Did the Baudelaire orphans survive “Chapter Fourteen”?
“The End” left us with a literal question mark: the Baudelaires took to the sea, and Lemony Snicket ended the series abruptly. What became of them once they left the Island? A coded sentence in “The Beatrice Letters” gives us the answer: their ship, the Beatrice, sank. End of story: the Baudelaires died in the depths of the ocean.
Except their foster daughter, Beatrice Baudelaire Jr, somehow survived this shipwreck. If a baby can survive that, why not the three other Baudelaires? Is there still some hope of finding proof of their presence on the mainland?
And if there is, why is Lemony not doing anything about it?
Let’s unravel the series’ final mystery after the cut.
Did anybody actually survive the fire which destroyed the Baudelaires’ home? In “The Hostile Hospital” and “The Carnivorous Carnival”, this possibility becomes the driving force of the plot, as both volunteers and villains aim to enquire about the Baudelaire parents’ whereabouts. Then, in “The Slippery Slope”, this question is abruptly answered and never brought up again:
[Klaus] reached through his layers of clothing until he found his pocket, and
pulled out page thirteen from the Snicket file, which he had been carrying with him since the Baudelaires had
found it at Heimlich Hospital. The page had a photograph of their parents, standing with Jacques
Snicket and another man the Baudelaires had been unable to identify, and above the photograph was a
sentence Klaus had memorized from reading it so many times. ’“Because of the evidence discussed on page
nine,’” he recited tearfully, “‘experts now suspect that there may in fact be one survivor of the fire, but
the survivor’s whereabouts are unknown.’” […] “I think the survivor is here,” the scout
said quietly, and removed his mask to reveal his face at last. “I’m Quigley Quagmire,” he said. [The Slippery Slope, Chapter Eight]
…for Heaven’s sake, Quigley. Not every single conversation revolves around YOU.
The reader is supposedly expected to believe the Baudelaire orphans just saw what they wanted to believe in the thirteenth page of the Snicket File, and that the sentence had actually refered to Quigley Quagmire all along. This is framed as an act of maturity: the Baudelaire must abandon the delusions and wish-fulfillment of childhood and accept the reality of death.
But could this not, conversely, be interpreted as an act of despair? Did the Baudelaires drop the case too early? We’ll reopen the investigation after the cut.
The moment she trudged into the kitchen, Yang was met with Ghira’s
raucous laughter and her father’s heavy stare. She’d already played out
every outcome in her head, now that it was clear enough to actually think
without her chi flaring to life, so she couldn’t even feign surprise.
After spending from noon until well past sundown defending herself from
various attackers, fighting to the point of exhaustion and then some,
the blonde had almost nothing left, merely standing there as the Faunus
slapped his knee and her father eventually joined in with soft chuckles
and a fond shake of his head.
“Okay, guys, you can stop now.” she
said, the weariness in her bones infecting her tone. Her muscles kept
shivering despite the fire crackling in the hearth, another stew
bubbling in the pot above it. Yang somehow couldn’t be motivated to even
be hungry, her gut too sore to contemplate doing its job; all
she wanted to do was pass out somewhere and recover from the rigorous
day. The blonde had already washed herself off in the stream on the way
back, realizing she wouldn’t have the energy once inside the house, but
her clothing would need to be mended and washed thoroughly tomorrow.
Honestly, all of it could wait. “Dad.”
“Who did it?” The burly
Faunus turned towards her fully, a little grin on his lips as he tried
not to burst out laughing again. “Which one actually managed to hit you
in the face?”
“Because you might want to keep an eye on them in the future,” her father said, prompting a fresh round of laughter from both of them.
It still blows my mind that I’m older than most of the gunblr folks I know. I think the only ones older are TRR, Todd, Remington, Blake maybe.. the biggest shock was finding out I’m older than @arizonagunguy because he looks like he’s at least 25
It’s impossible to classify all the events Lemony Snicket describes in a neat, unified timeline, but SOME of these events do fit in an organized chronology. We can therefore make a list of them, determining how many years separate them. Feel free to use it as reference for any theoretical article or fanfic.
A few rules before we start:
Year 1 has been established as Lemony’s birthyear.
As we’ve previously discussed, there is much ambiguity about the age Lemony believes himself to be. We assume for the sake of chronology that he was, indeed, taken from VFD as an infant. He may have been thirteen or twelve during “All the Wrong Questions” depending on the quotes you believe.
The only date we fixed arbitrarily is the age Lemony was when he had to leave Beatrice: 23. They were assumed to be young adults at that point, but the event may have occured earlier or later. Let’s also keep in mind that Kit is older than Lemony and yet has to give birth to a daughter much further down the line.
Some events (such as Fernald’s birthday) cannot be calculated with precision though we can rule out some years as too early/late.
It’s very difficult dating the assassination of Olaf’s parents. Because of its controversy, the matter has been excluded entirely.
Many thanks to Détective Denouement from the “La pente Glissante” forum for his invaluable help in referencing this article.
This chronology is nothing but and informed opinion: the Sleuth advises extreme caution and criticism. The timeline starts after the cut.
Time stretched and thinned, indecipherable outside of the sensations
plaguing her. She could only tell that it passed at all by vague
snatches of a kind voice muttering in her ear as she shifted violently
between extremes; one moment, her body was on fire, the heat stifling
and consuming, and the next she was colder than even the tallest
windswept peak of the northern most mountains in Atlas. Weiss grit her
teeth, barely managing to remain conscious, though she ultimately
couldn’t be sure she was aware of her surroundings at all, the
lines between reality and manifestations of her imagination blurred
together. At some points, it felt like she’d been plunged into the
coldest winter, with only the familiar heat of her wife’s chi to stave
off a freezing death, and then at others her own chi spread through
every fiber of her being to keep the overwhelming heat from burning her
alive. She shuddered, curling in on herself and remaining dimly aware of
hands smoothing down her back or threading through her sweat slicked
There were poisons that granted kinder fates than this, she
mused idly as the extremes abated for just a moment, gifting her with a
small reprieve of coherency. The Atlesian couldn’t feign surprise,
though, at how it all turned out; she’d tasted something different when
she took the first sip, something that went down far too smooth given
the absence of sugar or milk. The lack of a hard bite to the strong tea
warned that it wouldn’t be what she anticipated and, after a few
minutes, a heady sensation akin to the sway of alcohol began affecting
her senses. She hadn’t objected- continued drinking, even- partially to
preserve the tentative, mutual respect between herself and Blake, and if
she truly wished to remain in good standing with Yang and her Faunus
allies, she would likely need to get used to their customary drink.
it was too strong, and soon she lost control. Of the rampant thoughts
swirling around her head, of the words tumbling from her mouth, and
finally her own body, collapsing in a useless heap into the blonde’s
arms while poorly trying to justify her actions. The Warrior Queen was livid,
then and now, her tone betraying the rage burning bright enough to
renew the Atlesian’s sweating, nearly forcing her to pull away from the
warmth before her ice cold chi enveloped her once more to shield her
from the worst of it.
“This crossed a line, Blake.” The
blonde’s voice held a dangerous edge, the arm wrapped around her waist
flexing subtly, as if it took conscious effort to keep it where it was.
“I never would’ve agreed if you’d told me in the first place, debt or
“I was just trying to get her to relax; I didn’t
mean to take things this far.” There was a warble in the Faunus’ voice,
as if she was on the verge of tears. It could’ve been anger to match
Yang’s tone but the genuine distress that seemed almost palpable heavily
discounted that possibility. “I’m sorry, Yang- I don’t know what else I can say-”
My Hannigram recs are not as finely categorized as my other rec lists [Johnlock] [Newmann] [misc]. This is mainly because a lot of kinks – dark!fic, dubcon, mind control, BDSM – are kind of redundant when it comes to this pairing. So just check the tags before reading.
Hope you enjoy! And remember – just because something’s in the “Miscellaneous” category does not mean it’s vanilla! This is Hannibal, after all. ;)
Did Lemony stalk the Baudelaire orphans from his taxi?
The very first discovery readers make about the mythology of “A Series Of Unfortunate Events” is, naturally, the purpose of its semi-fictional narrator:
Who is he?
What does he want?
When did he start recording the lives of the Baudelaire orphans?
Why do they matter to him?
We do get an answer to all of these mysteries, in “The End”.
But these are all the wrong questions.
The real question is: “Can we, as a reader, trust the benevolent image he tries to project?”
There is indeed a difference between giving the facts and telling the truth. And when it comes down to it, there is something unseemly about the idea of a grown man exposing these children’s darkest turmoils for the benefit of complete strangers. Without apparent consent, no less.
Let’s embark together on a troubling journey and retrace Lemony’s investigation, step by step. We will analyze his methods; we will question his motives. And we will paint a very different picture of Mr Snicket’s works than the one he wants us to believe… after the cut.
Today’s been super fucking stressful and long and it’s not over yet, but I finally got a chance to log on and catch up and I just want to say- thanks, y’all. Seeing the notes, reblogs, tags, and this ask have really turned a very shit day around, and I greatly appreciate it! :)
Also, shoutout to the anon and @maburito for giving me the prompts that brought the Monochrome Escort!AU to life!