Tag: jack/bitty

garden-of-succulents:

garden-of-succulents:

In today’s Picarto stream, someone made a joke about Bitty being asked by his Youtube followers to play Fuck, Marry, Kill with the Providence Falconers. Merry speculation ensued.

(Elsewhere, meanwhile, sylviarachel commented, “I am imagining Bitty’s vlog followers being like, Poor Bitty’s boyfriend, it must be hard to be dating someone who has such a massive crush on someone else, especially if the someone else is gorgeous and rich and famous”)

Then Ngozi, who is wonderful, made a joke about Jack watching the video and sweating nervously, going, “I hope I get picked -.- I wonder who it will be” like a giant dingus who just worries and is insecure sometimes. Which was SO ADORABLE.

CAN I PLS SEE THESE THINGS IN FANFIC???

“Oh, lord,” Eric groaned. He bit his lip as he read through the three paper slips again, then threw himself back onto the coverlet in frustration. Little jump-cuts gave the sense of time passing, of the agitation the decision caused him. “I love all these guys–” he said, then threw himself backwards again. After wrinkling his brow and shuffling through them a little more, he finally came back and settled himself crosslegged on his bed, facing the camera.

“This one,” he said, holding up one paper slip, “is a fine man, and a fine hockey player. And he said some very nice things about my pie. But there are some things I can’t abide, and let me tell you a secret: Jonathan Nowicki cheers for the New England Patriots.”

“So that’s a kill,” he said, throwing Snowy’s slip over his shoulder.

More thought.

“Now, there are pros and cons on both sides here,” he said, flipping between papers. “Randall Robinson is an excellent family man. He’s proven time and again that he is dedicated to nothing more than being a husband–even the team that has his number-one loyalty knows that if his girls call, they come first. And I have got to say, I really admire that. But, you know… I’m not a homewrecker. I can’t break that up. If his wife would ever let it happen–not that she would, and if Carrie asks please let her know this excercise is strictly hypothetical–and if he ever asks, this is just for the sake of followers and subscriptions like the soulless Youtube shill y’all know I am, I hope he understands–then yeah, I’d fuck Thirdy.”

One slip left. Eric pursed his lips softly.

“You know, marriage is a serious business. It’s not just being in love. It’s loving someone and knowing that you can live your life with them. I mean, what if you find somebody hot and all, but they can’t stand you blasting Katy Perry during your morning shower? What if they don’t understand the importance of pie?”

He tapped his lips thoughtfully with the last piece of paper, having worked it into a roll with nervous fingers while he talked.

“I mean, it’s easy to say, ‘Yeah, of course, I’ve lived with a guy, we prob’ly won’t kill each other, let’s get married.’ But here’s the thing. I’m rememberin’ this time. It was, oh, year and a half ago now. There was a big snowstorm, left three feet of snow on the ground. Campus shut down, couple houses in town without power. I’m stayin’ at home, hiding under my blankets. And this guy comes back and goes, oh, I was just walking all over campus, checking up on everyone in the team and making sure they had power and heat and food and water. I stopped by Stop’n’Shop and picked up some supplies. And hey look, I even bought butter.”

“And that’s when I knew.” Eric smiled, soft and wide. “I would absolutely marry Jack Zimmermann.”