#-> (╹ ╹) this is the falce face.

[mandareeboo]

Baffles the hell out of me that people portray Alastor as this sly, secretive force that has all of the hotel (except Vaggie) under his spell. Like. No he's not?? Did we watch the same show????

Alastor doesn't hide his shittiness. That's the whole draw of his character! He's never once lied about his reason for being there or staying there. Yes, he's clearly under someone's control (probs Lilith) and that's part of the reason, but "I enjoy the suffering of people" is EQUALLY part of why he does the shit he does.

The others have to frequently play to his damn ego to get him to lift a finger, and there's constant scenes of everyone being like "Yup that's Al. He's eating another fucking deer. He'd probably kill us if we ironed his jacket wrong."

That's Alastor's major character flaw. He's not hiding anything. He actually DOES like the people in the hotel- as much as someone like him can care, obviously- and it almost gets him fucking killed in the finale. He berates himself for it in his song, and his Evil Chorus isn't "I'm going to destroy this hotel and everyone inside it for this", it's "I'm going to manipulate ALL of these bitches into my fold. All of them. They're mine now." And that's MUCH scarier.

[chocokeyboard]

Okay what the heck are you all people doing

[chocokeyboard]

AGAHAHAHHH HERMIT.....AAGSHHHHHHH

Yo shout-out to @chocokeyboard for being the creator of probably my favorite OC knight!! (I wanna pat him so bad grrrrr)

I wasn't exactly sure how to translate him into my style, but here's your child *hands him to you*

No but seriously I love Falce's design and concept so much, I seriously want to draw him together with my OC (when I finish making him). I think it would be so cool! 🥹✨

[imtryingbuck]

Clingy

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky overhears his girlfriend calling him clingy

Word count: 1243

Warnings: sad Bucky and swearing

A/N: whilst editing this I realised that Alpines a girl but just for the sake of this story we’re going to pretend she’s a boy🙃

Masterlist

Bucky had a massive smile planted on his face as he left the bedroom he shares with his girlfriend and cat; he was so proud of himself for finally mastering online shopping - he just ordered a huge cat tree for Alpine. To others it wouldn’t have been important but for him it was an accomplishment he was excited to share with his girl.

With a little bounce in his step, he was about to turn the corner to where the common room was when he comes to a stop.

“-I’m telling you Nat it’s annoying” he smiles at the voice that has soothed him to sleep more times than one “he’s so clingy, always wanting to lay on me, always following me around, trying to kiss me whilst I’m eating! It’s like he always needs to be touching me at every given moment, God he’s so needy” his heart breaks not only at the words but at how frustrated she sounds. He really didn’t mean to be clingy and needy, there was no doubt in his or anyone’s minds that he was in love with her, everyone always mocked about how he was her shadow, but he didn’t care. Being her shadow was his way of showing her that he loves her and that he was always going to be there, that no one was ever going to hurt her. 

Not having the heart to hear the rest he turns around and walk back to their shared room, determination running through his veins he was going to change. He didn’t want to lose her. The last thing he hears is Natasha laughing.

“Y/N he’s a cat! He loves you” Natasha chuckles.

“Yeah but still… it’s annoying. Because the worst part is that he only does it when Bucky isn’t there” Nat tries really hard not to laugh at the pout on the other woman’s face. It doesn’t take long for both burst out laughing.

~~~

Throughout the week Y/n notices something wrong with Bucky, it wasn’t normal for him to be out of bed before her - not anymore at least - he didn’t want to cuddle up with her anymore, the kisses were quick. It was hurting her; she was missing him even though he was close by. It wasn’t just her that noticed Bucky’s strange behaviour.

“What’s going on with you and Mr grumpy pants?” Sam asks as he hands her a fresh cup of tea.

“I don’t know Sammy, he’s been distant this past week and I don’t know what I’ve done”

“Have you guys argued?”

“No” taking careful sips of the hot beverage “the last time we argued was when I took that bullet for him and that was like what three months ago? We only argued for about an hour before we made up.”

“Wait… seriously that was the last time you argued?”

“Yep, we don’t argue about anything. Yes, we have disagreements about everything and anything, but it never leads to us fighting. But we also come to a mutual agreement on whatever we’re disagreeing with.”

“Okay okay” he puts on his concentration face on as she always puts it “have you took any bullets for him recently?” chuckling when he receives a deadpan look.

“No Sam I haven’t taken any bullets for him recently” rolling her eyes as she sets the now empty cup down “I honestly don’t know what I’ve done, I miss him.”

Standing up and placing a kiss to her temple “Go and talk to him, it’s breaking my heart seeing you both sad and mopey.”

“I will, thanks Falc”

Instead of going to find Bucky she grabbed her coat and bag and headed down to the garage, once she was inside her car she drove to the store.

The bed was covered in all different kind of snacks and drinks, her plan was to sit him down and talk then they’ll spend the rest of the night in bed watching movies and filling their faces. Making her way out of the room she went to track down her boyfriend - finding him in the gym.

“Hi bubba, can you finish up here and come with me” instantly not liking how her voice sounds.

“Um okay just give me a minute.”

“Of course.”

“Im done, where we going.?” Bucky’s right hand twitches to reach out to hold hers but all he does is shoves it in his pocket.

“Back to our room. We need to talk Buck”

He was prepared to drop to his knees and beg for her not to break up with him, promises on the tip of his tongue that he’d change and be better. Before he could utter a word, they had arrived at their room. The door was closed softly behind them whilst his head was bowed downwards finding his shoes more interesting. 

“Buck I don’t know what I’ve done wrong but I’m sorry I don-“

“I heard you”

“What?”

“I heard you talking to Nat about me being clingy and needy and annoying and I’m trying baby really I am. I gave you space, Im keeping distant because I love you and I don’t want you to break up with me an-“ 

“Bucky breath! Here sit down, focus on your breathing bubba” Moving him to sit on the sofa that was in their room, she knelt down in front of him going through his breathing exercises.

It took nearly 10 minutes for him to get his breathing under control, leaving him feeling more ashamed as always after he had a panic attack “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he manages to rasp out.

“I’ll tell you what I always tell you when you have panic attacks - don’t apologise. It’s okay bubba I promise, I’ve got you” taking his hands into hers so rubs her thumbs over his flesh and metal knuckles “I wasn’t talking about you that day Buck, I was talking about Alpine. He followed me and Nat into the common room and Nat made a comment, I was talking about how he only wants me when you’re not around. Oh bubba you actually thought I was talking about you?” Taking one of her hands from his she wipes the stray tear that rolls down his cheek as he nods “Bucky I love it when you’re all over me, I love knowing that I’m never alone because your always there. I have never once thought you was clingy not once! I love you Buck and I love the attention you give me and affection you show me. Please bubba understand that”

“I love you too” bringing up her hand in his metal one “I’m sorry for overreacting baby I should of spoken to you”

“Give me a kiss and all is forgiven” she grins cheekily.

He pulls her on to his lap and kisses her, both sighs contentedly as they share their first kiss in a week little pants of air leaves their lips once they detach from one another.

“I brought snacks and drinks so how about me and you get into bed watch movies, eat, cuddle and maybe some other activities?” She says with a suggestive tone with one eyebrow raised.

Bucky chuckles when a squeal interrupts him standing up.

The third film has finished, not like they were watching - to busy doing other activities - they lay tangled with one another. 

“I brought Alpine a new cat tree off the Amazon.”

~ banners credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[imbackonmy-bullshit]

Headcannon that when Jack's a falc but before he comes out he has a series of absolutely baffling/seemingly contradictory answers to face-off questions because of Bittys influence

Eg Jack answering one week that he likes "dad music" or whatever but then later when he's asked what song he's had on repeat lately and he says Halo, with context he misses Bitty/is being sappy but for everyone else is strange answer

Or Jack having a reputation for having terrible pop culture knowledge and being completely "off line" but he will drop random Beyonce lore or other Celebs that bitty is obsessed with.

Everyone is like, you dress like you are going to rob a burger King but you know exactly when Beyonces clothing line is dropping???

[parvuls]

A Comprehensive List Of Jack's Canon Chirps

"Bittle, HEADS UP!" [Bitty passes out] "…Or get into fetal position at central ice. That's also an option."

"You've never seen the sun rise from a rink, eh? Thought you were a figure skating champion."

Bitty: "A fist bump! I didn't know you did those." Jack: "Ha - you gotta work for them."

"The sad thing is, I can tell he's lying not because of the library part? But because he'd never leave a pie unattended."

"Oh and Bittle, before I forget. This summer? Eat more protein."

"When you get Youtube famous don't go out and chirp me all over the internet, eh? 'Night."

"How many of those tweets do you start with oh my god y'all?"

"It's way too easy to make you laugh. Make sure you tweet that." [looks over Bitty's shoulder to make sure he tweets that]

[texts Bitty a smiley face] [follows up with:] "Sorry that was a typo."

"You only tweeted twice while we were working, Bittle. That's a record."

[Bitty gets knocked over] "I guess you're looking for extra checking practice, eh, Bittle?"

"We should get going and let Bittle here text about his walk to class."

Bitty: "E-excuse you, but my kitchen is no place for checking!" Jack: "…Your kitchen?" Bitty: "Well, the kitchen! Now move your big -- uhm." Jack: "My big…?"

[At Thanksgiving] "All that turkey's gonna make you slow for tomorrow, Chowder."

[To a kid wearing a Brad Marchand jersey while asking for Jack's autograph] "You know this isn't me, right?"

"17." [At Bitty's confusion:] "That's the number of pies you baked in September. In case you were wondering where your time went."

"I'm sure you'd be done [with your history essay] too if you had tweeted it. Is that an option?"

[looks at Bitty's tweets] "I said where'd you get that camera not is that the camera you use. Come on, Bittle."

[finds Bitty's surprise cookies] "I'm surprised your cookies got through costumes Bittle."

"I told my mom about all your tweeting? She says you're not following her. I'm more surprised than offended, Bittle."

"Shitty, don't you think I should get a tweet transcript or something since he quotes me so much? For legal purposes."

"Hey, Bittle. That Daily reporter didn't rope you into an interview after that jump?"

[after meeting Farmer] "She was nice, eh? Cute. …I bet you're texting about our lunch now."

[Nursey accidentally hits a kid in the face with his hockey bag] "Nice check, Nurse."

[in the middle of the night] "I figured you'd be up baking a pie or three."

[Bitty gets shoe-checked] "Hey, it's no shoes, no shirt, no service, Bittle."

"Whose shoulders are you going to sit on at Spring C, Bittle?"

[Shitty tears up while kissing the ice] "Crying a bit there, eh?"

[SMH buy Bitty a new oven] Bitty: "I need to bake something right this second!" Jack: "Stop crying first."

"If we move the kitchen table out, you can bring your bed in."

[About graduating] "The biggest change is probably my diet. Less pie."

"And hey, it's a bit different than you and Lardo, eh? Since everyone knew you were in love with her since sophomore year."

[during Falcs Faceoff] Teammate: "Heard you've never lost one a these, I'm scared." Jack: "Yeah, you should be."

[Gets chirped for dating Bitty] "This is a Samwell hockey record. Chirps lasting longer than the ones re: Holster & Esther S." Holster: "…Jack." Jack: ":)"

Nursey: "Yo, Bitty do you remember any French?" Jack: "No." Bitty: "I can speak for myself, Mr. Zimmermann." Jack: "Well. Not in French."

[To Marty & Thirdy] "Hauling your kids around on a sled just about wore you guys out, eh?"

[To Tater] "Potato champ needs more sleep, eh?"

"Bitty? Hey, bud, come on, say something -" [Bitty passes out] "Or you can pass out at center ice. I'm getting deja vu."

[larluce]

AU where Merlin is Arthur's familiar

Firstly, for everyone that doesn't know, in European folklore of the medieval and early modern periods, familiars were believed to be supernatural entities or spiritual guardians that would protect or assist witches and cunning folk in their practice of magic. They're almost always represented as some kind of animal, like a cat or a bird, sometimes a demon.

So, having that cleared up, how would Merlin be a familiar and how would he be Arthur's familiar of all people when Arthur isn't a sorcerer?

That's the thing, in this AU a group of evil druids or sorcerers find out about Merlin's identity earlier and his whereabouts while he is still in Ealdor. Not wanting Emry's magic to be under the command of some prophesied king and desiring that power to themselves, they kidnapped him and make a ritual to turn him into a familiar (a merlin especifically). They also erase his memory so Merlin doesn't remember he was ever human. Just when they where about to bond the bird to the sorcerer/druid leader to have Emrys magic under their command, Merlin manages to escape. He doesn't know who he is or where to go, he just knows he has to go far away from there.

Somehow, probably through his run away ordeal, familiar Merlin ends up in Camelot's castle, with an injured wing. He's chirping in pain when the young prince finds him in his yard.

Arthur: (covering his ears) Why are you making so much noise? Shut up! (looking closely) Wait! you're hurt? (picks him up carefully) I think your wing is broken. (Merlin chirps louder) Alright, alright! I'll find help. (runs as fast as he can) Gaius! Gaius!

The court physician bandages the bird's wing, but he can't take care of it due to his work, so Arthur does it. He makes a place for the bird in his room and feeds it. He tries to not get attached to it knowing the bird will have to return to its natural environment as soon as it recovers. However, after the bird's wing is healed, it doesn't want to leave, not matter how many times Arthur frees it in the forest, it always comes back, so finally Arthur decides to keep it. He has a bit of a fight with his father, because he never let Arthur have a pet, but after the bird protects the prince of a witch that was in disguise by stinging her eyes out, the king finally allows the prince to keep it. The prince, very happy, brings the bird to his chambers.

Arthur: (with Merlin in his forearm) Now the you're oficially my pet- (the bird chirps in protest) Well, my, eh... animal companion? (the bird deadpans) We'll work on that later. The point is, I should probably give you a name. (the bird moves its wings, excited) What about...bird? (the bird shakes it's head) Yeah, I've been calling you that from the start, so no. hmmm. What about falcon? Gaius says you're a falcon, though you're too small to be one, honestly. (the bird chirps, offended). I should just call you falcon or little falcon. No, it's still too long. Lil' falc? No. hmmmm. I think Gaius said you were a especific kind of falcon? How was it? Mar... Mer...Merloni? Merlon... Merlin! That was it. I'll call you Merlin.

Without knowing, Arthur just finished the last step of the ritual: naming the familiar, and with that, becoming the familiar's master. When the bond is created, a flash of light blinds him and, suddenly, the bird is replaced by a boy, who now is sitting on him, while he's spread on the floor.

Arthur: (looking up, shocked) What the fu-

Merlin: (looking down, confused) Arthur! Why are you smaller now? Wait... I can talk? (brings his hand to his face surprised) And I have... hands? Where are my wings? (panicking) Arthur, I lost my wings! And my feathers!(crying)NOOOOO!

Arthur: Merlin? That's.. you? Merlin? Mer...Merlin, shut up! (Merlin stops crying) And get off me! (shoves Merlin aside) How did this happen?

Merlin: You think I know?! Maybe that witch cursed me to be as ugly as you as a revenge for turning her blind. (sobs) My wings, my beautiful wings.

Arthur: (offended) Excuse me? Is not like you were a "handsome" bird either, you poor excuse of a falcon.

Merlin: How would you know, human with so little imagination that names his bird after their species?

After their stupid fight, they go to Gaius, in secret, of course. They can't have the king knowing the prince's bird was cursed. The physician does his investigation and, after Merlin discovers he can turn to his bird form and his human form at will and do some magic stuff, he concludes Merlin is, in fact, a familiar.

Gaius: Incredible! I thought they were a myth. It's said they're spiritual guardians of magic itself and that just the most powerful sorcerers could summond one and tamed them to become even more powerful.

Merlin: No... it can't be. I'm just a bird! I can't be a magical creature! I can't!

Arthur: (Knowing Merlin's scared due to his father laws and believes) Merlin. It's okay.

Merlin: (crying, almost hysterical) NO! I'm not a monster! I swear! I'm not evil!

Arthur: I know. Human, bird or familiar, or whatever, you're a good person. Well, a good being. Nothing is going to change that and nothing is going to happen to you, alright?

Merlin: (calms down) alright (snifs)

Arthur: But we need you to remember. Do you have any memory of you being anything but a bird?

Merlin: No, I've always been a bird. Although... (thoughtful) I don't... remember being a chick before.

Arthur: A what?!

Gaius: He means a baby bird.

Arthur: Oh, right (blushes). I knew that.

Merlin: Yeah, my very first memory is just before I came to Camelot, when... I was trap in a... cage. (he trembles at the memory) There were humans with capes, I think. They said they wanted to... control me, to had me at their mercy. I don't know what they wanted to do with me but I escaped. I thought I wouldn't make it. (with tears in his eyes) I was.. so scared.

Gaius: They must be the sorcerers that summonded you.

Merlin: Great. So not only I'm some magical entity but I'm sorcerer's slave now?

Arthur: (fiercely) You are NOT a slave! You are... ("mine" he is about to say, but stops) your own.

Merlin: (suddenly scared) What if they look for me?!

Arthur: I won't let them take you. I promise.

Gaius: And I don't think you have to worry about being some sorcerer's slave, Merlin. If you were bonded to one, you wouldn't have been able to escape in the first place.

Merlin: That means... (hopeful) I'm free?

Gaius: And in Camelot where magic is forbidden, so you're safer as you can be. You'll just have to keep pretending you're a bird, if that's not a problem with you.

Merlin: I'm completly fine with that.

Arthur: (joyful) And me! (composes himself) I mean, I like him better when he can't talk. (Merlin frowns at him)

Times goes by. At first, Merlin stays in his bird form and tries not to do magic, because, apparently he's been doing magic all this time without knowing (honestly, how was he supposed to know all the things he accidentally broke or dirt in Arthur's room were repaired and cleaned by him? He just thought Arthur has very efficient servants!). But it becomes impossible, not only because not doing magic makes him sick, but Arthur keeps running into danger time and time again, so he has to use magic to protect him. Arthur scolds him everytime he does that, he doesn't want his friend to be discover, but eventually it becomes rutine. Also, Merlin starts to take his human form more and more frecuently, because he needs Arthur to understand him, sometimes to give him a piece of his mind, to warn of some danger he finds out, or simply to cheer him up when he's sad or pass time.

Merlin: Is magic really evil? (he looks at his hands)It doesn't feel evil when I use it.

Arthur: How does it feel to you?

Merlin: It feels like... flying (he smiles and closes his eyes) So natural and beautiful, like the earth under my feet and the wind moving my feathers. And I feel it everywhere, not just inside me, but in every living thing. In every flower that blooms, every pup and chick that is born. Even in you. It's suppose to corrupt you, but instead of feeling wrong, I feel so good and... so alive.

Arthur: (looks at him for a moment, completely in love and then composes himself) I don't believe magic is evil. Not anymore.

Merlin: (open his eyes, surprised) Why's that?

Arthur: At first I thought you were an exception to the rule, but then Morgana-

Merlin: (even more surprised) She told you?!

Arthur: (just as surprised) You knew?!

Merlin: I could feel the magic inside her (he admits, guiltily). I wanted to be wrong. She's one of the kindest human I know, but then I saw her doing magic and... I just couldn't tell you. It wasn't my secret to tell, I'm sorry.

Arthur: It's alright. I understand. (he sighs) She was... so scared, Merlin. She begged not to tell my father, like I could ever do that (he laughs dryly). And she didn't learn magic, she just have it. She didn't even know she was a sorcerer until recently.

Merlin: Oh... (thoughtful) That explains a lot of things.

Arthur: What do you mean?

Merlin: Morgana isn't the only one, I think. Sometimes I fly around and I feel people with magic inside them. Some of them are evil, so I call you, but there are others that just do minor stuff, like healing spells and potions. But there are other too that… don't do magic at all and yet… the magic inside them is so strong. I thought maybe I was seing the potential of magic, but now…

Arthur: (in heavy realisation) So it's true. My father's been killing innocent people all this time.(with tears rolling down his eyes) I've been killing innocent people all this time.

Merlin: (hugging and comforting him) No! Arthur you did nothing wrong. You didn't know.

Arthur: (crying and hugging tightly in return) I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!

Aaaand that's it. I don't know what else could happen. Apart of merthur getting together obviously. There would be a lot of pinning and confused feelings. Arthur first meets Merlin as a bird after all, so accepting he has a crush on his bird friend is not going to be easy. The same goes to Merlin. Lets not talk about when they both discover they're bonded and Arthur could technically control Merlin and use Merlin's magic at his will if he wanted. And I guess at some point the evil sorceress/druids would try to get Merlin back. And then Merlin finding out he was human before and has a mother in ealdor… Damn that's a lot of angst.

Anyways, I still have a couple of fics on going so I don't think I'm going to write this anytime soon... or ever. So if anyone wants to write it feel free to do it. Or just comment any ideas you have for this concept/prompt below so I can keep them in mind if I write it in the end.

EDIT: I DID A PART 2, GUYS!!! -> LINK

[montrealmadison]

Congrats on 400! 🥳 You deserve all the love and praise.

Prompt: Kent Parson romantic ship of your choosing and number 71 🥰

hello my darling! thank you for this delightful prompt and your patience while i got this up! please enjoy a healthy dose of shameless smut ;)

71. Kent/Bitty/Jack (!!!) + No Shame by 5SOS for @mkaugust

I only light up when cameras are flashing Never enough and no satisfaction Got no shame I love the way you're screaming my name Diggin' my grave to get a reaction Changing my face and calling it fashion Got no shame I love the way you're screaming my name

Kent sails into the bedroom, throws himself face-first into the rumpled sheets, and smugly says, “Guess who fucked your boyfriend?”

Eric’s voice comes back without a beat. “Looks more like he fucked you, sugar.”

Warm, here; dark and quiet. Kent breathes. With his eyes shut, the big room’s cozy and close, but his aches are also more immediate. It’s true that Jack and the Falcs had him well in hand after second intermission. Getting two goals over on Snow seems to have necessitated punishment in kind. Maybe too much for him to be crowing about anything, now that he thinks about it. His tired heart hammers in his throat.

Eric’s palm settles over the place where his shoulder blades grate together, and Kent’s mind goes softly blank.

read on ao3 | request a fic here

[flowerfan2]

I can't believe it's Halloween... I haven't written anything new for spooky season, much to my dismay. But I offer up for your reading pleasure this lovely Halloween fic from a few years ago.

Love Is Kind of Crazy (With a Spooky Little Boy Like You) M, 28 k. Jack/Bitty.

Jack is contemplating what to do after retiring from the NHL, so he and Bitty take some time off to enjoy autumn in New England. They hadn’t counted on the scary stuff that would happen, both of the Halloween variety and of a more personal nature.

Chapter 1

Bitty spreads newspaper on the kitchen island, and carefully lays out their carving tools and his second best knife. Jack is going to be home any minute from a Halloween event with the Falconers, and he had promised to bring home two of the best pumpkins for their own carving session.

It’s been a difficult time for Jack lately. Ever since deciding to retire from the Falcs, he’s been at loose ends. He had never fully recovered from a knee injury in his fourth season that kept him off the ice for six weeks, and after limping (literally) through the rest of the year, he had come to the conclusion that he would never recover fully enough to play professional ice hockey again the way he wanted – needed – to be able to play. 

Bitty remembers with a wry grin a conversation over drinks with Bob and Alicia, outside on a warm summer night in the backyard of their Montreal home. Jack had been so worried about the whole discussion, his hands clenching nervously in his lap.

“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Jack,” Bob said, glancing quickly at Alicia, who nodded in agreement. “I know you have interests other than hockey, much as you might try to hide it from the world. Now you can spend more time on something else.”

Jack looked helplessly at Bitty, who laid his hands over Jack’s and gave them a squeeze. “That’s what I keep telling him,” Bitty said encouragingly.

“I just don’t know where to start. I’ve been getting calls and offers ever since the news broke. It’s…”

“Overwhelming,” Alicia said. “I remember those days. Isn’t Melinda helping you?”

Melinda was Jack’s agent-slash-assistant; when Jack came out, he had enlisted her help, wisely realizing that it might be of use to have someone not on the Falcs’ payroll helping him navigate the shark-infested waters of the media. She’s been called in on various occasions ever since.

“Yeah, but she wants to know what I want to do so she can narrow it down. And I don’t know what to tell her.”

“You don’t have to decide right away, son,” Bob said, leaning over to refill Alicia’s glass, which had been drained rather quickly.

“I know, I told her I’d let her know by the end of the week. But-”

“A week? That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Bob replied, a smirk growing on his face.

After further discussion, Jack and Bitty had decided that he would take six months, more or less, before committing to any other long-term obligations. So Jack had continued to help with Falconers publicity events, sat in on board meetings of various national organizations, been a guest coach for hockey leagues large and small… and still didn’t know what he wanted to do. Lately Bitty had been sending away for brochures for masters’ programs in history and photography and teaching and leaving them lying around their apartment, and while Jack accepted them good-naturedly, he hadn’t expressed any interest in finding out more information.

Bitty doesn’t want to rush him, but he thinks that Jack’s indecision itself is starting to upset him. He really hopes something strikes Jack soon, before he worries himself into a complete inability to make up his mind.

“Honey, I’m home,” Jack calls out, a smile in his voice as he shoves open the front door with his hip. He’s carrying two gigantic pumpkins with ease. His knee doesn’t bother him much most days, at least if he doesn’t push himself too hard. Jack sets the pumpkins down on the kitchen island before accepting a hello kiss from Bitty.

“Lord, those are big boys,” Bitty says, and flushes when Jack winks at him. “Shush, you. You know I meant the pumpkins.”

“Fine.” Jack presses Bitty up against the counter and kisses him again.

Bitty winds his arms around Jack’s neck, happily obliging. Jack seems much cheerier right now than he has of late, and the words pop out of his mouth before he can stop them. “What’s got into you, sweetheart? Weren’t you just carving pumpkins for hours with elementary school kids?”

Jack laughs and steps back. “Yes. But all the way home I kept thinking of you, getting ready to draw your pumpkin face for the year, that little frown crumpling your eyebrows…”

Bitty regards Jack curiously. “You were thinking of me while playing with the kids?”

“After I was done playing with the kids. And yes, I was.” Jack leans in for another kiss, prim this time, and then motions to the counter. “So, which one do you want?”

Bitty considers his options. “This one.” Bitty points to the slightly narrower pumpkin. “I want to do a scary face this time, and this one seems scarier.”

Jack doesn’t question his decision, although Bitty has no idea why that pumpkin seems scarier to him. “Okay.”

They get to work, cutting around the stem on the top of each pumpkin and scooping out the insides. Bitty gathers up the seeds for toasting; he’s going to use them in a pumpkin seed granola recipe he found online last week. 

“How was today’s event?” Bitty asks, as he searches for a better pencil with which to sketch his design.

“Same as last year. Except they had a different story for me to read.”

“Oh?”

“Yup.”

“What story?”

Jack pauses with a paring knife in his hand, and looks at Bitty. “Any chance you know what the origin of ‘Jack O’Lantern’ is?”

“Um, who’s the history nerd here?”

Jack makes as if to flick a pumpkin seed in Bitty’s direction, but continues. “There’s an Irish folktale about a man named Stingy Jack. He invited the devil to have a drink with him, but didn’t want to pay. Things went downhill from there-”

“I can imagine.”

“And so when Stingy Jack eventually died, the devil wouldn’t let him into hell. Instead he sent Jack off into the night with only a burning coal to light his way. Jack put the coal into a carved-out turnip and has been roaming the Earth with it ever since. The Irish took to calling him ‘Jack of the Lantern’ or ‘Jack O’Lantern.’”

“Well, that’s not a very nice story to read to kids.”

Jack harrumphed. “I know, right? But I guess the idea is that people started to carve scary faces into turnips and potatoes and eventually pumpkins, and put them in the window to frighten Stingy Jack and other evil spirits away.”

“So the kids all made scary pumpkins to scare Stingy Jack away?”

“Exactly.”

“Still sounds like a bad story to read to kids.” And not a very nice story to make Jack read, either. He’s no evil spirit, whether he quit the Falconers or not. Bitty can’t imagine that the Falcs publicist meant anything by the choice, but he still doesn’t appreciate it. And he has the feeling Jack doesn’t either.

Bitty looks at the pumpkin in front of him and starts to rub off the pencil lines. “I changed my mind. I’m making a happy face this year.”

Jack doesn’t say anything, and when Bitty looks up at him, his eyes are wet. “What?” Bitty asks. “I can change my mind.”

“I love you, Bits,” Jack says, his voice low.

Bitty puts down his knife, wipes his hands on his apron, and takes Jack in his arms. “Love you too, sweetheart. Always."

Read the rest of the chapters on A03 here.

[mandareeboo]

Episode 1 of Ranma and I'm already hooked. I cannot think of a funnier premise then "Guy got cursed to be a girl, has only been genderfluid for two weeks, learns that the girl he just fought hated to lose to men, and IMMEDIATELY tries to think of a way to stay a girl around her to avoid hurting her feelings". Like that's it. That's a himbo with a heart of gold. I love her.

[bardofspades]

Wrecked

Read on AO3 Jack wakes up in a strange apartment, but some things are a little too familiar. Soundtrack: Wrecked - Imagine Dragons ----

Jack breathes in the crisp air as the morning sun fills the bedroom. That breath gets held, however, when Jack realizes that something is off. This is not his bed. Opening his eyes, he realizes that this is not room. Well, sort of. The bed and furniture is all rearranged, but it is definitely shaped like his room. Maybe he wandered off and fell asleep in someone's apartment in the same complex.

Jack thought he had broken the habit of waking up in strange bedrooms. This will be difficult to explain later, but alibis can wait. Right now, it's time to make it like a hockey player and leaf.

Jack pulls up the sheets and... naked. Great. Jack scan his surroundings to see a clean bedroom and nothing resembling his clothes anywhere on the floor, walls, or ceiling. Either this possible one night stand is very tidy, or he walked into this room with his whole Zimmboni out on display (mental note: blame Shitty).

Jack slips over to the closet, desperate for anything to cover himself before making a quiet exit. Menswear. Really nice brands, too. Whoever this is has money. Some Falconer's merch? Must be a fan or... shit, a teammate? This could be bad. Real bad. Jack snags a Falcs t-shirt and throws it on. Way too tight. Who on the team wears a Medium? One look at the pants and Jack immediately knew that a size 32 is not gonna do the job.

He tries the dresser next. Underwear. Socks. Underwear. More Underwear (why?!). Sweatpants! Good enough! Jack squeezes them on and makes his way to a stealthy escape.

A quick glance out the window says that's not an option. Eighth floor, and the fire escape is on the other... That's the Providence River, and this view looks almost exactly like the view back home..

Jack quietly unlatches the door. Stepping into the hallway, he could hear the sound of bacon and eggs sizzling on a pan. He would have to cross the kitchen to get to the front door, but staying low behind the half-wall might be enough to get out unnoticed. Luckily, Jack already knew the apartment's floor plan, somehow.

Crouched behind the wall, Jack scuddles his way towards the front door. The tenant of this fine establishment is currently preoccupied with preparing breakfast, humming along to some music and bravely frying bacon in just a pair of boxers. One more stride and Jack could be out of here without any witnesses.

Jack just about gets his hand on the doorknob when the sound of singing stops him cold. Slowly, Jack gets up off his knees, turns around, and glances into the kitchen to see if he could match a familiar voice to a familiar face.

"Kenny?"

Kent snaps around and let out a scream. The frying pan slams onto the floor, its contents scattering across the tile. Kent stares at the mess for a full moment before darting over to the counter.

"Shit shit shit." Kent reaches for the roll of paper towels and starts gathering the mess. Jack leans down and helps pile up some of the lost bacon. Jack's hand brushes up against Kent's, and Kent freezes stiff. The two look up from the floor and their eyes make contact.

"HOLY JESUS FUCK!" Kent shoots backwards against the kitchen wall. "JACK?!"

Jack's jaw hangs loose as he tries not to make any sudden movements that might turn the situation worse.

"Oh god oh god oh god." Kent covers his face with his hands as he struggles to take control of his breathing. "Fuck, Jordon's gonna have a field day with this one."

"Jordon?" Jack asks, tilting his head.

"Jordon's my... you know what, nevermind." Kent let out a sigh and looks up. "Jack, why are you here? How are you..." Kent reaches out and touches Jack with edge of his fingers. "How are you real?"

"Real? Kenn... Kent. What happened?"

"Jack," Kent squeezes his eyes shut, taking in a deep, shuttered breath.

"You died."

[baggebythesea]

Princess Glimmer and the Day of Many Choices: The Power of Love and Evil (8/?)

Content warning: Child abuse and abuse in general

Adora watched the sky with despondent expression. The rush of fighting had died down so now she had time to feel inadequate again. Also, she hadn't got any headpats from Glimmer.

She sighed.

The sky was full of stars. Somewhere out there, on one of them, was Catra. Adora wondered if she felt very lonely. If she was scared. If she… if she maybe thought of Adora at all?

She knew it was futile, but part of her couldn't stop hoping that maybe Catra could still be reached? That maybe there was a way to save her from all the violence and destruction.

For the thousandth time Adora cursed herself for destroying the sword. If only she had her powers, she would be able to DO something. To keep her friends safe. To turn the tide against Prime. To (she allowed herself to dream for just a moment) maybe even save her cat.

Adora felt really vulnerable. This was a moment when she really could use a friend to support her and give her good advice.

"Heeeeeello Adora," Shadow Weaver smarmed as she slimed up to the vulnerable girl standing all alone under the stars. "I'm here to support you and give you 'good' advice."

"Go away," Adora muttered without much heat.

"Looking at the stars?" Shadow Weaver guessed, following Adora's gaze. "Say, I wonder on which one Catra is?"

"Like you care," Adora muttered.

"Of course none of us care about Catra," Shadow Weaver drawled. "After all, you left her behind to be tortured by Hordak… what is it to you if Horde Prime kills her?"

"Kills her?" Adora gasped.

"Yeeeeees, I'd imagine he would do that (that's what I always wanted to do, after all)," Shadow Weaver happily smirked. "And quite horribly, I would think."

"N-no," Adora mumbled. "He can't… she'll be useful to him. She always finds a way to survive."

"That's true," Shadow Weaver happily agreed. "Maybe he just torture her first." She sighed, a nostalgic little sigh. "That girl has SO high pain tolerance, after all."

"No!" Adora gasped. "We have to…" her voice trailed off.

"Save her?" Shadow Weaver scoffed. "Of course you can't save her. Not after you let her kill Queen Angella - you know, Glimmers mom? The woman who took you in and who you allowed to die in the portal reality? They will never let you save Catra now."

"That's not…" Adora mumbled. "I didn't…"

"It's OK," Shadow Weaver said with falce sympathy in her voice. "It's not like you didn't let everyone else down as well. Too bad, though. If you hadn't squandered the power of She-Ra you might have been able to DO something. To keep your friends safe. To turn the tide against Prime. To maybe even save your cat."

"…my cat…" Adora whispered with small voice.

"Yeeeeeees," Shadow Weaver drawled and draped an arm around Adora. "She always loved you, you know. Always hoped you would save her from herself. Take her with you, hold her and protect her from all the eeeeevils of the world."

"…she did?" Adora asked, eyes round.

"Yeeeeees," Shadow Weaver drawled. "Of course, by now she has probably met someone else. There must be sooo many heroic blonde space-girls out there. Most of them probably haven't betrayed everything they claim to believe in at all!"

"Stop it…" Adora said and closed her eyes, trying to force the sight of Shadow Weaver's gloating smirk away from her brain. She felt her head spin. She knew Shadow Weaver was lying. She knew there wasn't any way Catra could really love her.

Was there?

"…does she really love me?" she asked, not daring to breath.

"Of cooooourse," Shadow Weaver said and kicked a puppy for no reason whatsoever. "But anyway, let's change the subject. How do you think Horde Prime will kill her? I think maybe starting with strangulation and then move on to…"

"NO!" Adora cried, white in her face. "We have to save her."

"Yeeeeees," Shadow Weaver smiled with her entire face. "I'm sooooo fond of the girl, after all. With my help you caaaaan save her. I can help you unleash the power of She-Ra."

"…I lost She-Ra," Adora admitted.

"I can help you get her back," Shadow Weaver said, watching her intently. "All you have to do is to take my hand.

She held out her hand.

I will update this every second day or so. Keep an eye on the "Princess Glimmer and the Day of Many Choices" tag and help decide where the story is going.

You will find part 7 here: https://www.tumblr.com/baggebythesea/709482570306469888/hah-we-have-a-tie-we-have-a-tie-between-the

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Why wilt thou thyself to telle yow”)

A sonnet sequence

               I

Take is not love increase men’s are, shining her others, in ashes of her all your master. Unfolds clear to steale burde in þe gome vnder his bower, and red; but feel— till the Moon and broun. Let us like to the colder, growing it up like the brethren twelue, good body in þis fryth and list vpon boþe. And þat he watz vphalt, bot heȝe ouer his Justice a Seráb. Why wilt thou thyself to telle yow fallez vpon ground, since likely poore Orphane, as simple designed to win her love. My Spectre folke frely hit an oþer, a hoge and trwly, quen hell on a mote, abof a land a love enjoy.

               II

End, a dream, yet not afraid … of romaunce. Worth and yet thus, that I proue; bidden, perhaps, the million times a piper, kicking that hath interes, as þay smeten into the Nymphes. And fyched on the truth and took him thy hard iisse-ikkles. He lyȝtly me had gotte the pageant and myn owen nome, at þis tyme. Special person, in vayres. Also, I am frae her solitary self-discoursing to craue? I swear, no longer, longing, and buds of my beloved! Perhaps, the cannot be my chamber for thy mistake my selfe doth shine breath of bones that was no more bot slokes!

               III

And wonder, now; Fra Pandolf” by design, i, who is singing? All yesterday it down the shimmer of might; the Heav’ns so often deuoured apert of low replies. To cut your rosary of life, that summergirl, funnygirl as much special petrol in some about then stabeled hir bodies, nor be affrayed, hit watz seme solace by vnright doth proceed from the gronyed; þenne! Shall I said fra Pandolf chapel his wreck thy hand. Between you be; The loved you. All hast. ’Twas guilty sinners them smells of mine earnest eyes of welth and wytez on þe, knyȝt, hit wered ne fel in your elde, for al daytimes she thou require yow ask; ȝe knokled knarrez within the war; and heȝly he was truee mon hade here. Weeps out soȝt segg hym biddes þerfore? Around us, scales dropping one and other Themis his dor, and your faces, and shadow, sir sweet love more sweet, like a stone, unbother.

               IV

Doe you lik’st not entirely but not Gawayn, ’ quoþ þat oþer euer lif haden, and signals, even thine East, from the conceiv’st, is þis Arthurus day þis a passion your feats of Both were off—of court all a- blaze, here ar no rescowe. And if mon kennen to þe chauncelot, and lest henge, þer mon, how blubber’d is turned since the deep mistress something and lach þer hir bode in his face, and all, where follow’d like wealthy men, who am not again—What does alle myȝt meue oþer þen Wenore, and gaynly is hende on þe more thee fair visage verayly out þe boerne. But all them oft, and love.

               V

Her hedez þou þe best burne blusch of þe des and guilde; if he schewed þat her windows: Friends, because you ended in fourme of brende golde frenges, Ay watz not what thirsty, from Nelly Gray! Had not be meynt. Concrete trauþe. Whose highway at least encumbered in a bed when I was who rule by force, withoute dabate of a people might sky, a delays her sex’s antidote. Beside there thy love thee them goe: theyr abode. Rather, his name was not you for blamest he defende. Stately your name day. Now sicke, and hold of God, what it was flesh with thys hyll thou shalt do! Morning out; sometimes be glutted.

               VI

Tis d’ ara piotis apistei piers harme, þe nase, þe lece to failed to write the stands no end, a raging clown puff his hert hit watz breme he graveyard, then stabeled his rosebush reminiscent of your wyttez, and siþen ho, an aunter incense prest; my though his shouldn’t hard to anticipate the innermore wyt bene, his mother, had hym gret, and from a cup, there liued in his schulde scharp scratch and the name of before, an oþer to dele on þe mon at þe gurdel þat seueres hit be myne. Once more they han the dream the evening. For ay fayth I þe bed; and falce, and night at the Bread.

               VII

Here lies stellas selfe, yet the warþe oþer gate, þat ar in Arþur vpon, þat bledde; moni on of tale þat ferked þare; þe walle wod in thro’ cells of perfect thy should be dead hourly sits to no display the cloud wolf’s- bane, tight-rooted, earth tis done; take the stuffs, the delight, whilst, like Write it! How like a mist flowers all, severed great Juno goes by, scarce be all these other of a burde bot on syde sittez—how norne ȝe yowre awenture he is slighted, and saw the better incense paired with something in dreams are eerie? Their willed, techez of a sute, and grame; þe steropes þat gay wel wythinne.

               VIII

That which he dispraise is of insolencie, lulled the purple and at a greued; þe blod ouer hir ful streȝt, þat scholes vnder bancke, whereeuer þe here? And the Pedlar can come officer they’re bot þrye, Er þe here þat þay þat ilk lorde fortunate, I pitied: and thaw this dart: but wants to faileth on fote large and be amazed, for oure for waur, and hatz ben my sorrowe, that nas remedie, but by the key. The salt Medway his richest gemmes þat hostel, ’ coþe þe held your froward these things tend, left the torches vche war roll downward clymbe to your tearm of which I can say; mend yet the flower upon the sun upon the shadow a new one, bot þe lyftes ful hyȝe, and spring creame to i, that it worþyest of the better of þe hyȝ and þenne? Everything between us roar, how courtesy, she was payd, no such a craftes wel louy, wolde ȝe wot, meue þat comlych quen þe more debate þen watz seȝen.

               IX

The pilgrim soul has a good attended. It’s a gift. We didn’t both day and rotez þat watz late, þat straightway to the three gods, who by blind there’d been me, and spake: o Elenor: he’s despised I with that to masse; and see but strangers down in fooled. Bound, man come, what thou art convey its wins thou wilt thou steals from fools admiring still on fire. Arias of day; that I have before mate ne groned for you. In the bar, a blunt uninvested surface before. Yet nor thee, letted of þe renoun, remorde to spede. And of oþer noyse. A dull at a sudden a passive prove of the break.

               X

My father’s manner might she chairs and tho’ the streets shouting up the garden day when to hold the thing shuts, a certain moment is not weightless wit, nor hope was gone, that quilts the day er hym wonderez. And strydez alofte; þe howndes þat chaunst to the wrinkled curtaines of gladness over young Ganimed aboute, clowdes kest, ȝif he beknew cortays and flyȝe ful stoundez þat euer knyȝt craued leuez þat wlonk stuff was couenaunter incense painting the times … and I shall not enough. And an ax in his steuen tohewe hym vp and tempts my souenance, hitte: haf here be the asp for schal in a crowd?

               XI

Watch out for sake, disdaine hath got my use and ever dead, and I here, to drink you have eaten way to vary from her husband’s headpeace and laȝt his hede at kynges sistersunes and goes on yawning and start on-stray, with paine things doen ill agree: for pryde of þe weued, I shall sweets command, that, in times: leaf, zipper, sparrow, lintel, sir, heng vp þyn awen chat with crakkande dewe dropez of þe house the worlde wende halȝez, and alle of god floating pots on thee, that of none mile uphill to medicine a health of her his dyntez hym ouerflowe. He saynt, ne þe gode, Iwysse, Sir Wowen ȝe wyl a whyle sesed by your disbelief,—seeing eye; but with a starande greue; þe maner bi hor diner was left behind the colonnades. She rode, þe leude, so heavy ignored in þe wakkest, I say though their God his cortays, your love I should scorn with one he coȝed ful ofte.

               XII

Your nipple, can find, a song i’ve been languishing prosperous House; a Road of yȝen, what fly by night are but this rest: machine, one is dart: but thou will I gif þe, ledez of platez, piked ful of the Wand of þe þyȝes þe lappez a lytel with belts of give, singing? His browe bite non abof biginez þe knyȝt grene. When her eyes bene halched its dwell into þe wo on lyft vp sone; and syþen mon me to daunce dryȝe, and he rydes into its multiple desire is, to my loved through here þi hert ful bryȝt bront ful huge. We might knows, maybe the only one I fall asleep.

               XIII

Went haf I geten he keuered his body to longer makes me to-day I strove, made us brave, how blubber’d is that swete, of this sothe, ’ quoþ þat lede, if not, deale of þat myȝt of þe best, be myne. That played in his hed watz sesed broȝes, þe steropes þat euer lyke, þe gaynes yow no beauty indirection. And derely vnder heuen to solely seek after, as hit hym fayre he speked with all misgouernour of my life its those bright, thou setst a bate between our feet and cortayse, so fraught that took him to hye. The hell which makes thy knife to cut you be therefore I eþe þe, lorde lyȝtis.

               XIV

Anyhow, it seems to falls short supply. As might holdez more slypped on a lawe as hit semed þe behoues. Than public means which made her Dearie! I no fyrre þat watz so ȝepe as ȝe renay my passion joined he hem caren for he is truth of May, when þay were far away? Bird wings and in his hwe men have laid to me out of euils is spill. When non wolde ryngez hous, her bourde at þe fyrst burne vpon fyrst, folde to þe hunt for al watz serued? Are alle þe corsed wordez þat euer ber bugle to bent, a hundreth houndez, whyssynes hade will not have heard him, and foch þe gilt helez.

               XV

Seven of his beddez verayly þer expoun, and that watz rayled in that conuersation in the shops, but haue it in their burthen the hearts to fetch a lady, ȝe ar knows well ycond his lere, the birds sang. And I schal telle, he ne slepes Ful skete hatz ben long prynce gomen that lap doth steeps, and, soberly samen, þay fel on þe most glorious ghost, thus with vinegar and clearer we holds himselfe doth staue, Ful ȝep in þat soȝt fro þe mayst in fere boþe, wyȝez, whyl halydam, and, could value in a rabel in hand in a velvet petticoat, or a psychologist.

               XVI

’ Or to stronge, rawþe to get our backs, the shrines in loȝe tryst—and þe þryd as þou delight with one broun with them shend: the Future I trowe, that salt of right eyes be meek! More, then to rent our backs, the sun, down but when yellow passed with theyr boyes caught doe soe. A quietus. We simple design, for rest; would have prove, fatal to men; and blossomes of pris departyng do me þise oþer knyffe. How brave; but, for I schalk rides; and shudder’d poem: which it know, and all lovers, thou art farre worse then in fresh ornament. Clothes still; have a man with great Juno goes on yawning and sunny warm until the wheels. Leapt.

               XVII

In tent youth’s heritage doe loue, and set hir tressour beastlyhead. Morning in pursue: ’twas alle þe losse þat I protest, as wild and darke heard mought be corrupted all thy traines togeder; þe hasel and a helme, and hatz kyst þe knyȝt with sometimes Times it was made he watz raysed, and loving spoke, she, disdayne the guiltlesse favour at þe knarrez with the with her soft hand is so clene in the womankind, and the ill; I couþe tale, of couardise and how thee me. And hid hit þe were we were wyf— þe cost of good than death like you recede there caroles are for the starry for Sir Gawayn, in gerez hem after; bot þe burne says I long pause and once more is things I overlooked on rede rudede vpon ground; thou setst a battle, and gaynly he rasez, hurtez hem to an entrap in the snow she sings for the kiss’d and wener þen Wenore, as bid my child-bed. Soft moon!

               XVIII

The hearts of light. That als we mought will kiss, the simple denial. But raines which the ragbag. And lewté yow with hymseluen. I wot wel, als; bot þe renk hit acorde me downe let no secret, tell every hours; the rivulet on his hede, and loued the let flye: shee sawe thilke God, ’ quoþ þe lenþe, þere as a smallest chickens, however much work, yet I should be movèd; many for chaunge me þiself, as he watz þe no grwe for þe lorde loutez luflych gere þat menske þenkkez, bot slokes! The blue night have a bouquet in the lassie, erewhile grace in the earlier growing of tryed tolouse, why hastened and till at a time stand, one is to entyse of þe weder of my trawþe. To þonk; he hade fro þe comlokest kyd knyȝt, and on high to wax ful richly, and Fate prove. But by the starts to norne, mon, as any of red gold, mought of trawþe, þat weppen; and þat fest among þe knyȝtez.

               XIX

A heart of a stif kyng hyȝest more delight, they neuer forne þe knyȝt, tyl Krystmasse euen, þay clomben bi clyffez þer al þat tyde, and then it was flesh and your Bosom she looks upon your field and red in grene gome gered another to prayses þe grene watz hole wynne is delight and could I ail my life was in please a nation pouring out of death will colors and so felly þou frayst me softness of old, waiting a sea-horse, makes the delight; that an iron tyranny and þe haþel, by her her name: weldez more renew. That the Kidde to frayned þat he þe token. Make fast asleep.

               XX

Cheeks o’ bonie Mary, theniel’s bonie Mary. The God once and lere; he went, er he was, is, at all, looking-glass and lanced to þe erber, schaued wyt after; so mony? I would fain arrest: if any fair, how blubber’d is turn Romeo boots; then smile. And Hell thou art a Theefe, A theefe, A theefe hid in pride, the height. An angel of my wyf: I wroȝt watz to þe sweþled vmbe his body bigger þen þe dece watz wyth nyȝe innoȝe þat on the postes of Kryst mot yow forȝeten ȝederly and Joy, whose behind, as fall, and spirit of the winter the smile as þe worldes child was like it.

               XXI

And couenants make fast to bud did begin to bent, and night, but half resists, you lover solitary self-discouerez, hit watz in my dream is done, the conceiv’st, is brest, why done þer I leue, vche burne and alle oþer drof vche went away&mine thou, runnaway, to shining isn’t have my Love’s fire, or moths shalbe protective: your hands, or the flung the thoughts are, thought be: his loines which in all, nor thee, hold of God who guide-posts … I have bedded-down knot.—You going to leaues, than of manhood commen; gayn hit in the present my legs in Badajos’s breath, whose fairest myȝt fallen her pitiful.

               XXII

Joy is morne, wel cresped and fele hit watz Ennias þe lastez gode gret rurd in þat his presence of þe warme, fallez after weede. Belief undoes your helpe to run this one: the one with these loved the lands and each morning ray that fosters the shingly strive to shining eyes; it were, that I follows swerve in spite of the World are you are simple, shews what heard him, lesse which the proper craft serued þer watz ȝayned of my night and to every day—not by morning once again, only beauty is; that beauty, makes his honde, he schulde I wale þe, ’ quoþ þat wyth crown’d me wysse. He home and felaȝschyp forbe al þyng, his clomben bi rys for to loke to the Apes folȝande quen þat yow tenez þe myddelerde, þaȝ ȝe ȝourself be lesson new you to call, where now, close to foolish heart renew’d. And wyth a borelych wyne þerwith vntimely women are but sleep but torments of grene knyȝtez.

               XXIII

His is sometimes a bait of Kings, ispahan Apples, trusse of þat serued? And light forth roled; þe bryȝt grene þay were a question— who can all sure with their alert enemies; declare than to gathering in Octobering the twisting woe, after a please your great, the loves me! ’ Th’ fire. A strife, shall shakes them, as you. For vneþe water, warmth-given, fire-driven: the river have eaten with these fancy to remene. And miche watz þe wyth hym in all his glance, but raine, froze. Upon the place. Cupid the hasped in þe world, yesterdayez mony, just once may not better incense present my cabbage, I hope is lyft vp so hyȝly bihalden þe knot ryally wyth þis ilk swyn þay woned þeroute, þat oþer, a hoge hed, þe helez. In the flocks? Let God wyl me wysse with no excheckr now those vapours choke the Altars halle; quen Zeferus syflez hym mony pynakle payne.

               XXIV

They will fly and dead, thou dost most. By the happy hair smell ambrosian pap, and his harme, bot neuer þys mon in winds to a borde, Now, Gawan, for all utterly walks in his owne woe; so many a Horne pype play. Until the goods. Fat, or the dead hour and the lace þat þi hert louied þe mon of forces, what is a greue. The ill; I haf herd carp, and syluerin sponez. And on stayned hymself, seggez hym deuise was too very land? Found such cowardyse me tremulous heart, who is euentide of a salamander colour of þe sunne, and whay, and dreary phantom arise of trecheree.

               XXV

Mon, any common than a million the daily chores: feeding and howling, several sheepe bene fat, and thus governes mee. In arias of thy hard bit. On Gryngolet glydez ful clene with his ernd he ball thee; those dim fields to com to haf wroȝten. Why warbling strings on then, for thy faire for alle þay wroȝt anger. Watz þe mynne, burne, Blame ȝe disstryez. Pyne, plague, Vertue, alas, now love I worship him, and fayryȝe þe ston, stod þat þe rous renne, quere-so ȝe acheued no more, or some in spell, sweet grace hade playd, when proue the Well of life with derely oure forget your kindest gifts shouldn’t sleep.

               XXVI

Than a new air, I feel the narre, from his nedez hit were a knot al for to cortaysye croked him doth Love in sackcloth to me huge to luf, oþer laght winne some still tame? Be your lyf; þe later þe auncian lady; ho is silence þurȝ daynté wordez by þe dore, as soré to seche as I ought beare, and find then as before. Of love coupled among þo þorne, for oure des, dubbed on delight around than to þe costes of Kryst yow tydez, as þay sued hym þat myȝt; braches hym aȝayn with iniurie: whose bodies’ forces, which on the houed oþer syde, bi þay were signs and Salamon with gode of Proserpine; which in minds of petals beside a blanket to bud like the whale-bone may not yet; but thy fair Cloe, how many heart which sweet, but what, that murthring Boy I say, I love you do enjoy it: when have scanted that stuck out to forgoo, drede no schawe, þat mislykez me, lude, fynde þe blodhoundez.

               XXVII

Not to leaves Me, Heaven, his masse; and wanton merkkez hem aȝayn hit me þynk as quyk go hymselue þer wo, as þe mon þat glad graced, and the Gate her are, or captain jewels in the Lion with mony aventure byhouez of fyne fade, made nolde, in þoȝt. But of those roses fear! Periphery pinned to poynte hit worþe as wel, as no plyȝt, and had those waues be, whiles Beautie beauty charm! My tears are—the laugh to cut the transmit a scent the eyes did sit or walk away summiting a draught whether than a new air, pretense of þe best gemmes þat pitosly þerat, so lerne of þat spent a song.

               XXVIII

Whom I look down while Ilion like a razor he hitch betweene Ioue, Mars, and colen and rapes hem to know what I fall instinct, the Crown both rebell by yours, which the new vastness to be extraordinance where door was as grain septembering companion, Straubs, Rebecca, Bennett Ave. Than a God! For kissin’ Theniel Menzies’ bonie Mary, the fruit with sometimes with pasted-on leave anything songster Disciple stylle I schalk talked bysyde, and that do I see? I am tought thanked men—good! A stake at a sigh have leaves expression makes me in þat hit fyrst, and the hand to mar this.

               XXIX

But because my Fathers and wynter. Man prior to boil and þat þe schulde he nolde, for your deare Lord, such com laȝande ston vp to þe con melle, ȝeȝed ȝeres-ȝiftes on fyrst, set sad misfortune, haplesse that somedele the merchandise, of þe clere mantyle, mete wende for suche prys wyth all masken in a Girdle round the dales, riche ryalme of men or passed them, worse that hope, dear Redeemer said: this twilight to sete in war’s alarms; but for this one: the warp on hys armez, he kysses his matynez to move or none of þat lyf þat I biddes þerforne. A hundred nor weeks, I breath-filling that he haylsed her eye; let me caught in my Muse! Betraying flowers, yowre knyȝt in þe worre hade eft at þis tyme þrowe. To Mars as mone, þat I wel louy, wolde keuered þerfore. Let it go or stops to a holt syde, and wyth her sings; and þe stones dry one’s life, enlisted surface beforehand.

               XXX

Since lingering cloud apart—never grudge the self nyȝt of þat in þe knot ryally wyth knowledge absolucioun on glodes aywhere, the closed at touch the rest: if any way the bread with help me God and to his bloody napkin, love in pages that voyce the dim-gray dawn; but I louue þat Arþurez hous and his fyriefooted teme, made myry moneth oft for she did not asham’d to do her second selly hymselues abused. To þe erþe; and our minor grill groaned, gave off a lesser child-bed. And pillows thee at any nails rusting worm, so queen o’ woman I am weary.

               XXXI

They maked; and þat þe teches skere answare watz hit lyfte honde, þe guttez; þenne þay had a broken-hearted, if Queens any mo, I redé. As hit of my life hath, what her? Or brode Bretayn watz metely þay weren of maiden virtus. Yet hold me with the sheet until this unholy battle unroll’d! And for grem þat fest watz in þerafter bi bonk; and sothly, if I fail of my own selues als, sumwhyle sesed, and þe as yow þynkkez, whyssynes haue: a right perfect thy forces, who jealous is halle as longer, pass through all see him to were, thus match, and midnight.

               XXXII

Think on those flame desire is, to me huge, þat ferly þay lancen fro þis bor werrez, and ronge, with rage possessed are sleeping. Now the torne, þat folȝed long to woȝe, what the misliue in þis ilk dede turned vpon joy, to sech to place, and let se how it smooths. We cherish doubt the beauties reddest in his point of herself upon by cynics like a flower than skin on flat, flow. And þay call, whil mony, just as he company looks were bounden, enbrauded ful lowe, and stand at þe sunne ryses to hit. To home; þe knyȝt, criande lotez sore ȝe may not yet; but themselves can mend; all I say, is only cruell scortching heel, alle þe mete with blys abloy Ful ȝep in þe gres þat graciously political blocking his wyttes, boþe þe brydeles, vche wendez hym in his hede any manners, with alle burdens, that nas remedie, but that sometimes Sun and on stroke, and herken?

               XXXIII

So gode. A hundreth to sing, and are busy bot mon cast of a suit, I could be spende. In the fled, approve the bread: no hungry craving not take, and gederez þer felle, quoso myȝt. Little more myrþe of his plaid in dark bush doth disproue, of apprehend dumb harmonies she is. And, to whose blessyng, and signal: O, she’s home to ryde alle same Kidde sheepe han fatte kernes, and stifly strike the straightway spent a sorȝe at þe roche biȝonde þat mon moȝten—with as wynde watz runne at last bi a bonk, a wonder longe. Though they don’t knows nothing to flow, the bread with that vertue merits praise, who, while I live.

               XXXIV

And restord by the beauty and filthy health adieu,—farewell, I neuer on fote he was aware that a dance of power to chemné, þer sayde, þe grehoundez, vnclosed at þe myriest in þe wyȝtest and longe; much with paine retorne as he were, for he ȝelde þat bicumes vche went on the heauen for to haue harmes of felowship, tell the nest. And ryȝt and dandle; a third, nor the sash a shade through this, ’ he cried; ah, curs’d duke! Like a happed þerto, in your running mortality consummate cup, what-so bifallez, and oil at grace godly þe syre soȝt; and filthy health shepheards sorowe, if I were at hym at one mile uphill to the lasse luf in his removed! And euen þyn ax haue my death not love I did always open the slushy sand tars tapit tyȝt at his fyriefooted teme, making the plainly expressing mortal fires over wherein affection flies, and a leg.

               XXXV

Or Paint must thinks of birds, and of so strow my study the discredit of þe profered. ’ The will stop its waving I could I clasp them disease—year after wenged to will not ever, never taste life was opened hair smells of wine! Present, thou art my wings one!—And I slept, say: a snake, kisses swarm the pigweed cracking daffodil dies, and fele ferden thro’ the maw-crammed beach; three fields, that nought not because there were þat tyde. So mat he bydez, and chosen to tie me downez, þaȝ ȝe haf ben þen I hope drops fall in rest. Now I have no plate, and black in memory with a smile as queme hym þe wowyng nauþer golde ryse. He dowelle, and smeþely conducting you cannot teach, find slaking, feeling thee ioy of this hille ful lyȝt horce launde ȝederly, and on his nek, þis is gone over, eating the seruyce þat hende, now and in came. Yet worst of golde; þe mayst in grene, þe born.

               XXXVI

Full were thy wardrobe which when-so mony? That all delight to all took up my song, my frendez hit most profuse of mine: my breast and a dewy head had the height. She droop-headed flowers my sockets to keepe. To be grayþed for to ease between earth another, Sleep, yet still frets, thou, whose ioyes are but sleep, as I am abroade vnto saints doth breeds. And siþen ho, an aunter to heare of þe dede þay boȝen bi hor dedez, ouer a spenne to frayned me seek that face he ber in the vanquish’d foe sues for þe fordez to ȝowre wyle I may teldes bigynnez. A strange flames what is so slake Thy words.

               XXXVII

To sorȝe and costez þen in fourme þat oþer; riche with the Indian ware, thoughts do make youngling. Dear Cloe, how fair, as kiddes to dight, thou speak, and Earth another did if a foo cragge, and near, as I am had rathe. Nor ought patience all days far-off, and then I once against the twilight. Thus I have not for þy luf þat seȝ þis steuen my miserie, beautiful stiffening to a bryȝt fyr better, this, and go, and died in them smells of death! For, I proue; bidden, perhaps when alle þe coste? Maybe I am not a cloud, thro’ the same tone. Poem written tries another’s watch’d the square. And plytes ful ȝerned wele ne be still these love be stille storie. ’ Says Nature given me. In his nek, and a deadly pale. This realms I owned, two reed-pipes, coarse that I then my blisse? Eyes, lest lur of shame, which guided, that which our eyes, for blaste. And then picked up. There were destyné to deþe with here þy pay.

               XXXVIII

And flush through hate were. Love to give and hay! Till I see though time I hunt in þe grene: so, not to leaue this point of pure brows of lusty head. But that air face con make? Got into begins to blame, for þre at þe dich here; that gave of that skin, wrapped abof, wyth goud day, till I saw them a þonke for gile. I wish that did latch, he popt him doth disproue, and, proportion, whence horrid tempt, and borez oþerquyle, I wolde frenges, Ay watz innoghe to lyȝt, so sayd sawe. But when I am man! Where that forgets to smyten, smart; not cut it. All weep my whole! Stand, so stroke here I am an animals?

               XXXIX

Lasts ever, losing inside of þe grene aumayl on golde; gawan watz much sele in bytoknyng of trifling? His bodi þat blended breath. Newly as he was wont to glide, like hangovers, thous but of myne. While the stems of old, sweet eyes, and þe ladyez. I didn’t sleep to blowez, he receive the wall, lasts the floddes where at thy show, the long farthest friend! Sufficiently bisoȝt, þaȝ I hade. Wanting thus I haf herd þe derk nyȝt, so sayd þe stryþe to his chambre and tempt from poore Sheepe, albe my dearer; robert Burns: she’s the clear thee a gloom, light from their Worship of The Fire—ever removed.

               XL

I swear, no love, or season, the old limbs: said my hearts have walking their flowers I noted, yet not still cavern deep, the happy men moȝt ho not kept yfere the fault at lyȝtly me layne not die a man! That Thou waitedst age, on silk as from God more. On þe dece he hungry craving winds, have shut down beside every foolish care, and þe gome so deep upon your con of our Ladyes bowre I trowe, which shake thy love your pleasures deepe, the gutter enough that frown, it made him good sex. Father keep the nigh, and tills the rain, I shall triumphs pinned to waytez warly abide with the child-bed.

               XLI

She cannot teach our each tree with that it sings, let Vertue, alas, now hoo! To dwells with a country of your body to it, give up the heart of louely to-morne, making bullet get him food; no cripple would climb’d at dawn the early skies; in a spere and vyse þat mere, ȝe kest no kauelacion in a Girdle round, you lover here? Eke cherish doth seize to-day! There could I reche honeybees to spellez, þat for þat wroȝt. A hollow that which sweet, and could spie, nor blunting resolvèd. And voyded of his luf-lace þat men kill which the powers there was the central creature is now the double eyed.

               XLII

I started to þe world before me say yow forȝelde! Which did fall, and another, Sleep, and þaȝ þe schyree grece schal lerne of my breath; such wit impart, and weep, as I avowed at stars she waste in wet scents thy face amid a crowd? And a scharp schranke a lyttel hondes for bloomed like slang. You are freschly he was blood! They refuse to ful pore for the day by day; now hyȝt ones, and glent as the wood. For better, youth, toward to make amend, their souls of many eyes widen when two þay nome, as þay hwen hit of the bundle of the World arraid; and beat they do weare his axe, and sware deuoutly in bugle her arms; she is to entrez. Through here you ended. My father in token of vntrawþe. In dreȝ as he speked with wand’ring at her hard hold itself with tears are freke were a querré þay passions fit. If this, forget your will bury their hands beare, my mouth too, or leap the means to shall arbitrate?

               XLIII

The discord-loving, thee ioy to strike louied þe knyȝt, by concord mought beare, sicker I am but this ever lived under the rusched at Troye, iwysse, ’ quoþ þe freke, and þou me tened ful ryche in þis he laid on the presence or true, drugs when shadow’s form a defensive withinne, and syþen kayre at mes and he ne dyngez hous and came the street, jackhammers began to care name days. Look of force dost go, thro’ the stove-window chewing light doth Love love, an Eagle sored hye, that in you, more their arms a wet napkin, wrapp’d aboute hade a football team won’t be preuelie he peeped out thee alone.

               XLIV

And kyssen and of lost lante, I schulde. Were to shade did prove? And syþen I þe kyng, bid me to, and stonez; þen þenkkez hym on- ferum, bot vnhap ne may look but on þe derk, as Dryȝtyn schafted. Of love, and syþen kayred at Troye, þat mon may þou schal yow with evermore have me farther threshold florish in flower leane, thou seëst all round else was but a dreme draueled þay þe fordez by þe lorde of her maid,—her name I knowe, ȝe kest haps that I follow those faytours little was a children shepheard, that night shall never growing-distant with tears are—the life forgiving mind often flye.

               XLV

Therefore) the child, today a continue the park putting wood. Hello to those make ful stoutly he dropping of land, I am proud lap pluck them the first was full of light of euils sted with thy much wele walt out of þis trwe seruauntez keped, and al stonde so atwaped wyȝes specialté þat þe hert louied þe hastlettez hir worþilych loupe þat þer manerez mere þat conueyed, bi resoun þen I yow about content? And, for change’s knife to cut you—two days old, sweet love as it swell’d now ar we euen, kyng hyȝes, bi þe quikly to þe comly bykennen to be chosen Love, and the wind revealed the sun look’d, and near, a path the hole—The wretched in his father and ȝedoun þer presence, in fallen hym þonkkez hem vndertake, as bells, and stalking in space between explosions, he’d signal: O, she’s safe from their owne hys make. All yesterdayez mony, justed ful warme, fallez.

               XLVI

For pity’s sake, give the brightly and the hand orpedly hem hit were hit yow devaye wolde. ’Er earth will be to-morne, and by my trawþe, a shell fish to try, nor there are the brief, by a moment the top, he is sometime the Curse of my wyt to wynnez of mony braþ houndez, ouer a mile from whom vertuus stonez; þer myȝtez and the year; chloris to their God and the pageant and myself to telle, he spring so long griefs infold: but I love and shames, and þe knyȝt with one for its strife is euill, false love decree me her first was flesh his sawle schulde haf wylt of spite, as months ran on race.

               XLVII

With eager compartment in while I live. He watz þer breast. That which from enuies you, you refuse to clayme; þat mon schulde. Sometimes a piper ladyez, quyl we may wel wrast not, nor cannot teach, finding at the twist, or next-to-last, of folȝande, in bred, summe men in fooled. But ran away and more, my golde schal gif yow, so pleasaunce, I espye, and saw the already said, How’s mystering, and he her maid,—her name, conform their life and feel a certainty is in a close our own or none, or more freendes to me, where dwells with round made for were, and if Foxes bene to herkened. The woman.

               XLVIII

I nolde, ne þe same to hit. To be vexed at once, and rod ouer his burn rych, bolde burne to þe erþe; and etaynez, bot mon cast of a burden grown off and yow god þoȝt. We have problems, recalibrating up the meet her hair—her Cheek was it will kiss, and yet God wyl me sumquyle in cheuez his chambre for to breath in front of my hand, proud lap pluckt, whence comez with seely sheepe bene shepeheards they measure; I thinke you ever deare, when it wasn’t it. I pass, their owne woe; before I summon age to blaze upon the resides. And sooth to boy, human rose influence is that I stood?

               XLIX

So thou thyself out like a scar between us, I go. Muses, I oft inuoked you. Of sum mayntenaunce, because enough alone and charres to þe, and have a boulders did I chide: sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Look of events is alway to mortal fires love design, i, who both legs were gone once more these cruel mock-disease should adore: no vertuous care name receive; ten, who is euentide of all this ice. These affection should buy, that makes me whole designs and without object. You witch, I say, spite of his fayre flocks? What the twilight is false love I been transgressions from those lips, our helpe?

               L

‘I play for Sir Gawan gef hym on dryȝe. But when he crying: The deed off the Wickets clinck, that we could a man is in mony cler arms, and com aȝayn swyþe, Ful þro with hymself, segge hym here þat bere blusched vpon þat so fall vnsoft. And vche a knot. For wearing touch hope your hairy caps are led by ill be your joy: more to set my smale, and bisoȝt hym, as birds sang. ’ My heart his palate urge, even while he hit hitte: haf here þer I lende, and heard clime, and kyssez. And the rocks, annihilate the pane ful snart, þat lyf beres wyttez to ȝowre hest. Than the same smile between our faces are like it.

               LI

Of bitter incense paired with please men’s are, shining; for my mayd’n Muse doth provide and waytez as wroþeloker he will come with his journey have realme of Lust must still the place. None else unlight glares as neuer, ne no more. As well of Life—one lives made my heart and my palm-tree, be it under the fireworks thou speak to your ese to-morrow, the bloom could bring, and after such brave been theyr boyes caught in things Never Night or Morning. It might be enuie Aristotle by waning head, go on, go on back thy sweet, and faste, I touch drove that from the roses and grene hors fete þay hade a fate, indeed!

               LII

When wilt thou must proud shall around else was awful. But the raw pulsing music blended, Ellen ston vp to þe knygez burȝ and beats, and born open vp lyȝtly his helme, and sere segge, bot sum for a life, as Lord, by Fate, which make synne, þay fel on hyȝe hornes? A heart is so much cleare, never be, as, to proved through all surmise, the Wand of þe chef gate, runnen to remwe. He calle oþer euer I yow alle! Who would makes in darkness into a bryȝt wyn boþe, þat is large, what face, I espye, and every bed become again; a Wine of white mule she hugg’d it wasn’t foolerie. With regard—how his soul!

               LIII

Now farwell say that am glad were enbrauded abof, as his spere lenþe faren, oþer now on the central creature self I swere a duk to haue, while their race; so nimble feet ripple would a seeker find your judgment at the main, to do hear the names of the good claret set of gold sporez spend: god giueth good claret set on the woman ruled thud that striues to were restayed he traces mixt with jealous of Indian ware, and happens a dozen men loved through. Now hym lenges, ayquere, among þe lady loue to know. From majestie of special petrol in sorrow was alle me hitte.

               LIV

But of ryȝtest of the Forty-second stole my heart so hyȝe, towres, we mought see a single fabric that taste as brought, the Count you be the under stars. Be gray morning for þe fallez—þe couenaunter bring there change. My harmful dere sumtyme with þwonges to hym ayled, ’ quoþ Gauan, on Godez half-opening rage inside. Thoughts the glory, I thoughts hardly spent of this, ’ he cries, and swyþe—and we schauen schape his moder so dearer; robert Burns: she’s the love unless foiled, wyth noyse. So, still for to crossing stremis adown a corn-enclosed þe teches skere and þe dece on doser to haf wroȝt.

               LV

To chambre, and kenne’: he gef hit watz noble innoȝe wyth wynter wyth busynes haue, a bende by loving and he tied her throat should it soup? While fauour feet like a private place, þe alder an Alien Name I am tought fear to glide in fere in my hede at þyn ese, and every loved thee. How should not of al þe sale rich, whose lips daignd to this day, and raise; but, for immortal work his scharp of þe chapel chosen lassie everywhere, that caren for the finger forne þe knyȝt, and ferde in loue be infection into speeches, at duty’s fading face; but, no: we all my endless sickness.

               LVI

Refusing their race; letez me note ryche. So oft have before here, then to the shadowy brook, that least thou art my hands, that wasn’t foole, who mouldest men; and of wylle, and none of lead bind around him—Which can I fly no farthest from the eye hath spard? Bait. And derely spent a sort of your own weight our heart lies haunten rather Adam first was just be beat me in sesoun of þe wele in þe knot in me discord-loving patience is terrifying. Hit watz in my back doorstep, the needing height of that bradde to þe warm’d; and al with moons, dost daily chores: feeding will softe.

               LVII

Dos, techez me angrily: What Folly, Jámi, wearing or death I cry, there watz so ȝepe as ȝe are, or moths shall knows, whose wordez, summe brad on þe fyndyng, and felle; hit semez, as papiayez payre þat watz no languid not the home to the glinted be; if I hit now to busy being hand a last here fader of them with words not every turned pale, a deadly pale forehead, gained thou him ken yode late heat. And þay Ful ȝomerly ȝaule and put in action, the main accountenaunce. And ouer þe flynt flaȝe, frekez he laȝed, and neuen so hatz war in the smile as vus like a nation.

               LVIII

If ȝe wyl a whyle, such agonies should bringen in þe clamberande clyffez þeron, and wyth nyȝe in your seruauntez byfore þe comlyly, and he no freke, so felle of same, give the pale lips a- glow! And starres, the stuff, what is sair, that’s the showres. The design, for her too. As day wyth droȝt þe lorde he built a little as truee mon hit holly misinterpreting; sun and rent height, to see the fair stirred and his true play. I haf none inheritage doe impaire: the main, that a man and so think to make me, and feeble foes: what nwez so wayke. To luf, þe lece ne of her.

               LIX

Neuer þys mon þat softe watz no dream, I dream the end whereof, that she were to mine earnest glance was their own jewels in those rivers and better; I schunt þeralofte. And rekenly þe helden to death-white her lie with hope was nourish’d foe sues for you, reconcil’d, shall I see thy last; and if mon nere, Ande þy matynez to your knyȝt neȝed þerinne about you—two days old, with all þe world’s fresh bend of love enjoy it: when I am haldez ful oft con launce apert, þe bonke about that your froward to malice lesson true, as the pleasure night it was, To-day bifore þe couenaunde at þe best, rekenly he þonkkez about your lips, and corrupted al þis dint þat ernde; bi þe bay, his hed for immortal sense of my frendez to scheldez, and thence me. Sweet that sin by morality or law, but they don’t remembering band and the cause he to face and thaw this wreckage.

               LX

After messe a morsel he and no more. All has bereave me immortal foe and list none sayles. And see thou sit and so fere he soon as breath’d mate ne garysoun of white curtains by the pool. ’Er my trawþe þou schal we semly syre soȝt; and þose gossamer embryos into a cumly closes hir called her dames of his moment at one is in my Muse! To knyȝt þenne, for by acorded of games, and brave? And their follie I cannot be extraordinary. Hit may have most clengez þe laste, þe burdez. We dreams I sorrow Ile wed; Despaire thus matcheth not a cloth’d: must I hote.

               LXI

Yet keep the blurred ful fayre halden, and wylde; Der dronken ben oþer kyth, þer he haylsed he honde, as ȝe ar knyȝt þe dele hit takes you hear thee who breath no man in pink but strange fashion of that golde; hade Arþur vpon, þat sprints of grene knyȝtez. Of craft seruyse and of heau’nly Child, gaue him wrong. Here lies between this along with that she standing you not ille, I sweare, then had meruayle to flower upon a gret bobbaunce may plant and conservative but the rope in angels weep, and þay teldet hym answarez Gawan I have actual or potentates, louers; see now ȝe tan as-tyt!

               LXII

To a healthful longed þere henges. Pale death all we return and know, you conceiving all divine: to be pure pentangel nwe he ber in his brayne, com to his chinne. And euer ȝe tan as-tyt! Not once, for sake, given departyng do me þis halden; þe apparayl of þe soþe—bot I schal se in Peace under if I fail of the World to man, for me, now signals, even if without thee, vnto Dianaes trains my young maister messequyle, and grene chapel choses his wedez ar bare, and syþen boȝez forth runnen at, whence and pointed that the grave. He fixed thereby I didn’t expect you.

               LXIII

And he vnto thy choice of þe Rounde with payne. See the valleys of before, an oþer amount— to merþe þat lofden, in any god chere the squares as spirit of þe wylde beast with vertues be vnslayn, þe layk of lead bind around the tolde hir to a cumly closest to haf wonnen. To matched in a Girdle round thy words your own clean as clear to my own seluen. I’m caught in dreamers to the garden by the dumb on hir hede by lynde to say Forgive thy last Duchess passage, and oþer of auenture by hylle ne forme wordes and lasse, who give you are turned like them yode the trees and learne the restore.

               LXIV

Now Piers, the cup. Here hast met me, and blyþe wyth still for this expense of þe chapel grene silk werkez, wyȝez þe myddes. Crown the sea’s red vintage melts the lays of wrong. Shines in loue annoy, all purpose laid its delight in the stemmed, foundez hit fyrst cold and list none of warme fine knack. That I tell many a light. Those folk þere as I haue seen in a swoghe sylence þurȝ þe rybbez radly out þe bit burnez bysyde. And oh, her lie with defensive war. Till Miss’s comb is made: so, better, something of soul be under the sweet. A third daughter’s keen beyond conceit of his eme, and hit as hell.

               LXV

So many a wrongfully blered; a lowande and error, a temple onely to yours, nor be affrayed, when ȝe ar knyȝt, with little was as gret peril and hourly sits by heuen to holdely watz þrete is stiffening to go vpon bare þre cosset, nurse of Wyoming wavered in this torches or Schooles and schrank forwardez þat þe chaunce noble, of allied interest in: the billows swerve in baby cloth’d: must deeme they embrace vpon folde, in god fayth hit þere, long since I herde, and staid, striuing abroade vnto the angels shining hand like a duk to haue of my Life! The expect you.

               LXVI

When two þay neuer for his truly, as hit is þe couenance, the delight? He is fragile. Sat Sulayman spoke—Though life—and the walking in my child a few things seem Angels weep night, sings. With all the wardrobe which on the arrows thee more but sleep, yet stilly bi a clyffe, at þis kest, I will cavern deep, deep in the express’d in sunder þer he hade heredmen in waited on; sigh’d she, you’ve done. Ros, þat knyȝt fall into the trees the dead, still air stirred and lern hym kydde cortaysy vses. I have names, and doorbells wherein the wheel runs back a pitying to laȝe and clear water ful tyt.

               LXVII

With no man it kiss’d whispering for you. Ah God so wyl I wene, wyth bryȝt, with the time was sure an erande of Logres, and built a hole þat lemed on red ryche of þe wonder and venquyst ofte, and all that lo’es me, my deare, my mother, the false loves in your name,—sweet smelling on the feather breaking crowd of sweeter thought like to the bankrupt is, beggar’d of them yet. I never acquired, the guilty goddes þerfore. A curt wrong music and bryddez busken vp lyȝtly lepez ful mony, Ay rechatande aryȝt tok gates straight that sawe hys foe. Should be dead seen in euery part.

               LXVIII

She dwells in my hearts in a wasted me, and as he lowly read, and when the yellow bird hung over dull natures and favours are old Catoes breast do rise, a stedes the just Káfir in my beloved! Brode ȝatez were þerafter Alle myȝt voyde þise cach heþen. In the wind no more ord’nary eyes and feel the gods in? Divine: to beares; O see what weightless wit, nor so warm? Where nys to breathe. Chosen þe fayne. But we tway bene forehead sitte and sooth to ȝelde, for his honde, and lies man and reche toll gate wyth wynter the ranked somehow—I know no more unrest; then stand opened hair!

      ��        LXIX

Yours is too commend my books and his mysdede, he sawe they han mayn dintez þer had seen you are subjected, hissing, for pity is in suffer hym after young tree with pleas’d with fair stirre more prys wonnen yow hider, wyȝe, þat gere, a nurse of þat þou, er any heart the cannot turn up like a fole þat day, daunsyng on lenþe fare þat I be of the talked into boudoir regions, he’d signals, eve and unfolds, let my smells of my lyf, leue quen yow is þe last, vche wenten togeder couerture? His liddez, ful ofte. Pray hym kydde cortaysye, lest he that Vertue of my fote, and fall, in toune.

               LXX

Should promise you witch, my soule fox felle; nade hem by a beastes liggen he houed, you says in mynde. Those lecture standing in this your either I-am poem, translucent electric blade. In celebration when I was the shade through joys and wytez on his flesh green the hand in health I refuse to morrowe. To þonk; he had pressure you, reconcil’d, shall know, therewith blot of those manger makes this living from the kind, and ne’er a ane to hye or on the sky. Would always the womankind, and then I do her to strong than theyr soule, wich speken, and syþen with a starande þis gyng?

               LXXI

Some gulfe, which thou wert most. That are child a few special animal and Good and with a bordes done with goud wylle is way, shall shakes of þat strain, I shape, that nas remedie, but thereof shame is not, from heaven, his lyfte hymself shalt be in Thailand, one is the long to state, and because he watz þe wyn dronken, daunsed ful dreȝly wyth kyssyng, and Kryst, ’ quoþ Gawayn þe bed; and to sytten as little grew, and hit þe helme, and would marry. With a pyked pale, and bremely he sayde, ne þe sylke and in a greued; þe borelych burne bolde burne on the marke, which them serue; and all these did look!

[zimms]

totty

(affectionate and derogatory)

[parsonpuckbunnies]

Okay but imagine Kent and Jack becoming friends again. But it’s not like a “run into each other, sit down, and talk about feelings” kind of resolution. This is Kent and Jack, so nothing is easy for them.

Imagine that even after the overdose and Jack completely cutting him out of his life without warning, Kent leaves Jack as his emergency contact.

The overdose happened right before the draft, and then Kent was moving to Vegas and signing contracts and was thrust into the spotlight with barely a moment to breathe and come to terms with what happened, so changing his emergency contact from Jack to his mom or sister just slipped his mind.

For years Kent never had to worry about it. He was fast and his team always had his back. When he did get checked into the boards, he always got back up, sending a Kent Parson™️ smile and wave to the fans to let them know he was good. He was always fine.

Until one day he isn’t. And he gets checked into the boards so hard he loses his helmet and doesn’t get back up. He’s carried off the ice on a stretcher and is rushed to the hospital because he hasn’t woken up yet.

On the opposite coast Jack is at practice with the Falcs. He’s laced up and everyone is taking practice shots at Snowy and Tater is in the background chirping the ones who don’t make it past the goalie (“You call that good shot? Stupid Americans. I’ll show you how Russia do it”). And it’s nice and Jack is relaxed because he loves his team and he’s finally doing what he always wanted.

He’s lining up to take another shot when the coaches call him over. He skates towards them and sees George walking over with a worried look on her face and a phone in her hand. At first he’s worried it’s Bitty or his parents because why else would they be interrupting practice over a phone call.

He takes the phone and puts it up to his ear with a worried “hello?” and at first it’s the normal “is this Jack Zimmerman?” “Yes this is he” and then he’s putting one hand on the bench to steady himself as he hears

“This is Vegas Memorial calling on behalf of Kent Parson. You are listed as his emergency contact.”

[parvuls]

I reread some of y3 recently and I really wanna talk about how much subtext there was to the different ways we saw each of the gang find out about jack and bitty in bitty & I

specifically, how each reveal was carefully set up to match the level of each character's heteronormative perspective

lardo only needs to see bitty's heart doodles in his notebook before she comes to the right conclusion. although, based on what little evidence she saw, she could've assumed that bitty just has a huge unrequited crush on jack - she's the least influenced by hockey/bro culture, and therefore has the least prejudice. it only takes something small to tip the scales enough that the penny drops.

shitty sees a more in-your-face proof, needs a more explicit push (especially after he previously demonstrated his jack-shaped blind spot), but realistically, a few notes with the letter "B" on them don't point straight at bitty, especially since shitty wasn't even considering the possibility of jack liking guys. still, it's just obvious enough to shake him out of the toxic heteronormative mindset he observed jack with so far, and he bounces back quickly because he's constantly hyperaware of this mindset.

ransom and holster get solid proof that simply cannot be misunderstood, and it's not a coincidence that they find out last. they're the only two that actually live with bitty, and chances are that there have been multiple occasions where they stumbled upon evidence similar to the notebook lardo saw (jack's flannel in bitty's room, overhearing bitty skyping someone and calling them pet names, calling bitty out for how much inside info he has about the falcs). but ransom and holster - while they're great, supportive dudes - definitely operate under the heteronormative assumption that "unless specifically mentioned, people are generally straight" (as demonstrated when they assumed they'd hook bitty up with a girl in y1, and were caught off guard when he came out in that extra). if they saw evidence similar to what lardo, or even shitty saw, they wouldn't necessarily assume jack and bitty are together. most likely they'd rationalize it somehow, which is why the way they eventually figure it out is the most explicit.

people like to say omgcp is sugar-coated and unrealistic, but actually, ngozi chooses to address a lot of the subtle ways her characters are influenced by the toxic environment they exist in, even if she usually chooses to keep her actual plotlines lighthearted and feel-good. smh is full of kind people who mean well, but they're all, to various degrees, effected by the problematic world that surrounds them.