Whiskey, my man!! My tadpole!! If you don't vote for Bitty and he doesn't become captain, and this goes for every single one of you tiny human beings, I will make it my mission to destroy your life.
Anyway who wants some leftover pie that Bitty made for us because he's perfect and deserves to be captain?
When Bitty returned to the Haus, eyes sore from crying and cheeks aching from smiling, he started at the sight of a familiar car parked outside.
Wordlessly, he turned to Ransom, who smirked at him. “I’ll hold your plaque,” he said, far too innocently.
With a small gasp, Bitty shoved the award into Ransom’s hands and darted towards the front door, barreling into the entryway like a man possessed. He looked around wildly, until he noticed the shadow moving within the kitchen.
When Bitty poked his head into the room, he did indeed find Jack Zimmermann leaning against the counter, checking his phone. The moment he saw Bitty, Jack straightened up and tucked his phone away, holding his arms outstretched.
Holding back a childish squeal, Bitty launched himself at Jack, wrapping arms and legs around his boyfriend as tight as he could. Jack laughed and held him up, letting Bitty pepper kisses across the side of his face.
“I got the C!” Bitty shouted, wiggling a little. “I got the C!”
“Congrats, bud,” Jack said softly. “Knew you had it in you.”
“Unanimous, Jack,” Bitty said, pressing their foreheads together. “Just like you.”
“Better than me,” Jack said automatically. “But, yeah. I’m so proud of you.”
Bitty melted against him, so happy he thought his heart might jump straight ouf of his chest. “Thanks, baby. This is…this is so much. I- I gotta call Mama!”
Jack laughed harder as Bitty tried to slip from his grasp, just holding him closer. “In a minute, Bits. Just…stop for a minute. Let it all soak in. Be proud of yourself, you’ve come so far.”
Bitty sighed, half in exasperation, half in contentment, and let Jack set him down on the counter. “I am,” he whispered. “I…I just love everyone so much.”
“And they love you,” Jack said, resting his hands on Bitty’s hips. “More than you’ll ever realize.”
“Look at us,” Bitty said with a goofy grin. “The only two unanimously voted captains of the Samwell hockey team. We could be the start a dynasty.“
Jack barked with laughter, head tilted back, and he shook his head in amusement. “We sure could, Bits. We sure could.”
stop making bitty ride the amtrak to pvd…the boy works hard…he is tired…stop making him take 2+ hrs of public transit to get laid. let bitty use jack’s uber account like any good pro athlete’s booty call/love of their life
Jack knew something wasn’t right when he woke up. The covers were too
hot on him and his head was pounding like he’d been drinking too much
the night before. He shifted, trying to get his bearings, but at some
point during the night, he must have pulled the covers over his head. He
struggled free, enjoying the fresh air, before noticing a pair of paws on the bed. When he moved
his arms, the paws moved too. What followed next was a confusing jumble
of panic and incoherent screaming that came out as yowls.
must have passed out again, because when he came to, he was still
disoriented and nauseous. He confirmed that, no, it had not been a bad
dream. Somehow, he’d grown four legs and a tail overnight.
After the initial panic, he jumped on his bedside table where his phone was,
but he was uncoordinated, and ended up knocking the phone to the ground.
He batted at it on the floor, but found that the battery had drained
itself overnight when he’d forgotten to charge it.
Cursing and swearing to
himself, he wandered his apartment on shaky legs.
Thankfully, he hadn’t quite turned off the tap in the bathroom and the
dripping of the faucet helped to parch his thirst as he tried to think
of what try next. He needed to get help soon. Otherwise, he was going to
end up starving to death in his own apartment.
In the living
room, Jack found a window that he’d left open because it had been too
hot last night. He squeezed out onto the fire escape and tried not to
look down. It was strange in this body. Jack never had an issue with
heights before, but now, a glance downward to the street had his head
spinning with vertigo.
Left with no choice, Jack began to climb upward with the dim hope that someone had also left a window open.
didn’t get too far before the enticing smell of spices and baked dough
reminded him how hungry he was. He followed the smell until he staring
into a kitchen where someone was bent over, pulling pies from an oven.
Jack called out for the guy’s attention, and when he finally glanced in
Jack’s direction, he scrambled to open the window.
kitty. What are you doing so high up?” he asked. Jack stiffened when the
guy picked him up, but he let himself get rescued from the precarious
ledge. “Where did you come from?”
Help me! I’m not really a cat! Jack tried to say, but as expected, it came out in a series of pitched meows.
okay. You hungry?” He set Jack on the floor to rummage around in his
fridge. He set out a plate of leftover meatballs which Jack, losing his
composure, attacked immediately.
“I’ll take care of you.
Don’t worry, little–uh– guy?” He attempted to lift Jack’s tail to
check, but Jack had hissed and swiped his claws. “Okay, never mind.
We’re not going there,” he said backing off. Satisfied, Jack continued
to eat, though with a suspicious eye on the guy who’d now dropped onto
his stomach to watch Jack with a bright smile.
Shitty borrows Jack’s computer sometimes, that’s nothing new. What’s new is the untitled folder just sitting on his desktop. It can’t be porn. He set up Jack’s porn folder himself. So, he knows it isn’t porn. But who keeps an untitled folder on their desktop?
Jack. Jack Zimmermann keeps an untitled folder on his desktop. An untitled folder filled with pictures and iMessage screenshots of conversations with Bitty. The pictures are mostly of Bitty, though some group shots of SMH and some others are thrown in as well. He has pictures of Bitty baking in the Haus, of Bitty walking across campus completely oblivious to the camera pointed at him, of Bitty doubled over laughing on Jack’s couch. Very rarely does Bitty seem to be aware that he’s being photographed, and yet the lighting is perfect, a calm sort of happiness seems to be radiating off of him. None of them are dated, none of them are titled. Each photo holds a memory of a person in love.
For the first time, Shitty realizes this is exactly how Jack sees Bitty all the time. Like he’s the most precious thing in existence
Does Ellen have an equivalent to “Oprah’s Favorite Things?” Let’s say she does, and lets say that she has Tater and Jack on her show for XYZ Reason (perhaps they win the Stanley Cup?).
The boys are asked the standard hockey questions which means they get asked, about their pre-game rituals (I know almost nothing about hockey so I am going to pretend this is a standard question) and Tater starts gushing about how Jack had introduced the team-wide pre-game PB&J ritual, the success of which stems from his connection to the best jam known to man. Tater maybe even goes so far as to say that this jam had no small part in getting them to (and through) that final game.
It might even go as far as a cooking segment where Jack and Tater walk Ellen through the sacred PB&J ritual and RIP Bitty when Ellen pretty much starts crying over how good the jam is on National Television.
There may or may not be a “Look under your seat for your own personal jar!” moment, where some audience members in awe of such an Emotional Response to food, crack those suckers open right then and there for a taste. A fight over a jar of strawberry may or may not happen in Aisle 8.
And there may be a moment a day later when Bitty has a minor meltdown because his phone keeps crashing with Twitter/Instagram DMs for jam orders.
And thus the first brick of Eric Richard Bittle’s Food Empire is laid.