#Eslaf

[beatricebidelaire]

eslaf: beatrice haters unite

[when-we-drive-away-in-secret]

ASOUE Dynamic Playlists

You can find the list of character playlists here

Unfortunate Gen

The Firefighters

The Firestarters

Olaf/Esmé

Beatrice/Bertrand

Kit/Olaf

Lemony/Beatrice

Olaf/Georgina

Beatrice/Esmé

Georgina/Esmé

Olaf & Beatrice

Kit/Beatrice

Esmé/Kit

Jacques/Olivia (Show!Verse)

Esmé/Olivia (Show!Verse)

Jacques/Esmé

Beatrice & Jerome

I am constantly editing/changing these, most of them aren't really in a coherent order yet and some of them are currently ridiculously short because I haven't really found the right niche of songs for their dynamic yet, but here you go ^.^ (also I will be making and linking a masterpost for each one explaining why I chose all the songs, but if anyone ever has any song recommendations or wants to know about a specific song that's already on there, feel free to send me an ask!)

[erenfox]

guys is there a scientific term for the condition where you just love shipping toxic ships? like seriously. i have no fucking idea why i ship joker x harley quinn or count olaf x esme squalor sm HELP 😭

[the-sparkling-diamond-satine]

successfully found 0 Esmé/Olaf fics with daddy kink tags??? the daddy kink is (show) canon??? am i gonna have to write this myself????

[lesbian-in-leather]

Give us some eslaf fammmm 🫶❤️‍🔥

Ah!!!!! Anon I adore you

The mutually assured destruction is one of their most appealing qualities—they don't have a healthy dynamic by any stretch of the imagination, and they both know that sooner or later their relationship will go up in smoke, but it doesn't stop them from coming together repeatedly over the years. I see them as very much being defined by a shared passion; they can't stop themselves from being together anymore than they can stop themselves from tearing the other apart

To me they were the others first for a lot of things, and they'll always hold a special place in the others' heart because of that. They first started dating when they were quite young, and they keep coming back together over and over even though everyone knows they're a terrible combination and they just don't work (at least, not for long)

During the series, I see them as being a comfort to each other. They're the last remnants of the life the sugar bowl gen used to share, they both miss the pre-schism world and the friends they've lost, but they refuse to show any weakness. They refuse to articulate or even acknowledge the longing in their chests, so they latch onto each other and refuse to let go, feeding into the others' worst impulses just to feel something in a world so cold and numbing to the both of them

Send me a ship and I’ll tell you three things I like about it!

[essily]

i hate eslaf

[vzm]

hi guys just wanted to show you tina from eslaf. felt like she would be enjoyed here

[stealthrockdamage]

my red flag is i play the gertrude lichtenberg-coloured sisca alt in eslaf

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

Eslaf2 is the game Tina is from and it has an english patreon/twitter (patreon is eslaf, twitter is @FreeEslaf). An old demo build of the game is available on the website but its worth it to support Free and get the latest builds.

Thank you!

[aseriesofunfortunatetexts]

If you ever did decide to write eslaf, may I suggest a smutty continuation of what would have happened in netflix tvv if olaf hadn't noticed the keys were missing? 👀👀

Ah yes, the horizontal tango that never was. Good idea!

[senihh]

Niceleştirilen Kanı

Nice eslaf, nice eyyam, nice ahval ve daha niceleriyle niceleştirilen bir yaş antında tiraj yalnız umara umut olmaktan öte isnat edilecek hâlet aleyhte değil ise bu muğlak bağlamda bile fiil tine bilfiil ab-ı hayat dahi olur. Hülasa zararın neresinden dönülürse kârdır. 'Ben' seçimi diye inatla yürürse bu yoldan en nihayetinde kendi adına işaret edilecek hiç bir olgusu kalmaz. İşte bakıp da görebilmeli kibrin üst adına hali hazırda sonunu! Lakin bu hal her zaman ne aynı sona varır ne de 'demem bu değil, edemem'e zira istisnalar ve normal dağılım hayatın bizzat temelinde yatar. Yalnız bu ideye de indirgememek gerek bu bütünü. Ne zamansa ihtilal şart, temellik keyfi, değişim elzem ve zaruri oldu o zaman potansiyel eğreti değil üsttür. Külden adımlanamıyorken dahi şu ahmakıslatan soyulmuş yol değil düşülen en dip; en dip bil ki iden istencinden vazgeçtiği yolda durmuş isen..

[beatricebidelaire]

if olaf and esme bonded over betrayal over beatrice, georgina couldn't ever really much relate or sympathize because she never cared for beatrice much, if at all. in a way the mutual hatred over beatrice is what made esme and olaf get each other, understand each other, beneath the committing crimes together, beneath friends with benefits, beneath the fun. it's something deeper that they both get, both understand. it's a side of esme that's been hurt by beatrice, more vulnerable. and esme doesn't really need georgina to get this, sort of is satisfied that georgina doesn't see how deep the cut is, because she doesn't want to seem weak in front of georgina.

here's the twist though.

georgina was never betrayed by beatrice, but it's possible - if going with netflix - she'd been betrayed by olaf. water under the bridge - that's where you left me. my feelings wrt georgina/olaf and what netflix did was kind of complicated, in a way i'm not sure i like georgina's portrayal in the dynamic, as they seemed uninvolved in the books, no past romance or betrayal, and she's so competent and sharp and confident etc, but in another way i do kind of can see it, see how exactly it's this personality that led to that ending (talked about in this post)

from georgina's point of view, from georgina, who doesn't get olaf and esme bonding over beatrice's betrayal, who doesn't get why esme is actually, in a way, friends with olaf, that it was more than sex in a way. for her, esme's involvement with olaf, a man who once left georgina to die, a man who once betrayed her - how does all that look, from georgina's angle?

and how would esme know this history? georgina would hardly want to mention it, mention exactly what happened, mention her vulnerable and betrayed - she wouldn't want esme to know this about her. she would be unlikely to simply just bring it up. or at least, she might not tell the whole story. she could just say they had a history but then broke up, without going in the details. so georgina does not tell esme, but she sees esme's relationship with olaf, and how does she feel about that? if we go with the eswell angle of it all? she likes esme, maybe, it's fun with her. but esme's cozying up with olaf. esme can flirt with a lot of people, G's not jealous. but she may feel betrayed, the way esme is so close with a man who hurt her. but how could esme know, if georgina never mention it? but on the other hand, could it be counted on that olaf never said anything? even if he mentioned something, how much would he distort the story, or leave something out?

anyway im just thinking about eslaf having a bond that georgina can't relate to and how adding in olaf's betraying georgina and how that plays into the eswell dynamic, how that affects esme and georgina.

(side note: nothing happened between them in the books, but it could be said that olaf showing up to get georgina involved in his scheme did lead to her death.)

(side side note: i do think a lot about the post about how it made sense to kill georgina off early because she's too competent a villain, and if DH let her stay around on olaf's team, the baudelaires could never stand a chance, so it made sense, for story's continuity sake, that she had to die.)

[when-we-drive-away-in-secret]

Listening to my eslaf playlist again while I draw and like,,,, I'm so right with some (read: all) of these songs. Really need to learn to make animatics to share my Vision

[erenfox]

My Biggest What-Ifs of A Series of Unfortunate Events (Series Only)

The Night of the Opera:

1. What if Beatrice and Lemony had just taken the fucking sugar instead of the whole ass Sugar Bowl?

2. What if Olaf's father had never been shot by the poison dart?

The Bad Beginning:

1. What if Violet, Klaus and Sunny had never gone to the Briny Beach that day?

2. What if Violet and Klaus had never figured out Olaf's scheme to marry Violet irl?

The Reptile Room:

1. What if Monty's dumbass had just straight up recognised Olaf?

2. What if the Baudelaires had actually been fooled by Olaf's disguise, or had just pretended to be fooled?

The Wide Window:

1. What if Josephine hadn't been charmed away by Olaf, being still distraught about Ike and all?

2. What if the Quagmire parents had actually come down via their plane to help the Baudelaires + Josephine?

The Miserable Mill

1. What if Violet and Klaus never figured out Georgina's scheme?

2. What if Violet had never yelled 'Fire' and taken out all the workers from their trance?

The Austere Academy

1. What if Larry had never lost the book like a stupid dumbass?

2. What if the Quagmires had never been caught by Olaf?

The Ersatz Elevator

1. What if Olivia had never met Jacques?

2. What if the Baudelaires had identified Esme's true nature beforehand?

The Vile Village

1. What if the absolute fucking idiots of the village had just listened to the Baudelaires?

2. What if the Baudelaires had managed to escape with Hector and the Quagmires?

The Hostile Hospital

1. What if Esme had found the Sugar Bowl before Kit arrived?

2. What if the Snicket File had somehow gotten destroyed before either the Baudelaires or Olaf got to see it?

The Carnivorous Carnival

1. What if Olaf had identified the Baudelaires in their pretty terrible attempt of a freak outfit?

2. What if the Baudelaires had never been reunited with Olivia or watched any of the VFD Files?

The Slippery Slope

1. What if the Baudelaires had never met Quigley?

2. What if Quigley had never been separated from the Baudelaires?

The Grim Grotto

1. What if the Baudelaires had never been intercepted by Fiona?

2. What if Fernald hadn't helped the Baudelaires to escape?

The Penultimate Peril

1. What if the Baudelaires had never met Dewey?

2. What if the Sugar Bowl had been saved by someone at last?

The End

1. What if the Baudelaires had never figured out Ishmael's scheme, and had gotten successfully drugged enough to forget their past?

2. What if Olaf hadn't been a dumbass and released the Medusoid Mycelium on the island?

The Epilogue

1. What if Beatrice II had not managed to survive the returning trip?

2. What if Lemony had never received Beatrice II's letter?

(help im ✨mentally dying✨)

[kirikomamura]

💌 ^_^

****! You're cool as hell and I enjoy talking to you a lot. I should get around to playing some +r/melty/eslaf with you. I want to work on some projects together with you more I've just been kind of exhausted bc of work lately.

[lesbian-in-leather]

They aren’t soft and Memento Mori for the WIPs asks?

((Here is a link to the fic title list))

They Aren't Soft

I think I've mentioned this one a few times on here, but this is the singular eslaf fic I've written! (well, started writing) It's going to be 13 chapters, and follows them from Olaf approaching Esmé just before TEE until he leaves her to die in TPP, showing various moments of the two of them. It's basically an excuse for me to flesh out their dynamic, because I simultaneously do think they actually cared about each other and also think they cannot stand each other for extended periods of time so this was mainly just a fun way to work out how their relationship devolved over the course of the series. So far I've written the first five chapters, plus random other snippets and significant portions of chapter six and seven so that's fun

Memento Mori

This one is the epitome of 'hurt no comfort' it's literally just sad. Each chapter was going to be someone reacting to the death of a member of the sugar bowl gen, in the form of a document collected by Bea II with a total of twenty one chapters (including an introductory and concluding chapter that didn't involve a death). Why did I start this? I don't know. I wrote quite a bit of it, but it was a while ago so if the quality is questionable... don't blame present-me lmao

They Aren't Soft

“Hello, pretty lady. Please, I am Gunther, please, wealthy and stylish foreign-” he had an entire speech prepared – in the days leading up to this little confrontation (that, ideally, wouldn’t turn into one) he’d worked out exactly how he would convince her to hire him as the auctioneer for her upcoming event so he could easily smuggle the twins out of the city. Unfortunately, Esmé Gigi Geniveve Squalor was never one to follow anyone’s plan but her own – and before he could even finish the introduction of his carefully crafted, two-act speech (three, if you included the backstory), she’d somehow gotten across the obscenely large room and pulled him back against her with a knife to his throat. He hadn’t even had chance to fully turn around and greet her.

“I’m going to give you thirty seconds to tell me what the hell you’re doing in here.”

“I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, please, I-”

“Hands up.” Her tone brokered no argument, and he was glad she couldn’t see the look of annoyance that briefly crossed his features as held up his hands, dropping his cane and trying to stop himself from sighing outwardly as he was forced to leave the concealed knife he’d been reaching for untouched in his pocket. “Now give me one good reason not to slit your throat, other than the fact that your blood would ruin my incredibly In carpet.”

That had, in fact, been his go-to reason. Shit.

“As I was saying, please, I am-”

“I know exactly who you are, you fucking bastard.” He didn’t need to see her to know she was baring her teeth – and he was rapidly starting to question his decision making skills as he was vividly reminded of the more volatile aspects to her personality that he’d somehow managed to forget. Or deliberately block out. “Now what the fuck do you think you’re doing in my penthouse?” Ah. Clearly his acting was too convincing, and she’d mistaken him for someone else. He shifted back away from the knife – shifted, not squirmed – in an attempt to prevent her from getting bored and just killing him for the hell of it, but she only held him more firmly against her, cold metal pressing into delicate skin.

There was only one thing for it. He dropped the accent, hoping the charming grin he was giving her made its way into his voice. “Esmé, it’s me! Olaf!” she paused. She didn’t kill him, which was always a plus, but she also didn’t lower the knife. He heard her draw a slow breath through her nose before letting it out in a sharp huff, which was rarely a good sign. It usually meant she was at the very least thinking about killing him.

Before he had time to really process the knife’s absence, there was a sharp kick to the back of his leg, and he slammed down to his knees on the allegedly In carpet. Apparently, being fashionable had absolutely no correlation to being comfortable, and he felt the sting of the impact ricochet through his legs. Her fingers were suddenly in his hair, painfully yanking his head back as she growled “Stay down,” in his ear, and he was trying desperately to remember if she’d always had this effect on him, or if it was true that absence really does make the heart grow fonder. Or other body parts, at least.

“Esmé, I-”

“I know who you are. Do you not remember the last time we saw each other?”

He frowned. They hadn’t parted on bad terms, as far as he could recall. They’d been fucking without dating – which usually ended up better than their numerous attempts at an actual relationship – and then… Shit. Despite their usually explosive breakups, it actually hadn’t gone badly the last time they’d seen each other, not at all. In fact, they’d parted on excellent terms, and all for one very simple reason.

He’d never actually gotten around to ending things with her.

He’d meant to. But then he’d seen her, and form-fitting, low-cut dresses were apparently In, and they’d gotten… side-tracked. And he knew it’d only be worse if he sprung it on her after sex (he’d learned that lesson the hard way, and it had cost him a new and rather expensive car), so he figured he’d just call her in a few days, and then… he’d promptly forgotten all about it, and now he was in her penthouse a not-insignificant amount of time later and entirely unprepared for how pissed off she was going to be with him.

He was absolutely, completely, and totally fucked.

Memento Mori

“No rest for the wicked.” She muttered to no one in particular as she returned to her room to get dressed, and then downstairs to make herself some bitter wormwood tea and retrieve the paper.

More Romantic authors than myself would suggest that Beatrice’s sleeplessness was due to the news she would receive in that paper. That some primal part of her was aware of the misfortune that had befallen her friend in another part of the world. I would not bore you with such notions, so instead present an ulterior hypothesis – sometimes, as I’m sure you know, we simply have a bad feeling about something, or someone. A baker might have a bad feeling about a certain loaf of bread, and check it only to find that a rat has been nibbling away undetected, and the loaf can no longer be sold. A pilot might have a bad feeling about a certain flight they are to take, and insist everything is double checked on the plane before take-off – perhaps they will find a faulty engine, or suspicious stowaway, but they would never truly know if the flight would have been affected. A particularly fraudulent fortune teller might have a bad feeling when she sees an old, black car pull up at her carnival, but she can do nothing and so tells no one, resulting in a terrible fire and her own death at the hands (or, more accurately, claws and teeth) of a pack of hungry lions. All of these could be seen to be either magic or science – perhaps the baker heard squeaking in the night, or noticed a trail of crumbs that had not been there before. Perhaps the pilot had a sixth sense, or perhaps they used the five that everyone possesses to see the corner of a mysterious person’s coat caught in the toilet door, or heard an odd clunk when they seated themselves in the cockpit. The fortune teller would surely ascribe her feeling to the ‘gift’ many such people claim to have, but it would be far more logical to assume that, since she had no such talent, her misgivings came from her previous association with the owner of that particular black car, and the fact that he was well known as an arsonist, murderer, liar, thief, and cheat at cards.

In the care of Beatrice Baudelaire on this particular autumn morning, I would suggest that mere coincidence or a perhaps subconscious recognition of foreboding patterns are far more likely explanations for her insomnia. But, then again, I have been wrong before.

She sat at her kitchen table and took a sip of her tea as she skimmed the mindless words of the Daily Punctilio, pencil at the ready to complete any crossword or puzzle they might have deigned to include; despite the inaccuracies she usually noticed whenever she attempted to do so. I wish that I could tell her to put the paper down, to read something else, or at least stop at an earlier page – if I could, the misfortune that would befall her and her three currently non-existent, but soon-to-be-orphaned children may not have come to pass at all. Perhaps, if she had never believed what she came to believe, history would have turned out differently. There is no way to know for certain, and there is also no use in speculating, because the fact of the matter is that no matter how much we might wish to, no one can change the past. We can only learn from it, and remember.

Tired eyes caught on a familiar name, and she paused, carefully placing her cup down on its saucer and sitting up straighter to check that she had read the page correctly. Though, usually, it is a wonderful thing to see the name of one’s friend in the newspaper, for Beatrice on this autumn morning, it was a truly terrible thing indeed. Not because she was one of those awful people who wishes to be the most successful out of all her friends – on the contrary, she had often championed the ambitions and achievements of the people she associated with – but on this particular morning, the name itself was rather overshadowed by the page on which she found it. With three words, she felt as if her world was folding in on itself, collapsing around her as she read the title, the word settling itself within her like a lead weight.

Obituaries.

The page began to blur, but even that could not spare her from reading the name again, even as the largely inaccurate paragraph following it became illegible.

Lemony Snicket. Various sections of the paper became marred as she stared at it, reading the two words again and again as little droplets of her grief blurred various inky words together. Her mind turned the name of her ex-fiancé over and over, as if it couldn’t quite comprehend the terrible, looming reality that the paper had presented. She took a deep, wavering breath, and reached for her phone with a trembling hand. As she dialled the familiar number, she was dimly aware that it was a good thing the phone had been within arm’s reach, because she wasn’t certain she would have been able to stand.