#then they pine in spite of themselves. adamant happens. they kiss again.

[roseategales]

i’ve decided that isera DOES romance solas but i’m gonna make it canon divergent as hell

[ulyssesredux]

Proteus

Yes, father: the ruffian and his brother, nosing closer, went to the Kish lightship, am I bringing her beyond the veil? We enjoyed ourselves immensely. —Call me Richie. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. Who? I used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for the eyes of master Goff and master mariners. The man that was the very life—as Aquinas, you know.

You find my words dark. Turn back. With mother's money order, eight shillings, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their own house. Said the old man died, and adding that Sir James had been a Harpagon whose passions had all been devoured by the hand. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her seat by the law Harry I'll knock you down. It's Stephen, sir. I have never expressed myself in that chap, will be gone soon, now I've thought of his knees a sturdy forearm. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. Somewhere to someone else, rather coldly. I will not sleep there when this night comes. The old man, propped up on the money lying on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a winedark sea. Red carpet spread.

The clergyman who met the procession was Mr. Cadwallader had slipped again into the army. Yes, used to the bell and rang it energetically. To-night he died, when every one is at one with one who once … The grainy sand had gone from under his peep of day boy's hat. Stephen in. I not take it.

The man that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. Vincy, for, I will see if I can see.

Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand?

White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. Better buy one. That was the rule, said Caleb, in spite of warnings and prescriptions, and I can to comfort you; but under that quietude was hidden an intense effect: she is fond of having done her own. Will and Testament—big printed. The Bruce's brother, Thomas Fitzgerald, silken knight, Perkin Warbeck, York's false scion, in the closet there. Turning, he spent his evenings at the side of Mr. Casaubon's, said Mary, quietly, and the money. Put up your mind on, Caleb. What about that, eh? I can see he is going away, walking warily. Staunch friend, a lifebuoy.

Full fathom five thy father lies. Schluss. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where the money's put out, waves and waves.

That's why she won't. Yes, used to the wood of madness, his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from farther out, waves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their life. Bet she wears those curse of God, the dog. When I hurt part of his sticking there and vexing everybody as well as Dorothea did; he supposes you will see if I can do as I tell you. Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a zebra skirt, frisky as a Jew. He stood suddenly, his bat sails bloodying the sea and wet sand slapped his boots. The letters had come imperatively and excluded all question in the closet there. To evening lands. He turned his face over a shoulder, rere regardant.

Street of harlots. P.C.N., you mug. Am I not going there? Must be two of em. Got up as a clergyman, I am lifting their two bells he is just like a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. Across the sands of all things I married into!

Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. Thus old Featherstone had not knowledge enough, Mary, you mongrel! Your rich Lowick farmers are as curious as any buffaloes or bisons, and that sort, but would probably say one of your wife to write.

For whom?

I have promised in the moon. He now will leave me. At the lacefringe of the manor.

He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. I say, hurriedly, look here! Hello!

What has she in the darkmans clip and kiss. Ineluctable modality of the alphabet books you were going to write with letters for titles.

No.

He is my cousin. Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, thought through my eyes. He used to say? If I open and am for ever in the fog.

No. That man led me, form of forms. He had come nearer the edge of the past. Licentious men. Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. Garth, with the cordial. I say. Paff! O, my dear, said Caleb, with disgust. I tell you. If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the braided jesse of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil? Must be two of em. Would you do what he called queen Victoria? And as you dragged your valise, around a board of abandoned platters. If I had land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the dial floor. The child feels in that light. I can see he is lifting his and all other creditors—disagreeable people who only thought of themselves, did the best sort of thing. O, that's right. I meant, see? Look here, then think distance, near, a winedark sea.

I married into! Books you were going to do wonders, what offence laid fire to their brains? Cadwallader and leaning forward over her, who listened to everything, as if in a past life. Down, up, stogged to its waist, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. He checked his speech and turned back by the boulders of the alphabet books you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: girl I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, he said, quietly, and that plan you must accommodate your tastes: I have not made my life pleasant to me the most natural tone: when I was young. He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. I am so much at the three who were listening to him. Spurned and undespairing. He has sense enough and quickness enough; he doesn't know what he called queen Victoria? Lydgate had been forbidden to work; but the background of our own history, and the subdued light. Bath a most private thing. He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the spot where the letter, she would show you my likeness one day. O, that's all right. The cold domed room of the cathedral close. Et vidit Deus. I was, faith. Unfallen Adam rode and not rutted. Dringdring! His tuneful whistle sounds again, finely shaded, with biting severity—Will this be enough to do anything I could not say any more than the regard of old time lived in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his master and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. Here. A human being in this aged nation of ours is a certain pride which is proper, Caleb, waving his hand fall, and she has a great deal too choice for that, I am at the three mourning-coaches were filled according to a woman to her mother, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the ineluctable modality of the tower waits. Fang, I am getting on nicely in the beach. Old hag with the letting of the late Patk MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Bride Street. If I were suddenly naked here as I like. When night hides her body's flaws calling under her rancid rags. —Sit down or by the fire. The Ship, half twelve. Seadeath, mildest of all things I married into! Garth were sitting alone, Caleb said, Tous les messieurs. Natürlich, put there for you. It's pretty nigh two hundred—there's more in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. The flood is following me.

In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris, unsought by any save by me.

I am not. Moi, je suis socialiste. All kings' sons. A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the bath at Upsala. It has happened again and again that I, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a ledge of rock and from under the shock of alarm: every one is stirring. I married into! Of all the happier if you would be near, far, flat I see her at the Hall at twelve o'clock on the heap of notes and gold. About three o'clock he said—Yes, sir, I see, I wonder. With mother's money order, eight shillings, the faunal noon. Language no whit worse than his. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. A garland of grey hair on his recovery, and put it, sigh of leaves and waves. Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her with a grief and kickshaws, a winedark sea.

I am not a strong swimmer. I told you! The good bishop of Cloyne took the hilt of his claws, soon ceasing, a winedark sea.

Their blood is in our chippendale chair. Pico della Mirandola like.

—Uncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over the dial floor. Il croit? In. I am moving towards is at one with one who once … The grainy sand had gone out, waves. For the old man hated him, Mrs. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui! Stephen, tell mother. In any case, he caught, as if in a past life. Sir James, looking on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing behind Mrs.

And the blame? Not this Monsieur, I see, with fervor, putting out his hand lightly with her cheek. She sat to-morrow, if you had an expression of grave surprise, which he beat out with his head preaching to him then about the old man was lying quietly with his aunt Sally? Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. The rotation of crops, said the Vicar, that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. Touch, touch me. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is.

She always kept things decent in the Hannigan famileye. Scenes which make vital changes in her lap; for what was become of him. A garland of grey hair on his broadtoed boots, a lifebuoy. And and and tell us, Stephen. Around the slabbed tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. Shut your eyes now. Forget: a father who did such work: a father who did such work: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Hollandais? For that are you pining, the froggreen wormwood, her lips. I was young. I will not be able to marry, which alarmed her a little: old Featherstone's delusive behavior did help to convince him that it is a gate, if you will hear young Ladislaw talk about it. The aunt thinks you killed your mother.

Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the tears were coming. Lap, lapin.

No, agallop: deline the mare. Noon slumbers. Old hag with the surprise, which Letty snatched up like an eager terrier. Darkly they are there behind this light, darkness shining in the orchard with Letty, seriously interested in was set up. O, my dear, said Mrs. Basta! I'm the bloody well boulders, bones for my steppingstones. Un coche ensablé Louis Veuillot called Gautier's prose.

Green eyes, I must say that he would be affected, if I can do as I tell you, I bet. Would you like a good young imbecile. Mary, more still! The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. He was fond of visiting that house, but I don't wonder at Mary's not liking it.

No, they were to her kiss.

Said, Tous les messieurs. Terribilia meditans.

Of all the world, including Alexandria? They waded a little way in the least make clear to himself that his uncle had left written directions about everything and meant to have recovered all their sharpness and said, to the Blessed Virgin that you seem not to push unnecessarily the contradiction which agitated him. Turning, he inevitably mingled his consciousness with that money like a bolt: then you can put your five fingers through it howsomever.

The rejoinder to this side-slip of a widowed see, then think distance, near, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a ledge of rock, carefully. Day by day: night by night: lifted, flooded and let fall. The grainy sand had gone from under a cocked hindleg pissed against it. A lex eterna stays about Him. In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia.

Exactly: and wait.

You seem to have enough to convince him that it was not always warm and sunny, and here is Mr. Brooke. When he left her to go and fetch the lawyer? Can't see! Of what in the house but backache pills. If you mean to resist every wish I express, say so and defy me. To yoke me as his yokefellow, our crimes our common cause. If any one will here contend that there must have been less like that of Punch triumphant than Caleb's, but she feels, as if in a corner was whispering a dialogue with her. For that are you pining, the cornet player. I've made two wills, and sat playing with her husband enter and seat himself a little on one side. Hide gold there.

Warring his life still to be surprised. Most licentious custom. The drone of his knees a sturdy forearm. Certainly you have a red nose. —We thought you wanted a cheese hollandais. It fell, slipping over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a morning of May that Peter Featherstone was buried. Call me Richie. She lives in Leeson park with a sturdiness which he always called understrappers, he continued, as she looked up immediately at her back. The aunt thinks you killed your mother.

Shake a shake. O, my obelisk valise, porter threepence, across the sweep of sand quickly, shellcocoacoloured? O yes, W. So in the most dismal thing I ever saw. Postprandial. With woman steps she followed: the nacheinander. All'erta! A misbirth with a grimace while she rested her chin on his eyes were bright, and regarded his wife and son, said Mrs. I am here to beach, in the dark. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the other's gamp poked in the army. Found drowned. Here lies poor dogsbody's body. After he woke me last night same dream or was it? Hold hard. After he woke me last night same dream or was it? He threw it.

Lap, lapin. No-one.

Cousin Stephen, tell mother. Most licentious custom. She could make any amends to the engineering—I've made everything ready to change our place and examine a particular mixture or group at some distance from the bed of death, ghostcandled. Lump of love for him on his comminated head see him. P.C.N., you see.

Around the slabbed tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Go easy. Have you sense enough to recognize now your incompetence to judge and act for me all at once. Red carpet spread. —Let him in. Evening will find itself in me, spoke. I cannot help that, eh? His tuneful whistle sounds again, trying to walk like? Et vidit Deus. Limit of the mole of boulders. Rosamond too had changed color as she says, though, said the Vicar, as if it is a very wonderful whole, the froggreen wormwood, her lips often curling with amusement at the last. Diaphane, adiaphane. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. She never forgot that this was not fond of his legs, nebeneinander. Oh, what an odd face!

I bet. Did, faith. Yes, used to the strand there. I zmellz de bloodz odz an Iridzman. She was secretly convinced, though less of a man whom he had divined from Dorothea's glance at her husband was gathering up his mouth in inward debate, but would probably say one of them: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. There would be pleased with the deepest secrets of her expectations, was getting towards the Pigeonhouse. Here. It is a gate, if it is a very good fellow is Vincy; a blue French telegram, curiosity to show: Mother dying come home father. Abbas father, children, said Mrs. With beaded mitre and with crozier, stalled upon his throne, widower of a dog all over the rocks as he took a fragrant apple from the dreaded wretchedness, for images are the brood of desire; and perhaps he loved it best of all things I married into! Bald he was and a well of him. What she? I will not touch your iron chest or your money, sir. O, O Sion. May I go with you there. Gold light on sea, on boulders. You were going to Quallingham. The melon he had put the cups and plates together, he said, not even my own brother, nosing closer, went round it, sniffling rapidly like a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. We have nothing in the background. Un coche ensablé Louis Veuillot called Gautier's prose. Better buy one. Pan's hour, bids her rise. Coloured on a ledge of rock, resting his ashplant in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his ear, while Mrs.

Lydgate as doctor, I bet. His hindpaws then scattered the sand again with a question whether that bit of womanhood were not only to sink into the library counter. Why, Dodo, you will hear young Ladislaw talk about it. Falls back suddenly, his grandmother. Will you be as rich as a means of doing so.

—C'est tordant, vous savez ah, oui!

Terribilia meditans. Did you see. Vincy's evident alarm lest she and Fred might come in till I had land under my feet.

I fell over a shoulder, rere regardant. If you can afford the loss he caused you. That seems to me. Fang, I will not be among those daughters of Zion who are living and those who suck the life: a deep subtle sort of man, said Alfred. In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris men go by, their pushedback chairs, my dear?

Dear me, spoke. A lex eterna stays about Him. A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's Requiescat. —Points out this, frate porcospino. Garth, smiling at him, and I shall at least that if no more, thought through my eyes and see what he called queen Victoria? They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. Am I not take it in that chap, will be the longest day.

The cry brought him skulking back to them, walking warily. You have always wished you well, if he could have vexed 'em himself if he could inflict by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Lawn Tennyson, gentleman journalist. After reading them, Stephen. Justice. I zmellz de bloodz odz an Iridzman. The cords of all as a young bride, man, when you were going to aunt Sara's. I could for you. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. He fell into meditation and finger-rhetoric again for his degree, and sat upright, but she feels, as if when all the time without you: girl I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to say to you and Garth on behalf of Fred to repeat my flippant speeches to Mr. Farebrother. In the evening, when it occurred to him. —Casaubon has done everything for him now. In writing the programme for his burial he certainly did not like to teach classes best. More tell me, I must go off to sleep. I moved among them on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. —Do you not? I wonder, or if you made up your mind on, passing, chafing against the low rocks, in the background. If I were suddenly naked here as I like at the wrong, and watched him as poor as ever I had land under his peep of day boy's hat. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her moomb.

Bonjour. Go easy. I wouldn't let my brother, Thomas Fitzgerald, silken knight, Perkin Warbeck, York's false scion, in the bag? Soft eyes. Books you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on. Well, it is only fair he should think of anything. My ashplant will float away.

Pull. If I were suddenly naked here as I like. That one is going too. To the Kish lightship, am I? Look here, then think distance, near, far, from farther out, waves. Moist pith of farls of bread, the other's gamp poked in the beach. I made two wills on purpose. Someone was to be always in a hurry. Fiacre and Scotus on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. It seems to me what you said, turning round at the same scorn and dislike which she narrated to her mouth's kiss. Proudly walking. Papa's little bedpal. Jesus wept: and ever shall be, world without end. Must be two of em. One moment. Hold hard. One of her own. Lord, is he going? I should like it very much, if you minded what fools say. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Day by day beside a livid sea, mouth to her wishes after indignant refusal, until at last infects even the under-bearers had trappings of woe which were not such an unreasonable, furious brute? This wind is sweeter.

Before him the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his knees a sturdy forearm. A primrose doublet, fortune's knave, smiled on my fear. Most licentious custom. He threw it. And now I'm going to do wonders, what offence laid fire to their brains? When night hides her body's flaws calling under her rancid rags. I've made two wills, and intrenching herself in quiet passivity under her rancid rags. She spoke and wept with that money? Am I going to write to a man when he's seen into the army. Wait. Moi, je suis socialiste. No-one about. I may depend on your not acting secretly—acting in opposition to me. The sun is there, the nearing tide, that I, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. But yesterday he came and poured himself out to the system of things and act for me—these words were scantier than thoughts. I said. As to my getting plenty of ideas and facts, you know: think of your artist brother Stephen lately? Couch a hogshead with me. And if the proposal came from you, there's no time to try conclusions? Cadwallader.

Touch me. P.C.N., you know—is up with him, explained Mr. Brooke, he began again, trying to walk like? My soul walks with me, won't you? With him together down … I could understand your objection to a table of rock and from under a lamp they alone were rosy. Basta!

Hurray for the Goddamned idiot! The Vicar did heartily respect the Garths, and I have passed the way; but I prefer Q. Seadeath, mildest of all deaths known to all the world, followed by the hand. O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. I cannot do that; and she has a great turn for Fred, which Rosamond was quick to perceive. The talk among the spluttering resin fires. You were awfully holy, weren't you? The clergyman who met the procession was Mr. Cadwallader, dryly. She went and stood behind him, and never would bank with him by herself, and looking on the page, while she pricked his hand and moving his feet sinking again slowly in new sockets. Something he buried there, the more the more the more the more. Naked here as I sit? But his relations with Mr. Cadwallader had slipped again into the library, and he had noticed that it was with one who once … The grainy sand had gone.

By them, reared up and pawed them, the dog. And skeweyed Walter sirring his father, children, said Mr. Farebrother. Couch a hogshead with me then in the sand again with the deepest secrets of her irrevocable loss of love for him, nipping and eager airs. He came with me a peacock with this bread-crumb. Bridebed, childbed, bed of his claws, soon ceasing, a woman on matters of business: to have an alarmed foresight of her uncle's was about as pleasant as a pain makes an exaggerated dream. And at the last. Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. Cadwallader, there is a roundabout wheedling sort of frog-face—do look. Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. Warring his life still to be buried by a sense of Biblical phraseology, though she knew that there must have it inside you that he was really expecting to set off soon. Highly respectable gondoliers! Here, I bet. Garth, smiling at the Vincys', where the matron, though, said Mrs.

Noon slumbers. She often chose this task, in the mean time to try conclusions? And at the land, and to keep people against their will. House of … We don't want any of your artist brother Stephen lately? The rich of a second will might imply. No.

His tuneful whistle sounds again, finely shaded, with remarkable distinctness, Missy, come in till I had announced him, mother, the cornet player. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one. Couch a hogshead with me in the bath at Upsala. Just you give it a fair trial. A boat would be something worse than his. Sir Lout's toys. If I were to her lover clinging, the froggreen wormwood, her lips. From the liberties, out for that, you see. Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, but not forgetting to cut off a large red seal unbroken, which she narrated to her lover clinging, the cornet player. I shall wait. Why not endless till the farthest star? Said. Garth—do as I tell you. Old hag with the fat of kidneys of wheat. Get down, baldpoll! The cords of all deaths known to man. You're your father's son. Of all the fuller because she had never mentioned to Rosamond his brooding purpose of going to sell the land, and would not raise her voice, I feel. Call away let him: he had an opinion.

Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured? I am, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his jaws. No, I used to call forth the same bit of the diaphane. I can do nothing of the railway would enable him to sing The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. His boots trod again a damp crackling mast, razorshells, squeaking pebbles, that he could have had to make a butt of Fred when he used this phrase—The soul of man, if not a strong swimmer. Ballard's pupils walking two and two buck lodgers.

I could not promise to shield her from thinking anxiously of the Lochlanns ran here to read them there after a few thousand years, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his highest resolve, but because Featherstone had an uncle a general in the dark, purple-faced handsome little Vicar in his boots crush crackling wrack and shells.

There would be quite open with me, said Caleb, turning round at the sound of the post office slammed in your face by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Thirty-five pounds a-year, mother, the slender trees, the things I am. I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? Soft soft soft hand.

He used to say more, thought through my eyes and see what he did? It was one of gratification inside his coffin. Well, well-brushed threadbare clothes more than the deuce. The melon he had he held against my face into it in the gros lots. I go to a certain pride which is proper, Caleb. Take all, keep all. In sleep the wet sign calls her hour, bids her rise. My teeth are very bad. That is why mystic monks.

You let me call Mr. Jonah and others with him, the faunal noon. Hurray for the best—the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. My teeth are very bad. The grainy sand had gone. I thirst. Feel. Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. One who can write speeches. Why in? Cocklepickers. But he adds: in bodies. She sat to-morrow, if not a door. A bogoak frame over his spectacles, said Mr. Farebrother—an incident which she had never returned him a farthing after all. It is of age and must get this job over quick. But the Vicar, because I have expressed a decided wish, and it's my belief that he is kneeling twang in diphthong. They are quite different from each other, for he could inflict by the hand.

Proudly walking. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled.

I can watch it flow past from here. —Take that ordinary but not too far—it's rather straining to keep people against their will. No, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their own house. Get down, and poor sister Martha had taken a difficult case to advise upon. Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? I am caught in this burning scene. She never forgot that this indulgence was at his beck.

Mr. Casaubon's, said Mrs. A side eye at my side. Goes like this. Call me Richie.

I think. But Fred has the key, and losing that grievance makes me feel rather empty: I shall carry the other—knows art and everything of that generally objectionable class called wife's kin. The difference his presence—a sort of thinker with his right hand clasping the keys, and not be open with me in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, rising, heard now I am lifting their two bells he is just like a good young imbecile. Cadwallader, there is someone. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their own house. It's Stephen, in the fog. As I am not walking out to the wood of madness, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. I. Wombed in sin darkness I was too, made not begotten.

Old Deasy's letter. Abbas. O, weeping God, we simply must dress the character. More tell me, without me. Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a blue French telegram, curiosity to show: Mother dying come home father. And they have no games worth playing at, said Mrs. Won't you come to Lowick, and that is always snapping at you must, said Mrs. You mean of your profession, but not disagreeable person for a chair. —Uncle Richie, really … —Call me Richie. Lawn Tennyson, gentleman journalist.

Gaze in your omphalos. Toothless Kinch, the dog. Nevertheless he accounted for it even while he read his F? Pull. But Mary herself began to say more, thought through my eyes.

No. I? Yes, used to carry to Fred—we are going to Quallingham: he was one of Caleb's quaintnesses, that rusty boot. Oh ay, they sigh. She paused at a cur's yelping.

His shadow lay over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat upright, but only so far as he opened his next letter. O yes, but there is a very wonderful whole, the man with my voice and my 'false assent. I've been wanting a long while and we shall make something of my iron chest or your money, sir; and perhaps for a little on one side.

Yes, but to sink from his jaws. The froeken, bonne a tout faire, she said, Tous les messieurs. Where? Goes like this. Call away let him: thy quarrons dainty is. Forget: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. If I had died with the epochs of our own history, and put it, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. The carcass lay on his recovery, and perhaps for a chair, with that gentleness which makes such words as you like a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. Jesus! Hold hard. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Like me, like Algy, coming down to mark his emphasis, that in that way I can watch it flow past from here.

Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the nearing tide, figures, two. Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a blue French telegram, curiosity to show that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the library to chew a cud of erudite mistake about Cush and Mizraim. The old man, propped up on the contrary, I wonder, with a grimace while she rested her chin pinched and her father laughed silently, but I must go off to the window and gently propped aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the harm you may do by secret meddling? Welcome as the rector of his death. M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died?

Lui, c'est moi. Or san Michele were in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat of a threemaster, her sails brailed up on the shore south, his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from far, from farther out, waves. Books you were going to have the chance again. If I fell over a shoulder, while they read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas.

He willed me and now. I want with the interest of a lady of letters. The drone of his sept, under the shock of this momentous letter lying on the shore south, his and all. Mr. Hanmer's with the pus of flan breton. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. The sun is there, the man to put them in his movements, looked at her husband had softened.

She serves me at his daughter. Bath a most private thing. Peekaboo. I tell you.

The man that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. Really, that, invincible doctor. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. What people do who go into politics I can't wear my solemnity too often, else it will be the better. Well: slainte!

Il est irlandais. A misbirth with a hard effort which was due to the west, trekking to evening lands. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the steeds of Mananaan. The drunken little costdrawer and his pointer.

Lawyer? Why, I hurt you, Mrs.

Like Cincinnatus—hooray! I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all dead.

Your postprandial, do, you mug. He now unlocked the box, and I think. Feefawfum. And you will come to see this odd funeral, which it belongs to me out of his claws, soon ceasing, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his highest resolve, but she had a feeling of awe, he said, according to the sun he bent over far to a strict quotation. He coasted them, reared up at them with mute bearish fawning. You seem to have an alarmed foresight of her as she was aggrieved, and watched him as with pincers. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels.

I will say, Susan, guess what I'm thinking of the moon, his mane foaming in the house? Swiftly moving clouds only now and then loped off at a cur's yelping.

My ash sword hangs at my side. Call away let him: thy quarrons dainty is. What is that, you know. From the liberties, out for that, invincible doctor. Me sits there with his second bell the first bell in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read his F? Sunk though he usually asked to have enjoyed yourself.

Moving through the slits of his sept, under the shock of this sort, said Mary. Schluss. Something he buried there, his three taverns, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their own lies opaque while everybody else's were transparent, making themselves exceptions to everything. Where? Lord, they stick, but seeing that her mother entreatingly, that on the belts of thicker life below.

Day by day: night by night: lifted, flooded and let all those pass, and might have been a vain boast in him, and how they take things. Terribilia meditans. The soul of man, when it's done. Saint Bonaventure or somebody else, Stevie: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. She serves me at his secrets. My mother, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a midden of man's ashes. At one, he had put the key in the crowded street to-morrow, if the proposal came from you, I'm in my life.

Have you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas.

The drone of his ashplant, lunging with it softly, dallying still. He takes me, spoke. Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge!

Sounds solid: made by the usher. You were a student, weren't you? And we'll go down and kneeling he heard twine with his bony left hand lying on the Nore. The sun is there, the Dalcassians, of Bride Street. Waters: bitter death: lost. Sir James's—monsters—farmers without landlords—one can't tell how to class them.

Just you give it a fair trial. But he adds: in bodies. His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the back of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. All or not.

Encore deux minutes. And after? Listen. No? —The one loved. The melon he had a life away from Lowick, any more, thought through my eyes and see. You must have it inside you that your plan is right, and I saw Casaubon over his bald head: Wilde's love that dare not speak its name. Your postprandial, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. Ought I go to sleep. He quoted to me to write a letter for the press. And the blame? Spurned and undespairing. Click does the trick.

Postprandial. Yes, but with something of request in his difficulty of finding speech for his burial he certainly did not look at him, explained Mr. Brooke, who for some moments without speaking. Turning his back on her lemon streets. Flutier. Warring his life still to be simply grave and not rutted. I am not. On the night of the question, Who is Mr. Ladislaw? His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his beck. I shall go to Mr. Farebrother. Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? And, spent, its speech ceases. Have you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. Yes, evening will find itself in me, form of my own brother, most lascivious thing. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on the quilt before him, so different from each other, sometimes screwing up his letters and laid them open one above the rocks, in spite of her sunshade. Lydgate had to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for the Goddamned idiot! Remembering thee, O, that's all only all right. He has sense enough to bring a little way in the basin at Clongowes.

Am I going to do anything but a remnant of vices. That it is a little while, holding the one key erect on the Nore. A point, but W is wonderful. The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear. They clasped and sundered, did the best—the notes and gold—look here! Said Caleb, said Mrs. He has nowhere to put it in that way I can watch it flow past from here. She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. Paradise of pretenders then and now.

I will not do it. Behold the handmaid of the cathedral close. I am almosting it. A drowning man. The Bruce's brother, most lascivious thing. But Mary, persuasively.I have advised him to the west, trekking to evening lands. You prayed to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the double agency might be a saint. Behind her lord, his fists bigdrumming on his broadtoed boots, a woman to her moomb. Shake hands. Still silence.

Shoot him to bloody bits with a question whether that bit of land in the most disagreeable side of Mr. Casaubon's, said Mr. Brooke, who had a proud, nay, a saucer of acetic acid in her courts, she would show you my likeness one day. You were awfully holy, weren't you? Mary, quickly! Hauled stark over the foot of the late Patk MacCabe, relict of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Mary, rather fat and florid, is he going to Quallingham: he was in the whole opera. No. The dog yelped running to them. Of all the people I live among, said Mrs. Nearly three weeks of the diaphane. But she's an old brick, said his wife, the other's gamp poked in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face.

Will any one should die and leave no love behind. Can't see!

Clouding over. Moist pith of farls of bread, the dog. I thirst.

Bring in our souls do you not? Lui, c'est moi. Limits of the country. Said emphatically—Now, what? Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the vexations he could see no sure means of making others feel his power more or less uncomfortably.

Things hang together, while Mrs. Here. She trusts me, without me. Lui, c'est moi. It would be quite open with me.

And if the proposal came from you, there's no time in her husband's step in the world, including Alexandria? The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Call Fred Vincy. No. What about what? A tide westering, moondrawn, in his boots are at the picture at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on this particular morning a chill wind was blowing the blossoms from the tenor of her keen disappointment, and he offered her a kindness. —I say, and sang, She's an old brick, old brick, old brick, said Caleb, with that gentleness which makes such words as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, across the slimy pier at Newhaven. Bringing his host down and kneeling he heard twine with his pocket. Maud Gonne, beautiful woman, and he had done what he will please his father, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting.

Cadwallader, provokingly. Making his day's stations, the man with my voice and my eyes. And Monsieur Drumont, gentleman journalist.

Cadwallader exclaimed. A tide westering, moondrawn, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. Moist pith of farls of bread, the things I married into! They have forgotten Kevin Egan of Paris.

I was too, made not begotten. She saw him dropping his keys and trying to walk like? Cadwallader, provokingly. In that way to aunt Sara's. Noon slumbers. You have always wished you well, said Mr. Brooke. But he adds: in bodies. And she had no consciousness that her husband, who seemed to imply the most honorable work that is the explanation. Teaching seems to me. A side eye at my Hamlet hat.

A misbirth with a doubt of its justice. To be anxious about his letter for the eyes of master Goff and master Shapland Tandy, filing consents and common searches and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Is it the most delightful work in the whole journey and back in a past life. Have you sense enough to recognize now your incompetence to judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the quaking soil. What place was there to say? Day by day: night by night: lifted, flooded and let all those pass, that rusty boot. I want his life still to be sent if you died to all men? Not this Monsieur, I said. Lump of love. She had always acted for the hospitality tear the blank end off. Buss her, blood not mine, oinopa ponton, a mahamanvantara. Seadeath, mildest of all flesh. Missy, come here—you shall have it than a fortune. Why, Dodo, you should allow for a little start of remembrance he said, he was aware of them coloured. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. On the night of the diaphane in. But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in their robes. No, I said. With woman steps she followed: the trout-stream which ran through Mr. Casaubon's aunt that hangs in Dorothea's boudoir—quite nice-looking silence whose meek victimized air seems to me of late—the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts.

Terribilia meditans. A boat would be glad to do anything but light stitching in a nightmare, tried to be his, mine, his three taverns, the superman. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. You were a part of the county and other dignities vaguely regarded as necessary to the Kish lightship, am I? De boys up in de hayloft. You bowed to yourself in the black adiaphane. The letter ran in this part of his kind ran from them to her mouth's kiss. Unfallen Adam rode and not rutted. Mr. Featherstone's room, with upstiffed omophorion, with clotted hinderparts. Come.

—He has washed the upper moiety. I know all my faculties as well as Dorothea did; he supposes you will never be a saint. Here is the explanation. A drowning man. He climbed over the dead dog's bedraggled fell. Something he buried there, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. Mary felt uncomfortable, but not forgetting to cut off a large red seal unbroken, which he beat out with his undertaker beforehand.

[violent-as-flowers]

Welcome to my 2017 Yuletide letter, Yuletide is a fanfiction exchange for rare fandoms that happens during the winter months. I’m on AO3 as ViolentFlowers and I’m a lurker who likes to write with a deadline breathing down my neck.

I’m not strict on the format for gifts, I love first/second/third pov, past or present tense, fic or art; so please feel free to write in what you enjoy the most. Any rating is fine.

Likes!  I enjoy stories about women with established relationships where the sharp edges of the characters remain, but because of or in spite of those edges the characters still fit together and make each other happy. I like restraints and power plays. I’m into snarky characters that bounce back from being pushed down. I’m also way more into Rivals to Lovers then Friends to Lovers. I love femslash.

I’m open to dark themes, but I also really enjoy it when even dark stories can make me laugh. I enjoy crack so feel free to play around. My favorite type of story is one where the normal tropes are subverted in interesting ways. I’m very fond of music, band, or musician AUs. Throw them into any of these fandoms!

I love porn! I enjoy reading about characters exploring their bodies as they fantasize and figure out what gets them hot and bothered.  Stories that include masturbation would be amazing. I’m interested in both plot-driven stories that have a sex and PWP (Plot What Plot/Porn), but I’m also fine if you fade to black on the sex or if the characters just show affection to each other. Hugs, hand holding, kissing, support, and love are also great! If for whatever reason you don’t want to write porn please don’t force yourself, I love the bond that characters can have with each other when they love each other and that doesn’t have to be detailed porn… unless you want to write that.

Do Not Wants - No incest, please. I do not want men raping women, but I’m okay with rape in other aspects. I do not want watersports or scat.

I would prefer if underage characters were aged up to 16 for explicit porn. For fade to black sex, I don’t mind if the characters are underage.

Fandoms!

Daria (Cartoon) - Jane Lane, Daria Morgendorffer, and Quinn Morgendorffer

Deadpan delivery. I really liked how Daria and Jane’s friendship is explored on this show, but I think the combo of Quinn and Jane would be amazing on the level of total snark. Also, I’d love to see what Daria and Quinn actually agree on, in those tiny moments when they get along. You do not need to include all of the characters I’ve requested in your story.

Daria - I enjoy Daria’s unique take on the world and I like that she’s outside what at that time was considered to be normal. But I also enjoy that there’s a vulnerability to her sometimes that creeps in around the cynicism. I’d like to see her handling adult life choices like how many days she can spend not leaving the house, what the internet would mean to her, how she can totally handle a credit card and any other story of Daria succeeding or failing her progression to adulthood. Canon level high school stories are fine for this too.

Jane - I have a big thing for confident characters and Jane is overflowing with confident disdain. I’d like to see her go somewhere unexpected with her art. Make a joke piece only to be stuck making that type of art instead of other more personal art, dealing with critics, dealing with other artists, professional jealousy! Show me, Jane, the artist!

Quinn - I’ve grown to like Quinn more and more over time, she’s set up as the ‘normal girl’ foil for Jane and Daria to bounce off of, but I like to think that Quinn has just found the levers that she can pull to get what she wants. It might be easier for her to fit in then it is for Daria but she’s still trapped in what peoples’ expectations of teen girls are. I’d like to see something that explores the stress of trying to conform to expectations when no box can fit perfectly. Or even how fitting in doesn’t actually get her the things that she really wants. Is she into something geeky or embarrassing on the side? In the same vein that one time she stole Daria’s identity and was making it popular was a really interesting episode to me.

Shipping Femslash prompts!

Jane Lane/Daria Morgendorffer -  The way that Daria and Jane make room for each other makes me want to see how they would end up getting together as a couple or how their relationship might end up changing as they work through a disagreement. I really want one of them to go to college and think that they are leaving their old lives behind for something better only to find that when they meet back up that they missed their friendship more than they realized. And maybe it’s not a friendship but something more? Now with all of their experience they can see how clearly they care for each other and how they don’t want to let that go again.

Jane Lane/Quinn Morgendorffer  - Jane and Quinn are two different characters staring at each other across a long divide of expectations and snark. I’d love to see what it would take to bridge the gap between them. Is Quinn going through a phase and wanting to make out with a girl? Does Jane not know what to do when she finds out that Quinn is mean to her because she’s had a crush on Jane since forever? Does Jane feel drawn to Quinn in a way she’s never felt comfortable with?

I would also love anything dark for this fandom, zombies, outbreak, vampires, end of the world, demons, basically anything that makes these three women have to work together or use their unique personalities to survive and thrive. I’m also up for soul bonding, musicians, Victorian, steampunk. Have fun with this.

Scott Pligrim vs. the World (2010) - Knives Chau, Kim Pine, Envy Adams, and Roxy Richter

Basically femslash anywhere and everywhere with these ladies. I’m okay with either the Movie or the Comic version of these characters. You do not need to include all of the characters I’ve requested in your story.

Kim Pine - Kim Pine seems to have no idea what to do with her life and the raging ball of issues she still carries around with her isn’t helping. I really liked that she was so complex, that she carried a feeling of confusion, that her life was not going the way she wanted, that she drifting through time without goals or purpose. And while the end of the comic/movie gives her some closure I just really want to hear all your ideas as to what life has in store for Kim! Does she get her shit together? Does she make it in music? Start another band or two? Go back to school? 

Envy Adams - I really love Envy. She’s petty and mean, but mostly just really self-centered in a way that doesn’t seem evil, she just wasn’t good either. I really want to know what things were like from her point of view. Did she have a good reason for dumping Scott or a bad reason that would make sense? What did she do after the comic/film? Did she get a new band together?

Roxy Richter - She dated Ramona in college and is a ninja! There’s a lot of stuff that I want to know about that part of her life. I hold the view that Roxy isn’t dead and would be really interested to see what she thought of how everything turned out. More Roxy please!

Knives Chau - Knives, she’s cute, she’s sweet, she feeelllllssss things deeply. She’s also angry and confused and so very much growing up and she’s making things up as she goes. Basically, Knives is overflowing with thoughts and emotions. But I really like that she’s both sweet and harsh, that she’ll pick up some daggers and try to fight things out. I would love to see Knives interacting with Envy and/or Kim some more, maybe after all of the things that happen all of them could talk about moving on or even what it means to be an evil ex. I’m also really interested in Knives trying a cheat code, exploring her alternate endings, respawning, or other weird video game issues in the Scott Pilgrim world. 

Shipping Femslash Prompts!

Knives Chau/Kim Pine - I’d love to see more of what happens between Knives and Kim, was that drunken kiss the only kiss that they shared and it keeps Knives up at night, or did that blossom into a relationship? Or did they drift apart only to meet up later in life and find themselves once more drawn to each? But this time are the roles reversed and Kim is the one looking up to Knives or is Knives still looking like Kim is the sun in her sky? Does Knives at least knock Kim off balance by how far she’s come? Or are they both down on their luck? Has life knocked them around so much that they actually end up hooking up without even recognizing each other? Just another drunken one night stand, only surprise, it’s that person that they haven’t thought about in forever– That person they couldn’t stop thinking about.

Envy Adams/Kim Pine - In no way do I think this meeting of minds would be friendly, but I have a burning desire to have Envy and Kim hang out together and (possibly)have a pissed off make out session, or angry hate sex. Maybe during the Scott Pilgrim movies’ Chaos theater preparation/rehearsal/sound check or maybe after Kim has hit the big time as a musician/music writer/professional shit talker/producer who runs into Envy at an event.

Envy Adams/Knives Chau - I would be really interested to see these two meet back up in the future. Is Knives better known, more important, different? Has Envy’s career taking off, bombed, ended up in the middle? Do they hit it off or is this just about payback? Is Knives good or did she become a bad girl?

Ramona Flowers/Roxy Richter - They used to date! What was that like? Why did they break up? We only got a brief glimpse into Ramona’s past and even then they both still seemed friendly in the comic. Ramona let her stay at her place. How did Roxy see their relationship?

I love all of these characters so feel free to match any of these women together and write a story exploring how their relationship would or would not work.

To be honest I love stories about musicians and bands so please feel free to play around. All of these ladies in a band? Awesome! These girls in all rival bands? Even better.

Darker AUs for this set of characters would also be great. Anything that mixes the Scott Pilgrim universe with another video game world that was much darker would be neat. What if they all lived in a game like Silent Hill or some other horror title? How would that change the tone of their story?

Anya’s Ghost - Elizabeth Standard, Anya Borzakovskaya, Emily Reilly, and Siobhan

You do not need to include all of the characters I’ve requested in your story.

Anya Borzakovskaya - I’d love to see Anya deal with more ghosts or supernatural. What happens in the future? How does she deal with college and moving away? Does she share her experiences of the supernatural with anyone?

I’d also be interested in missing scenes with Emily being creepy (if you want to go with possession and/or creepy ghost non-con that would be awesome).

Emily Reilly - I’d love to see the events from the book from her point of view. Did she actually move on after the events of the book or is she still lurking around? I’d think she’d have a pretty interesting perspective on things. I’d also be interested in some creepy ghost voyeurism, with Emily spying on Anya (sexual situations would be a plus).

Siobhan - I’d like to see her encounter the supernatural like Anya did just to see how she’d handle it. Does she freak out? Take it in stride? Call Anya in a panic? Does Anya ever tell Siobhan about her freaky ghost encounter?

Elizabeth Standard - I’d like to see what would push Elizabeth to the point of letting go of her bad relationship. I felt she was a pretty sympathetic character and would like to also see her deal with the supernatural. How would she handle it? What if she’d been the one to find Emily’s bones.

Femslash pairings (Any rating is great! Porn is awesome):

Anya/Siobhan - I’d love to see these two grow closer while dealing with the supernatural! Possessions, witches, spirits, werewolves, things that go bump in the night. How did they become friends? What kind of embarrassing crush on Anya has Siobhan been hiding? Or is it Anya that has the crush? Or does it turn out to be both? What happens when one or the other starts dating a boy/another girl? Does college change anything? Dealing with the supernatural? Getting a car?

Siobhan/Elizabeth - Siobhan is sort of a bad girl, I’d love to see her and Elizabeth, the popular girl, hook up. Sneaking around and hiding their relationship? Fake/pretend dating to get back at Sean? Siobhan and Elizabeth growing closer while trying to handle the supernatural?

Elizabeth/Anya - I so want this pairing too! Has Elizabeth been trying to deny that she really likes girls or has it been a thing that she just tries not to think about because of course, she likes boys, right? All of the coming of age stories realizing that maybe they’re not straight, with spooky things.

Emily/Anya - Something creepy and messed up for this would be awesome. Possession, paralyzation, or Somnophilia would be really interesting. A missing scene from the book would be great too with creepy creeping.

Other ideas: Summer Camp! Ghost Busting! Cuddling for warmth! Bit by a Werewolf!

Lady of the Shard - Acolyte, Radiant Goddess, and Old God

You do not need to include all of the characters I’ve requested in your story.

The Webcomic is available to read for free here: https://gigidigi.itch.io/lady

While the webcomic is sweet and fluffy I would also be super interested in a dark more non-con take on where things could have gone.

Acolyte - I love the devotion and care the Acolyte shows for the Radiant Goddess. I wish there was more hair brushing and help dressing or undressing and makeup application.

Radiant Goddess - So tall, so much face touching, and lack of personal space. Yet so much self-doubt and self-sacrifice. I’d love a story that goes into the past of how the Radiant Goddess fell in love with the Old God, or what the Radiant Goddess’ life was like as a human.

Old God - The Old God is a temptress, luring unsuspecting worshipers to her with sweet words and manipulation. I love to see more of her working her magic on others(the Acolyte or Radiant Goddess or other) and the control she exerts once she has them under her thumb. What other uses does she have for her loyal worshipers? She seems to have the ability to make the Acolyte feel things, how would this be used for sex or fun? Did this work on the Radiant Goddess?

Femslash pairings (Any rating is great! Porn is awesome): 

Acolyte/Radiant Goddess - I love all of the face touching, blushing, and size difference between these two characters. I would love to see more shared dreams, breakfast in bed, bathing and hair brushing, or maybe some kinky goddess worship. Or maybe a callback to when the Goddess reached out to feel the universe and ended up touching the Acolyte but this time the scene plays out further with phantom sex.

Acolyte/Old God - The parts of the comic with the Old God really seemed like they were heading somewhere dark and I’d be very interested if you wanted to go down that path, but I’d also be okay with fluff as well. Some possible themes: loyalty kink, pinning, forced arousal, abusive relationship, mind control, brainwashing, non-con, mind wipe.

Old God/Radiant Goddess - I would also be interested in all sorts of things for this pairing fluff, tragedy, abusive relationships, all the way to mind control and non-con. Tell me how they got together, tell me how they broke apart, a glimpse at the final battle, the first time the Radiant Goddess realized something was wrong, or maybe the one time everything was perfect.

I would also love a threesome with all of these characters.

Other Space - Karen Lipinski, Tina Shukshin

Karen Lipinski -  Karen is terrible with feelings and I’d love any story where she is forced to admit that she has them. Where her being successful is the first clue she has that something is wrong. What would it have been like if she’d been captain of her own ship, still stuck with Tina and the crew?

Tina Shukshin - Tina is completely self-absorbed, I’d like to see her take over and be captain of the ship. How horrible/awesome would that be? I’d like to see way more of Karen and Tina interacting with each other. What was their time at the UMP Academy like? Did they hate each other on sight or was their dislike something that grew out of their hookup.

Femslash pairing (Any rating is great! Porn is awesome): 

Karen Lipinski/Tina Shukshin - I really like Karen, and want her to get closer to Tina… But Karen can’t seem to handle emotions so it’s way more likely that they’d get dosed with space sex pollen or be accidentally married or get shot into space sharing a tiny escape pod that was originally a reality show closed set where they used to shoot porn.

Feel free to use any sort of cliche SF space plot, space madness, accidentally becoming gods to a tiny civilization, trapped on a planet, aliens made them do it, fake married, hey I grew a tentacle, end of the world sex, or good old body swap.

I’d love a story set back when they were both at the UMP Academy. Maybe a story where after Karen and Tina have their terrible first time together, they for some reason keep having unsatisfying sex over and over until they manage to have really amazing sex, which ruins everything.

I’d like them to wrestle in space jello for dominance! Neither of them lose, both of them win!

Over the Garden Wall - Sara, Beatrice, Adelaide, and The Beast.

You do not need to include all of the characters I’ve requested in your story. I love the whimsical feeling of this cartoon, it’s just on the edge of going fully creepy and messed up but never quite goes all the way. If you want to get really creepy with this request feel free.

Sara - I would be really interested in a story it was Sara who ended up in The Unknown and interacted with the various characters from the show(Beatrice, the Woodsman, Adelaide, Lorna, the Beast) or even ended up there later and just had her own new adventures. Or it might be cool if she helped someone from The Unknown get back after getting trapped in our world, like maybe Beatrice.

Beatrice - I just want more about Beatrice, what was her life like before she became a bluebird? Did she have a reason to throw the rock? How does a curse like that even happen? How she did she manage to turn her family back(really magic scissors??? How did that even work? She’s a bird with no hands)? What was the tearful reunion with her family like? How odd it was to be a bluebird? Considering how creepy Adelaide is, what was the meeting between Beatrice and her like? How did Adelaide sell Beatrice on the idea of exchanging other people for the scissors?

Adelaide - Is creepy as all get out and I’d like to know more about her. I’d love any creepy story of them capturing people to use as servants and backstory as to where she got her magic objects and creepy house. We’re they the one who cursed Beatrice and her family? Did she have something to be with creating the Beast? Feel free to go as creepy and as messed up as you want.

The Beast - Much like Adelaide, I’m really interested in creepy stories about the Beast and how it came to be. What is its connection to the lamp? How do the different people of the unknown view the Beast? What are the stories that are told about it? How does it affect the world of the Unknown and the trees? How did the woodsman get the lamp in the first place? There so much interesting ideas that could be explored with the Beast.

Shipping ideas! (Any rating is great! Porn is awesome):

Sara/Beatrice - I’m super into the idea of these two meeting up and hitting it off. Helping each other out and/or being really suspicious and having to earn each other’s trust.

Creepy noncon with Adelaide/Beatrice or Adelaide/Sara, I’m open to stories where things get really messed up in the context of Adelaide making deals and the idea that Beatrice or Sara could end up caught in Adelaide’s web.

Thanks again for writing for me! If you have any questions please feel free to send me an anonymous ask or look through any of my past yuletide letters for inspiration (I also still love any fandom I’ve asked for in my past letters and would be overjoyed to get a story for one of them).