there something you’d like to talk about?

kit can be outrageously intimidating but kit is also, actually, a pretty good parent

kit, significantly more gently: just between you and me, klaus.

klaus: …..maybe.

kit: come on, let’s go for a walk. you can tell me all about it.

klaus: it’s a long story.

kit: well, good, I like long stories.

klaus: are you going to tell father?

kit: don’t you think you should tell him?

klaus: do you think he’ll be upset?

kit: oh, not at all. more with himself than you, anyway. once, violet was responsible for wiping out the electricity of the whole city, and he gave her two slices of cake for dessert and said he should’ve bought more books on electrical wiring.

lemony is appropriately concerned and horrified and thrilled to see his son, like, oh my god, but the moment is taken over by the urgency of the situation because klaus says he has something to tell all of them that cannot wait

[forgive me for not writing that one out.]

klaus: so it seems like mother is getting married

lemony: oh

lemony: well

lemony: like haircuts, marriage – marriage comes to all of us, at some point –

klaus: to bertrand?

kit, lemony, and dewey: /STUNNED, DEAD SILENCE

kit: oh my.

dewey: what are the odds?

lemony: I think I can die now. I believe i’m ready.

bernadette: why don’t you just go see them and work this all out???

lemony: bernadette, I don’t know if life works like that.

bernadette: uncle lemony, you’re going to ruin all my bright-eyed optimism.

dewey: sometimes I think I didn’t have anything to do with you at all, bernadette. I think you just sprang, fully-formed, from your mother’s head.

kit: don’t be vulgar, dewey. ….thank you, though.

kit: but really I don’t see any other way to sort this out than by going to see beatrice and bertrand.

[this was one of the very first conversations I wrote for this and I am still very attached to it, even though I find dewey so hard to write, I haven’t yet figured out how I think he functions with these guys, especially kit, which I should maybe have done sooner but, what can you do.]

[also I feel like it just makes more sense in this for them to KNOW bea is engaged]

[I’m putting this in here because honestly……….in the movie once elizabeth realizes the switch she does not spend nearly enough time hugging hallie constantly or getting to know her, I get that seeing your ex-husband for the first time in eleven years is A Lot but YOUR DAUGHTER WHO YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IN ELEVEN YEARS AS WELL IS RIGHT FUCKING THERE] [also makes up for not writing klaus revealing himself as klaus, i’m so sorry.]

lemony: klaus?

klaus: ?

lemony: I – please don’t think that I didn’t love you. because I do, and I have thought about you every second of every day, I promise you. and there are many things that I should have done as your father, and many things that I cannot make up to you, but I want you to know that whatever happens with this, I have always loved you. and I am sorry.

so i’ve always pictured that klaus (besides looking reasonably like bea anyway, in any universe) gets angry like she does, and bea gets that sort of like, quiet cool hatred that turns into full-blown shouting really quickly and she will pull no punches and just fucking give it to you!!!!! and klaus has some sort of version of that and like look I put a lot of thought into ‘adult problems fucking over small children as those adults fervently avoid those problems’ when I wrote babybea so like

man, of course klaus can be angry at his parents for like???? never trying to work things out???? this is the first time in almost ten years he’s seen his father and his sister and he has an aunt and an uncle (and another uncle he hasn’t even seen!) and a cousin he never knew about because of lemony and bea being stubborn and stupid and recklessly young!!!!! I think violet is honestly less mad about it (well, she gets a little mad about it later on, but like, being raised by lemony, she has this weird way of trying to rationalize things while feeling really guilty about it, but that’s scenes away from right here – or she just? maybe internalizes it more.) but klaus is like, he’s not totally angry but like, as himself, face to face with lemony, lemony talking to him like a parent and about klaus and not about bea or violet or shenanigans or anything, like, yeah, he’s a little angry that it’s just….taken this long and that lemony and bea are so stupid

klaus is an angry crier. and an angry hugger. so that’s what he does.

like it’s hard to suddenly have a relationship with a family member whose never….been that to you before or made themselves available like that or just generally been there at all, and as much as I want them all having a good time, bea and lemony have some shit to work out with their kids

THEY HAVE A GOOD HUG, IS THE POINT

and I want to say that like they spend some time together after this and…….yeah they probs do it’s just gonna be weird re: the previous paragraph so…….maybe they just sit around and read and occasionally point things out to each other, that sounds chill and legit, doesn’t ask a lot of either of them

SO, that brings us to, later that night, when lemony can Officially Panic

kit: so

kit: you seem a little tense, brother mine.

lemony: I am NOT going to break up a marriage between two loving people who care about each other and happen to have incredibly pleasant facial features and are two people I myself still care about a great deal despite not having seen either of them for a lengthy amount of time

lemony: we’re only going to switch the children back, and I will talk to beatrice, about something, and I don’t have to say anything at all to bertrand, and that’s going to be it. that’s all. nothing beyond that.

kit: that would be a more powerful statement if you weren’t packing every single fancy tie you own.

lemony: really.

lemony: we’re not going to think any more into this.

lemony: that’s all we’re going to do.

lemony: which tie should I wear?

kit: well, definitely don’t pick one of the ones you’re strangling in a death grip.

(hey, where is jacques in this??????????? wish I knew)

(he’s probably regularly out of town, maybe he happens to call home and bernadette is the one to pick up the phone and she’s like “we’re going to see aunt beatrice, I think we’ll be back in a week or something?” and then immediately hangs up because dewey calls her for something, and jacques is left, miles and miles away, standing in a phone booth and wondering if, perhaps, he should maybe visit his siblings more often so they don’t go tearing off to california

jacques: kit what the hell is going on

kit: what, didn’t bernadette tell you?

lemony: ask him what tie I should wear

kit: we’re embarking on the adventure of a lifetime, jacques, it’s your own fault that you decided to go out of town this weekend, I really don’t know what to tell you

lemony: ask him what tie I should wear

kit: /sighs

kit: what tie should your brother wear

jacques: the one with the single blue stripe, it brings out his eyes, what are you two doing

kit: really, jacques, you need to pay more attention

kit: lemony, he says the one with the blue stripe

lemony: oh, good. tell him he’s a lifesaver.

kit: lemony says you’re a lifesaver, although I have yet to see real proof of this, however I will consider changing my mind if you happen to bring me a souvenir. please remember that I could use a new set of nice, engraved fountain pens. also our plane is leaving soon and we need to pack, so bye, loser

jacques: ………………….

jacques: what did I do to deserve this)

(jacques, in any universe, is eternally pained by his siblings)

this being a rehearsal dinner brings it very close to, you know, an actual wedding date, and the thing is, I have planned a completely different wedding-related fic, weddings are EXPENSIVE AND, YOU KNOW, TIME-CONSUMING, PLANNED IN ADVANCE, ALL THAT SHIT

but the whole reason there’s a wedding in the parent trap in general is because, if meredith and nick are just dating, there’s no commitment, marriage means COMMITMENT and A TIME CONSTRAINT and meredith wants his fucking money

so yeah bea and bertrand ARE engaged and planning to get married and plans have happened but the idea of this being so close to the rehearsal dinner makes me sad about all those ‘yeah i’m gonna have to cancel’ phone calls someone is gonna have to make, which is, well, pretty silly, but still, I Hate feeling uncomfortable esp when reading things like that (or even just, thinking of them in advance)

and that is why they are scouting hotels for the reception. (don’t ask me where the denouement is. I do not know.)

so bea + co get to the hotel first, and the only people who know lemony + co will be there are violet and ramona

ramona, hanging back to talk to violet while bea and bertrand and olivia (she has a good eye for decorating.) go ahead: do you know what you’re going to do?

violet: well, I thought maybe we would just

violet: all bump into each other?

violet: and go from there??

ramona thinks that’s an exceptionally courageous take on this and that, yep that girl sure is bea’s daughter

[yeah bea still has NO IDEA ANY OF THIS IS HAPPENING ramona is A+ at keeping secrets

meanwhile, sometime later-

olivia: you didn’t tell me?????

ramona: olivia, I love you dearly but you can’t keep a secret to save your life

[oh, yikes, re: legit asoue canon]

olivia: ……..okay, you have a point.]

it is at this moment that lemony + co arrive, and bertrand, who had backtracked for a moment because he realized he dropped a pen, immediately runs into dewey, who had stopped near the door to examine the hotel brochures and ambiance in more detail (you can take the boy out of the hotel but you can’t take the hotel out of the boy)

[based on penultimate peril, I always thought bertrand and dewey were very good friends and had bonded over absurd poetry, and, of course, based on kit burning the poetry book, are still in contact – there’s much less of a sense of forced distance between bertrand and dewey, because dewey’s just lemony’s brother-in-law and bertrand was friends with dewey first so they’re still good friends but like most adults they have a hard time committing to keeping in contact regularly especially with the distance and haven’t physically seen each other for some time]

so they bump into each other –

bertrand: dewey!!

bertrand: it’s been ages, what are you doing here, how are you!!!

[dewey denouement, much in the way that olivia caliban can’t keep a fucking secret, cannot fucking lie.]

dewey: oh, um

dewey: you know

dewey: hotel conference!!

dewey: kit wanted to travel!!!!

dewey: we’re traveling FOR a hotel conference!!!

dewey: WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THESE CURTAINS, BERTRAND

bertrand: ……..dewey, you’ve never been very good at lying.

dewey: no, no I really haven’t.

dewey: forgive me for everything, bertrand.

bertrand: you might have to be a little more specific.

beatrice: bertrand, have you – dewey??

dewey: oh no

beatrice, remembering dewey and kit are married, suddenly battling sheer terror the likes of which she has never experienced: how….how are you

dewey: I could be better. I could definitely be better.

beatrice: is kit here?

bertrand: I believe they’re here to look at the curtains.

dewey: we’re definitely here to look at curtains.

beatrice: ….they don’t have curtains in england

dewey, grasping at straws: not….like these….?

MEANWHILE back at the ranch, lemony backtracks outside because he dropped a pen, narrowly missing three adults awkwardly talking about curtains

olivia: beatrice, we’ll be late for the wine tasting if we don’t go soon.

beatrice: oh – well, dewey, it was….nice to see you

dewey: please, go enjoy your wine.

bertrand: /waves good-bye!!!!

klaus and bernadette, hiding behind a nearby ficus, because bernadette thinks fast and has her own specific idea about how this should go and it doesn’t involve her relatives meeting again because of her father talking about curtains: wow.

violet: /narrowly avoids getting swept up into the wine tasting, darts for the elevator to try and locate klaus + co

MEANWHILE back at the ranch, upstairs, in their hotel room

lemony: why did I think I could do this

lemony: how do I approach a couple here to scout locations for a wedding reception?

kit: ….you approach them

dewey: don’t talk about curtains, maybe.

lemony: i’m not – dewey, what do curtains have to do with this?

dewey: trust me, just don’t talk about them.

there is a knock at the door. lemony has seen death. this is it, for him.

anyway, it’s violet.

klaus: violet!

violet: klaus!

awkward sibling hug sincere sibling hug!!

violet: klaus, please take your glasses back.

klaus: oh, thank you. my spare pair just doesn’t feel the same as these.

lemony: violet!

now, seeing the two of them together, he can absolutely tell the difference between them. ain’t that just the way.

lemony hugs his daughter like she’s going to disappear right out of his arms and then hugs klaus for good measure and he has to try and ignore the true roller coaster of emotions that puts him through and then tries to look very stern.

lemony: i’m not disappointed in the two of you but I cannot believe you switched on your mother and me. that was very….

lemony is not good at being angry at his children, he has no real concept of it.

lemony: ….clever. it was very clever.

violet and klaus are very proud but find it in themselves to try and look a little chagrined. they don’t do it very well.

violet: father, you really need to talk to mother.

klaus: and bertrand.

lemony: both of you know about bertrand??

klaus: you and mother are very transparent about him.

MEANWHILE back at the ranch, at the wine tasting

ramona: what do you think?

beatrice and bertrand, equally lost in thought about the presence of dewey, the implied presence of kit, and the possibility of the presence of lemony: hm??

bertrand: oh, yes

beatrice: wine

beatrice: /downs entire glass

beatrice: /sets down glass

beatrice: not that one.

bertrand, who has been holding the same glass for the past twenty minutes and has no idea which wine that even was: definitely not.

MEANWHILE back. at. the. ranch.

lemony’s children have such boundless courage (I have hurt myself so many times while writing this fanfic with the occasional too-on-point line and this in particular wounds me these kids are so strong and so important and won’t take no for an answer compared to their parents and get the chance to get their parents to FIX THINGS and oh no i’m gonna cry) and have dragged him downstairs to the lobby, with the INTENTION of having him run into bea and bertrand

lemony: this is not going to work out –

violet: nonsense!

klaus: it’s going to work perfectly.

meanwhile, bea and bertrand leave the wine tasting

bertrand: ….did we come to a conclusion, about the wine?

beatrice: no, I don’t think so.

bertrand stops by the bathroom to wash his hands for something to do as he’s consumed with thoughts (not about wine), beatrice is in a daze as she goes through the lobby, violet notices her but sees she’s not with bertrand and decides she has to stall

violet, rushing over, purposely trying to block beatrice’s view with varying success: mother, how was the wine tasting?

beatrice: oh, it was –

did you remember violet gave klaus his glasses back?

beatrice: klaus, what happened to your –

and, well.

beatrice looks at her so hard and processes kit and dewey being here and then it fucking hits her like (forgive me. forgive me so hard.) a harpoon to the chest

beatrice: ….violet?

violet: yes.

beatrice: but – how –

klaus, appearing next to her: it’s a truly fascinating chain of events we’d like to tell you, but –

hey! beatrice is stunned and horrified! and grabs her daughter into a hug, knowing now that it’s her daughter and has been this whole time and!!!! she feels so awful with herself for not noticing but is also trying to not make a big deal out of it and startle violet by sobbing uncontrollably on her shoulder but beatrice is simultaneously devastated and filled with so much love and she’s for sure going to break apart now

beatrice: and klaus –

she’s hugging them both now, it’s very good.

beatrice, in tears: you two are lucky you’re so cute

violet: mother, there’s someone we’d very much like you to talk to.

beatrice knows somewhere in the back of her mind that it’s lemony but is also not even thinking of lemony because, her children

klaus: /tries to wave lemony over

lemony: /trying and failing to hide behind a ficus, have you seen a ficus, have you seen lemony

violet: /ALSO WAVING

beatrice can’t miss that for the world.

beatrice, while turning around: what are you two –

imagine, if you will, lemony snicket trying to hide behind a potted ficus that hits about mid-chest.

also imagine, if you will, two people who divorced over eleven years ago, still have too many feelings about each other, split up their children for their stupidity, have been trying to avoid the knowledge that both of them are there for the past hour, and are now confronted with the reality of their lives right in front of them

…….besides the ficus.

lemony, stepping out from behind the ficus: hello, bea.

this is a headcanon i’ve long held, since I first started writing asoue fanfic, but, bertrand and lemony say ‘bea’ differently, especially in canon, like particularly in canon, so it’s like less so here but lemony still says her name with so much love, and bertrand says it with love too but lemony has known beatrice for so so long and here they are after years apart and here he is saying her name again, and he never ever ever expected to say it like that again, he never even DREAMED of saying it to her again, but it’s real

beatrice: lemony snicket.

violet: as nice as this is for us –

klaus: – we’re going to allow you three the time you need to discuss assorted events.

at this moment (of course), bertrand reemerges.

bertrand: bea, I –

he sees violet and klaus rushing off, looking delighted, and bea and lemony standing there still trying to process words, and then there’s bertrand, frantically thinking ‘abort mission, ABORT MISSION’

because. the way they turn and look at him, in tandem, like they did all the time in high school, immediately makes bertrand feel like they’re there, back in high school, back at prom, here’s the two absolute loves of his life standing in front of him and bertrand is filled with delight but also fear because, here it is, they all have to deal with it now

(all of them are thinking that, the three of them, standing there, there is not a single trace of jealously but instead there is so much love and regret and it’s, heart-wrenching)

and here is where he loses all his Chill™.

bertrand: you know what, i’m gonna – go –

bertrand: /trips over a chair

lemony: oh –

beatrice: bertrand!

bertrand: totally fine, still alive, i’m – they have such a nice gift shop, you know, i’m – i’ll be there

bertrand: /high-tails it practically out of existence

beatrice and lemony: ….

lemony: he – he still has a very nice running form.

beatrice: yeah, I think so.

lemony: well, bea

lemony: or does everyone call you beatrice now?

beatrice: no, no, bea – bea is fine. bertrand still calls me bea.

[beatrice starts to laugh. “it’s – man, it’s funny, isn’t it?”

lemony smiles at her. “what is?”

“i’m going to marry your high school crush,” beatrice giggles, “who’s still – still in love with you.” she stops. “you know, that’s actually really not as funny as it sounded in my head,” she says, frowning.]

they have dinner!!! and talk. about. stuff. do violet and klaus recreate the night lemony and bea met or the wedding or something????? idk honestly. like at least they didn’t get married UPON MEETING I MEAN LIKE COME ON (although somehow that is very them, but, come on, this backstory is good and solid and I love characters that grow)

maybe they just pool their allowances and give their parents a banging night out (which is pretty much just. dinner.)

beatrice: I see that cut on your forehead healed up nice

lemony: yes, anna karenina left very little lasting damage –

both: – except to anna karenina.

they pause, and then just, fucking burst out laughing, this is a horrible old joke for them that they made up when they were in school because anna karenina was the biggest book either of them owned (neither of them were particularly interested in war and peace) but was somehow sort of light and if you dropped it it really didn’t do much damage, which they thought was funny re: the size of the book and the subject matter

beatrice throws it at lemony during the fight that ends with their divorce and it’s the first time it actually hurts something

lemony: so, how is bertrand

lemony: I don’t think i’ve seen him since – well, since before the twins were born.

beatrice: oh, he’s – he’s doing really, really well. he’s a librarian, and – we keep joking about how many more books klaus and I will be able to read. lemony, he’s got the magazine editions of hammett –

lemony: w h a t

lemony: does he even have the –

beatrice: yep. he has the unfinished story. i’ve seen it.

lemony: I knew I liked that man for a reason

THERE IS SUCH A WEIGHTY PAUSE.

lemony: that is, hammett, obviously. I mean, the continental op is one of the quintessential fictional detectives, and hammett’s novels –

beatrice: you did like him, didn’t you

beatrice: when we were in school, you looked at him the same way you looked at me.

lemony: oh, no

lemony: I looked at you with a rapt adoration and I looked at bertrand like he was a puzzle I couldn’t solve. I have that on good authority from my sister.

beatrice: oh, right, right.

lemony: ….but I did, didn’t I. I did like him very much.

lemony: I don’t think anyone disliked him.

beatrice: that wasn’t quite what I asked, lemony.

lemony: ….what do you want me to say, bea? that I saw him there, with you, and couldn’t even find it in me to be jealous because the sight of you two together made me so unbelievably happy that I forgot how to breathe? that I – that I wondered, for a moment, if, twelve years later, we could – if I –

lemony: ….i don’t believe this conversation is supposed to be about bertrand.

beatrice: …….no, I – I suppose not.

lemony: that day, when you asked me to leave –

beatrice: you mean when I shouted at you to leave.

lemony: I was trying to be kind.

beatrice: lemony, I for sure shouted at you.

lemony: no, bea, I – I thought things would be better if I left. if you didn’t have to put up with me, because you clearly didn’t want to. and I didn’t make it easy for you, back then. there were many things I overlooked about both of us, things I hid from both of us, things I should have talked about with you. and I didn’t.

beatrice: ….oh.

lemony: I thought that loving the person that I wanted you to be was enough for the person that I wanted to be. obviously, it wasn’t, because you asked me to leave and I left. I never even looked back.

beatrice: ….lemony, I don’t think anything would’ve been enough for either of us. I asked a lot of you, too. I didn’t want you to see anything bad about me, and you didn’t, but the longer we were like that, the more I just – the more I really hated you for it. you just saw what you wanted to. and, well, what I wanted you to. I think I kind of hated me, too.

beatrice: sometimes, I think, what would’ve happened if we’d stayed together and I don’t know if I like that either. not that it was – okay, what we did. because it wasn’t. and we might’ve changed or we might’ve fucked up even worse, I don’t know, and i’ll never know.

beatrice: but lemony, seeing her now, I regret every single second I haven’t spent with her because of it.

lemony: I know.

beatrice, who’s a little angry cause she hates when lemony says that to her and her temper gets away from her: do you?

lemony, who’s just regretting all his life choices and knows he fully deserves beatrice’s ire: ….i’ve missed so much of his life.

beatrice, voice breaking: ….yeah.

man, these are some really miserable parents.

beatrice: we should – I don’t know, you know, what we’re gonna do, with – us – but we should – they, they should see each other. we can’t do that to them again.

lemony: I agree.

beatrice: you know, we have some pretty clever kids. I would never – okay, maybe, but I don’t know – have had the balls to switch places with someone on the other side of the world.

lemony: we do, don’t we?

lemony: I know we didn’t do a great deal right, but, maybe we did, with them.

beatrice: ….yeah, maybe we did.

beatrice: not every day two people have kids like ours.

lemony: …….can I be honest with you, bea?

beatrice: …okay.

lemony: i’m glad they switched places. i’m – i’m glad I got to see you. and bertrand. and you.

beatrice: i’m glad you came, lemony.

[all these conversations starring two people steadfastly trying to avoid that they are still in love with each other but also trying to really acknowledging they have Real Problems, brought to you by one (1) woman struggling to get two characters to talk about their problems but also the idea of introducing a third person into their already rocky relationship, don’t mind me just casually dying over here, this was harder than I thought]

beatrice, feeling the weight of this conversation and knowing they done fucked up in the past but also desperately wishing she and lemony could go back to where they were before only better and just trying to figure out where they’re gonna go from here, girl’s doing her best here, and you know what, so am i: so, um

beatrice: fuck, marry, kill

beatrice: continental op, nick charles, sam spade.

lemony, going through incredibly similar emotions: ….

lemony: do you want me to give my virtue to one man and then marry another

beatrice: why do you always take this game so literally

beatrie: I am banging nick charles, but I am marrying the continental op for job stability, and I am killing sam spade where he stands

lemony: bea, no, you can’t just kill sam spade like that

lemony: how about, I take the continental op to dinner, I have a pleasant night with nick charles –

beatrice: I like that we’d both fuck william powell.

lemony: we’ve both seen william powell. no one wouldn’t.

lemony: but sam spade, though, I don’t think it’s so clear cut as all that –

they’ve really!! grown a lot!! they’re really trying to talk this out!!! a little, at least!!! be adults!!!! talk like they didn’t eleven years ago!!!!!! they’re so stupid and they’re trying so hard!!!! my kids………….

this is definitely not the only conversation they’re gonna have about this, like it’s Good that they’ve said this but there’s. a lot more they need to talk about and will probably talk about, just not right now

anyway, LATER –

the continuing saga of two people Not Talking and then Talking About Certain Things and then Inadvertently Talking About The Things They Didn’t Want To And Not Quite Realizing It

lemony: at the hotel

lemony: you, ah, said something about bertrand

beatrice: !!!!

beatrice: ooo, we are talking about him, hmm?

lemony: bea.

beatrice: fine, fine. yes, that he’s still in love with you.

lemony: is he really?

beatrice: I think he is.

beatrice: you still didn’t really answer me before, when I asked if you still felt the same about him.

lemony: ….does it matter, if you’re going to marry him?

beatrice: of course it matters! i’m not – i’m not marrying bertrand to, prove a point or anything, or – say I like him better than you, I – i’m marrying him because I, I love him, but I don’t – that’s not all there is to this.

beatrice: I mean, we didn’t get divorced because of bertrand, that was all on us, but – seeing both of you, sometimes I feel like – maybe – we – maybe we could’ve made it work. not if we had bertrand, but with him. now.

beatrice: and, and that’s a lot, to ask you – I know – it’s a lot to ask both of us, especially after everything, but – do you?

lemony: ….bea.

beatrice: lemony.

lemony: ….i feel that, in the interest of the past eleven years, we should perhaps talk to him before I make a concrete decision about that personal feeling.

beatrice: well, that’s – that’s a wise choice.

they are, quiet, for a while

it’s a lot to think about, you know?? there’s a lot to this

lemony: …….but I think I do.

beatrice: you think you do?

lemony: I think I do.

beatrice: I think I do, too.

there is a little more silence because they’re like ‘!!!!! well that’s SOMETHING REALLY BIG TO THINK ABOUT’ especially because they haven’t like totally committed back to a relationship with each other and there is!! still!!! so!! much!!!! but, they’re thinking about it now, and they’re, sort of floaty-happy because it’s like, wow, wow, this is a possibility, they can

maybe

push it, a little, and see what happens, maybe maybe

lemony: well, you should, you are marrying him.

beatrice: shhh, you are ruining the rhythm.

lemony: I think –

beatrice: you think?

lemony: it’s been known to happen.

beatrice: mmm, I don’t think so

[it’s hard to tell because there’s generally very little concept of outside action/feelings when getting down scenes this way but these few lines are supposed to be v cute and soft and just the tiniest bit flirty]

lemony: trust me, I have had many a thought.

beatrice: well, I think –

lemony: you think, now, do you

beatrice: I do indeed, lemony snicket.

[god. lemony wants to kiss her so fucking bad. beatrice wants to keep teasing him until he does kiss her. they’re very close. he just. smooths her hair behind her ear and takes a step back.]

lemony: I think we should talk to bertrand.

beatrice: yeah. we should. we should probably do that.

MEANWHILE.

I want bertrand to bond with these kids with all my heart so that’s what fucking happens while bea and lemony are dealing with their problems

they play a rousing game of scrabble. it’s usually a game I give the snicket siblings because of their vicious playing styles (which is just based on me and my brother playing scrabble) BUT I love scrabble a lot and I think it’s super cute if bertrand hangs out with violet and klaus and they play board games, it’s distressingly endearing to me, violet trying to sneak in names of inventors on the board and klaus being insistent on following the rules of the game and bertrand trying to come up with a sufficient compromise

bertrand: okay, so, last names are allowed, but only if you can also include the first initial, initialisms by themselves are not allowed, and foreign words and phrases are on a case-by-case basis, providing I can translate it and you’re not trying to put down something inappropriate.

klaus: what about scientific names?? can I put down binomial nomenclature

violet: hey how do you spell binomial

klaus: b-i-n-o-m-i-a-l

violet: oh, how neat.

violet: /puts it down on the scrabble board

klaus: ….

violet: :)

bertrand: it looks like you can put down binomial nomenclature.

bertrand: but yes, I will allow actual nomenclature, klaus.

klaus is deathly quiet for the next few turns until he manages to put down nomenclature. (which I think is achievable, with enough luck.)

klaus: actual. nomenclature.

violet: so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh

bertrand: okay, references to previous conversations are no longer allowed, let’s try this again

eventually they stop playing the damn game and come up with their own wildly specific set of rules for playing scrabble, and bea and lemony come back to a lot of paper and a lot of scrabble tiles and violet and klaus sitting on either side of bertrand on the couch, helping him write this rule list

and bea and lemony want to comment about how they’re not even playing scrabble, but watching bertrand interact with their kids and be so soft and patient with them is the most distressingly heartwarming thing they’ve seen in a long time

they both have the immediate thought of ‘holy fuck I wanna kiss that man,’ which is followed by ‘holy f u c k maybe a relationship between all of us could work’

lemony: bertrand.

bertrand: ?

lemony: could we talk?

there is no camping trip! instead we got NEARBY HOTEL SHENANIGANS and THREE PEOPLE ON A DATE AT A LOCAL FAIR, TRYING TO FEEL THINGS OUT

imagine your average carnival-fair sort of thing with Rides and Games and Absurd Amounts of Cotton Candy and That Super Salty But Still Real Good Popcorn

bertrand and lemony arrive first and bea specifically gets there late so bertrand and lemony can actually talk, because honestly this is the only time I can see in all this that these two would be able to talk to each other uninterrupted

and they all know they’re there for the weirdest date ever but bertrand still feels the need to clear the air

bertrand: lemony, I don’t want you to think that I was waiting your marriage out or anything, I didn’t even know you two weren’t together until last year, and I didn’t even intend to see bea, it just happened on accident –

lemony: bertrand, it’s fine.

lemony: beatrice and I aren’t married anymore, you don’t have to explain anything.

bertrand: ….sometimes I feel like i’ve wanted to explain everything to you, for the past fifteen years.

[bertrand ‘breaking my fucking heart again’ baudelaire…….]

bertrand: that’s – silly, isn’t it.

lemony: no. I don’t think so.

bertrand: I never got the chance to say it. well, actually I don’t think I ever let myself say it, because I had plenty of chances! especially at prom, I could’ve changed everything! but you and bea were so – I wanted you two more than anything else in the whole entire world, but I didn’t want to hurt you two or what we had. I think I did, though.

bertrand: and, and I really shouldn’t blame myself or anyone for these stupid mistakes that happened when we were just kids, because we were just kids!

bertrand: I mean, we’re right here, right now, and i’m – i’m really looking forward to this, lemony.

[lemony, much like me, is momentarily dazzled by how fucking genuine bertrand is]

lemony: so am I.

lemony: ….i kept those candygrams you sent me when we were all in high school because they were remarkably sweet and I treasure them dearly

bertrand: !!

lemony is so nervous and I love him and you know when you get nervous and you just sort of spill weird secrets to people, especially when it’s the person you like???? that’s that

they look at each other for a moment and then start laughing and it’s the kind that starts kind of soft and then they’re just rampantly giggling and being dorks and I love them both so damn much okay

and because they haven’t regularly seen each other in you know fifteen years they spend some time. talking about their lives. there’s a lot of things they don’t know about each other!

lemony and bertrand like make a vague show of trying to win bea some prize and they suck and they stand to the side and talk while bea wins herself a prize and she runs back over to them and just looks so proud of herself, winning this…….thing (it’s very much “i don’t know if it’s a duck or a panda, but I want one.”)

lemony: is it a…….hmmm

bertrand: ….those are cat ears, right

beatrice: what, no, they’re wolf ears

lemony: it has webbed feet, though

bertrand: it’s a platypus! oh, no, not with all those feathers.

lemony: it could easily be a duck, I suppose

beatrice: BUT THE EARS

bertrand: a penguin!

lemony: a grackle

bertrand: a goose!

beatrice: THE E A R S

lemony and bertrand share an obnoxious amount of cotton candy, and honestly it’s the date they all should’ve had in high school, a date that would’ve changed everything, and man, they’re having so much fun and maybe they could do this, lemony has never been so happy and bertrand is just this ball of delight and, it’s really beautiful, and beatrice is for sure thinking that and she’s having such a good time and she’s so happy

but then

she thinks, what if it DIDN’T change everything, what if they all got together in high school and tried to make it work and really fucked each other over, would they have been able to do it?? what really would’ve happened??? and they’re adults now, they’re better people but they have so much more to think about, there is so much more at stake now and beatrice is fucking terrified about what could happen, all of a sudden

and she’s been terrified for years about all the terrible things that could happen to klaus or her or ramona and olivia and even their stupid cat and she’s still trying to hide it so well and she does, she’s happy and creates such a good life for her son but she is so scared and she can’t keep running from it anymore by being impulsive or silly or shouting all the time, she has to face the reality of the situation that she really has to think this one through, what all three of them are going to do about this

she and lemony still have so many problems, and they both know that, they all know that!!! they aren’t going to solve them right away!!! and with bertrand there, maybe it’ll be harder!! maybe it won’t be easier!!! not that bertrand immediately makes things easier, in any universe!!! but especially here!!! you know!!! what if they don’t talk about anything because he’s there??? what if they avoid talking about everything so much in trying to be happy that they irreparably fuck them all over??? it’s been so long since all three of them were together, what if they can’t do this!! what if their kids don’t like them together, what if none of them can get along??? suddenly there are a lot more variables to this, and seeing it happen, bea is struck by everything they’re going to have to fix and all the ways it could go wrong and it’s not good

beatrice: …..what are we doing?

beatrice: and – and what if it doesn’t work out, this time?? what if we all try this and we can’t do it??

bertrand: do you think that little of yourself?

beatrice: no.

beatrice: i’m thinking about, what if I break my kid’s hearts, even worse than I already have? I can’t do that, not to them.

and, they get it. they love each other so much but this story isn’t about just the three of them anymore.

bertrand and bea decide not to get married. and even though they all know they still love each other, lemony and bea have violet and klaus to think of, so they all decide it would be for the best to go their separate ways.

violet and klaus are not happy, by any means. they are not happy to pack up all their stuff and know that nothing is going to work out, and it hurts, a lot, man

klaus, picking up his books: I really respect our parents and their chosen additional life partner but don’t you think they can be a little…..

violet, jamming her toolkit into a suitcase: stupid?

klaus: I was going to say stubborn

klaus: but stupid works too.

so they all say good-bye :( lemony, violet, kit and dewey and bernadette go home. (bernadette’s real upset no one got back together. she hides it well but she just sort of crams herself into her seat on the plane on the trip home and is just super bummed. I love this lil kid.) (I fondly remember when this outline was nowhere near over 20k and was just a short little thing and bernadette’s scenes just monopolized it….)

the thing I love about bea raising klaus is that, and I also feel this for canon too, klaus gets so so much of bea’s anger and short temper

like violet is a lot more calmer in the take no shit category but klaus will, like his mother, flip a table

klaus: mother, that was the most foolish thing you’ve ever done and you know it

beatrice: !

beatrice: don’t you – don’t you use that tone with me, klaus

beatrice: I am your mother

klaus: and you’re just going to let my father and my sister walk away from us???

beatrice: I – it’s more complicated than that!

klaus: how??

beatrice: klaus, would you want me to risk this, everything we have, on the off chance that your father and I could maybe sort out our differences?

klaus: you didn’t seem to have that many differences!

beatrice: there’s a lot of things you don’t know, klaus!

klaus: then tell me! you’re the one who’s always telling me I can do anything, and I just think it seems pretty rich of you to decide that that doesn’t apply to you, or that I don’t get to know everything about the people who are supposed to be my family!

klaus has a point, here, and beatrice realizes that, so she decides IN THAT INSTANT that, okay. fine. it’s time to do something about this and she can do something about this.

SO SHE GOES TO BERTRAND

bertrand: bea, what –

beatrice: I can’t – look, I can’t do this to my kids either, okay, I can’t keep them apart anymore, what – why did I think that was such a good idea in the first place??? so I wouldn’t see lemony?? so I wouldn’t work things out between us, because we were fucking kids when we were together and, and I sacrificed my relationship with my daughter because I was so petty and selfish, and i’m doing it again, bertrand!! i’m letting myself do it again after everything we all talked about because i’m so fucking scared but I – I can’t do this to myself, you know? I want – I want things to work out this time. with all of us. I want to make it work and i’m going to make it work and i’m going to go get my daughter and lemony, and I want you to come with us, if you want to come with us.

klaus, leaning out of the car window and shouting at beatrice and bertrand, who are standing on the steps of bertrand’s place: if I may interject, the plane we intend to catch does leave in half an hour, so you two should maybe hurry up a little

klaus: not to ruin your moment or anything!

bertrand, desperately: I want things to work out, bea, I do. but what if you were right and we can’t –

beatrice: i’m right about a lot of things, bertrand baudelaire, and i’m right about this.

bertrand, nodding and trying not to smile too much: ….okay. okay.

MEANWHILE

violet: ….are you mad at me?

lemony: what – violet, I could never be mad at you.

violet: but I – I went behind your back, and I tricked both of you, and I wasn’t even thinking about what you wanted, it – it was just what I wanted, and that wasn’t okay, I shouldn’t have interfered with you and mother at all, I feel so awful –

lemony: none of what happened was your fault, violet. not at all. it was mine. i’m sorry that I kept so much from you. it was incredibly unfair to you, and to klaus. I should have told you a long time ago.

violet: I never got to ask before, but why did you and mother get divorced?

lemony: ….we were very young, and very impulsive. and, also, incredibly scared. that’s not a good combination when you’re trying to make a life with someone.

violet: you two seemed to get along a little better, now.

lemony: well, eleven years is a lot of time. you get older, and you realize the mistakes you made in your youth could’ve been dealt with a lot more easily than you previously thought. you realize you were….

violet: stubborn?

lemony: stupid.

violet: what made it not work out, this time?

lemony: you also realize there are more important things to think about than yourself and what you want.

violet: !

violet: father, I didn’t want you to –

lemony: it wasn’t your call to make, violet.

violet: but it was yours about whether or not I get to see my brother? you were only thinking about what you wanted, too!

lemony: ….

violet: ….that was rude of me, i’m sorry.

lemony: no – don’t apologize, violet. please.

violet, still very angry but also just sad and concerned about how lemony has, in the intervening time between these two conversations, said very little: I thought bertrand was nice.

lemony: bertrand – bertrand is very nice.

so they get back home.

lemony: what would you like for dinner?

violet: I don’t think i’m all that hungry, father.

lemony: no, neither am I.

and lemony just sort of, wanders into the library with his hands in his pockets, because he’s somehow more miserable than he’s been in quite some time, and he’s expecting to just sit around and stare at his typewriter and not get anything done for the rest of the night or really for the foreseeable future, and the library is filled with so many books and so much stuff but it feels so empty to him now, and lemony himself feels empty and horrible about everything and he just stares at the floor without really seeing anything at all

AND THEN

klaus, sitting in one of the library chairs: father, did you know that the concorde gets you here in half the time?

[I just kept the line. I thought long and hard and could not for the life of me think of any other jazzy lil line.] [although yes sadly the concorde no longer exists]

[hey, if lemony and violet are here, and kit and dewey and bernadette were with them on the plane, who’s driving the bus who let bea and bertrand in the house???? cause in the movie it’s gotta be the grandfather

jacques, who had stopped at lemony’s house hoping that he could catch them before the flight but obviously not catching them, who stayed to water the plants: /exiting the house

beatrice, careening out of a taxi: JACQUES HOLD THE DOOR

jacques: !!!! beatrice?? what are you –

bertrand: we’ll have to tell you later, there’s no time!

jacques: bertrand????

klaus really only has time to wave.

all three of them: /BOLT PAST JACQUES INTO THE HOUSE AND SLAM THE DOOR SHUT, leaving jacques out there in the street

jacques: ……….]

anyway

lemony, STUNNED: klaus?

violet, dashing into the room because she heard her brother: klaus!

klaus: ideally we would’ve figured this out before you left, but when you did, we were not completely happy about it.

lemony, still trying to collect himself: you –

and there’s bea and bertrand, standing there, real as anything! really there!! in his library!!

and lemony walks towards them, because this isn’t a matter of, chasing anyone, it’s all of them coming together like this

beatrice: this is gonna work. the three of us, this is gonna work.

beatrice: what do you think?

and the thing. about lemony. is that what he wants more than anything else in this whole fucking world. is a family. particularly in canon, being separated from (reasonably dead) parents and growing apart from his siblings and losing those connections to people, he so desperately wants something that’s his and his own and that he can keep stable by himself

and I think he still feels that way even in whatever fucking world of an au this is, and of course he wants to be with bea and bertrand and to have klaus and violet because he loves them but he is also massively craving that stability of having his own family and like really having it this time, not fucking it up because he’s young and stupid and just as impulsive as bea

THE POINT IS THIS IS A LOT FOR HIM, OKAY, THIS MEANS SO MUCH, to get this!! second chance at all the things he totally fucked up before, PLUS the loves of his life!!!!

and like!!! there’s bertrand. there’s bertrand!!! standing there and reaching out to take lemony’s hand and lemony takes bea’s and bea takes bertrand’s other one and. the road they had to take to get here wasn’t. the best. all the time. they all made mistakes. some. worse than others. and this isn’t the end, right here, there’s still gonna be things they have to work out. and it’s gonna be okay because there’s beatrice and bertrand and lemony. they’re in the same room and no one’s scared.

lemony: yes.

beatrice: yes???

bertrand: yes?

lemony: yes.

there’s a lot of good hugging, people are kissed, comments are made about chapstick flavors, lots of laughter, violet and klaus are tearing up and thrilled beyond belief, everything is beautiful!!!!!

klaus: I can’t believe –

violet: – we actually did it!

and, of course, beatrice was right. about everything.

the following amount of time is filled with –

-lots of arguments.

-mostly between bea and lemony.

-although bertrand has his fair share of arguments with both of them.

-violet and klaus don’t speak to each other for two weeks under the pretense of disagreeing about a book’s theme but really because they’re not sure how to act around each other now that they’re both there, they’ve lived their whole lives as only children and this is what they wanted but it’s also something they didn’t think about having to adjust to

-there’s also this immediate reluctance to listen to anything bea and lemony tell them because they have to get used to parents now, too

-parents who aren’t currently super functioning as parents

-there’s a lot of second-guessing people’s intentions

-why did you say that?? the hell does that eyebrow mean???? you picked that song for a REASON and fuck you for that!!!! you don’t trust me to drive, do you???? I KNOW HOW TO MAKE A SANDWICH FOR MY CHILD THANK YOU VERY MUCH

-that sort of thing.

-in varying shades of seriousness.

-i know it sounds mostly like just bea screaming there but trust me the sentiment is shared by all of them in various ways and actions

-they don’t do it in front of violet and klaus though

-NO ONE KNOWS WHERE THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO LIVE NOW, do they stay in england or all go to california??? do they go somewhere else???????? what even (I don’t even know)

-(they probably do stay in england though. that’s what I was picturing while writing this.)

-violet and klaus do adjust to no longer being only children and realizing they have someone their age to rely on now who understands them

-they make blanket forts where violet designs these stands that will hold books up and periodically turn the page so they can lay on their backs and read and not worry about moving

-klaus reads up on inventors so he and violet can talk about them

-they argue with bea and lemony a little about weird things because violet and klaus are trying to figure out where they are with their parents now and how they’re supposed to act and bea and lemony are trying to figure out how to coordinate parenting while wanting to kill each other

-they institute family game night and try to best each other in cards or scrabble because they can handle that

-bertrand, of course, is in a very awkward position at this time

-like he’s around but he can’t take sides because that’s Weird and he’s not that kind of person anyway, and he wants to be there but he doesn’t quite know as what

-like, he was gonna marry bea!! and now he’s not. and he loves lemony!!! but he can’t do anything about it because bea and lemony have problems to work out!!! and bertrand loves both of them!! and they love him!!! they know they do!! he knows they do!!!!! but everything is very uncomfortable!!!

-like, bertrand needs to be on equal footing in this relationship too!

-he hangs out with dewey a lot and they become Poetry Buds again

-he participates in family game night

-bea and lemony are worried that bertrand is only going to see himself as like a peacemaker between them when he isn’t because he never has been and realizing that bertrand is a huge official permanent part of their lives now is a big thing for them

-hi, my name’s lulu and writing the navigation of relationships is hard!!!! it’s so fucking hard

-the three of them watch movies wednesday nights – bertrand picks the movies and he picks these really sweet romantic ones (cause that’s just the kind of movies he likes!!!) and it’s unbearably great

-they mean to watch the thin man movies (the ones with nick charles aka william powell aka the guy lemony and bea would both fuck if they had had the opportunity) over a series of weeks but wind up marathoning all six of them one night (and it takes all night)

-none of them can function the next day

-bertrand: I get it. i’d do it with nick charles, too.

-beatrice sings herself hoarse during a play rehearsal and can’t talk for a week

-she can’t sleep one night and lemony finds her in the kitchen and makes them both tea and they salute each other with the mugs

-bertrand takes up writing limericks and leaves them around the house and lemony finds one in the shower and slips from laughing so hard

-bertrand, in the hospital: I could’ve killed you with poetry

lemony: I mean, all things considered, it’s not the worst way to go. it’s better than next to a pile of books I was meaning to read, which I always thought to be much more likely. slipping in the shower because of a charming limerick about shoes? it’s not all that bad.

bertrand: I don’t know whether to take the compliment or be worried about how you’ve considered how you’re likely to die. please don’t die.

-beatrice shows up at the hospital and throws the stuffed animal from carnival night at lemony

lemony: oh, you didn’t have to give me your….ah….

bertrand: ….moose? have we guessed moose?

beatrice: the ears……….

-things get, better

-they take turns picking up the kids from school

-some kid: gee violet how come your mom lets you have two dads

violet: just lucky, I guess

-lemony helps beatrice rehearse her lines and they straight-up make out for an hour instead

-lemony and bertrand make dessert once a week and routinely end up covered in flour

-there is a household debate on ‘what species is the stuffed animal’ and ‘what are we going to name it,’ moderated by kit

-violet puts on a one-woman play that she and klaus wrote about hedy lamarr for her school’s talent show and receives a standing ovation

-lemony and bea and bertrand are in the front row and beatrice is full-on sobbing during the standing ovation

-they get bertrand a new record player for his birthday and all three of them dance to his records the whole night

-yes they ARE all falling in love with each other all over again it is very important to me that they’re all on the same page when they do that

-violet and klaus make bertrand a ‘best additional parent’ mug because they don’t quite know what to call him (they haven’t figured it out yet), like violet makes him a fucking mug in her glassblowing class (you ever seen someone glassblow a mug??? it’s great.) and klaus does this beautiful calligraphy label for it

-bertrand cries immediately, for the next hour of his life, and just carries it around because he doesn’t know where to put it

-beatrice: aww, that was so sweet of you two, to make – does that say ‘additional parent’

lemony: I believe it says ‘additional parent.’

violet: we did also consider ‘greatest poet’ but that had less of the feeling we wanted.

klaus: we do realize that ‘best’ is truly an unquantifiable concept, because there’s no one out there ranking parents, but we thought it was the most fitting.

it’s after that that they all decide to get married.

later on, sunny is born!! and she’s very upset she missed out on all these shenanigans.

[jacques comes back to find so many people in his brother’s house.

kit: well jacques, you really should be home more

lemony: yes, find a nice person

lemony: …...or two

kit: settle down, stop looking so surprised.

lemony: kit your daughter just leapt off the bookshelf and tackled my husband

kit: and am I surprised? no.]

[also jacques does not buy his sister a nice new set of engraved fountain pens.

kit: so did you get me a souvenir or not, jacques

jacques: souvenir? I thought you said

kit: JACQUES WE ARE ADULTS DON’T YOU DARE BEETHOVEN ME

jacques: edward lear

jacques: here’s this book of delightful nonsense poetry.

kit: how could you]

[while bea is pregnant with sunny –

bertrand: what about sunny?

lemony: bertrand baudelaire.

lemony: you come into my house.

lemony: you marry my wife.

beatrice, across the room: I married both of you???

lemony: and you have the audacity.

lemony: to suggest we name our daughter after our high school drama teacher.

bertrand: okay but your reaction isn’t necessarily a no]

[bowieandqueen11]

Who Are You Again? / 2019! Richie Tozier Imagine

Request: could you maybe do an IT 2019!Richie imagine set during the reunion like your others where the reader and Richie were together as teens and reader stayed in Derry like Mike so when the losers come back reader is really happy to see Richie and tries talking to him a bunch ect and Richie’s being nice because he DOES know reader but doesn’t remember everything until it all comes back to him, or something?? idk, i’m bad at asks😂 

and: @barnesbabes hey lovey! how have you been? could I request something 2019!richie tozier fluff with a male reader? I have a more specific request but I think I’ll leave that for another day :) 

This is such a dream, thank you lovelies! <3

Starting to step into the restaurant, your heart beats painfully hard in your chest, glad to be stepping out from the inky darkness of the town’s chill night and into some kind of warmth. As you enter the Jade of the Orient, stalling slightly as you swear you feel eyes burning into the side of your face, you look behind you quickly, searching into the deserted street for some kind of movement but the only thing you feel is a flash of pain in your palm, a reminder of the promise you made many summers ago. You had wished, prayed for years that you could forget that promise, forget all the memories of him, Richie Trashmouth Tozier, the boy with the buck teeth and glasses too big for his face, the boy who had left you all those years ago, but that was your curse. Your burden to bear. You still loved him with all your heart, but Derry needed you, and something in your brain would never let your mind falter from the task at hand.

Perhaps there is hope yet, you think. Perhaps Derry’s, and your abandonment was a temporary thing, that the universe would bring joy and life back this place. You just needed to bring the magic eight back together.

‘Hey, Eds, what the hell happened to your fanny pack?’

As Eddie turns away from the fish tank, a little more hyped than he should be both in total terror and the slight relief his heart still feels at having escaped Myra, of having been taken back to the one place he always knew where he belonged, where he was always destined to be, his mouth twitches into a smile as he sees you standing gingerly next to the giant gong, letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in.

Looking around at the three boys you had spent nearly every day of your childhood with, the boys who look back at you with equally devoted and terrified eyes, a smile twitches at your lips and you run over to them, engulfing them all into the biggest, tightest bear hug you’ve had since the day they left Derry.

‘Why the hell did you guys never visit Mike? Or, hell, even me?’

‘To be honest y/n,-’

‘w-we didn’t r-e-ember.’

‘I don’t even remember forgetting this place’, Eddie chimes in, biting his bottom lip as he looks at you with nothing short of unbridled terror.

‘Yeah, it’s like coming back to a place you never left, right?’ Swinging round, you smile as you see Bev standing in the entrance way, a smile not having made its way onto her lips yet as her hands gingerly play with the strap of her backpack, slight tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

As the ripples of the gong fill the otherwise silent private room with a dull thudding beat, it’s final shrill crescendo making you wince back a little into Eddie’s maroon jacketed arm, you’re surprised to look round and find the boy who had owned your heart all those years ago looking back at you, as if you were looking into a mirror. The two of you just freeze, standing on the slightly stained and sticky carpet as if in the middle of a Western movie, both of you afraid to draw first and speak in case of ruining this moment. Hell, you don’t even realise for the first few seconds Ben was standing next to you at all, and as Richie fumbles his hands back into his pockets you feel like he doesn’t either.

‘Y/n? Oh Jesus, hey Y/n. It’s been way, way too long, nearly thirty years huh, and yet here you still are. Like a dream. Like you never left. Like I’m fifteen again, oh god, I’m going to be sick.’

‘Oh god, beep beep Richie’ the rest of the guys groan out, laughing timidly amongst themselves as they move to sit down, but thankful for the little sliver of familiarity the moment had allowed them to revel in before the more serious business began, before playtime was over and they had to face up not all of them came here for a pleasant little reunion dinner. Richie bangs his fist against his chest, fighting back the nausea that licked against his tender throat like someone had shoved embers in his mouth.

Shoving past Ben, Richie comes sliding over to you, his sleek black shoes nearly tripping him up on the carpet with the grace and skill of a new born giraffe, his desperation to be near you again evident in every movement as his hands fumble onto your shoulders to upright himself, reminding you of the scared brash little boy you used to know. The boy who, at the age of fifteen, would never leave your side on the bright days you used to cycle down to the quarry. The boy who would lie next to you on the stony gravel that cut into your skin, a thin blade of glass clenched between his teeth as the radio blares next to his ear, slight chuckles erupting from his mouth as he listens to his favourite comedy radio show like a rusty tuba being played for the first time in years every time Richie guffaws, not a care in the world. The boy who in reality lay there, afraid to move in case you would run away from him, scared that he meant nothing to you as he threw heated little side glances your way whenever he thought you were looking down at the emerald water, the shy little smile on your face making his heart starts performing back flips and raising his mouth in a dopey grin. The boy who would sit up, a soft look lining his blank face as he raises a finger  to push his glasses back up the brow of his nose before saying, ‘hey, y/n, um, can I talk to you for a second?’, only to push himself forward onto the palms of his hand and press a short and tender kiss against your lips, pulling away after a few seconds to fiddle with his hands as a rising blush covered his cheeks. The boy you had spent the last thirty years crying over whilst he slowly forgot you.

Yet here he was, a man standing in front of you looking exactly as you had remembered, just a little more exhausted looking and with a lot more stubble. He glanced back, wringing his hands in a familiar and subconscious frightened action he hadn’t done since that day at the quarry, glancing down at you over the tip of his black rimmed spectacles, his eyes searching yours, little flickers of gold swirling in their dark mix that you had forgotten about.

‘I’m sorry-I’m sorry I never wrote, or called very often like I promised to. I did write some jokes about you, if that makes you feel any better?’

He scratches against his neck as neck as you stare up at him, wondering whether to take him seriously or not.

‘Richie- did you, did you forget me?’

He starts to blubber, leaning his head back and sliding his glasses back up his nose but you interrupt him before he starts blabbering, ‘it’s alright if you did, that’s just what happens when you move away from Derry. But I didn’t. I didn’t.’

He glances shyly at you, wringing his hands before letting out a shaking breathe and taking the seat next to your legs, shrugging off his jacket. He leans over to his left to pull out your seat, hitting the cushions with a small pat as you lower yourself down suspiciously.

As the night progresses, and Richie downs more shots, dropping the glasses to the floor with a light clink, laughter fills the room as the food slowly decreases and decreases. But Richie’s heart eyes grow only more and more, his mind beginning to fill in blanks he didn’t realise had been missing as he looked over at you from the rims of his glasses, watching the dips of your cheek, the way your eyes still sparkled as brightly as when you were stupid children playing street fighter.

‘Hey. y/n, is the arcade still here?’

‘You remember!’

‘Of course I do, how could I forget where we had our first date.... And our second, and our third.’

‘God, you were soo romantic.’

‘Hey, I took you to that new ice cream parlour for out fiftieth date!’

‘Yeah, because Eddie had given you a coupon!’

You giggled, a bright, starry sound that seemed to knock Richie’s mind back into his sixteen year old self. It was a reminder of all the summer days by the quarry he had spent telling stupid jokes to try and get you to laugh and notice him. It felt like being back there again, but this time, he actually was being noticed. He shoved you lightly in the shoulder with a thankful smile, leaning down quickly to kiss your forehead before you shove him with a kuagh. Looking back over to your side with hot glances, as Bill and Bev start wrestling each other, he notices your eyes had a softness to them, there was something so welcoming in the rich doe colour that swirled like comet tails, deep set in your face and wiser than when he was young, than he remembers, but still as beautiful. Richie felt just a little more lost, a little more at home, each time they met.

Richie feels the heat rise to his cheeks as you looked in his direction. He could feel they were still on him, burning into his cheeks with a silent confusion but light hope.

‘I remember it all, you know Y/n. How could I ever forget you? My first love... and my only one.’

Richie glances over at you as his words falter off, his breathing becomes softer, the pensive look melting into a smile as his body squirms just a little as his muscles relax. There is something about that gaze of his, as if in that moment their souls have made a bridge that can never be broken again.

‘Yeah, I still love you too, Richie.’

His heart thumped so hard that he swore it was audible, his knees knobbling underneath the table as the others start to natter warmly again, filling the room with a familiar warmth that ripples over Richie’s skin, not even realising the long coming declaration of eternal love that had left his mouth, not realising two soulmates had finally reconnected, had finally realised it had been each other all along. That their hearts, no matter how far apart, had always belonged to the other.

[thefilmfatale]

Jojo Rabbit (2019)

Who says you can't laugh about the Holocaust? Certainly not Taika Waititi.

The Hunt for the Wilderpeople director’s latest film Jojo Rabbit, set in Nazi Germany with a fanatical Hitler youth at its center, is uproarious, funny, and anything but glib. The story follows 10-year-old Jojo Betzler (played by the effortlessly charismatic and magnetic Roman Griffin Davis), who idolizes Adolf Hitler so much that Hitler (played by Waititi) has become his imaginary friend, popping up like a proverbial devil-on-one’s-shoulder during random moments of turmoil to comfort and counsel our budding young Nazi. 

Jojo’s dedication to the cause is unwavering. Thanks to some imaginative Nazi propaganda, Jojo is convinced that his purpose is to exterminate Jews, whom he envisions as winged creatures that eat children and hoard anything shiny. Alas, after playing cavalier with a grenade at Hitler youth camp, Jojo suffers an accident that renders him unfit to keep training with the other children, including his best friend Yorki (played by the adorably precocious Archie Yates). He’s promptly sent home, where his angst grows due to being isolated from his Jew-hating peers. To add insult to injury, he discovers that his mother Rosie (Scarlett Johansson) has been hiding a Jewish girl in their home. Outraged and beside himself with indignation, Jojo hatches a plan to get rid of the Jewish girl, seizing it as an opportunity to prove himself as a true Nazi believer to his peers. 

Jojo embarks on quite the character arc, and Waititi once again proves that he is a masterful director when it comes to working with children. His ability to elicit the purest, most delightful performances from child actors is amazing (just as he did in Hunt for the Wilderpeople), and the audience swiftly finds themselves endeared to Jojo and the rest of the cast. Performances from everyone were delightful, with Waititi allowing each actor (such as Johansson, Sam Rockwell, and Rebel Wilson) to bring their signature flairs to their characters. While the film is approached mostly as a period piece from an aesthetic standpoint (with costumes, set design, and color palettes largely faithful to the period), Waititi’s deliberate choices in making it anachronistic serve two purposes: to punctuate the satire, and to help make what should be a very sobering subject matter more approachable.   

The story, a loose adaptation of the book Caging Skies by Christine Leunens, while quirky and sweet certainly doesn't shy away from the real horrors of the holocaust. It’s a tightrope walk to juggle humor and atrocity, but Waititi makes it seem natural. He also knows precisely how to tug at heartstrings without being melodramatic. Jojo Rabbit’s triumph is ultimately in its ability to treat the topic of ideological extremism with the ridicule it so often deserves while at the same time provoking interesting questions about why people get sucked into blindly following charismatic demagogues, entrenching themselves in hate-filled cults, and spouting toxic ideologies. The best part? Waititi does this with so much thoughtfulness and nuance, all while serving up an entertaining, poignant story. 

By the end of Jojo Rabbit, you’re not raising your pitchforks screaming about the injustice of the Holocaust—that would be rather trite. Instead, you’re reminded that humans are complex, multi-dimensional, and capable of both immense kindness and unbridled terror. It’s a celebration of people’s capacity to change their minds. More importantly, it’s a reminder of the beauty of comedy and how laughter can be the best medicine during turbulent times. 

(More—including spoilers—under the cut)

What I love most about Jojo Rabbit is the depth of each character and how there’s so much to dissect and unpack for each one. Beginning with Jojo—we learn that not only is his father far away, in danger, fighting somewhere on the frontlines, but that he also lost his older sister Inge. We’re never told in full detail what happened to her, but the main takeaway is that her death, coupled by the absence of Jojo’s father, were tragedies that may have propelled Jojo to seek out the philosophy of the Third Reich. It’s not uncommon for young fanatics to get swept into hate groups when they are at their lowest points. When you’re angry or feeling helpless and lonely, it’s easy to externalize your pain and find someone to blame, whether it’s an entire gender, people of certain ethnicities, or members of a different political party. It’s simpler, you see, instead of owning one’s problems and acknowledging that the world doesn’t revolve around you. By making boogeymen out of people who are easy targets, we assert control over the senseless things that happen in our lives. It’s a way to feel powerful.

When you’re young, there are so many things that are out of your control. You’re caught in this torrent of everyone else’s decisions—your parents, school, your peers, society at large—and you’re looking around, flailing and hyperaware, that you’re living what is supposed to be your life and yet there seems so very little that you have ownership of. That's Jojo’s story. Not only is he caught in the middle of a war, but he’s grappling with some seriously heavy shit: an absentee father, a dead sister, a craving for acceptance from his peer group and, ultimately, a longing for connection that is rooted in positivity rather that hate. 

At first that connection seems to be cultivated by his mother, Rosie, who is literally and figuratively the most vibrant character in the film. From her bold, striking fashion sense and rouged lips to her joie de vivre, Rosie is, to quote Mulan, a flower that blooms in adversity. Even during the bleakest of times, she finds ways to uplift her son, whom she can tell is hurting. Her bursts of energy, her ability to find excitement and enthusiasm even in the most mundane of things, her rally to dance in the face of tragedy—all were reminders that dwelling on hatred and sorrow, while easy and sometimes necessary, is a crutch in a balm’s disguise. We must always forge ahead and seek hope when all feels lost, like “staring a tiger in the eyes”, as Rosie would say. That’s why, despite the risks of being caught by the Gestapo, she housed a Jewish girl in her home. In some small way, she was doing her part in the resistance against a hateful movement. While Rosie says she’s never stared a tiger in the eyes, her act of defiance came at great risk to herself, and that’s true courage.

In one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the film, Jojo is wandering the streets when he notices a bright, blue butterfly fluttering against the backdrop of hate-filled propaganda smattered on the city walls. He chases it wistfully and accidentally stumbles on the gallows in the middle of the town square. All the audience sees, hanging from the gallows, is a pair of legs with bright-colored shoes, and our hearts immediately sink. It’s Rosie. Waititi leads up to this shocking moment during a previous scene, while Jojo and Rosie are hanging out by a river. Rosie makes fun of Jojo for still being unable to tie his own shoes. She’s skipping gleefully on top of a concrete wall, with the camera trained low at Jojo’s eye-level, so the audience sees a shot of her shoes as she taps into a merry little dance. Waititi counts on viewers remembering this quiet scene to make what follows truly devastating. The effect is quite heart-stopping, and it’s impossible to want to reach out and give poor Jojo a hug as he cries out and wraps his arms around his dead mother’s feet. It’s then that Waititi makes his message known: Yes, there’s plenty to make light of in the world, but you can do this while also acknowledging that there’s plenty of darkness. It’s an impressive balancing act, and Waititi does it with so much wonderful exuberance and earnestness that it’s tough not to commend.

Viewers notice that the more Jojo focuses on the positive things in his life—his mother, his new Jewish friend Elsa—the less we see of his imaginary friend Hitler. And this is a deliberate choice by Waititi to prove a point: when you are consumed with hate, you’ll want to constantly keep feeding it because it’s comfortable and easy. As humans, we have a biological negative bias that we rely on as a means of survival. The very idea of entropy exists as a reminder that it takes more work to put things in order, to be good, to rise above, than for things to decay and distort and devolve. The more you fill your life with things that bring you joy, fulfillment, and contentment, the less you’ll rely on poisonous literature and toxic people. While this isn't exactly an epiphany for most of us, one may applaud Waititi for the inventive way he delivers this message.  

Another delightful character who, on the surface, seemed to be solely there for comedic effect, was Sam Rockwell’s Captain Klenzendorf, who’s tasked with whipping up these little rascals into Nazi-fighting shape. From the very get go, we sense that this man’s commitment to the Nazi cause is entirely for appearances’ sake. From his clandestine romance with his right-hand man (played by Games of Thrones’ Alfie Allen) to his soft spot for Jojo, the audience is led to believe that this man is merely pretending to be a hard-ass because that’s what you were expected to do, else be accused of treason to your nation. One could assume his affection for Jojo had something to do with being able to sympathize with the young boy after Jojo is relegated to doing simple jobs due to his injury (Klenzendorf claims he was benched from the frontlines because of an injury that led to him having a dead eye). But it’s toward the end of the film where we fully realize the totality of his character. In an earlier scene, Jojo is bullied by some older boys into killing a rabbit. They jeer at him as he wrestles with the decision to kill an innocent animal. He’s torn between wanting desperately to ingratiate himself into his peer group and staying true to the part of himself that’s kind, pure, innocent, and staunchly against needless violence. The music builds as we lean forward in our seats waiting to see what Jojo does. He decides on an act of mercy at his own expense, releasing the bunny and yelling at it to flee from danger. Unfortunately, before it has a chance to escape, the bunny is snatched up by one of the older boys, who wrings its neck in front of all the young boys to see. 

At first this seems like a scene that’s simply supposed to be an obnoxious display of bravado. But Waititi calls back to this scene towards the end of the film twice. Klenzendorf arrives at the Betzler household when it is being searched and ransacked by the Gestapo, who suspect Rosie has been aiding Jews. Jojo is terrified, not just to be discovered as traitors by the Gestapo but for Elsa’s (the Jewish girl they have been hiding who has now become his friend) safety. To get ahead of the situation, Elsa emerges from her hiding place and pretends to be Jojo’s dead sister Inge. When the Gestapo demand her paperwork, she shows them Inge’s old ID card. Klenzendorf immediately intercedes, grabs the ID from her hand and demands that she variate her identity by stating her birthday. Elsa stammers in response. “Correct,” Klenzendorf confirms flatly. The Gestapo consider this acceptable and vacate the premises, none the wiser. We discover immediately that Elsa had actually given the wrong birthdate, and Klenzendorf could have outed her right then, but decided not to. He was helping the bunny escape.

In another scene, when the Allied troops march into Germany and start rounding up all the Nazi soldiers, Jojo (who has a Nazi officer’s jacket on) is mistaken for one of them. He runs into Captain Klenzendorf, who creates a commotion by wrenching the Nazi jacket off of Jojo’s back and pushing him away, telling him to flee while yelling at him for being a dirty Jew so the Allies don’t execute him. It was an act of sacrifice from a man who recognized himself in the young boy. Klenzendorf saw Jojo’s gentleness and purity of heart and knew this kid needed to live. He released the bunny, stared a tiger squarely in the eyes—at the expense of his own life.

Jojo Rabbit, while certainly laugh-out-loud funny and full of amusement, is a moving story about heroism from a group of people who rarely ever get acknowledgment for their acts of bravery. These were Germans who defied their Führer and their Aryan brotherhood at great risk to their own lives. While these acts will never erase the horrors of the Holocaust, it’s a reminder that people are complicated creatures, capable of miraculous acts of mercy and horrific deeds of violence. It implores us to think about how some of the people that get caught up in hate groups are hurting deeply and just looking for something to blame their pain on. It definitely doesn’t excuse their actions or the bile they oftentimes spew, but it merely reminds us that behind every caricature is a human being in pain. 

Even if you see Jojo Rabbit and don’t think it’s that deep—you may say “Starr, it’s just a comedy about stupid Nazis, it’s not even a true story”. What is true about it is that we live in a world of grey, and while it may be simpler to put people in buckets of black and white, hero and villain, good and bad, more often than not we are all just hurting in some way. What’s true about it is that we have more in common than we have differences and ultimately, everyone regardless of race, creed, sexual orientation, craves the same thing: freedom; Freedom from the burdens that we carry on our shoulders, from dead loved ones to strife and war. Freedom from the fear of persecution for being who we are. The freedom to wear whatever we want, screw whomever we want, and to dance like no one’s looking. 

[raisingsupergirl]

Grilling: The Next Generation

I'll admit it. I'm a total porch jockey. Anyone who drives by my house on the weekend will likely see me sitting on my back deck working on my computer (like right now), smoking my pipe (like right now), or grilling (like yesterday). But my favorite of these is definitely grilling. And as I said, I participated in that favorite past time yesterday, but it was a whole new experience for me. Why? Because, for the first time in nearly a decade, I cooked on a new grill, and the experience was bittersweet. You see, the last grill I bought was eight years ago when my wife and I first moved back to Missouri from Virginia. Since then, my humble Kenmore gas grill has given me countless memories and mountains of delicious food. But nothing is meant to last forever, and grills are no exception. I knew I would have to say goodbye eventually, but I had no idea how much it would affect me.

It was a slow fade. First was the electric igniter about five years ago. No biggie. Matches did the job just fine. Then the heat shields crumbled. An easy replacement. Grill covers came and went, and I saw the creeping rust and increasingly unstable base as endearing character traits. Even it's inability to get over 400 degrees was just a minor nuisance. But when the warming rack literally fell in half, I knew it was time to say goodbye to my old friend. Thus began my search for a replacement. And gosh, did I have a hard time deciding.

As I said, I'd grilled exclusively on gas for the majority of my adult life, so it's what I was comfortable with. I knew the hot spots. I knew its strengths and weaknesses. And I loved the ease of use. But I was ready for a change. And so, I had two options in mind: a pellet grill or a dual gas/charcoal combo. I researched countless brands and variations online. I pestered my co-workers and patients for a solid week (bless their patience). And still I was no closer to deciding. It was like comparing apples to oranges. But in the end, a couple of factors led me to a decision.

Remember when I said the electronic igniter was the first thing to go out on my gas grill? Well, as much as I loved the diverse options of a pellet grill and the idea of getting that delicious smoked flavor with the push of a couple of buttons, pellet grills right now rely heavily on a slue of electronics. Igniters, thermostats, and augers, oh my. So much so that most have some form of motherboard to control their fancy gizmos. And even though I keep my grills covered religiously, they do sit outside all year. And I really hated the idea of having to replace essential components. For me, simpler is better.

The second factor was the wood pellet itself. It's the fuel that makes pellet grills possible. They pack all of the flavors of various wood chips for a fraction of the cost because they're essentially the sawdust byproduct of furniture manufacturers. They're waste that's put to good use, and they wind up being cheaper than charcoal and even gas. But the little secret that Traeger doesn't want you to know is this: you don't need a pellet grill to use pellets! Throw a handful on top of your charcoal and you get all of that smoky goodness without the fancy technology. But what's that you say? The mess and time that charcoal requires doesn't compare to the quick, easy use of pellet grills? Well, yes, that's true. But that's what ten-dollar smoker boxes are made for. Fill one up with pellets and throw it on top of your gas grill. Problem solved (okay, not completely. I'm aware that it's hard to replicate the raw smoking power of a pellet grill or a dedicated smoker, but my solution is a reasonable one).

So now that I knew I'd be happy with a duel-fuel grill, all that remained was to pick a brand and style. There were only a few that I found with the massive amount of cooking surface that I wanted, and the variations between them were negligible. In fact, as I compared, it seemed that most used a lot of the same parts. Like, the exact same parts. So much so that it got me wondering if they came from the same manufacturers. I couldn't find any proof online, but the fact remained: instead of comparing apples to oranges, I was now comparing apples to apples. And I was ready to stop comparing them and start grilling them (if you've never grilled apples, you're really missing out). So after work last Thursday, I felt like a Viking returning from a successful conquest when I brought home a $300 Char-Broil side-by-side with 1,000 square inches of cooking surface. And then I pulled it all out of the box on Friday and felt like a child staring at a 1,000-piece Lego set. 

But I didn't let it intimidate me. I put on some tunes, cracked a cold one, and got to work, knowing all of my efforts would soon be worth it. And four hours later (after assembly and rubbing the whole interior down with margarine to "cure" everything), I stood back and admired the newest member of the Winch family. I mean, sure, it was already past dinnertime, which meant we had leftovers, but I was ready to break that bad boy in the next day. And the anticipation was more exciting than Christmas Eve.

Needless to say, my Saturday was a day to remember. One thousand inches of cooking surface. The left side was what I knew: clean, even propane. And the right was unexplored territory: raw, unbridled charcoal. And things got out of hand in a hurry. Waaaay too much charcoal and pellets. My chicken was burning within minutes, even with the vents closed and the charcoal basket as low as it would go. But I adjusted. I buckled down and harnessed the storm. And it was glorious. Every inch of that cast iron was filled with meats and veggies of the most heavenly varieties. And everything landed on the plates with better flavor and texture than I've been able to attain for years. And the critics agreed.

And I think that's the main reason why this has all been so important to me—my family. They always look forward to Daddy's grilling. It brings them joy, and they tell me as much. And for any husband or father, having a family's praise is the ultimate joy. It's what it's all about. All the hard work. The long hours and the time away from those loved ones. It's all worth it to see them appreciate you. And grilling has always been a surefire way to win over their hearts.

As I said, nothing is meant to last, and I know the grill I bought won't outperform a Weber or a Traeger. But when it does finally collapse into a pile of rust, maybe I'll want something different. Maybe the pellet grills will have more options and lower price tags. And until then, I'll honor the memory of my trusty Kenmore by creating new memories with my Char-Broil. So from my porch to yours, happy grilling.

[senor-plume]

Reunion

   Henry throws on his favorite shirt, a concert tee that he got at an Arlo Guthrie concert some years back. Pulling the shirt over his head, he eyes the bottle of ale that sits on the kitchen table. Reaching out with his left hand he grabs the bottle and takes a long pull from it. Friday night and not a thing going on. Luckily.     With the drink in his hand he walks over to the living room window and takes a peak at the great outdoors. Folks arriving for a CYO event at the school across the street. Looks like a basketball game as he spies on the young girls showing up in their cheerleader outfits. Some adults walking in and a young man about 20 has his head stuck into his cell phone, texting as he moves straight ahead. Henry closes the curtain tight and walks away quite glad that he is not playing a game of basketball tonight. As much as he complains about the loneliness of his life, he has adapted to it and some nights, such as tonight, he is glad for his solitude lifestyle.      The television is on but thankfully muted while the record player spins the vinyl album around at 33 and a third. A collector of sorts, he stops and stares at his records. A massive amount that must be well into the thousands. His father started him out young to the pleasures of music and he never looked back. His dad left him his old records from the 40's to the 70's when he passed away. Alphabetized, he goes down to one knee to look through the Z's. Pulling out Frank Zappa's first album he takes the record from its sleeve and stares at the grooves that the needle reads. Henry can, and will spend hours now gazing at his collection with pride bursting up through his soul. Nothing can or will make him as happy as rummaging through these records and trips to the Salvation Army for more is his true joy in life.      Stopping only to gather up a plate of nacho's and a few beers, Henry has just spent the complete Friday night alone with his records. He plans to leave the house tomorrow morning for a trip to the local hotel where a huge record sale will be going down. Once a month there is a gathering of all types of venders selling off their albums and other music related items. Henry looks forward to this with unbridled glee. He takes to the computer and after seeing there was not one email waiting for him he begins to compile a list of albums that he must have and hopefully he will be able to find them there. Some records he just never stops looking for. Years and years he has waited for somebody to sell them off. A Beatles record nicknamed the Butcher Album due to the cover showing the Fab Four dressed as butchers covered in raw meat and doll parts. A true and rare collector's item. He saw one once when he was visiting his sister in California. He had it in his hands and as he always does, he smelled the inside of the cover. There really is nothing finer than the scent of an old record Henry believed. The asking price for the album was a hefty 1000 bucks which he did not have at the time. He has saved up for the day it would appear to him again. He would not miss out on it twice.     With the need to take a piss Henry, drunk now, as he always is on the weekends, stumbles to the bathroom. Holding on for dear life he lets out a long sigh and out of the blue the telephone rings. He usually unplugs the fucking thing on the weekends but he must have forgotten.  The answering machine pick up. It is a woman's voice and it is unfamiliar. Without washing his hands, Henry walks to the bedroom to hear the voice say goodbye and then the tape rewinds. Who the fuck could that be? Henry presses play and he listens in carefully.   "I'm looking for Henry Coda. If this is the wrong number I apologize but I really want to find him. This is Anna Baez. I went to school with Henry back in the 80's and I would like to invite him to our schools 25th anniversary. It's this upcoming weekend…seven days from now and it will be a ball. So Henry, please if you could join us at the school at 7 in the gymnasium… I would be thrilled to see you again. We all would. It will be a blast. I hope this is the right number. Call me at 722-5733 to let me know if you can come. Thanks and goodbye."     Christ. Anna Baez. Henry takes a long drink from the bottle…killing it and he heads to the bookshelf to pull out his senior yearbook. The cover says Binghamton Central High School. It has been years since he has looked at this thing. He takes a seat on his bed and opens the book. He flips through the pages with a bored look on his face until he comes to the page he wants. Under his nose is a picture of Anna. A blonde beauty that was quite popular in school. Unlike Henry she excelled in school, running for class president and winning. A cheerleader and if he remembered correctly, she was crowned prom queen…a prom in which Henry did not attend. His book was signed a few times and he reads a few. "Have a great summer Henry…see you at the college." "Henry, keep playing that guitar and I am certain you'll be top of the pops in no time." "You are one weird fellow man. Don't change."    Henry never ended up going to the local community college and he never made it to the top of the charts. He was still weird and he has barely changed since the 80's. He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. He remained on the bed thinking of school. How he hated it and most of the kids there…except for one girl…Nancy…or Nan for short. Nan, he had the biggest teenage crush on. She was always friendly with him but she was dating the same guy from their freshman year right up to the senior year. They were friends…she was kind to him and although her boyfriend hated him she didn't care. She was nice. Rising from the bed he began to think about her. Nan, I wonder if you are even still alive and if you are I bet you have fourteen kids and a beefcake husband. He wandered out of his room and made it to the kitchen to grab a fresh beer. Cracking it open he heard the needle hit the label on the record he was playing and he knew it was time to flip it over.    Playing the Stones now he could not get his mind off of that girl. Nan. Henry hardly left his house for any kind of social event. Skipping family reunions and the like. But this…this could be…interesting. He wanted to see Nan and that was the only thing that made him pick up the phone to call Anna back.     She answered right away and sounded genuinely pleased to hear from him. She told him that he was all set. That it was to be a casual party and that he could bring a friend or spouse if he wanted to. Henry asked how many people have signed up to go and she told him that it will be a packed event. "Expect at least a hundred kids to be there. It will be lots of fun. And Henry, feel free to bring some of those records of yours with you. I bet we would all like to hear them." After saying goodbye and hanging up Henry crawled into bed and found himself…drunk and daydreaming about Nan and just what he could say to her. It made him nervous just thinking about it and soon he blocked it out and fell asleep with the full bottle of beer next to his head. ——————————————————————————————–                    After about four beers Henry was ready to leave for the reunion. Dressed in khakis and a seersucker shirt he bent down to tie his shoes when he felt the urge to throw up come over him. He ran to the kitchen sink and made it just in time. Four beers down the drain, all sudsy and wiping tears from his eyes he went to swig some mouthwash around in the bathroom.       Outside now Henry tucked the cuffs of his pants into his socks and jumped onto his bicycle. The school was only a few blocks away and it was a pleasant night. He had no intention of trying to impress anyone there. His bike was fine and he enjoyed riding it more than driving anyway.      Along the way there his nerves grew worse and he checked the time on the side of the bank on the corner. 7:15. He was late and he did not care. He toyed with the idea of not showing…no one would miss him anyway but Nan…he was dying to see what became of her. He stopped his bike in front of the tavern Rocco's and parking his bike on the side of the building. He went in. "Henry! Long time no see my friend. How goes it?" Rocco extended his hand and Henry shook it with a weak smile on his face. "Get me a cold one please Rocco. Lord knows I need one tonight" "What's the big occasion? You got a hot date tonight? If you do, bring her here. I'd love to see the kind of girl you could pick up Henry."       The bartender, a black guy with muscles that would put Schwarzenegger to shame cracked the top off the bottle of Bud and handed it to Henry. He took hold of it and brought it to his mouth and drained half of it in a mere two seconds. His eyes darted around but he found himself slowly calming down. The television above the bar was on showing some soccer match and the jukebox was playing the old Turtles tune.. .'Happy Together.' "Henry, it's been a while, a few days now perhaps since you last walked into my establishment. What's been happening to you? You depressed? Did a fire destroy your record collection or something?" "No. Just been busy is all. Listen Rocco, I need your advice here. I'm now headed to my 25th reunion at school and I am rather nervous about it all. There is a girl there…or a woman now and I really want to talk to her but I am a social dud. I have no idea what to say to her. What's a good ice breaker? Something that won't make me look like a total dick head. Just a little dick head." Rocco smiled and said " Ah Henry, you seeing an old flame tonight? Some girl who used to give you hand jobs in the basement? Something like that eh?" "No…not at all. Just a girl who I was friendly with. Though I have to admit that I dreamed of her and those hands giving me some relief. I don't know. I can't think of what to say to her when I see her. I need your help here."   Rocco pulled up a stool and thought for a while. "What did you guys used to talk about in school? Back then. What did you talk about?" Henry thought for a while and he said `music.' "Ok, then you talk about that. Just say that you heard an old song on the radio and that it made you think of her. She'll be pleased to hear this…hopefully and there you go. You'll be off to the races." "But I never listen to the radio…all those commercials and that terrible hip hop music they play now a days…It gives me a head…" “Then, forget the radio part…just say you heard a song…somewhere… and it made you think of her. Just wing it from there. She'll want to know what song and then you'll be in a real conversation and I bet it will be the first one with a woman for quite some time. Am I right?" Henry sighed and took a drink from the bottle. "Yeah, music, that's kinda what I had planned on anyway." "That's all you ever talk about actually Henry. This is the first conversation we've had that wasn't about music or music related. You must really be nervous." "Yeah, I am. What time is it Rocco?" "7:30." "Shit, I gotta go. Thanks for the help. I appreciate it, man."     Rocco wished him good luck and said that if he gets lucky with the girl to bring her over to the bar so he could see what all this nervousness was all about. Henry killed his beer and slammed the bottle down on the bar with a determined thud. He stood and with a wave left the bar and found his bike waiting for him. He climbed aboard and began his trek to the school. ————————————————-      Inside the gymnasium it was sweltering. He was informed at the front desk, where old Anna Baez was sitting, that the air conditioners were on the fritz and to expect it to be a little warm in there. Warm? It was horrible. Henry went immediately to the bar and ordered a beer. A nice cold beer would really hit the spot and maybe calm his nerves a bit.    Drinking, he looked down to his name tag. Henry. Who the hell is going to remember me anyway? This is a mistake. He had a few friends in high school and they all went to universities and left him in his hometown alone and friendless. Sure, he knew some of the guys and gals at the record conventions but he wouldn't be able to really call them friends. He was a lonely guy who simply loved his records and beer. He looked up and watched all the people milling around and some dancing. A few guys whom he recognized as old jocks were standing at the bar, drinking and laughing, without a care in the world. Henry felt the sweat dripping down his back and he flapped his shirt a few times to get some air in there. His ears pricked up when he heard a Duran Duran song playing and he was just about to head over to the DJ booth to talk to the guy about his CD's when he saw Nan walk in. The light from the gym was weak at best but he knew it was her although he could not read her name tag. My goodness…there she is he thought to himself. I'll just wait for a while to let her mingle with the people that she really wanted to see and then, then he would walk up to her and reintroduce himself to her.        Henry wiped his brow with the back of his hand and struck up a conversation with the DJ. They shot the shit for a few minutes when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Nan smiling ear to ear. "Henry Coda…my God…you look exactly the same. You really do. My goodness…how are you?"       Henry's shirt was sopped with sweat as he opened his mouth to return her greeting when a group of guys walked up to Nan and began to talk excitedly to her. Henry shrunk back to the DJ booth and just stood there watching them enjoying their conversation. I wish I was normal he thought to himself. I wish I could talk and feel carefree with others. Instead I am a sweating fool all alone with social anxiety and a drinking problem. He took a swig from his plastic cup and turned around to stare at the wall.     A few minutes passed while a Van Halen song played. Henry began to recall the time he had bought the album which this song came from when he heard a woman's voice say something. He turned around to see Nan staring at him. "Hello…anyone home? I've been trying to get your attention for a minute now silly. Daydreaming about music I bet. This Van Halen song sure brings back the memories don't you think?" "I was just playing this song a few days ago actually. All in all it's a great album with very little filler. Sure, a few of the songs aren't all that great on it but not many records from that period were masterpieces. You know what I mean?" Nan smiled at him and told him that he has not changed all that much from 25 years ago. Henry smiled and tried hard to think of something to say to her. He decided to ask her about her life now but she spoke first. "So tell me Henry…tell me about your life. Are you married? Is your rock and roll wife around here somewhere?" "Wife? Ha, no…No wife. Never. Never was married. You?" "Well, remember Davey? My boyfriend in school? We married after college and 10 months later we were divorced. Still to this day I have no idea what went wrong but that band of gold on my finger just cursed us. It was something else, I'll tell you, I won't be walking down the aisle again, you can count on that." Henry looked down at her finger and even in the bad light he could see that she was not sporting a wedding ring. "Gee, I'm sorry about that Nan. Geeze…will he be here tonight? Davey?" "No, he moved to Washington State after our divorce was finalized. I haven't seen him in years now. No kids…thank God." "Oh…well that's good I guess…divorce can really be hard on kids; at least that's what I've read in magazines and all. So…you live around here?" Nan answered his questions and boy was there a lot of them. Henry at times felt like he was interviewing the poor girl but he really had nothing else to say to her so he asked questions. Query after query but she didn't seem to mind at all. They talked for a while when he realized he was in dire need of a drink. He tried to back step a bit to get closer to the bar hoping that she would follow him…slowly but two steps back into his plan she stood right there, not moving an inch. He would have to ask her if she would like a refill on her wine…or what appeared to be wine. Maybe it was punch. It was red and that was all he could tell. In a break in the conversation he asked her if she would like a refill and that he could really go for a cold beer in this stifling heat. "I know! It's so hot in here…I can't stand it. Want to go outside for a bit? I could use some fresh air and besides…and don't tell anyone but I am dying for a cigarette." "Outside? Certainly. I'd like that. I'm beginning to melt in here. Please just let me refill my beer here. Can you wait?" She nodded her head and Henry went to get a beer. Turning to Nan he asked her if she was good. She replied that another cup of wine would be great and she handed him her now empty cup. "…A nice cold Michelob and a wine please Jerry."    The bartender filled up the two glasses and they headed outside. On the way to the front doors Nan was greeted with many hellos. Henry couldn't remember her being so popular in school. It was mighty crowded and Nan grabbed his arm and pulled him along and he was happy to be lead away out of there. Outside the cool air was a Godsend. They both needed the cool night air on their hot skin. "Now this is much better, don't you think Henry? So, tell me now…back in school you loved music more than anyone I've ever known. You ever made a career of it? You in a band or anything?" He felt like he was letting her down as he went on to say that not only was he not in a band but that as a career he chose media marketing. "What exactly is that Henry?" "You know those jingles you hear on the radio? I write them. I make commercials for the radio and television." "Oh my, how interesting…anything I would know?" "You know Champs Fried Chicken? The chain of chicken places? Well that one ad..the one that goes:

`Champs…is the place to be when your down and hungry, a dollar 99 is all you got? you'll dig our chicken, you'll dig it a lot.'

I wrote that." "Holy shit Henry, I know that song! It's the catchiest tune like ever! Wow…I'm with a celebrity here!" "Ha…well…it pays the bills. It's not going to get me a gold record but I suppose I can't complain." "Well, I think it's awesome…simply awesome Henry. I'm not as famous as you but I guess my job is ok…I sell real estate in North Carolina. I'm not rich or anything but like you, I can pay the bills."     Henry found himself relaxing a bit. The cool night air did him well and he found that he could keep up his end of the conversation. He went in a few times to refill their drinks. He was feeling alright by the time of his 7th beer of the night and Nan was really knocking the wine back. They talked about many things and a few people even recognized him as they made their way out of the gym to return home.    Around the time of Nan's fifth cup of wine she realized that the party inside was dying down. "I should really go back inside and mingle a bit more. You wanna come along with me? There has to be other people you want to see besides me." "Not really, Nan…in fact the only reason why I came to this high school heat wave was to see you. You were always so nice to me…don't think I've forgotten it these many years later." "Oh Henry, that's so nice of you to say. Shoot…I should go back though. You sure you don't want to come with me? I'll buy you another drink." Henry thought about it and decided not to go in. "I'm sorry Nan but it's really too hot for me in there. I'm going to head to Rocco's for a nice air conditioned beer." "Sounds splendid. Ok…I understand. "It was nice to see you again Nan…really. Take care now." "I will. Thanks for visiting with me. I had a ball. Enjoy Rocco's" And with that they hugged each other goodbye and went their separate ways.

      Around 1AM Rocco was placing the chairs up on the tables when there was a knock at his front door. He checked the time on his wrist and went to tell them he was closed. Through the door he saw a woman standing there. "I'm sorry Ma'am but I'm closed now. I open at 9 if you still need a drink in the morning." The girl was swaying a bit but managed to steady herself. "Is Henry there? Henry Coda? I'm a friend of his." Rocco opened the door and told her that she just missed him. "He left about 10 minutes ago. You don't happen to be Nan are you?" "Yes..why?" "Oh boy was he going on and on about you. You made quite the impression on him tonight. He usually only talks about music but not tonight. It was Nan this and Nan that. Sorry you missed him." "Yeah, me too. Please tell him I stopped by ok?" "I will. Goodnight." And with that she turned away and headed back to her waiting taxi. “Thanks for waiting. Please take me to the Serling Hotel.”   The driver nodded and turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the tavern.  Nan, drunk… rummages through her purse as the taxi speeds through the early morning darkness as the car radio plays an REM song and Nan smiles to herself as she zips up her bag and quietly sings along to the tune as it plays.    

[erlenmeyertrash]

Doorways, Part Three

yikes get prepared to do some reading y’all i’m surprised at myself lmao

hope you like it!!

tagged: @countessmissyshort​

(word count: 2714 | pairings: none | cw: self-deprecation)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

Virgil slowly shut his door until it latched- don’t slam it, don’t upset Patton any more than you just did, you idiot- and sighed deeply, leaning against it for a moment before heading over to his bed and tiredly clambering in. Thomas’ emotional state was significantly better- dark mood beaten out for now- but Virgil’s was spiraling downward pretty quickly. The realization that he had a bad mood- that he was the one of the four that harbored most bad moods- only made it worse.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, eyes glassing over. In his own mind, he felt like he was digging through a treacherous landscape, batting away at the thickening fog he could feel rather than see and ripping his feet from the sticky swamp below. Icy tendrils tried to wrap around his wrists and ankles, but he sluggishly worked his way through the dreary dampness, feebly trying to evade his-

-...evade his purpose.

Virgil had told Thomas he hated working hard, and he meant it. Dealing with all that negativity all the time was exhausting. He had to do it whether he wanted to or not- whether he could or not. It wasn’t like any of the others could ever do it, though- Patton could handle some of the emotion, but would eventually revert back to his much better happy-go-lucky self. Roman could, maybe, but he’d tire out too quickly and race back to his own realm of wonder and adventure. Virgil wouldn’t have blamed them, either. Who wouldn’t leave this mess if they had the change? Who would possibly want to-

Stop that. He shook his head quickly, attempting to dispel those thoughts, internally ripping himself away and stumbling backward. He just needed to calm down and not let Thomas feel any of this. He just needed to beat this down and hope it would eventually grow tired and leave on its own accord, successfully suppressed.

It wouldn’t happen, though- he knew that. It was pervasive, and insistent, and exhausting, and-

A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts and he peered at it, puzzled. A glance at the clock (the one on his desk that told him the actual time- not the one spinning wildly on the wall) told him quite a bit of time had passed since breakfast.

“...Come in?” he called, sitting up slightly. The handle turned and in came Logan, peering around momentarily before stepping in. Virgil frowned.

“Logan?” It wasn’t like the logical side to come to his room- or, well, anybody’s.

“Hello, Virgil. I wanted to talk with you.”

Virgil swallowed. “Listen, if this is about breakfast, I’m sorry- I just-”

Logan shook his head and moved to sit in the desk chair. “It is about breakfast, but I’m not necessarily here requesting an apology.”

Virgil leaned against his pillows, glancing away. “...Oh.” And then- “...So what are you here for?”

“I’m mainly here to ask about you. Are you alright?”

Virgil sighed. “I’m fine, Logan. I just- a bad mood was settling in. It was kind of a lot to handle. I’m getting the hang of it now.”

“That is good to hear.”

Virgil stared blankly across his room as it was quiet for a moment. He found himself staring at his other door. Plain. White. No decoration to speak of.

“...but not good to hear if it’s not actually the whole truth,” Logan added quietly. Virgil turned to him for a moment before looking away, unable to hold his gaze.

“...It’s just-” Virgil scrambled for the words- “-just- why me?”

“Why you what?”

“Why am I anxiety?” Virgil asked, misery evident in his voice. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be created. Thomas just wanted an antagonist, but people liked me, so I stick around. I never wanted-”

He broke off, forcing the lump in his throat back down, and gestured helplessly to his dark, cobweb-covered room.

“...We never asked to be ourselves either, Virgil.”

“Well, yeah, but-” Virgil shook his head. “It’s not the same. It’s fun to be you. I’m- I’m a burden.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean- look at you guys! You wear a necktie and glasses and- you’re so brilliant and witty and sassy. Roman is- is dressed as a Disney prince, for crying out loud, he’s the ultimate hero. And Patton’s so- just so- cheery and bubbly and happy and wears the silly adorable polo and- and the cardigan, and just- and here I am, with black eyeshadow and an oversized hoodie and sloppy hair, and if I could ever conjure up anything it would- probably be storm clouds and embarrassing photos and exam papers with failing grades on the top. My point is- why would any of you three ever not want to be yourselves and want to be somebody else?... What could ever be wrong with being one of you?”

Logan was silent. Virgil glanced back over at his closet door, falling onto his pillows in defeat. A heavy, dejected silence hung in the air. The shadows on the ceiling above Virgil’s head slowly began to spin.

“...Roman is dangerous.”

“...Huh?” Virgil whipped his head around to stare at Logan, who was looking at his hands in his lap. The shadows even seemed confused- those over the bed slowly dissipated. What?

“Thomas has said it himself,” Logan continued. “If he only listened to his most wonderful, romantic, fanciful thoughts, he would be setting himself up for heartbreak. Imagine if Roman had more unbridled influence- if he were left unchecked by you, or me, or even Patton. Thomas would have these huge, mountainous, ridiculous dreams dashed all the time by reality. …Do you remember the phone call?”

Virgil shuddered. How could he forget? The phone ringing, Thomas’ face of horror, Roman wailing for him to pick it up, his own terrifying voice- Get rid of it, get rid of the phone now!

“...Yeah. I remember.”

“Roman doesn’t know when to hold back. You helped Thomas through that one.”

“That was a moment of sheer desperation. And you were gone. Well- not gone gone, like you said, whatever,” he corrected as Logan opened his mouth to interrupt. “You weren’t there to stop the first call from happening in the first place. And besides- Roman was just doing what Thomas wanted.”

“Which is rewarding, yes. But sometimes, what Thomas might want isn’t what he needs… which brings me to Patton.”

“Patton?”

“Yes, Patton. Where Roman can be dangerous, Patton is- unpredictable. If Thomas only listened to Patton all the time, or even listened to him much more, he would exhaust himself being happy to everyone all the time and doing what everybody else wanted from him. His own necessary productivity and ambition would come to a screeching halt. Patton is actually constantly being suppressed or morphed or has to watch Thomas lie about his feelings while he’s struggling through them. And when he does take the time to work them out- well. Filming those Moving On videos hurt Patton deeply, as you saw. That took a lot out of him because Patton kind of- well-” Logan took a breath. “He prefers to cherry-pick his way through Thomas’ life, bounding from one positive emotion to another, no matter how fleeting. You know how he is conversationally- always saying whatever comes to his mind, interjecting randomly with things that don’t always make logical sense- it shows Patton is subject to whims and fancy. He is totally ungrounded. You and I convince Thomas he needs to work through more difficult feelings in order to better understand himself. You and I- rather ironically- both know repressing emotions isn’t good for him.”

Virgil mulled over this a second, taken back by Logan’s brutal criticism of the fatherly side. “...But Patton just tries to keep Thomas happy.”

“Exactly. He tries to keep him happy all the time. As wonderful as happiness is, it shouldn’t be a constant. It is unwise to make joy your baseline. But I-” Logan stopped.

Virgil glanced over at him again. The logical side seemed to sag slightly in the desk chair.

“...you…?”

“I…” Logan sighed, glancing at Virgil’s desk. “I used to, but- if Thomas listened to me all the time now… he would most likely almost never be happy.”

Virgil blinked. “Woah. What?”

“The other two bring the sunshine- not just a whole lot of it. Sure, I helped Thomas through his education quite a bit in the past- guided him towards his ambitions and goals, but- his goals are changed now. They certainly aren’t as academic as they once were. Which is fine! Absolutely fine. But.” Logan gave a short laugh. “Imagine if Thomas had never tried making videos, stuck to a chemical engineering career, and watched his Broadway dreams fade away. We all know how miserable that would make him… and because of that, I… well, at times I feel as though I am not much use anymore.” He exhaled slowly, a defeated smile on his face. Virgil frowned deeply.

“I used to be much more in control, as you know. I had to learn to give the reins over to Roman- to ignore Thomas’ education, everything he worked towards for so long, as Thomas shifted his chemical engineering career to the backburner and went full-throttle on the extracurricular I used to quite honestly hope was fanciful and fleeting. And that transition… As unemotional as I may be, Virgil, that was- that was terrifying. That was heartbreaking. But it made Thomas so happy.”

Virgil froze. What is going on?

“...Didn’t that make you wonder?” He blurted out suddenly. “If Roman being in charge- if you weren’t there- if that would have made Thomas happier all that time?”

Logan shook his head. “I used to. But I was wrong.” He glanced up at Virgil, smiling as he did.

“...But- but how? You just said-”

“I said the transition was difficult. I said it made Thomas happy. And sure, Thomas had hard times growing up. But did I keep him from being happy back then? No, of course not. Quite the contrary. I realized, then, that Thomas utilizing my strengths had made him happy- capitalizing on that love for the rainforest and transforming it into a potential lifelong career. Using Roman’s interest and guiding it into this plan helped Thomas in the long run. His discipline in his education helped him in other areas- and Virgil, that’s how you help him, too. You’re not always at the forefront- you rarely ever are. You do your best work helping Thomas quietly in the background.”

Virgil’s brain was spinning. He was quiet for a long moment.

“...how do I help him?”

“When you shoot down one of Roman’s wild ideas, it’s because you’re thinking long-term. To use a very Roman-esque metaphor, you see the chinks in the armor before he rides into battle. Roman only complains when you do so because his ego prevents him from seeing the issues himself. You’re there to protect him and Thomas both.

“And when you make Thomas practice his lines over and over, when you give him the butterflies in his stomach backstage, when you fear failure- it’s not because you want him to mess up. It’s because you want things to go perfectly, for Thomas to do his very best, for his fears not to come to fruition. And that is important to note.

“Virgil, when you’re afraid of a breakup, of losing friends and family- it’s because you don’t want Thomas to get too attached to something that might not always be there. You are attempting to be a cautionary tale before it’s ever written. You work against Patton and Roman simultaneously- you carry that weight- because you don’t want them to get hurt by their own ambitions.”

“Jesus, you’ve put a lot of thought into this, Logan.”

Logan grinned broadly. “That is what I do best. Just- think of us all like- say, a bike. Roman and Patton are the handlebars- they can pull Thomas in certain directions and guide him where he wants to go. You and I are the training wheels- making sure the turns aren’t too tight, that he doesn’t lose his balance. When Thomas is aware of us, when he also takes us into consideration, he makes sure he doesn’t take a road too bumpy or uneven.”

“But if we’re training wheels, doesn’t that mean Thomas- at some point- won’t need us anymore?” He winced once he realized what he had said. “...Sorry. That was probably a bit too close to what you mentioned earlier.”

But Logan simply shook his head again. “You’re forgetting a few things- first, that some people can ride bikes without using the handlebars, too. Second, Thomas is a child at heart- a toddler using training wheels isn’t too far of a metaphor stretch. Third- Thomas still doesn’t know how to ride a bike. The man made a vine about parkour and nearly shattered his wrist falling on purpose. Do you really think he’s going to ever hop on a bike without a little extra support?”

Virgil couldn’t help the loud laugh that burst out of his mouth before covering it quickly. Logan looked immensely proud of himself.

“And I thought you said the other two brought the sunshine,” Virgil teased. Logan blinked, caught off-guard by Virgil’s statement, before smiling softly- then his face turned more serious.

“...There is another thing I wanted to discuss.”

Virgil swallowed. Patton’s dad lectures were one thing. But a Logan lecture? He’d never heard of one, and it scared him a little bit.

“Roman tells us those stories because he knows we can’t experience them.”

“...Yeah. I know.” A bitter taste was back in Virgil’s mouth. He looked down again.

“No- you misunderstand. He is not boasting. He is sharing.”

Virgil glanced up sharply. “...What? What’s the difference?”

“None of us could truly follow on one of his adventures, and Roman knows that. He has the imagination and the bravery, the ego, the voice of narration, the knowledge of how to follow a plot steadily. We would either fail the quest, create plot holes, or never write the story because we wouldn’t know which direction to take it. Roman tells us these stories of grandeur so we can also experience them. Just like how Patton loves us all so much because he knows how hard it can be for us to love ourselves, fundamentally. Just as I am here for you, right now, being the voice of logic and reason. Just how you question our decisions for us, point out faults before they bring about our demise, and worry so we don’t have to. Personifying worry and anxiety- and to a degree, self-preservation- is not an easy task, Virgil. It is a steep order. It takes a lot out of you- but you are strong enough to handle it. You were made to handle it. Just as I was made to handle challenges of intellect. Just as Roman was made to handle creative block and self-doubt. Just as Patton was made to handle heartbreak. Thomas made you because he couldn’t function without you- and you have a two-video story arc to prove that, Virgil. Remember that.”

Virgil blinked hard to clear the fog from his eyes. He silently fiddled with his jacket zipper, Logan’s words bearing down on him in the quiet. He glanced up at the other side.

“...Thank you, Logan.”

Logan straightened his tie and glasses, sitting up in the chair. He nodded at Virgil.

“No, really. I- I had never thought about it... that way. You did, though- and you didn’t have to share that with me, but you did, and I… I… I really appreciate it.”

“You have helped me before, Virgil. I was simply returning a long-overdue favor.” He stood up from the chair and moved to exit, but not before turning back.

“...Oh. And Patton told me to tell you that you should apologize to Roman. I believe he said something akin to, ‘You can’t really wound Roman’s ego, but if you could, that would have.’”

Virgil smiled. “Of course Patton would say that… and he’s right. I’ll go. Thanks again, Logan.”

Logan smiled back. “Glad to be of assistance.”

A/N: ...in my defense, Logan's a bit of a chatterbox... goodness i love him for it tho 

(this was partially my own ridiculous mind-dump headcanon on how Virgil is seen as so necessary- it’s not just that he’s also good, it’s that too much of the other’s isn’t the best, either. sorry if the train of thought derails quite a bit in there. writing logan’s dialogue is a major brain stretch in that I have to take my own words i want him to say, make the sentences long and rambling, and spice them up intellectually, which is so fun!- but can get messy)

comments and critiques are always appreciated :) and if you want me to tag you let me know!

[amityfoxx]

Ancient runes- Freyas aett [plural. Aettir]

meanings of these first eight runes were essential components of life for the Nordic people and are symbolic of nurturing and concerned with concrete matters of daily life.  are particularly helpful as supporting and assisting forces, which can be added to spells to enhance or otherwise assist their effects.

FEHU

Cattle, wealth Owning cattle and gold were ways to raise yourself through the ranks of tribal society

The richness and gain of spirituality and happiness

Schreiber’s corrections, Fehu stands for fortune in both the material and immaterial sense of the word.

Merkstave, Fehu represents the opposite: loss [both personally and materially] as well as the negative forces that come with wealth: greed and poverty. 

Magical use of FEHU

 can use Fehu in a practical aspect to stabilize our magic and reduce the chances of backfire and side effects.

For added protection

do not make the mistake of trying to find a loophole to Gamp’s Principle Exception of Wealth with this rune.

 URUZ

Aurochs [horned cattle], water

Bravery, strength

Schreiber noted the pictographic translation to be that of a Graphorn, which is incidentally the symbol for the number two in arithmancy.

Merkstave, Uruz speaks of slowness, dullness, and potentially even cowardice depending on how it is combined with other runes.

Magical uses of Uruz

can be used to bolster and enhance the effects of a spell, though precautions must be taken as side effects can also be juiced up. For this reason it is not uncommon to find Fehu and Uruz inscribed together.

I feel it’s important to note while it’s still early in your magical career that you should be very careful with the kind of magic you are doing. Nothing exists in a vacuum, and every spell has some consequence, whether you are aware of it or not. This is the Law of Unintended Consequences, and it states that every action has some unintended or unforeseen reaction that may be positive (i.e. luck, goodwill), negative (backfire, unnecessary harm), or neutral (the benefits and negatives cancel each other out). It is vital to keep this in mind with all of your spellwork but with runes especially; you will come across examples and texts throughout your time in this course where misuse of runes has resulted in some very unfortunate circumstances, and you would be wise to learn all you can to avoid following in those footsteps.

 THURISAZ

Giants jotun

Thor, god

magical use of Thurisaz is associated with change, constructive conflict, and defense.

To strengthen offensive spells

Strong defense

Schreiber’s corrections tell us that the standard form of this rune is used to denote the giant race, and it has been used in this sense on maps to mark the territories of giants. This use eventually became so common that the rune assumed the more general meaning of danger as well.

Merkstave, Thurisaz represents unbridled destruction and danger, as well as unresolved conflict. Thurisaz is most commonly used in its merkstave form to bolster defensive spells and decrease destruction caused by offensive spellwork. As noted in your textbook, this requires a great deal of skill and concentration as the defensive spellcaster must keep both the spell and the rune in mind while building the defenses.

ANSUZ

Aesir God or gods

Spiritual magical

Higher power

Merkstave, Ansuz speaks to delusion and misunderstanding, and it may be used in conjunction with memory and befuddlement charms to increase their effectiveness. However, when used on Muggles, Ansuz can cause the spell to overpower the mind and leave the recipient generally incapable of higher cognitive functioning. It was declared illegal by the Ministry of Magic in 1939

Magical use of Ansuz

divinatory tools and spell craft. It may also increase the effects of communicative devices

RAIDO

To ride

Journey

Raido is significant in the use of magical transportation, and the original portkeys were in fact small rune stones inscribed with Raido that allowed witches and wizards to travel from one village to the next. Raido does not just represent physical journeys, but also spiritual and life journeys.

Upright, it may indicate positive changes while merkstave may represent chaos or stagnancy. As with all runes, read Raido in context with other runes to understand the precise meaning.

Raido’s magical effect is most notable in transportation spells, as it helps to stabilise them. It can, for example, reduce the effect of Portkey-sickness if inscribed onto the Portkey before activation. Unfortunately however, there is no evidence to suggest that Raido reduces the risk of splinching while Apparating. 

Kenaz



      Standard            Merkstave     Variant

Schreiber follows the Muggle interpretation for Kenaz, which is disease, and extends it to also include magical maladies. There is some speculation in the divinatory aspects, however, that may suggest a more accurate reading is “torch” (we will talk more about this particular rune and its divergent meanings next year), but when it comes to using Kenaz in spellwork, the primary effects noticed are in relation to health and disease.

Like Thurisaz, Kenaz is used mostly in its merkstave (rightward-facing) form to promote vigour, health, illumination, and creativity. Used upright (or leftward-facing) in its standard form, Kenaz associates itself with weakness, ill health (often mentally), and confusion.  



Kenaz lends itself to potion creation more so than wand work. For hundreds of years, potioneers have carved the rune into cauldrons and phials, and even St. Mungo’s has Kenaz placed around the wards to promote health. It has been suggested that the late Potions Master, Severus Snape, used Kenaz to enhance the efficacy of several of his signature potions. Certainly for anyone desiring to become a healer, this rune may be of great use when performing your duties. (In the picture to the right, we see Kenaz upright, which suggests the brewer had ill-intent.)

Gebo



Gebo, as the Muggles understand it, means “gift.” Sophia Schreiber opted to leave interpretation of this rune open, as little is known or understood about Gebo. “Gift” is possibly an all-inclusive word for theorized interpretations such as sacrifice, companionship, and generosity; those are generally the accepted understandings.

Merkstave, Gebo may represent the dark side of these qualities: greed, loneliness, and selfishness. In an effort to make our lives more difficult as translators, upright and merkstave Gebo look exactly the same, and translating this rune correctly requires a great amount of context.

Using Gebo in spellwork is not recommended. Runologists are still arguing over the practical aspects of this rune and nobody is quite sure of the effect it has. In my own research, I suspect it was used in spellwork during times of perfect planetary alignment, possibly with human sacrifice to seal the work. Since all of these forces are incredibly powerful, these were spells most likely meant to bring destruction to rival civilizations or influence the course of history within a kingdom. As such, you should never use Gebo in your work, lest some undesired consequences result.

Wunjo



Upright                        Merkstave           Variant

Schreiber and the Muggles both agree on the basic interpretation of Wunjo: joy. This rune deals specifically with emotional states, and healers at St. Mungo’s often place Wunjo in wards with mentally unstable patients to bring calm, happiness, fellowship, and clarity.

Merkstave, Wunjo represents the opposite: sorrow, anger, delirium, and debilitating mania. Wunjo works to enhance any spell that requires emotion to function, such as the Patronus Charm (which requires happy memories).

There have been several instances throughout history of Wunjo being used, both positively and negatively. It is said that the former Headmaster Albus Dumbledore placed the upright Wunjo around his office, causing a sense of calm and happiness to overtake those who entered. On the other end, Morgan le Fay, the infamous witch of the Middle Ages, is rumored to have used the merkstave Wunjo to depress those around her, ensuring her total power during her reign. From the tale of a rebellion mounted against her, we can learn that upright Wunjo can effectively cancel out merkstave Wunjo, allowing whole peoples and areas to immediately begin to feel like themselves.

 Conclusion

We have yet again come to the end of another lesson. Remember that your midterm will be held after the lesson next week. You will have time to study, and it will be open note. Next week we will cover runes 13-18, which you will also be tested on in a separate quiz. Before I see you next week, take a look at Chapter Four: Heimdall’s aett. For today, you have a quiz on the runes we studied as well as the vocabulary covered in this lesson.

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

Vocabulary

Aett: Set of eight runes dedicated to one particular Germanic god. There are three aettir in the Elder Futhark.

Freya: The Norse goddess of beauty and fertility.

Law of Unintended Consequences: Every action has an unforeseen positive, neutral, or negative effect.

Merkstave:  Literally “dark stick”; refers to a rune drawn or shown in an inverted or mirrored position.

Standard or Upright: The normal form of the rune.

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

Image credits: Rae Elliot (horn, cauldron on table)

Original lesson written by Professor Genesis Starfight

Have you ever come across strange markings in old, worn books and wondered what they said? Do you have a love for languages and writing? Would you like to learn some of the world’s oldest magic? The study of Ancient Runes is a course concerning itself with ancient magical scripts from around the world, their history, their linguistics, and the spells they were used to compose. This year, prepare to enter the world of the Nords, the councils of the magi, and the halls of Valhalla.Enroll 

L4 Assignments

 

ANCR-201 Lessons

 

2.4 Freya’s Aett

 Test

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[broooklynshere-blog]

190. Someone told me once that to create true art you must be willing to bleed and let others watch. (with Jackcrutchie please? Also what ships are you okay with writing so we know which ones we should send in, if you dont mind me asking? )

[I’m comfortable writing pretty much anything! The only people I write together exclusively are Jack and Crutchie (I won’t write Javid or Crutchie/Spot, for example.) But other than that, send me whatever! This piece has a trigger warning. They is a little bit of talk of self harm. No graphic depictions or anything, but it’s there.]

190. Someone told me once that to create true art you must be willing to bleed and let others watch.

Art had always been Jack’sescape. The feeling of paper beneath his hands, watching his feelings come tolife on the page in front of him. Swirling colors together, putting them ontothe canvas. It was a comfort, a way to express the things that had happened tohim when he was young.

Jack hadn’t always beencalled Jack. When he was young, he had been called a different name, a wrongname. He had felt wrong too. His mom had made it better. She didn’t care whathe wanted to be called. She called him Jack and she loved him so much, givinghim crayons to express himself. Everything changed when she died. Suddenly hewas Jessica again and his mommy was gone. He felt wrong again. The dresses hisfoster families forced him into, the name they called him, the pronouns theyused, it was all wrong and horrible. He lashed out, he was angry at the world. Therewas one family that was worse than the others. They were sugary sweet when hissocial worker was around, but when she left they were horrible. They made himgo to ‘counseling’ which was really just their pastor telling Jack that if hedidn’t stop pretending he was a boy, he would go to Hell. They forced him towear dresses and skirts every day. The worst thing they did, however, was takeaway his art. He wasn’t allowed anything that could write in his room. If hehad homework, he had to do it sitting at the kitchen table. He turned tounhealthy ways of coping. The scars that remained on his arms and legs wereevidence of this. When his social worker found out, she went ballistic. She gotJack out of that house and he was placed in a new home, his forever home.

Medda’s house was sodifferent. The first day he arrived, he knew that within minutes of walkingthrough the door. Jack had his own room, to start. His desk was the highlight.It had art supplies on it. Not a ton, just colored pencils and charcoal. But itwas so much more than he had been able to have in years. He started high schooland he was able to enroll in Drawing and Painting. It was life changing. Histeacher was amazing, he encouraged Jack in everything he did. He pushed him tobecome a better artist. When Jack set his sights on the Rhode Island School ofDesign, he half expected his teacher to laugh at him. Instead, he helped Jackdevelop his portfolio.

“Art,” Mr. Denton toldJack, “is being willing to bleed and let others watch.”

Jack took those words toheart. He drew what had happened to him all those years ago, reopening woundsthat had scabbed over long ago. He drew faint memories of his mother, based onthe few pictures he had left of her. He drew his world during the time he hadn’tbeen able to draw. He was accepted on a full scholarship. Those four yearschanged Jack. He saw art differently after it and he did art differently. Hecould see more than just the shapes and lines that made up a piece. He couldsee the unbridled emotion, the pain, the joy that went into each piece. Hisemotions fueled his art, pushing him to do better, to share in an intimate withpeople what had happened to him. That didn’t pan out as a career at first. Hehad no idea what to do with his degree after he graduated. He did politicalcartoons for an online magazine, took commissions online, and worked other oddjobs. The starving artist was a reality for him, there were many days when allhe could have to eat was a package of ramen. When a gallery contacted him aboutshowcasing his pieces, he was floored. A professor had recommended him. So hehad gotten to work. He only had half the amount of drawings he needed and onlya quarter of the paintings. His first opening was nothing less than a success.He sold all his paintings and nearly all his drawings. After that, itsnowballed. More galleries wanted to show his work and more people wanted to buyit. He was a success, in almost everyone’s eyes. He didn’t have to work oddjobs to make ends meet, he moved into a better apartment, he didn’t have to worryabout going hungry.

It was four years afterhe graduated college that Jack’s life turned upside down. It was a galleryopening, full of stuffy people that Jack couldn’t stand. He had to wear a suit,which made him uncomfortable. He was never good at this side of things. Hisstudio, in paint covered clothes, that’s where he shined. He stood in thecorner, nursing some drink probably worth more than Jack’s entire outfit. Hewent back out to mingle after a moment, tugging on his tie gently.

“Wouldn’t do that if Iwere you. People will think you don’t belong.” A voice said behind him, lightand teasing.

Jack turned, searchingfor the source. His eyes landed on a sandy haired man that looked to be aroundthe same age as him, dressed far too casually to be a guest. He was wearing agrey blazer with a white t shirt underneath, along with jeans and a pair ofconverse. Jack noticed the camera, then the press badge around his neck. Aphotographer. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I snuck in.”

The man laughed. “Consideringthat your signature is on the corner of all the paintings, I highly doubt it.”He held his hand out. “Charlie Morris, but you can call me Crutchie.” It was onlythen that Jack noticed the silver crutch tucked under his arm. The man-Crutchie- grinned. “You’re wondering if it’s demeaning. Yes, but it’s betterthan having people call me it behind my back.”

Jack nodded slowly. “Makessense. How did you recognize me, Crutchie?”

Crutchie shrugged. “I’vebeen to a couple of your gallery openings before. I’m a fan.”

Jack nodded again and glancedat the time. There was still an hour and a half before he got to make his exit.He looked around the room, observing the people. Most were rich, boring snobsonly there because they wanted to appear cultured. There was the occasionalcollege student, some obviously forced there by a professor but also some wholooked genuinely interested in the art. It was always an interesting blend ofpeople at these things, people from totally separate worlds colliding over onecommon thing. He heard the click of a camera and turned back to Crutchie.

Crutchie shrugged. “Sorry,it’s my job. My editor would kill me if I didn’t come back with at least onegood shot of you, considering I’ve been to three of your openings and gottennone.”

Jack nodded again, takinga sip of his drink. “No worries.” He sat down on one of the benches, pattingthe space beside him. “Want to interview me too?”

Crutchie sat down, shakinghis head with a laugh. “No, not that type of reporter. I’d rather capture themoment in a picture than in words.”

Jack looked over. “That’s…oddlybeautiful.”

Crutchie grinned. “I’vegot a knack for oddly beautiful.” He snapped a picture of the crowd gathered infront of one painting. It was one of Jack’s favorites. It depicted the sunsetting over the city of Santa Fe. Jack had traveled there the previous yearand loved it. The air felt cleaner, the people were friendly. It was sodifferent from New York, with its constant hustle and bustle. He loved the citybut he often wondered what it would be like to live somewhere else, somewherecalm. The rest of the night passed much like that, Jack and Crutchie makingidle chatter while Crutchie took pictures of the art, the people, and Jack. Atthe end of the night, Jack felt slightly disappointed. Usually he tried tosneak out early but he stayed until the end, Crutchie making the time passquickly.

“Thanks. Tonight wasactually fun.” Jack said as they collected their coats. “Crutchie…can I getyour number? Maybe we could get a cup of coffee or something.”

Crutchie grinned. “Thoughtyou’d never ask.” They exchanged numbers and went their separate ways. Thatnight, Jack began a new piece. It was a depiction of two men standing closetogether, all while a crowd swirled around them.

One coffee date turnedinto two and then three and then they turned into dinner dates until finally,almost two months later, Jack asked Crutchie to be his boyfriend. They werelaying on Jack’s couch one night, Jack nearly asleep. Crutchie was staring athis laptop, looking at something quite intently. Jack didn’t know what. Hishead was pillowed against Crutchie’s chest, curled between the other man’slegs.

“Jack?” Crutchie’s voicebroke the silence, one hand stroking through Jack’s dark hair gently. “Can Iask you something?”

“Mhm…” Jack mumbled,pressing his lips to Crutchie’s neck.

“I…I’m looking at yourpaintings.” Crutchie bit his lip. “Why are some of them so…dark?”

Jack sat up then, lookingat Crutchie’s laptop. One of his older paintings was on the screen. A youngboy, trying to climb out of a hole while dark hands pulled him down. He wincedslightly. He hadn’t told Crutchie anything about his past, not really. He knewJack was adopted and that he was transgender, but that was the extent of it. Jacktook a deep breath, trying to figure out how much he should say.

“Someone told me oncethat to create true art you must be willing to bleed and let others watch. I…Iwas four when my mom died.” Jack began. “She was a good mom, Crutchie. She didn’tcare when I said I was a boy, she encouraged me even. She called me Jack. She lovedme. When she died, I was too young to really understand. I just knew that shewas gone and I had to live with other people. People who weren’t as nice aboutthings. They called me Jessica and made me wear dresses and stuff. That wasmost of my foster families, I went through quite a few. The worst was when Iwas twelve. They…They made me go to therapy, which was just their stupid pastortelling me that if I didn’t stop my ‘sinning ways’ I’d go to Hell. They made mego to their church every Sunday and I had to wear dresses and skirts to schoolevery day. The mom did my hair with these stupid bows and she put makeup on me.They…They took away my art. I wasn’t even allowed to doodle. If I did, I wasgrounded for a week. They thought that art was driving me away from God. So…Istarted hurting myself. That went on for about a year. My social worker foundout and she got me out. That’s when I went to live with Mom.” His voice wasshaking slightly, he had sat up fully and his head was bent, staring at theground with his hands clasped in front of him. It was easier than looking atCrutchie.

“When I started schoolafter I went to live with Mom, I got to take art classes. The art teacher wasamazing. Mr. Denton. He cared about me. He’s the entire reason I kept doingart, he’s the reason I got into school. Without him, I wouldn’t be who I amtoday. He’s the one who told me that I had to use my pain in my art. That’s whysome of my stuff is so dark. That pain, I…I have to try and expose it. Everytime I draw or paint or anything, I have to try.” Tears were swimming in hiseyes, he tried to hold them back.

Crutchie was silent for amoment. He slowly set his laptop on the coffee table, then wrapped his armsaround Jack. “Jack…”

“I’m sorry.” Jack mumbled.He pulled away and wiped his eyes. “I shouldn’t have laid all that on you.”

“Jack, I’m yourboyfriend. I’ve laid plenty on you.” Crutchie brought his hand up and wipedJack’s eyes carefully. “That’s what I’m here for.” He kissed Jack softly then,pulling him closer. “I love you.”

Jack froze. They had beendating for three months and hadn’t yet said those words. Jack knew though thathe loved Crutchie. On a certain level he thought that maybe he had fallen inlove with Crutchie that first night, at the gallery opening. “I love you too.”He murmured, turning and kissing Crutchie more firmly. He clung to Crutchie,the only person he had expressed to in words everything that he tried to say inhis art.

Over the next  few years, artcritics and fans would debate a change in Jack Kelly’s style. It was lighter,happier. The colors were more vibrant. It was a subtle shift, something thathappened over a long period of time. Most people liked it, some didn’t. Jack couldn’t care less either way. Theyall seemed to agree that Jack’s change seemed centered on a person, a blonde man whofeatured in his sketches and paintings often.

[lukekennedyking-blog]

Dia de Los Muertos

Day of The Dead: A Celebration I’ll start off by saying that I can’t give any formative opinions on my Dia de Los Muertos experience because I didn’t experience much of it. (Albeit seeing a few dressed up people here and there). I spent it like a miser in his cave, watching people enjoy it from afar. And there was some aspects I couldn’t get to grips with. Like leaving food outside or leaving it to not be eaten. This, in my home country, is the ultimate sin. Because of our experience with the famine in Ireland, despite having similar harvest traditions and catholic syncretism (which I will talk about), leaving uneaten food is something we could not capably do, even if we tried. Honestly, I don’t have much interest in the ritual itself, although I can appreciate its significance for Mexico and what it teaches us about the melding of two disparate cultures. It relates a lot to my own Samhain festival in Ireland, which is largely believed to be the main precursor to Halloween. Dia de Los Muertos is a three-day celebration which is philosophically about the continuation of someone’s existence past their physical state into an Otherworld. The motivation behind these celebrations is that it gives Mexicans an opportunity to share collective pain by subversively making it a joyous occasion, to communicate to their dead children and relatives, to retain pre-conquistador traditions, and to syncretize with the modern Halloween. Of course it is difficult to say if the motivations of people can solely be this, as rituals are collective but subjective experiences. By this I mean, while the main rituals exist, the ofrendas, the pan de los muertos, etc, there is a communal acknowledgement that this is fundamentally about loss, and the salvation of immortal existence. The Ancient tradition used to be celebrated much earlier; and for a month. Which is why I think the catholic syncretism was so successful. It was successful because perhaps it was a sensitive subject for many, and the replication and intervention of catholic entities would have been a very fluid process, I imagine, like the replacement of saints for deities. Of course, the Spanish had the paradoxical problem of coming up against something which was stateless, well, at least a state that they were not used to. The traditions of the pre-Conquistador people were in fact ubiquitous and not as uniform or regimented as the Spanish had experienced with their own religion. And of course, the Catholic dominance as a European equivalent meant that they were accustomed to the powerhouse of the church exercising total control, whereas the complexity and depth and detail of Mexico’s practices made it difficult to understand what or who they were. My own personal cultural experience of this is Catholic intervention in a Celtic society such as Ireland. The polytheistic complexity of our rituals and our similar view of the afterlife meant Christianity had to syncretize a lot of the traditions. The pagan propitiation of the Aos Si (evil fairies basically), was replaced with a reproduction and reigniting of Catholic saints. Of course, I’m glad that the methods of spiritual propitiation retain today, in Mexico and in Ireland. The whole world still likes the idea of Halloween coming into contact with our native cultures simultaneously. And it is simultaneously. I kind of like the idea that the modern, more pop culture equivalent of everything can exist alongside the older traditions. The Halloween we know is an obvious commercialization of the ideal Harvest fest, making it a thing of horror and fright. Which is also funny because it is a kind of petulant outlook on the whole affair. One thing I love about Dia de Los Muertos is that it is a very unashamed view of the whole affair of death. While other cultures are more grave, Mexico has this wonderful, unbridled celebratory attitude towards the afterlife and the conclusion of this current reality. The European equivalent is about concealing the flesh and concealing the idea that the dead were human. Here, skulls decorate everything and skeletons dance in joy. That difference is truly fascinating to me. Had Catholicism been totally allowed to dominate, perhaps we would have a different and more grave festival. But perhaps it has. One of my biggest sadness’s was when I was once walking through a shopping center along the Paseo de la Reforma. They had instantly replaced an ofrenda with a giant, absurdly big Christmas tree. I’m reluctant to be a blue pill taker in all this, but come on. Could you be more obvious about your neo-liberal agenda? It’s a shame cultures and traditions get sidelined to be replaced by the falsity of the modern world. Perhaps Christmas has more significance here, but I’m reluctant to say people care anymore. I don’t think they do. Perhaps with our more engorged sense of identities we have no room for the traditions of the past. But then I saw Coco, and all is well. Perhaps the transition of rituals from one form to the other is the only way they can feasibly exist, albeit as a version slightly different to its predecessor. I was told that the skullface thing is a relatively new concept, but could you imagine this festival without it? For me, alteration is good provided it is done with the original intent in mind. With the skullmasks I see what Dia de Los Muertos sets out to achieve; making the barrier between alive and dead more permeable. It is an ironic and clever interpretation of a preexisting and ancient practice, and the original beauty of this festival loses nothing as a result. It is the inevitability of change.

[senorplume-blog]

Reunion (a short story)

   Henry throws on his favorite shirt, a concert tee that he got at an Arlo Guthrie concert some years back. Pulling the shirt over his head, he eyes the bottle of ale that sits on the kitchen table. Reaching out with his left hand he grabs the bottle and takes a long pull from it. Friday night and not a thing going on. Luckily.     With the drink in his hand he walks over to the living room window and takes a peak at the great outdoors. Folks arriving for a CYO event at the school across the street. Looks like a basketball game as he spies on the young girls showing up in their cheerleader outfits. Some adults walking in and a young man about 20 has his head stuck into his cell phone, texting as he moves straight ahead. Henry closes the curtain tight and walks away quite glad that he is not playing a game of basketball tonight. As much as he complains about the loneliness of his life, he has adapted to it and some nights, such as tonight, he is glad for his solitude lifestyle.      The television is on but thankfully muted while the record player spins the vinyl album around at 33 and a third. A collector of sorts, he stops and stares at his records. A massive amount that must be well into the thousands. His father started him out young to the pleasures of music and he never looked back. His dad left him his old records from the 40's to the 70's when he passed away. Alphabetized, he goes down to one knee to look through the Z's. Pulling out Frank Zappa's first album he takes the record from its sleeve and stares at the grooves that the needle reads. Henry can, and will spend hours now gazing at his collection with pride bursting up through his soul. Nothing can or will make him as happy as rummaging through these records and trips to the Salvation Army for more is his true joy in life.      Stopping only to gather up a plate of nacho's and a few beers, Henry has just spent the complete Friday night alone with his records. He plans to leave the house tomorrow morning for a trip to the local hotel where a huge record sale will be going down. Once a month there is a gathering of all types of venders selling off their albums and other music related items. Henry looks forward to this with unbridled glee. He takes to the computer and after seeing there was not one email waiting for him he begins to compile a list of albums that he must have and hopefully he will be able to find them there. Some records he just never stops looking for. Years and years he has waited for somebody to sell them off. A Beatles record nicknamed the Butcher Album due to the cover showing the Fab Four dressed as butchers covered in raw meat and doll parts. A true and rare collector's item. He saw one once when he was visiting his sister in California. He had it in his hands and as he always does, he smelled the inside of the cover. There really is nothing finer than the scent of an old record Henry believed. The asking price for the album was a hefty 1000 bucks which he did not have at the time. He has saved up for the day it would appear to him again. He would not miss out on it twice.     With the need to take a piss Henry, drunk now, as he always is on the weekends, stumbles to the bathroom. Holding on for dear life he lets out a long sigh and out of the blue the telephone rings. He usually unplugs the fucking thing on the weekends but he must have forgotten.  The answering machine pick up. It is a woman's voice and it is unfamiliar. Without washing his hands, Henry walks to the bedroom to hear the voice say goodbye and then the tape rewinds. Who the fuck could that be? Henry presses play and he listens in carefully.   "I'm looking for Henry Coda. If this is the wrong number I apologize but I really want to find him. This is Anna Baez. I went to school with Henry back in the 80's and I would like to invite him to our schools 25th anniversary. It's this upcoming weekend…seven days from now and it will be a ball. So Henry, please if you could join us at the school at 7 in the gymnasium… I would be thrilled to see you again. We all would. It will be a blast. I hope this is the right number. Call me at 722-5733 to let me know if you can come. Thanks and goodbye."     Christ. Anna Baez. Henry takes a long drink from the bottle…killing it and he heads to the bookshelf to pull out his senior yearbook. The cover says Binghamton Central High School. It has been years since he has looked at this thing. He takes a seat on his bed and opens the book. He flips through the pages with a bored look on his face until he comes to the page he wants. Under his nose is a picture of Anna. A blonde beauty that was quite popular in school. Unlike Henry she excelled in school, running for class president and winning. A cheerleader and if he remembered correctly, she was crowned prom queen…a prom in which Henry did not attend. His book was signed a few times and he reads a few. "Have a great summer Henry…see you at the college." "Henry, keep playing that guitar and I am certain you'll be top of the pops in no time." "You are one weird fellow man. Don't change."    Henry never ended up going to the local community college and he never made it to the top of the charts. He was still weird and he has barely changed since the 80's. He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. He remained on the bed thinking of school. How he hated it and most of the kids there…except for one girl…Nancy…or Nan for short. Nan, he had the biggest teenage crush on. She was always friendly with him but she was dating the same guy from their freshman year right up to the senior year. They were friends…she was kind to him and although her boyfriend hated him she didn't care. She was nice. Rising from the bed he began to think about her. Nan, I wonder if you are even still alive and if you are I bet you have fourteen kids and a beefcake husband. He wandered out of his room and made it to the kitchen to grab a fresh beer. Cracking it open he heard the needle hit the label on the record he was playing and he knew it was time to flip it over.    Playing the Stones now he could not get his mind off of that girl. Nan. Henry hardly left his house for any kind of social event. Skipping family reunions and the like. But this…this could be…interesting. He wanted to see Nan and that was the only thing that made him pick up the phone to call Anna back.     She answered right away and sounded genuinely pleased to hear from him. She told him that he was all set. That it was to be a casual party and that he could bring a friend or spouse if he wanted to. Henry asked how many people have signed up to go and she told him that it will be a packed event. "Expect at least a hundred kids to be there. It will be lots of fun. And Henry, feel free to bring some of those records of yours with you. I bet we would all like to hear them." After saying goodbye and hanging up Henry crawled into bed and found himself…drunk and daydreaming about Nan and just what he could say to her. It made him nervous just thinking about it and soon he blocked it out and fell asleep with the full bottle of beer next to his head. ——————————————————————————————–                    After about four beers Henry was ready to leave for the reunion. Dressed in khakis and a seersucker shirt he bent down to tie his shoes when he felt the urge to throw up come over him. He ran to the kitchen sink and made it just in time. Four beers down the drain, all sudsy and wiping tears from his eyes he went to swig some mouthwash around in the bathroom.       Outside now Henry tucked the cuffs of his pants into his socks and jumped onto his bicycle. The school was only a few blocks away and it was a pleasant night. He had no intention of trying to impress anyone there. His bike was fine and he enjoyed riding it more than driving anyway.      Along the way there his nerves grew worse and he checked the time on the side of the bank on the corner. 7:15. He was late and he did not care. He toyed with the idea of not showing…no one would miss him anyway but Nan…he was dying to see what became of her. He stopped his bike in front of the tavern Rocco's and parking his bike on the side of the building. He went in. "Henry! Long time no see my friend. How goes it?" Rocco extended his hand and Henry shook it with a weak smile on his face. "Get me a cold one please Rocco. Lord knows I need one tonight" "What's the big occasion? You got a hot date tonight? If you do, bring her here. I'd love to see the kind of girl you could pick up Henry."       The bartender, a black guy with muscles that would put Schwarzenegger to shame cracked the top off the bottle of Bud and handed it to Henry. He took hold of it and brought it to his mouth and drained half of it in a mere two seconds. His eyes darted around but he found himself slowly calming down. The television above the bar was on showing some soccer match and the jukebox was playing the old Turtles tune.. .'Happy Together.' "Henry, it's been a while, a few days now perhaps since you last walked into my establishment. What's been happening to you? You depressed? Did a fire destroy your record collection or something?" "No. Just been busy is all. Listen Rocco, I need your advice here. I'm now headed to my 25th reunion at school and I am rather nervous about it all. There is a girl there…or a woman now and I really want to talk to her but I am a social dud. I have no idea what to say to her. What's a good ice breaker? Something that won't make me look like a total dick head. Just a little dick head." Rocco smiled and said " Ah Henry, you seeing an old flame tonight? Some girl who used to give you hand jobs in the basement? Something like that eh?" "No…not at all. Just a girl who I was friendly with. Though I have to admit that I dreamed of her and those hands giving me some relief. I don't know. I can't think of what to say to her when I see her. I need your help here."   Rocco pulled up a stool and thought for a while. "What did you guys used to talk about in school? Back then. What did you talk about?" Henry thought for a while and he said `music.' "Ok, then you talk about that. Just say that you heard an old song on the radio and that it made you think of her. She'll be pleased to hear this…hopefully and there you go. You'll be off to the races." "But I never listen to the radio…all those commercials and that terrible hip hop music they play now a days…It gives me a head…" “Then, forget the radio part…just say you heard a song…somewhere… and it made you think of her. Just wing it from there. She'll want to know what song and then you'll be in a real conversation and I bet it will be the first one with a woman for quite some time. Am I right?" Henry sighed and took a drink from the bottle. "Yeah, music, that's kinda what I had planned on anyway." "That's all you ever talk about actually Henry. This is the first conversation we've had that wasn't about music or music related. You must really be nervous." "Yeah, I am. What time is it Rocco?" "7:30." "Shit, I gotta go. Thanks for the help. I appreciate it, man."     Rocco wished him good luck and said that if he gets lucky with the girl to bring her over to the bar so he could see what all this nervousness was all about. Henry killed his beer and slammed the bottle down on the bar with a determined thud. He stood and with a wave left the bar and found his bike waiting for him. He climbed aboard and began his trek to the school. ————————————————-      Inside the gymnasium it was sweltering. He was informed at the front desk, where old Anna Baez was sitting, that the air conditioners were on the fritz and to expect it to be a little warm in there. Warm? It was horrible. Henry went immediately to the bar and ordered a beer. A nice cold beer would really hit the spot and maybe calm his nerves a bit.    Drinking, he looked down to his name tag. Henry. Who the hell is going to remember me anyway? This is a mistake. He had a few friends in high school and they all went to universities and left him in his hometown alone and friendless. Sure, he knew some of the guys and gals at the record conventions but he wouldn't be able to really call them friends. He was a lonely guy who simply loved his records and beer. He looked up and watched all the people milling around and some dancing. A few guys whom he recognized as old jocks were standing at the bar, drinking and laughing, without a care in the world. Henry felt the sweat dripping down his back and he flapped his shirt a few times to get some air in there. His ears pricked up when he heard a Duran Duran song playing and he was just about to head over to the DJ booth to talk to the guy about his CD's when he saw Nan walk in. The light from the gym was weak at best but he knew it was her although he could not read her name tag. My goodness…there she is he thought to himself. I'll just wait for a while to let her mingle with the people that she really wanted to see and then, then he would walk up to her and reintroduce himself to her.        Henry wiped his brow with the back of his hand and struck up a conversation with the DJ. They shot the shit for a few minutes when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Nan smiling ear to ear. "Henry Coda…my God…you look exactly the same. You really do. My goodness…how are you?"       Henry's shirt was sopped with sweat as he opened his mouth to return her greeting when a group of guys walked up to Nan and began to talk excitedly to her. Henry shrunk back to the DJ booth and just stood there watching them enjoying their conversation. I wish I was normal he thought to himself. I wish I could talk and feel carefree with others. Instead I am a sweating fool all alone with social anxiety and a drinking problem. He took a swig from his plastic cup and turned around to stare at the wall.     A few minutes passed while a Van Halen song played. Henry began to recall the time he had bought the album which this song came from when he heard a woman's voice say something. He turned around to see Nan staring at him. "Hello…anyone home? I've been trying to get your attention for a minute now silly. Daydreaming about music I bet. This Van Halen song sure brings back the memories don't you think?" "I was just playing this song a few days ago actually. All in all it's a great album with very little filler. Sure, a few of the songs aren't all that great on it but not many records from that period were masterpieces. You know what I mean?" Nan smiled at him and told him that he has not changed all that much from 25 years ago. Henry smiled and tried hard to think of something to say to her. He decided to ask her about her life now but she spoke first. "So tell me Henry…tell me about your life. Are you married? Is your rock and roll wife around here somewhere?" "Wife? Ha, no…No wife. Never. Never was married. You?" "Well, remember Davey? My boyfriend in school? We married after college and 10 months later we were divorced. Still to this day I have no idea what went wrong but that band of gold on my finger just cursed us. It was something else, I'll tell you, I won't be walking down the aisle again, you can count on that." Henry looked down at her finger and even in the bad light he could see that she was not sporting a wedding ring. "Gee, I'm sorry about that Nan. Geeze…will he be here tonight? Davey?" "No, he moved to Washington State after our divorce was finalized. I haven't seen him in years now. No kids…thank God." "Oh…well that's good I guess…divorce can really be hard on kids; at least that's what I've read in magazines and all. So…you live around here?" Nan answered his questions and boy was there a lot of them. Henry at times felt like he was interviewing the poor girl but he really had nothing else to say to her so he asked questions. Query after query but she didn't seem to mind at all. They talked for a while when he realized he was in dire need of a drink. He tried to back step a bit to get closer to the bar hoping that she would follow him…slowly but two steps back into his plan she stood right there, not moving an inch. He would have to ask her if she would like a refill on her wine…or what appeared to be wine. Maybe it was punch. It was red and that was all he could tell. In a break in the conversation he asked her if she would like a refill and that he could really go for a cold beer in this stifling heat. "I know! It's so hot in here…I can't stand it. Want to go outside for a bit? I could use some fresh air and besides…and don't tell anyone but I am dying for a cigarette." "Outside? Certainly. I'd like that. I'm beginning to melt in here. Please just let me refill my beer here. Can you wait?" She nodded her head and Henry went to get a beer. Turning to Nan he asked her if she was good. She replied that another cup of wine would be great and she handed him her now empty cup. "…A nice cold Michelob and a wine please Jerry."    The bartender filled up the two glasses and they headed outside. On the way to the front doors Nan was greeted with many hellos. Henry couldn't remember her being so popular in school. It was mighty crowded and Nan grabbed his arm and pulled him along and he was happy to be lead away out of there. Outside the cool air was a Godsend. They both needed the cool night air on their hot skin. "Now this is much better, don't you think Henry? So, tell me now…back in school you loved music more than anyone I've ever known. You ever made a career of it? You in a band or anything?" He felt like he was letting her down as he went on to say that not only was he not in a band but that as a career he chose media marketing. "What exactly is that Henry?" "You know those jingles you hear on the radio? I write them. I make commercials for the radio and television." "Oh my, how interesting…anything I would know?" "You know Champs Fried Chicken? The chain of chicken places? Well that one ad..the one that goes:

`Champs…is the place to be when your down and hungry, a dollar 99 is all you got? you'll dig our chicken, you'll dig it a lot.'

I wrote that." "Holy shit Henry, I know that song! It's the catchiest tune like ever! Wow…I'm with a celebrity here!" "Ha…well…it pays the bills. It's not going to get me a gold record but I suppose I can't complain." "Well, I think it's awesome…simply awesome Henry. I'm not as famous as you but I guess my job is ok…I sell real estate in North Carolina. I'm not rich or anything but like you, I can pay the bills."     Henry found himself relaxing a bit. The cool night air did him well and he found that he could keep up his end of the conversation. He went in a few times to refill their drinks. He was feeling alright by the time of his 7th beer of the night and Nan was really knocking the wine back. They talked about many things and a few people even recognized him as they made their way out of the gym to return home.    Around the time of Nan's fifth cup of wine she realized that the party inside was dying down. "I should really go back inside and mingle a bit more. You wanna come along with me? There has to be other people you want to see besides me." "Not really, Nan…in fact the only reason why I came to this high school heat wave was to see you. You were always so nice to me…don't think I've forgotten it these many years later." "Oh Henry, that's so nice of you to say. Shoot…I should go back though. You sure you don't want to come with me? I'll buy you another drink." Henry thought about it and decided not to go in. "I'm sorry Nan but it's really too hot for me in there. I'm going to head to Rocco's for a nice air conditioned beer." "Sounds splendid. Ok…I understand. "It was nice to see you again Nan…really. Take care now." "I will. Thanks for visiting with me. I had a ball. Enjoy Rocco's" And with that they hugged each other goodbye and went their separate ways.

      Around 1AM Rocco was placing the chairs up on the tables when there was a knock at his front door. He checked the time on his wrist and went to tell them he was closed. Through the door he saw a woman standing there. "I'm sorry Ma'am but I'm closed now. I open at 9 if you still need a drink in the morning." The girl was swaying a bit but managed to steady herself. "Is Henry there? Henry Coda? I'm a friend of his." Rocco opened the door and told her that she just missed him. "He left about 10 minutes ago. You don't happen to be Nan are you?" "Yes..why?" "Oh boy was he going on and on about you. You made quite the impression on him tonight. He usually only talks about music but not tonight. It was Nan this and Nan that. Sorry you missed him." "Yeah, me too. Please tell him I stopped by ok?" "I will. Goodnight." And with that she turned away and headed back to her waiting taxi. “Thanks for waiting. Please take me to the Serling Hotel.”   The driver nodded and turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the tavern.  Nan, drunk… rummages through her purse as the taxi speeds through the early morning darkness as the car radio plays an REM song and Nan smiles to herself as she zips up her bag and quietly sings along to the tune as it plays.    

[theseventhhex]

Kelly Moran Interview

Kelly Moran

Photo by Timothy Saccenti

Composer, producer, keyboardist and multi-instrumentalist Kelly Moran made an early name for herself in New York collaborating with dance performance and composing for long-term John Cage collaborator Margaret Leng Tan. It was with the 2017 album Bloodroot that Kelly Moran began to reach wider attention. Now, on her Warp Records debut ‘Ultraviolet’ she continues to interpret these wealth of inspirations into a sound all her own and pulls off a nearly impossible feat: the annihilation of experimental music’s imposing, esoteric, über-academic status quo in the name of pure, unbridled intuition, of human joy. ‘Ultraviolet’ plays to a wide, arresting array of stylistic influences: dazzling inflections of jazz and dream pop, classical composition and black metal, darkness and light, encapsulated in a single, mystifying LP… We talk to the delightful Kelly Moran about overcoming anxiety, running daily and her beloved cat Wendy…

TSH: How valuable is it between projects for you to turn your brain off and reset with a new approach towards your music?

Kelly: I think it’s good for anyone who’s in a creative discipline to examine what their process is every couple of years. It’s key to revisit how you approach doing things just so you don’t get stuck in a rut and continue to make the same thing, which is a problem that I’ve had for years. I always had the same approach to everything and I felt like I wasn’t growing as an artist. However, when writing new music lately I’ve been finding that the methods I used for ‘Ultraviolet’ are not really working for me right now. I feel like I need to constantly defamiliarise myself with my musical habits and set to default again. It’s good to step outside of your comfort zone and see where it takes you.

TSH: Tell us more about your latest EP entitled ‘Origin’...

Kelly: With the exception of one track, all of the pieces on ‘Origin’ came before ‘Ultraviolet’, hence the name. This EP predates ‘Ultraviolet’ and almost all the songs are the actual demos that I improvised, recorded and had been working with. The versions of ‘Autowave’ and ‘Water Music’ that you hear on ‘Origin’ are the actual versions of those songs.

TSH: Is your music impacted much at all by the current affairs in America?

Kelly: Well, living in America, our politics have been shit for a long time. We had a bit of a break with Obama but things have been bad since Trump took office. People thought great art would arise out of the political turmoil with Trump in power, but it didn’t. I find that politics in general is distracting and overwhelming for me. I need to separate from the current political state - not in a way that I don’t know what’s going on - but I have to knowingly detach in a way because if I don’t, it can be really difficult to even exist because of how shit and terrible it can be out here. For me, when I pursue art and music, it’s mainly an escapism from the dregs of reality.

TSH: Does being immersed in music help you to overcome your anxiety and stress hurdles?

Kelly: At times, yes. A lot of my anxiety in the past was about performing or not reaching my potential and maybe not working hard enough, but I feel like I’m in a good place with all these factors now. I feel very confident as a composer and with my musical abilities. It is funny though because I suddenly have a much bigger platform after being signed to Warp. I do feel more exposed to the world in many ways than I wasn’t before. I am now dealing with new anxieties that I have to contend with...

TSH: What sort of issues have you been facing?

Kelly: Well, now that I’m a little more known I’ll get a lot more weird messages from people online. For example, during the recent Warp 30 announcement I got so many random DMs and rude Twitter messages. Also, sometimes if I read the YouTube comments for my music videos people say stuff like ‘Is this what Warp has become? It’s going so downhill.’ It’s weird because people never used to reach out to me to say random things like that but in the past year it’s happening more regularly. I’m dealing with these little new problems now.

TSH: It must still be so rewarding that individuals connect with the way that you communicate your music...

Kelly: Yeah, it’s a double edged sword I guess. It is nice when people connect to my music - it really is great. I mean I try to be an accessible person on social media. I try to be very open and speak with people directly when people tweet at me or send me messages, but sometimes I do feel very emotionally drained by it. There are messages I don’t want to have to respond to, in addition to the mean messages. The thing about the internet is you can get a thousand nice comments and one bad comment, but you’re gonna focus on the bad one, haha! I’ll have to just develop a thicker skin.

TSH: What do you recall about fleshing out the excellent track entitled ‘Helix’?

Kelly: Like all of the pieces on the album this one started out with improvisation. The original piece I created of ‘Helix’ was very exploratory because I had figured out how to play piano in a more percussive way where I was alternating between my hands. This discovery of me playing the instrument in this new way led to a very minimalist pattern that drives this song. The improvisation has similar patterns to what you hear on the original version and I ended up transcribing it trying to be as accurate as possible .When I recorded it I listened back to it and streamlined it a little bit. To me, figuring out the underlying chord progressions that I was implying in addition to figuring out a bass progression really gave this piece direction and drive - it was so crucial.

TSH: Did you select ‘Radiant’ as the album closer quite early on?

Kelly: I kind of knew it would be the closer because I like ending albums on a gentle note. I like for the last song to be the most simple and like its saying goodnight to people - sort of like sending them off with something delicate. ‘Ultraviolet’ was already an intense record and not many of the tracks are relaxed so I wanted to give the listener a break as the record was ending. It’s funny because the original of this track was more busy and hectic; it had more piano arpeggios and additional melodies.

TSH: How important is running to your daily life?

Kelly: It’s very beneficial. I’m one of those people that really strives off having a structured schedule. Unfortunately for me I picked a career that really does not enable this whatsoever, ha! For me, running is the one way that I can have this sort of consistency to my schedule. I strive for this factor, especially when I go on tour. I always bring my workout clothes and it’s an added bonus if I stay at a hotel with a gym. I just think the endorphin rush you get from running and also having a ritual a day helps me to get in the right mental space.

TSH: Are you still listening to a lot of hip-hop when you run?

Kelly: Haha! I haven’t actually been listening to much hip-hop whilst running recently. I’ve been listening to Aleksi Perälä, who is on Aphex Twin’s record label, as well as K-pop and even some Miley Cyrus from the Black Mirror soundtrack.

TSH: Is it hard to leave your cat Wendy behind when you go on tour?

Kelly: It really is! It’s definitely one of the most challenging parts for me because I’m very attached to her and she’s my little daughter. Unfortunately, I have a high maintenance cat who doesn’t like many people - she only likes me. So I feel really guilty when I leave for my travels as I think she’s not getting the right attention. She’ll stay with my mom and she’s been warming up to people but she’s not a friendly cat at all. I’ve had her for 5 years and only been travelling for the last year or so, therefore she must be wondering what’s going on. I never used to leave my apartment and now I’m out of the country every month. I guess I have to earn that money if Wendy’s gonna keep eating those fancy feasts!

TSH: Being a huge figure skating fan, how proud were you to witness the great Yuzuru Hanyu win Olympic gold on your birthday?

Kelly: Yes, he won his second Olympic medal on my birthday. I remember watching him win and being like ‘Holy fuck! This is absolutely incredible’. It’s funny because for my birthday party the next day I had a bunch of friends over and we were drinking and listening to the new Oneothrix Point Never record whilst also watching recaps of the figure skating.

TSH: What factors do you mostly consider exploring when it comes to collaboration?

Kelly: Well, there are so many artists that I look up to and respect that I would sell my right arm to collaborate with someday. When I first got signed to Warp the first thing I thought was if I ever have an opportunity to collaborate with someone else from the label that would be so cool. I basically worship everyone on this label. The kinds of collaboration that are important for me is to work with people that I’ve looked up to and who are respected. I’m also really interested in working with people who are just completely different from me and can push me outside of my comfort zone. For my next record I want to have a few collaborators from totally different genres to enable interesting results.

TSH: What matters most with your musical endeavours as you look ahead?

Kelly: I think my biggest drive is to keep improving and to keep surpassing myself. I always try to hold myself to what my own standard is. My goal is for my next album to be even better than what I’ve put out before - I want to push myself to reach new places musically. A lot of people describe me as a pianist who does prepared piano but in the actual timeline of my musical activity prepared piano actually occupies a very small part of that timeline. It’s really only been 3 years in my entire career that I’ve worked with prepared piano. There’s this part of me that wants to show people that I can do a lot more than that. As a pianist I feel really free because there are so many ways that I can translate what I do to other genres, it would be very easy for me to do techno, hip-hop or even black metal. I feel that my biggest strength is my malleability as a performer and as a composer, so I just want to show people that I have many different sides as an artist and not just one thing as people know me as now.

Kelly Moran - “In Parallel”

Kelly Moran - “Water Music”

Ultraviolet