Snicketober Day 27: uhhh…. Mount Fraught (?.?)

ok this is such a stretch but mount fraught > VFD headquarters > sugar bowl gen growing up together > lineup :)

prompt by @free-my-boy-grumbot

Snicketober day 3 - "The Snickets"

Just some Snicket Pups enjoying a lovely round of Beethoven. (Prompt by @free-my-boy-grumbot) I'm sorry that they are dogs I can't draw people

Day 3 : The Snickets

Day 2 Snicketober: Sugar Bowl Gen!!! I love sugarbowl gen!!!

Used this prompt to finish off an old wip based on a pinterest photo

mother and/or volunteer

Kit thinks about her unborn child, and whether she should raise the child in VFD.

~1.5k. Kit Snicket centric.

___

Occasionally, at late hours, such as 2 in the morning like right now, Kit briefly entertains the thought of keeping her child away from the organization, of shielding her child from the heavy burden and knowledge of VFD. She gazes out at pond from the balcony of the room, staring at the waters that so carefully conceals a library beneath. The water is still and quiet. Peaceful, even.

It's about the only peaceful thing in her life right now, the hotel pond at late night. Everything else is so chaotic at the moment, and the schism is worse than ever. Does she want her child to grow up in the current state of VFD? She puts a hand on her bump, touching it gently and carefully.

It was different 15 years ago, she thinks.

15 years ago, Kit didn't approve of Beatrice and Bertrand's decision to keep their children out of VFD. The two of them remained volunteers, as involved as ever, just transferred to different kinds of missions, ones that allowed them to work from The City, mostly. After all, the organization needs its volunteers here in The City for various jobs, too, so it'd been no problem. They said they were going to tell the children when they're older, and let the children make their own decisions of whether to volunteer or not. Kit didn't approve of the decision back then, and expressed it vocally, in fact, but ultimately it was their decision to make and not hers. She just thought the lack of proper VFD training would be an obstacle to proper volunteering - after all, they had all been trained since childhood, all of them. Except for people like Esme - who barely counted as VFD anyway - and look how that turned out. So easily misled by people who left the organization. She had at one point wondered if Georgina employed any of her nastier techniques such as hypnosis on Esme, but then concluded that it probably wasn't even needed.

[continue reading on ao3] [squidgeworld]

Here’s how we can get Ethel Cain Kit Snicket

Uncanny!

“I wish they would leave,” Kit is telling her, while she finishes zipping up her suitcase. “I tried to tell them there would be a life for them, out in the real world away from here, but it’s difficult for them to see it. Maybe you can help them more than I was able to.”

Olivia doubts that very much. It would certainly be the first time in her life that she has been more successful at anything than Kit Snicket.

The truth is, she can’t figure out why K voluntarily put herself out here for all these months. It is hardly a glamorous post to take on, and it is many hours from the City where all the action is. The sleepy Hinterlands do not suit the version of her that Olivia knew, or at least knew of, when they were young. They were never friends, but like all volunteers of their generation, she has observed her from afar; the headstrong girl with the steel eyes, sharp as a knife, fast as a bullet. No doubt there was a noble reason — the noblest of all, knowing the Snickets.

“Can’t I just fire them?” Olivia asks her, instead of vocalising any of her musings. “If you think they would be better off leaving, can’t I force them into it?”

“I suppose,” Kit sighs. “But that wouldn’t solve their problem. They would only go and find a new cage to lock themselves in. The world has already been too cruel to them once before.”

Olivia frowns. “What do you mean?”

Kit shakes her head, seemingly more at herself than at the question. “You’ll see for yourself when you meet. I shouldn’t cloud your judgement. It’s up to you how you deal with all this from now on.”

"Mmm," says Dewey, which might have been words when it had started in his head.

"Speak up, dear," replies Kit, patting his head. "I couldn't quite hear that."

Dewey frowns, nuzzling closer to Kit's stomach, and wrapping an arm tighter around her waist.

"It's late," he says, turning his head a little to look up at Kit.

Kit puts aside the book in her hands, smiling down at Dewey as she brushes a thumb over his cheek. Dewey closes his eyes and leans into the touch with another hum.

"For some people, I suppose," Kit says.

Dewey scrunches up his nose and buries his face against Kit's hip. "You volunteers keep such awful schedules," he mumbles.

Kit laughs softly, squeezing Dewey's shoulder.

"I'm certainly not stopping you from falling asleep, if that's what you'd like, dear."

Dewey grumbles something against Kit's side, his arm across Kit's lap going heavy in a half-hearted attempt to pull her down next to him.

"Is there something you want to ask me, Dewey?" asks Kit, teasingly light.

"No," says Dewey, petulantly.

"Hmm." Kit picks up her book again. "Then you don't mind if I read a while longer?"

She can feel Dewey frown even harder into her hip as he makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat. Smiling widely, Kit turns another page, hand drifting up and down Dewey's back. They pass a short moment in silence.

"Kitttt," Dewey whines, rolling away from Kit to flop onto his back, arm thrown over his face to cover his eyes.

"You cannot fault me for reading, of all things," retorts Kit. "Unless there is something else that is the matter?"

"You are so cruel to me, Snicket," says Dewey, flatly. "So very, very cruel, like you don't care about my health and happiness whatsoever."

"Perhaps I simply don't know what you want," suggests Kit, but she puts a bookmark in her book anyways.

"Kit," says Dewey, propping himself up on one elbow and leveling Kit with a stern look. "Darling. Please. I love you and all your eccentricities. But if you really loved me you would remember that I cannot sleep with the light on!"

Kit laughs, which only serves to make Dewey frown even harder.

"My dear," she says, leaning over Dewey to set her book on the table and coming to rest against his chest, "if that's all it is, you should have said something earlier."

Dewey rolls his eyes, but kisses Kit anyways. Kit sighs happily, reaching out and turning off the light as she settles in against Dewey's side. In the darkness, they both smile in satisfaction.

lemony snicket: the man, the myth, the legend

~1.9k. Fernald vs the Snicket Siblings

__

Like all other apprentices of the same era, Fernald has heard of Lemony Snicket.

Lemony Snicket is something of a urban legend. A myth. Okay, maybe that's exaggerating it a bit. But they've all heard of him and his reputation, and for them, Lemony Snicket represents some kind of - hope. For the generation who grew up as the schism was quickly worsening, yet the line that divided the sides seemed to get blurrier instead of clearer as time went on; for the generation of volunteers who'd lost even more hope, gotten even more confused then the previous volunteers (or, had every generation thought that way? Fernald doesn't not know, it is possible) - for them, as they questioned themselves, as they questioned what VFD stood for and what the enemies of VFD stood for, Lemony Snicket represented some kind of hope. The rebel, yet with intention to do good. The one who walked away from his apprenticeship, who almost disregarded the volunteer label, yet never stopped volunteering, action-wise.

Lemony Snicket, who killed a man to save a town, at the age of 13. Or almost 13. The urban legend was a bit unclear on that part.

Lemony Snicket, who saw what's wrong with VFD and didn't keep silent about it. Lemony Snicket, who blatantly chose the last-ranking chaperone. Lemony Snicket, who didn't follow the rules of VFD. But unlike others who did it because of their own benefits, he did it because what was right.

Of course, there are probably other volunteers who did the same kinds of things, other volunteers who tried to revolutionize VFD from within. A group of people, not necessarily all together as a group - perhaps just each with their individual efforts. It's too big a thing to pin on Snicket himself, whether those who want to label him as a hero for doing so, or a villain for doing so. But that's the thing about people who become legends - sometimes, other stories tended to fade to background in comparison. It's sometimes easier to rally behind a specific hero image, or just to shove all the blame onto one specific person, to pin as the villain.

Lemony Snicket is on the run. He's on the lam, accused of multiple accounts of arson. VFD, as an organization, didn't seem to rush to defend him, as Snicket was labelled an arsonist, therefore supposedly, an enemy of VFD. But those who have heard of Snicket's story knew that there had to be something more - perhaps Snicket was innocent, and framed; or perhaps he did set those fires, but knowing Lemony Snicket's story, surely he must've had a good reason. Because Lemony Snicket has always been a rulebreaker, but he was never evil. Never the villain of the story, although perhaps an anti-hero of some kind. Perhaps he was trying to save people with those fires. Nobody knew the details of the story - no one in Fernald's immediate social circle, anyway.

That's the thing about urban legends - you just know the story, but never the exact details.

[continue reading on squidgeworld] [ao3]

fighting fire with fire

Kit and Bertrand talk about how to handle Gregor Anwhistle.

~1.3k

[squidgeworld] [ao3]

__

It's fairly foggy in The City that night, and even a driver like Kit Snicket is forced to slow down her speed as she maneuvers the taxi through the city streets. On the passenger seat is Bertrand, a frown on his face, deep in thought.

There was a time when Bertrand thought Gregor Anwhistle's research held potential, possibly a useful weapon for their side to use, if it could be controlled. But after hearing the latest reports - sent back by Fernald, Widdershins's stepson who, because of his marine biology interests, had been assigned to the research center - he's changed his mind. Kit's been rather disapproving of Gregor's research since the early stage, but she very graciously does not say "I told you so" at the moment.

As faint jazz music rolls out from the radio, she merely says, "So, what are we going to do about G?"

They've tried to talk to him about it, hoping to appeal to reason. It hasn't worked so far. Gregor's in far too deep. But Gregor has also brought up a valid point that VFD is forced to consider - abandoning the research now, when there has already been rumors spreading, could cause the other side try to gain access to the mycelium samples. If they heard VFD is pausing the research, they might think this is a great chance to take over, and surely no one in VFD wants that.

"I've heard that The Man With Beard But No Hair is quite interested in it," G has added.

"Why does he know about that?" Jacques has pointed out immediately when he first heard the news from Kit. Both Snicket twins quite suspect that the Sinister Duo may have already reached out to Gregor Anwhistle, and it's G's way of implicitly threatening them that if VFD won't continue to support his research, there are other people interested in doing so, perhaps even fully funding it. Even though initially Gregor argued for the mycelium research for its usefulness in having a weapon over their enemy, more and more volunteers are beginning to suspect that he doesn't in fact care about sides that much at all, but his own scientific research. Having an advantage over the other side is just a clever way of arguing for funding, and with the way the schism is going, it certainly worked.

Now, in the taxi in the foggy night, the word murder has flashed across both of their minds. A few years ago they wouldn't have considered such an option so immediately and readily, and even now neither of them is going to directly say the word out loud yet. Because murder is not something you simply - unlock the first achievement and the rest is easy. Every additional kill is another life lost, an irreversible process. Every step in that direction is a step you can't take back, walking down a path that you can't look back. Every kill doesn't make the next kill easier - well, perhaps in the skills aspect it does, but - morally, it really shouldn't. (It kind of does, actually. That's the scary thing. You justify it for the one time, calling it necessary evil. It becomes slightly easier to justify the next.)

They're already too competent, too efficient, too methodical. Like a pair of sharp knives. They're already exceedingly practical people, especially compared to their friends who lean on the dramatic side. Their problem, once they crossed a certain point in their lives, has never been not practical enough. A night at the opera changed things, for better or for worse.

Perhaps better for the organization's overall future, but worse for them, individually, with blood on their hands.

But what is the weight of individuality, in the grander scheme of things?

Kit and Bertrand are practical people and they both know it, they have that level of self-awareness. So, as they have onetime, late at night, discussed in the living room of Bertrand's apartment, that perhaps they don't need to so much worry about not being able to see the bigger picture, not being able to make the hard call. Perhaps what they should be more careful about is losing bits of themselves in the process, normalizing this in the process, attributing every action to "necessary evil" in the process.

("Who are we, to be making these decisions?" Kit once asked.

"It wasn't our decision, in the beginning," Bertrand said.

"Right, at first those were orders." Kit agreed. "But -"

"We're grown up now, we've climbed high enough now, that sometimes, it is our decision, not anyone else's," Bertrand finished for her.

"Exactly.")

At some point they had to stop worrying that they're not being practical enough, and worry if they're in fact being too cold-bloodedly practical, that if they're losing something they could never get back. If at some point, the bigger picture might not be worth all of this.

They know that.

So they do not speak of murder. Not yet. Even if the thought has definitely crossed both of their minds, and they know each other enough to know that as well.

"Well," Kit says, finally. "Killing him doesn't solve the problem, if his samples remain, and if the Sinister Duo do want his research. Even if they don't have competent enough scientists to take over - no, precisely because they don't have anyone to take over, they might just use it, which is even worse."

Bertrand exhales. "K," he sighs.

"Of course murder is also wrong in itself," she says. "But do not lecture me about it when I know you're also considering the option. And I too wish that I'm still innocent enough that taking the option off the table is because I know it's wrong - I still know, by the way, just in case you're wondering - and not because it doesn't solve the problem. But -" she cuts herself off. "Whatever."

He doesn't say anything for a moment.

"They can both be factors that we take into consideration," he says, finally. "It's a complicated enough decision, as it is."

She scoffs, but doesn't argue. It is how they operate - how they have operated, for quite some time, now.

Poison dart changing hands. Red shawl with long feathers along the edges. Beatrice. Olaf. 

So what? Kit thinks. So they carry the burden they have to carry, and continue going forward. What else?

Murder doesn't solve the problem, not exactly. The mycelium samples are still there.

Unless -

Unless they burn the whole research center to the ground.

Yes, she's written to Gregor and told him that playing with fire is something that their enemies do, something that the volunteers should be careful with.

"Or," Bertrand says, his voice careful, neutral, deliberately unemotional. "We try to change his mind."

Kit says, impatiently, "He's not listening to reason - we've tried."

"I don't mean that we should try to reason with him," Bertrand says.

Kit's eyes turn sharp. Dangerous. "Oh." And then, after a few moments, "Well, it is better than murder." She hesitates. She knows Bertrand's rather complicated history with Georgina, and his view on such things. So for him to actually suggest this -

"Still," she cautions. "Letting her in on the plan is dangerous. Do we even trust her enough? She's not on the opposite side, not exactly, but she'll betray anyone if it suits her. If she decides it's profitable for herself. Involving her - has its own risks."

Bertrand doesn't say anything, not at first.

That's when it dawns on Kit.

"You knew a few tricks, too."

Bertrand smiles, tight. Bitter. "I did learn a few tricks. I'd hate to employ such techniques, but ...."

But does he hate it, more than the idea of killing Gregor Anwhistle? They both wonder. Is his skills even enough? He is, after all, not Georgina Orwell.

There is only one Georgina Orwell. Which is enough, really, in most times. More than enough, in Kit's opinion.

"Let me talk with J first," Kit says, finally.

fic: northern star

been going through some old wips so behold!! some scene sketches i have done for various sugar bowl gen fics and stuff, bc i will probably never make them more than these few sentences (or they will transform into something else) and that is not terrible. sometimes you just have little snippets that exist as they are, and that's cool ⭐

like a row of captured ghosts

kit snicket

teen

2,568 words

for @asouefanworkevent's woevember day 2, the baudelaire mansion! featuring my enduring headcanon that the baudelaire mansion was previously the snicket mansion, and b+b get it when they marry lemony. i am 100% willing to admit it is Unlikely, however let us not forget kit saying “our families have always been close”, so, yknow

title from welcome home by radical face

funny you're the broken one / but I'm the only one who needed saving / ‘cause when you never see the light / it's hard to know which one of us is caving

The rainy sky is a mixture of pale gray and complete whiteness, and the windshield wiper is moving rhythmically on the taxi’s windscreen. Left, right, left, right. Kit speeds down the highway only slightly slower than her usual speed, and beside him, Bertrand leans back comfortably in the passenger seat, raising his head up from his commonplace book.

“It’s surprising how smooth the traffic is,” he remarks. “I’d have thought it’d be more chaotic, given the rain.”

“Usually it is like that,” Kit agrees. “So many people suddenly can’t drive when it’s raining. But this isn’t rush hours where everyone has to get to work, so most people who can’t drive very well in the rain are probably all staying inside right now, with this weather.”

The air conditioning in the taxi is strong, temperature set lower so as not to let the windows get foggy. It reminds Bertrand of the times when it was raining heavily outside and he was staying inside the library at the vfd headquarters, reading a book. The air conditioning was fairly strong at those times as well, and there was always something that felt - a little surreal, a little off-balance, during the moments he paused his reading and refocused on the outside world again, listening to the rain pouring down outside. The kind of feeling as if passing through a liminal space. It’s an odd feeling, but he doesn’t exactly dislike it - perhaps even enjoy it a little, as difficult as it is to describe exactly.

Kit reaches out a hand to switch the radio channel, and the classical music stops, replaced by light jazz flowing out of the sound system, surrounding the taxi. The two of them chat idly about random subjects, not always fast to respond to the other’s comment, but the silent pauses in the conversations aren’t awkward against the sound of rain and jazz. Plus, they’re far too comfortable with each other’s presence anyway, and are used to both deep conversations and also companionable silence between the two of them. It’s as easy and natural as breathing - and, considering the dangerous activities that being VFD volunteers sometimes led them to, one might even say it’s easier and more natural than breathing under certain circumstances.

After a while, perhaps 20 minutes, they get off the highway and venture into the city streets. Traffic’s slightly worse down here, though Kit navigates it with relative ease, and then finally come to a stop after driving into the parking lot beneath the theater. Instead of the theater, though, they head towards the coffee shop just a block away as that’s their final destination, not the theater itself. Beatrice being part of the theater group that performs regularly here means that she was able to acquire a parking pass for Kit.

Inside Chekhov’s Cafe, Beatrice waves at them as soon as they step in, fumbling to put the umbrella away. She’s wearing a pair of capri jeans - rumor has it that those are back in fashion again, probably - and an orange blouse. Beside her sits Jacques, with his usual grey trench coat. Beatrice beams at them as they walk over, ever so energetic and bright.

“You have to try their Muffin of MacGuffin,” she announces as they sit down. “Daily Punctilio’s fashion column will be including it in the list of the innest snacks of the week starting next week, so the price is about to skyrocket real soon.”

Kit raises an eyebrow. “Really. So what’s actually inside the muffin?”

Beatrice grins, her eyes sparkling. “Well, that’s irrelevant, obviously.”

“So, how’s the latest in the land of manipulating the city’s economy through strategically declaring different things as fashionable?” Bertrand asks Jacques.

“Salmon is making a comeback, so take note,” Jacques replies drily. “So is black-and-white movies, but that one’s just a favor for Gustav.”

“G’s trying to get some sponsor for his latest pitch,” Beatrice adds.

Kit and Bertrand do not order the Muffin of MacGuffin as Beatrice recommended, and instead she gets a sandwich and ice tea and he opts for a quiche, with coffee to go along with it. Beatrice sighs dramatically and remarks on their lack of sense of adventure, but then is quickly distracted when Jacques takes out his commonplace book and flips to the page of his latest investigations on one of VFD’s assignments. She grabs the commonplace book from Jacques and starts skimming through his notes quickly.

The four of them delve into deep conversations about the assignment, but in cryptic words and with rather ambiguous references since they’re sort of in a public place. Kit absentmindedly chews on the ice cubes from her ice tea while she compares her own notes against Jacques’s.

Half an hour later, Beatrice glances at her watch - Kit notices it’s a different watch from the one Beatrice was wearing when they last met, and wonders internally if it’s something she only recently bought, or perhaps stole - and declares that she has to run back to the theater now as they have a rehearsal soon. Outside, the rain is still pouring, and the rest of them watch as Beatrice grabs her umbrella and dashes out, opening up the umbrella in the rain.

There’s a white “E”, in elegant cursive, on the bright red umbrella.

“She’s more like a lightning than actual lightning itself,” Kit remarks, taking another sip of her tea.

Bertrand raises an eyebrow. “Careful, K,” he says. “Don’t get struck.”