omgittybits:

whiskeytangofrogman:

omgittybits:

The more Jack drinks, the more his accent goes from Letang to Fleury…until he’s just steadily rambling in French and no one in the Haus can understand a word he’s saying.

#this is good #say this is on Jack’s birthday and he’s like #well one drink wont hurt #so he’s not blackout shitshow drunk #he’s just pleasantly buzzed #and at one point he’s just holding on to Bitty and kissing him and saying #‘This is my future husband! he’s but future husband! He’s so beautiful and I’m gonna marry him one day’ #‘he’s the best thing to ever happen to me I want three children with this man and two dogs’ #all in French #and no one in the Haus knows what’s happening #but they take a video #sends it to the group chat #shitty sends it to bad bob because he’s like #‘hey your son is rambling whats he trying to say #and bob is just like #this is the most amazing thing ive ever seen 

@nomorelonelydays has the best tags, bye

“Bro.”

Holster looks up from where he’s flicking through photos.  “What’s up?”

“Bro.”  Ransom elbows him, then nods his head to the ugly orange recliner where Jack has Bittle in his lap.  He’s drunk, swaying a little, a crooked, green, sparkly party had perched sideways on his head, and he’s mumbling into Bitty’s neck.

Bitty’s just laughing and patting him and saying things like, “Okay sweetheart, whatever you say.”

And it’s not like they can pass this moment up, right?  Because it’s Jack and not only will this be years of chirping material–which Holster thinks is only fair coughEstherScough–but also they could probably afford another two recliners with the fines they can charge when Jack’s sober.

So.

Holster fires up the camera and steps closer, only to sigh because Jack’s at the drunk stage where he’s not even speaking English anymore.

“Bittle…Je…” *hiccup*  “Je t’aime.  Il…il est…” *hiccup*  He looks up and sees Holster there with the camera.  Bitty’s still engrossed in his conversation with Chowder, but Jack doesn’t seem to care as he grabs Holster’s arm and drags him in closer.  “Tu ne comprends pas!  Tu…ne.  Je l’aime.  Je l’aime,” he lets out a noise suspiciously like a sob, and Holster turns to Ransom.

“Uh…”

Ransom shrugs.

“Il est mon futur mari.  Il est trop beau.”  He lets out a louder sob, releasing Holster’s arm so he can cling to Bitty.  “Mon coeur bat pour lui.”

Bitty finally looks down, shakes his head with a grin, and pets Jack’s hair who goes quiet, smiling as he kisses Bitty’s neck over and over.  

Holster, with wide eyes, turns back to Ransom.  “Did you like…understand any of that?”

Ransom snorts.  “Dude, no.  But you know who Shitty invited to the group chat last week?”

Holster eyes him.  “Oh shit.  Bad Bob.”

Ransom nods.  “Small enough to upload?”

Holster quickly edits the video, then clicks on Bob’s name, and starts up a private chat, typing: ‘Uh so how much chirping material do we have here, Mr Zimmermann?  For science.’

Neither of them expect Bob to be awake, but the message comes in not five minutes later.  ‘Tell Jack I expect invitations by the end of the Hockey season.  This was a true gift.  I’ll get you rink-side seats to any game you want, just say the word, boys.’

The pair look at each other, then Ransom scrambles for his own phone.  “Fuck it. Google translate.”  He types it in as best he can remember, and it pulls up, and the pair stare at each other.

“Bro,” Ransom whispers.

Holster just nods.  “Bro.”

(dedicated to @nomorelonelydays for her tags.  This is all your fault!)