lemony snicket really thought he could say “i will love you even if the oceans turns to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest with no one around to hear them” and that i would be ok after it
i don’t know if you read a different series or just missed this but let me tell ya, lemony snicket literally never thinks that anyone is gonna be even slightly okay, ever
i finally finished this ridiculous oneshot and jfc wow okay i’m a lil emotional ngl
enjoy? ig? if you can? ;asldfkj best of luck
WARNING: ANGST AHEAD, like so much angst, like wow i’ve outdone myself lowkey
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Are you ready?” Frank called, straightening his tie in the mirror.
He stepped into the parlor of the basement, and to his great confusion, his triplet lay curled up in a ball on the couch.
“Ernest?” Frank wasn’t quite sure what to do, seeing his brother like this, but he sat down on the couch next to him and shook his head to clear his thoughts anyway, “Ernest, buddy, what’s wrong?”
Ernest lifted his head slowly, and to Frank’s great dismay he saw that there were tears on his cheeks, although he was chuckling in exasperation, “Did you just call me buddy?”
“I, uh,” Frank sat up a little straighter, “You seemed like you needed comforting. I wanted you to be comfortable. Buddies are comfortable with each other. Right?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been more uncomfortable than I am with you calling me buddy,” Ernest paused, giving his brother a soft and shaky smile, “I just… I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can go.”
Frank nodded, as though he understood, although in reality he didn’t. His brother was in a position that they had never experienced, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.
“I think you should,” He said softly, considering his words carefully, “But that’s just me. You did RSVP, it would be rude of us not to go. But I don’t know that anyone really expected you to RSVP in the first place, so maybe…” He trailed off.
Frowning, Ernest mumbled something under his breath that was probably insulting, and then he spoke a little louder, “Do you think O will be there?”
With a little shrug, Frank considered this, “You’d probably know better than I would, huh?”
“He will be,” Ernest sounded unsure of himself, although he knew he was right, “I think a decent amount of… of people like O, people like me, are going to be there. Just hidden away. Besides, it’s Beatrice. O wouldn’t miss this.”
Frank wanted to ask Ernest why he had asked Frank his opinion in the first place, when Ernest was already well aware of this, but Frank knew that Ernest was in an emotional place, and Frank didn’t want Ernest to think that Frank thought there was something wrong with Ernest being in an emotional place, because Frank knew that there was nothing wrong with Ernest or anyone else being emotional, Frank simply wasn’t used to being exposed to much outward emotion, especially from Ernest.
Ernest knew that Frank was probably wondering why Ernest had asked Frank’s opinion in the first place, when Ernest was already well aware of this, but Ernest knew that Frank probably wouldn’t say anything because Ernest was in an emotional place and Frank wouldn’t want Ernest to know that Frank knew that Ernest was emotional, because Frank would worry that Ernest would think that Frank was judging Ernest for being emotional, and Ernest knew that Frank didn’t think there was anything wrong with Ernest or anyone else being emotional, Ernest simply wasn’t usually one to exhibit much outward emotion to anyone, especially Frank.
“Maybe I can just hide out somewhere, so I’m there but they don’t see me,” Ernest proposed, considering it, “Maybe I could do that.”
His voice was shaky, as though he knew that this idea was not the best but wanted desperately for it to be good, and Frank laid his hand out carefully, palm up, so that if Ernest wanted to make contact with him he could, but if he didn’t want to be touched he wouldn’t have to be.
Ernest rested his hand against Frank’s.
“It’s up to you,” Frank brought his thumb curving upward, so that it touched the back of Ernest’s hand, “If you don’t want to go-”
“It’s not that I don’t want to!” Ernest jerked his hand away, his shoulders hunching slightly, he was closing himself off from his brother, from the world, “It’s not that I don’t want to. I don’t, of course, but I do lots of things I don’t want to do. It’s… I don’t know if I can.”
Frank shifted away, just a bit, to give his brother room to breathe, although he left his own hand in place. “Okay, I’m sorry. I said the wrong thing. I understand. But I mean it, it’s totally up to you. If you can’t go, if it’s not something you can do, no one will blame you. No one will be mad at you. They just might be a little sad, that’s all. They’ll miss you. But they won’t be angry. You’re not a bad person if you don’t go.”
“I am a bad person,” Ernest whispered, and then he let out a sob, his voice rising, “I’m a bad person! We’re bad people, Frank, all of us, but especially me. I’m a bad person, and I’m gonna die alone and no one will come to my funeral except you and Dewey and maybe Bertrand, not because he wants to be there but because he’s too nice for his own damn good. But he’s too good to come. I don’t want him to have to be at my funeral, even though I know he will because he’ll feel obligated to, because I’m not good enough for Bertrand to care about. Just ask K. She’s been telling him for years, she’s always said I’m the evil one, you’re the friendly one, and he always laughed it off but now he knows it’s true and I don’t know what to do.”
He had curled back into a ball, his body shaking as he cried, but he rocked to the side so that he was leaning against Frank, and awkwardly, Frank wrapped his arms around the ball of discomfort that was his triplet.
“You’re not a bad person,” He said firmly, hushing Ernest as he started wailing in disagreement, “You’re not. You’re a good person, Ernest. And K, you know I love her, but she’s a bitch. Everyone knows that. Don’t use her opinion of you to judge your self worth. You are a good person, and you deserve to be cared about by a lot of people. You are good and kind and loved, and you deserve that love.”
Ernest did not believe his brother’s words, but he found himself comforted by them anyway.
“Are you ready?” Frank called, straightening his tie in the mirror.
He stepped into the parlor of the basement, and to his great confusion, his triplet lay curled in a ball on the couch.
Not as confusing as last time, at least.
“Not again,” He murmured to himself, as he still wasn’t quite sure what to do in this type of scenario, and he made his way over to sit beside his brother, “Ernest? Ernest, pal, it’ll be okay.”
Ernest didn’t even bother to lift his head, but Frank heard him let out a quiet snort, “Pal?”
“You didn’t like buddy,” Frank defended quickly, “I figured fifteen years wasn’t enough to change that.”
“I don’t like pal either, and fifteen years from now, if we live that long, I won’t like whatever other stupid nickname you come up with,” Ernest lifted his head just a bit, finally, only enough for Frank to see his eyebrows, and then he very quickly shifted his position so that his face was buried against Frank’s leg.
Nodding, Frank brought a hand up to stroke his triplet’s hair, feeling tears begin to soak the fabric of his pants, “Okay. I’m sorry. Do you, uh, do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” Ernest’s voice was muffled, “I’m fine.”
If you are not aware of this, there are two possible meanings behind the phrase “I’m fine”. Sometimes, “I’m fine” means “I’m fine”. More often, however, “I’m fine” means “I am about to fall down a deep dark hole of oblivion, and cannot possibly consider myself in a worse scenario, but I either don’t want to inconvenience the person I am talking to or do not want to acknowledge the feelings that are enveloping me in their chilled, angry grasp, and so I am going to say that I’m fine even though I am absolutely the furthest thing from it”.
Ernest meant the second of these two options.
“Of course,” Frank almost laughed at the absurdity of this, but he managed to hold himself back, “Just. Can you do this?”
“Can I?” Ernest echoed, letting out a mirthless chuckle, “Good question.”
“Ernest, it’s okay to talk about how you’re feeling.”
Historically speaking, that was untrue for these brothers, but they decided not to talk about that.
“It can’t be real, can it?” Ernest had been silent for several moments, but he spoke finally, “They… he can’t really be dead, right?”
“I’m sorry,” Frank said softly, and because he wasn’t quite sure what to do he patted his triplet on the head, being as gentle as he could manage, and repeated, “I’m sorry.”
Ernest leaned into the touch, just a bit, although it didn’t seem intentional, and then suddenly he jerked upward frantically, “The kids! They had kids! What’s going to happen to them? Are they...are they going to be there?”
“I doubt they even know about it,” Frowning, Frank mused on the thought for a moment, “That idiot banker friend of the Baudelaires, do you remember him?”
“They’re living with him?” Ernest looked disgusted by the very thought, “They’re going to catch that ridiculous cough.”
Frank shook his head, “They’re not living with him, at least not for long. He’s been placed in charge of their affairs.”
“Why is a banker in charge of that?”
“Because he’s in charge of their estate,” Shrugging, Frank considered it, “It does seem a bit ridiculous. But I don’t think he even knows about the funeral, so I doubt the kids do.”
“There’s three of them, aren’t there? Two girls and a boy? Those children, they must be so frightened. So sad. It’s not fair that they don’t get to go to the funeral, that they don’t get to say goodbye,” A new track slid its way down Ernest’s cheek, and he looked away from his brother as though that would do anything to hide it.
“We didn’t get to say goodbye either,” Frank reminded him, jumping back when Ernest spun to face him again with a snarl.
“And that wasn’t right! Nothing that happened to us was right! And those kids, they, oh god, they don’t deserve this...they don’t deserve any of this! Frank, do you…” Ernest’s voice broke for just a moment, “Do you know who they’re going to?”
Frank knew.
“I don’t know.”
Ernest hissed, “You’re lying to me. Who are they going to?”
“I don’t know!” Frank insisted, and after a moment under Ernest’s glare, a look in his eyes so desperate that Frank quailed ever so slightly, he relented, “I’ve...heard a rumor. But I don’t know anything for sure.”
“We should take them!” The look in Ernest’s eyes changed, ever so slightly, still desperate but now more frantic than Frank had ever seen them, “We could give them a good home! They’d like living in a hotel, wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t that be a fun place for kids to grow up? And we could take care of them, we could do it, watch out for them, keep them safe from...from all the things that no one kept us safe from.”
“We can’t do that.”
“We can!” Ernest was on his feet now, pacing in front of his brother, “We can, Frank, we have to! We owe it to them. We owe it to those children and we owe it to B and we owe it to, to, to-”
He crumpled onto the floor.
Voice dripping with pity, Frank gazed down at his triplet, “We can’t. You know we can’t.”
Ernest let out a hollow sob.
“I’m sorry, Ernest, I am,” Frank rose to his feet, extending a hand out to his brother, an offering.
Raising his head, Ernest looked at his triplet’s hand coolly, although he was still crying, he had managed to quiet himself. He stared, hard, and then shook his head, “At least I know I’m evil.”
He stood without taking Frank’s hand, grabbed the jacket that lay over the back of the couch, and walked to the door, throwing his brother one last glance before he disappeared.
Frank did not want to believe that his brother meant what he had said, but he knew that he did, and with a sigh, he followed.
maybe it’s just the way we’ve built them up in the fandom but beatrice and bertrand really do not seem like the type of people who would have their children call them mother and father
No they don’t...HOWEVER, Klaus seems like the type of kid that would call his parents mother and father, probably due to what characters in stories that he read did, and Violet seems like the type of big sister who would go along with it to make Klaus feel comfortable, and by the time Sunny comes along it’s just the vibe, y’know?
Since Discord has been a lil bitch today and I couldn’t get my usual fix of being a dork on there I wrote this instead.
Enjoy, I suppose? I’m not sure that it’s any good, but I hope you have some fondness for the fruit of my boredom.
Much love y’all
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bertrand was in love.
It was strange, he often thought to himself, strange that his life had taken such an extremely sudden turn.
He didn’t spend much time at home, before. He was always working, always busy. Whether he was backstage working a play, out in the field on a mission, reading a new story, or just trying to find some way to distract himself, Bertrand was always doing something. Some of the others, Kit and Beatrice especially, were always doing something too, but not for the same reasons. Kit distracted herself to prevent a breakdown of her emotions. Beatrice distracted herself because she always far too full of energy to just sit still. But Bertrand? Bertrand distracted himself because he simply couldn’t think of anything better to do with his time.
Now he still spend time at home, which is to say he didn’t spend time at his house, but Bertrand spent an incredible amount of time at the Hotel Denouement, and would finally find himself able to do absolutely nothing.
Do absolutely nothing as long as Ernest was at his side, that was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You two are absurd,” Olaf muttered.
He was sitting in the Hotel Denouement office with Ernest and Bertrand, rolling around in Frank’s desk chair while the two boyfriends lay sprawled across the couch.
More accurately, Bertrand was sprawled across the couch. Ernest did not sprawl, ever, and he generally voiced a lot of disapproval for Bertrand’s sprawling, but he let him do it anyway.
Ernest was sitting very straight, holding his book with one hand on the arm of the couch, the other hand stroking through Bertrand’s hair.
Bertrand was laying against him, occasionally shifting so his head was always either laying on Ernest’s shoulder or his lap.
“Not sure what you mean,” Bertrand chuckled, “I think that we’re plenty normal. After all-oh! Yuck, your turn.”
He removed the hard candy he had been sucking on from his mouth and handed it to Ernest. The sour candies had a sugary coating that Bertrand loved, but the sour center was more Ernest’s forte.
Olaf wrinkled his nose in disgust as Bertrand unwrapped a new candy, “That’s so unsanitary.”
“Not anymore so than kissing is,” Ernest shrugged.
“Actually,” Bertrand grinned up at his boyfriend, “I think it would be more sanitary if we passed the candy between ourselves with a kiss. Having our hands on it is what makes it a little more messy.”
“Please don’t,” Olaf groaned, and the three chuckled as Lemony Snicket stormed into the room.
“Bertrand,” Lemony was out of breath and almost shouting, looking at the boy with bright eyes, “Have you seen Beatrice?”
Bertrand shook his head, “No, she’s out with Kit and Esme, but I can call her if-”
“No!” Lemony really did shout then, calming himself after a moment and taking a deep breath, “I mean, I need to make sure she’s not around. I have to ask O a very important question.”
“Oh god,” Olaf groaned, “What do you want?”
Lemony looked close to vomiting, eyes wide as he took a seat in Ernest’s desk chair, rolling it so that he was facing Olaf, “I don’t know if I should ask with other people here.”
“Pretend we’re statues,” Bertrand suggested, leaning up so that his head was nuzzled against Ernest’s shoulder, “We’re just pretty little objects that happen to be in the nearby vicinity.”
“You are pretty,” Ernest muttered, placing a chaste kiss on Bertrand’s temple.
“And now I feel objectified,” Chuckling, Bertrand kissed Ernest back softly on the cheek, “So it’s perfect.”
Olaf wheeled his chair over to the couch and gave each of them a sharp smack on the top of the head, then wheeled back to Lemony, “Ignore them. Just ask, Snicket.”
“I, um,” Lemony paused to clear his throat uncomfortably, “I want to propose to Beatrice.”
“Oh my god, that’s great!” Bertrand cheered, blushing when Lemony and Olaf turned to stare at him, “Sorry, sorry, I’m a statue. I’ll be quiet.”
Lemony turned back to Olaf, looking at him expectantly, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“…Well?”
Shaking his head, Olaf sighed, “You didn’t ask me a question yet.”
“Oh shit, I didn’t,” Lemony paused as he heard Ernest snort and turned to give the Denouement a quick but nasty glare before finally asking, “I don’t want your permission, per se, because you don’t own her and I don’t own her and I won’t own her when we’re married either, but she’s your best friend and she’s the love of my life and I know that things may change with you two if I marry her because she may not have as much time, and I also know that you matter to her, an incredible amount, and so I want to ask you if I can have, well, if I can have your blessing,” And after a moment of Olaf staring at him in silence, Lemony continued hastily, “That word here means I want to know if you’re okay with me asking her to marry me.”
“We know what it means,” Bertrand muttered under his breath, laughing.
Olaf paid no mind to that and stood slowly, towering over Lemony, “You’re asking me this? Really?” He watched Lemony nod and sneered softly, “And what if I say no? You said it yourself, I don’t own her. No one will ever own Beatrice Baudelaire. So if I say no, what, are you not gonna propose?”
“That’s absurd,” Ernest whispered in Bertrand’s ear, still pretending he was reading his book.
Lemony shook his head quite vehemently, “No, no, you’re right. No one will ever own Beatrice Baudelaire. You saying no won’t stop me from asking her. But for some truly godforsaken reason, Beatrice trusts you more than just about anyone else on the planet, and if I propose to her and she asks for your advice for the decision and you say you don’t think it’s the right idea, I truly believe she might say no. I can’t bear the idea of that, O, the very idea of not getting to be in her presence for the rest of my life is enough to, to-”
He stopped, breathing heavily, and Olaf rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I know, Snicket, I know. Of course you have my blessing. I’ve known Beatrice forever, and before I met you I believed that no one would ever be good enough for her.”
“Thank you, that means a-”
“Now that I’ve met you, I still believe that no one will ever be good enough for her,” Olaf continued, enjoying the way Lemony’s face fell in confusion, “But if it has to be someone, I think you’re the closest to being good enough,” And after a moment of pause, “Well, you, and maybe Bertrand.”
Bertrand and Ernest both laughed at that, tangling their fingers together, while Lemony stared at Olaf, looking shellshocked.
Olaf just shook his head and tugged Lemony to his feet, “Come on, Snicket, we’re going to have to plan your proposal, because whatever you’ve come up with, I’m certain it’s not good enough. Do you two want me to put a sock on the door?” He asked the boyfriends on the couch as he pulled Lemony towards said door.
“Maybe later,” Ernest said casually, his deadpan an incredible contrast to Bertrand’s nervous blush.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night Bertrand and Ernest lay in bed side by side, as they usually did, because laying one on top of the bed and one underneath the bed would be very inconvenient and socially frowned upon.
“Should we have put a sock on the door?” Ernest asked, adjusting Bertrand’s pillow to the position he knew his boyfriend preferred it to be in.
Feeling an overwhelming rush of affection at such a simple act, Bertrand leaned up and kissed him.
Kit and Olaf, Lemony and Beatrice, all of their friends loved each other in big ways. Grand gestures, fancy dates, things like that. And of course those things had their place in Bertrand’s relationship, but more important than the big gestures were the little things.
Ernest knew exactly the way Bertrand liked his pillow to lay, knew the exact temperature he preferred his coffee at. He knew how to make Bertrand’s favorite dessert although Ernest himself hated most desserts, he knew the amount of sugar Bertrand liked on his grapefruit, he knew when Bertrand needed someone to cheer him up and knew when he just needed some quiet support.
The others had drama and extravagance and frivolity, but what Bertrand needed was care.
And care was what he got, from Ernest.
When they broke away from the kiss Ernest grinned, or at least he grinned as much as he ever did, which is to say that the corners of his lips turned up because Ernest didn’t actually grin, “Well, maybe now we should put a sock on the door, huh?”
“I’m quite fond of you,” Bertrand laughed, “But it’s late, and you need rest. You have a hotel conference to get ready for tomorrow, don’t you?”
As Ernest reached over to turn off the lamp by the bed, he was struck by a sense of complete and utter awe at how much his boyfriend loved him.
“I do.”
A chill went through the room when Ernest said those two words, and the lovers looked at each other forlornly in the darkness, then sighed quietly and adjusted themselves so that they were ready to sleep, Ernest’s arm thrown over Bertrand’s waist, pulling him close, and Bertrand’s face buried in the crook of Ernest’s neck, legs tangling up with Ernest’s instantly.
They were silent for a while, and as Ernest listened to Bertrand’s breathing slow he thought that he had fallen asleep.
That was, until Bertrand said quietly, “I’m very happy for Lemony and Beatrice.”
What did he mean by that? Why bring it up now?
“I am too,” Ernest said cautiously, and insecurity flashed through him as he wondered if Bertrand was thinking about Olaf’s comment, wondering if Bertrand was interested in Beatrice.
After all, everyone was interested in Beatrice.
Hell, even Monty would probably marry her if the opportunity arose, and he was the gayest man Ernest had ever met, as well as being practically family to everyone in VFD.
No, Ernest couldn’t blame Bertrand for being interested in Beatrice, interest was no big deal, everyone gets interested in other people, but he wondered if it was just interest, or if it was jealousy.
Beatrice was better than him, Ernest had no doubt about that, but he’d always thought that Bertrand loved him enough not to be swayed by such a thing.
What if he didn’t?
Bertrand reached a hand up to rest softly on Ernest’s cheek, stroking his thumb down his nose, “They love each other so much, it’s incredible. I hope I have a relationship with that much love. Hope I’ll be with someone who I want to marry, and who wants to marry me.”
Although he was usually able to keep his cool, Ernest felt a tear slide down his face. It hit the edge of Bertrand’s thumb, who then stared at Ernest with complete and utter fright, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Goodnight.”
Ernest tried to roll away, to face the other direction, but Bertrand wrapped himself tight around him and held him in place, “No, no, Ernest, what’s wrong?”
“I just-” Ernest took a shaky breath, his eyes closed tightly, “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? Don’t be sorry,” Bertrand leaned up once more and kissed the remnants of the tear off of Ernest’s face, “I just want to know what upset you.”
Ernest gave a quiet sob, “I thought that we loved each other.”
Oh shit.
“We do, we do!” Bertrand assured hurriedly, “I love you so much, Ernest.”
The darker haired man shook his head, “No, no, you just said you want someone to love you like Beatrice and Lemony, that would marry you. I thought that we, I mean, are you jealous of them? Do you, do you like Beatrice?”
“What?”
“Why else would you even bring them up? I get it, I really do, I just didn’t think that you would-”
“I am jealous of Lemony and Beatrice,” Bertrand interrupted, wincing as Ernest stiffened, “But not because I like Beatrice! And not because I like Lemony either, before you ask. I mean, I love them, of course, and of course Beatrice is important to me, she was like the third person I ever kissed! But darling, I’m not jealous because I want either one of them. I’m jealous because they’re getting married, jealous because I want that to happen to me. To us.”
Ernest sniffled, “Really?”
Nodding, Bertrand gave a very soft chuckle, “Really. I love you, Ernest, more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I just, I just want to know we have a future, y’know? Like they do. But it was a stupid thing to say. I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured, or anxious, or anything like that, I just love you so much. I never should’ve said that. You don’t need to feel pressured, I know it’s scary to bring up marriage and I shouldn’t have done that, but I-”
“I would marry you,” Ernest said then, suddenly, and for a moment Bertrand thought he had imagined it.
“What?”
“Marriage doesn’t scare me,” Pausing, Ernest laughed and hiccuped and laughed again, “Actually, marriage terrifies me. Just not if it’s to you.”
“I love you, Ernest Denouement.”
“I love you, Bertrand.”
Ernest groaned as the warmth of Bertrand disappeared from his grasp, and he squinted into the darkness, “Are you getting out of bed? What are you doing?”
Bertrand chuckled, “I’ve gotta put a sock on the door.”
“Oh?” Ernest wondered aloud, and then Bertrand climbed back onto the bed and he was kissing just below Ernest’s ear and sighing, he wrapped his arms around the man he loved, “Oh.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bertrand was happy to do absolutely nothing with Ernest by his side, it was true, but on this particular night there were far more fun things to do.
If the two had known what the future held, the tragedy and despair and betrayal they would feel over the years, the night would’ve gone differently.
Indeed, the night would’ve gone differently for a lot of their friends, as well.
But on that night, it didn’t matter.
Because on that night?
Bertrand was in love.
I totally forgot that I wrote this wtf this is a great oneshot I’m amazing (That’s a joke I’m not that great a writer but rereading this old oneshot did give me some ideas and I am v excited)
I read your drag queen fic and it was super cute and I loved it! But in your A/N you said something like “I don’t really ship them” and since you didn’t specify Carm/Klaus and I hadn’t read it yet, I got scared because the characters you’d mentioned before was violet and Klaus I just wanted to let you know because it was kind of off-putting to me and I assume you don’t support incest so probably don’t want anyone thinking you wrote fic for it so you might want to rephrase? Hope this isn’t rude❣️
Oh shit I didn’t even think about that rip
I already changed it, thank you for pointing it out it was just so in my head that this was a Klaus/Carm fic that I sorta rambled the note and didn’t really process what I was saying 100%
Thank you for pointing it out to me bc I totally see rereading it why you would have that worry
Also you’re so sweet! I’m so glad you liked it! It was just a vibe I was suddenly feeling so I went with it and I wasn’t sure what people would think but you’re so kind!!
And not rude at all, I’m thankful you pointed it out and I don’t want other people having that same worry
Summary: Violet thinks Klaus is a drag queen. Klaus, being Klaus, doesn’t disagree with her, because he’s far more worried about what she’d think of the truth.
*I wrote this as being set a little bit into the future, 5-10 years after The End, idk for sure*
A/N: I have absolutely no idea why I wrote this? I’ve never even really thought about shipping Klaus and Carmelita before, they’re like brotp material in my head but not a ship really, but I got struck with inspiration and I knew I had to write it or my knuckles get all stiff and itchy. Enjoy?ig?idk?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Klaus?" Violet Baudelaire knocked on her brother's bedroom door, "Klaus, can I come in?"
"What?" He called back frantically, and there was a loud shuffling noise that followed.
Violet frowned, already starting to twist the door handle, “I wanted to talk to you about something. Should I, uh, should I come back later?”
There was another shuffling sound and then a loud thump, and he finally responded, “Yeah, I mean, no, you can come in, if you have to, or better yet we could talk through the-” He paused as his sister pushed the door open, “Door.”
“Oh,” She froze, looking at her younger brother with wide eyes, and Klaus blushed, although she probably couldn’t tell that he was blushing, since it was under several layers of foundation and concealer and blush as in makeup rather than blush as in a flushed face. Finally, Violet grinned, relief washing over her features, “Oh. This is what’s been going on with you.”
“Yeah, I...” Klaus stared, his penciled in eyebrow raised, “Wait, what do you mean?”
The eldest Baudelaire chuckled, clapping her hands a little, “You’ve been acting kinda strange lately, sort of distracted, and you leave all the time with no explanation, which is fine, of course, but Sunny and I have been a little worried about you. But this is it! You didn’t have to hide this! I’m so proud of you!”
“Proud of me?” Klaus was growing more confused by the second.
“We have similarly sized feet, don’t we? You can borrow some of my heels,” Violet was already pacing the room, excitement gleaming on her features, “Sunny has that set of costume jewelry, and we could get your ears pierced if you wanted, and Carmelita-”
“Carmelita?” Klaus interrupted, “Why would you bring up Carmelita? What about her?”
“Carmelita has a sewing machine,” Frowning, Violet paused to squint her eyes at him, “Why are you so jittery? I promise it’s not a big deal. Carmelita has her sewing machine, and I’m sure she’d be happy to practice her dress making for you.”
“Hold on,” Adjusting his glasses, which had been knocked askew before Violet had come in, Klaus stared at his sister, “What exactly do you think this is for? What do you think I’m doing?”
She shrugged, taking his face in one hand to examine his makeup, “You’re becoming a drag queen, right? This makeup looks great, by the way. Anyway, what else would you be up to?”
“Nothing!” Klaus said, hurriedly, and nodding frantically, “I wouldn’t be up to anything else because what else would I be up to? I’m just an aspiring drag queen who is very happy to have finally admitted that to his older sister.”
“Of course! I’m so happy for you, Klaus. Listen, Quigley and I have a cake tasting to go to this afternoon, but I’m so glad you shared this with me. When I’m back tonight we can talk about it more, okay? You’re gonna be great. With the way you’ve been kinda dodging around lately, going out all the time or being tucked away back here or even just being kinda... off? Sunny and Beatrice and I were worried. The Quagmires too, we talked to them a little about it. We thought maybe you were dying, or that maybe you were secretly dating someone,” Violet laughed at the very thought, and Klaus laughed nervously along with her.
“Can you imagine?” He pulled at his collar, a nervous habit he had, “That would be ridiculous. No, I’m just a drag queen in training, which is much more in character for me. Anyway, I won’t keep you! Have a nice day! See you later!”
With that, he practically pushed her out the door, allowing her to wrap him in a very large and overbearingly sweet hug, letting out a large sigh once the door was safely shut with his sister on the other side.
There was a little rustling behind him, and when Klaus turned back around he saw that his closet door stood open, and that Carmelita Spats had moved from her hiding place and now sat on his bed, leaning against the headboard and smiling sympathetically at him, although he could see the giggles that she was hiding in the quirk of her mouth and the gleam of her eyes.
“This is all your fault, you know that?” Klaus asked, crossing his bedroom and crashing onto his bed in three long, loping strides, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you do my makeup. I hate how easy it is for you to wear me down.”
“I am pretty good at it,” She tugged him towards her gently, letting him lay sprawled across the bed in a manner perpendicular to her, his head in her lap and her fingers working through his curls gently, “Is it because I annoy you so much?”
“Yes,” Klaus said immediately, but after a moment he sighed, lifting his head up, reaching a hand to pull her down until their faces met, noses touching, “Well, yes, because you annoy me, but also because I love you, Carm.”
She kissed him, quickly, and then again for a little bit longer, gently, warmly, happily, and when she straightened back up and his head returned to her lap she realized she was humming, music flowing through her veins without her being able to stop it, “I love you too, Klaus,” and he hummed back at her in response, his eyes fluttering shut, until she added, “Even if you’re not great in a crisis. And I think you’d make a great drag queen, by the way.”
Unable to hold in her laughter at that, Carmelita threw her head back, and Klaus sat up, annoyed, and hit her lightly with a pillow, “Oh shut up.”
“I never do,” She giggled, grabbing another one of the pillows on the bed, hitting him back.
Sighing, Klaus tossed his pillow aside and drew her closer to him, the two laying down against the mattress, facing each other, and he pulled her so close that they were a tangled knot, “You really don’t. But I don’t either. Y’know, Carm, you’re probably the only person besides myself who I don’t get annoyed at for talking too much.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Carmelita joked, but in a moment she was serious, looking into his eyes, “Seriously, Klaus, we’ll be okay. I know this is...weird, right now. But we don’t have to tell anyone until you’re completely ready. And if you have to pretend to be a drag queen in the time between now and then, I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
They didn’t say anything else, but Carmelita buried her face against his neck, and Klaus rested his chin against the top of her head, and the two laid together, gently, warmly, happily, until they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, knowing that with all they had been through in their relatively young lives, this was going to be easy, knowing that as long as they were together, they were going to be okay.
I love the Baudelaire children in A Series Of Unfortunate Events. It’s like: “The middle child likes to read!” which is very realistic, many children do. “The oldest likes to invent/make things” which is a little more unique, but still plausible. “The youngest kid fcKN BITES REAL HARD”…….
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