hes a god basically

6

Dale Cooper + Disheveled Hair

rei-pinto  asked:

what if white ink just makes him emotionless and extremelly rational

that too! or it just straight up makes him feel devoid of like any kind of emotion in general. not necessarily rational just straight up apethetic.

A little AU meet-cute based on @billypoindexter‘s prompt (someone else may have already done it, but I haven’t written any zimbits in forever):

So I was watching Say Yes to the Dress yesterday and Corbin Bleu and his fiancé (now wife) Sasha Clements were on it and when they asked how they met Sasha said they met in a grocery store and she kind of recognized him, and figured he was an acquaintance whose name she had forgotten. So she goes “Hey!! How are you?” and they chat for a bit before she realizes that she knows him because he’s famous.


Bitty was rounding the end of the cereal aisle, rechecking the grocery list to see if he’d gotten everything and wondering what was wrong with the state of public education in New England that none of his roommates had apparently learned basic penmanship, when he ran into someone.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” he exclaimed, and suppressed the wince as his accent reflexively came out full force. (It was partly the apologizing, and partly that he’d learned people were more forgiving if they thought he wasn’t from ’round here. He’d decided to embrace it; if he couldn’t get rid of the accent, it might as well be good for something.)

“No, no problem,” said the person, and then Bitty actually looked at him and felt that familiar terror of countless small-town grocery runs with his mother, where they ran into someone that he knew he was supposed to know, but could not place for the life of him, let alone remember an actual name.

“Well, hey!” he exclaimed, racking his brain frantically for the reason this guy looked so familiar. Surely he’d remember someone who looked like that. Lord. There was nothing, though, so he let autopilot take over. “How have you been?”

Tall, Dark, and Handsome blinked at him. (How could Bitty have forgotten eyes that blue? What even was wrong with him today? This was ridiculous.) “Uh, okay, actually. Yup. Everything going well.”

“Well, that’s great!” Bitty glanced at his list again. “Hey, can you read this? I genuinely can’t tell if this is supposed to be English.”

The guy obligingly took the paper from him and squinted at it. “Provolone, I think.”

Bitty took the list back and stared at it for a second. “I think you’re right. Honestly, Holster.”

“I was just heading toward the deli myself.”

“How perfect! I really kind of hate shopping by myself? But this was just supposed to be a quick in and out, or at least it was until I realized I apparently live with chickens in human guise who never learned to write properly.”

By the time Bitty and The Guy checked out and parted ways half an hour later, Bitty still hadn’t recalled his name, and by then it was clearly too late to admit it.

Oh well, he’d probably remember later, when he was trying to fall asleep.

~*~*~*~

“You know,” he called pointedly from the kitchen, “y’all could make yourselves useful and help me put all these things away.”

“Yes! Bro! Did you see that pass?” Holster yelled instead.

“Beauty,” Ransom answered, and then there was the sound of a high-five.

Bitty sighed and stuck his head around the corner to see what they were yelling about now.

SportsCenter, as usual, was on, playing highlights from the Falconers’ game the night before. As Bitty watched, it switched from the on-ice play to an intermission interview.

An intermission interview. With the guy from the grocery store.

Jack Zimmermann.

“Oh my god,” Bitty said for the second time that day, hands to his cheeks, which were indeed burning up.

Holster looked over at him in concern. “Bits? What’s wrong? Why do you look like a tomato?”

“I just spent half an hour casually grocery shopping with Jack fucking Zimmermann because I thought he looked familiar and I didn’t want to admit I couldn’t place him. Oh my god, I could just die.”

Ransom and Holster exchanged glances and then they were on him. “No shit! What’s he like? What did he buy? Tell us everything!”

“I can never shop there again,” Bitty said faintly.

3

I woulda given you the news but, y’know, you kinda made it clear you didn’t want to hear from me, so . . . 

What remains once the war is won?

Fame.
Songs.
A kingdom of corpses.
His name too heavy in my mouth.

What do we become in death?

Shadows.
Longing.
Regret,
regret,
regret.

What do we keep once we are ghosts?

The blood under my fingernails.
His crooked teeth.
Searching for happiness in the threads of his hands.
A love that burned alive.
A love that is still bursting in my hollow chest.
A love that was never enough.

What do you do when you’re alone in the darkness?

Wait for him,
I’ll wait forever if I must.

Were you ever able to name one hero who was happy?

No.

—  Emily Palermo, He Is Half My Soul

weird how good kid from the lightning thief musical captures percy’s insecurities and how much he feels like a burden better than the whole movie series

8

She’s your responsibility now.

the best story i think i’ve ever heard at a party was from this ex-Lutheran who was absolutely shitfaced and told us all about the origins of Lutherism bc it’s so??? incredible??? apparently martin luther was this like twenty-one year old college student and atheist (of course) and he’s walking home during this thunderstorm, just soaking wet, miserable, probably cussing out the god he supposedly doesn’t believe in, and he gets struck by lightning, which, obviously, sucks. he’s probably pissed as hell because he’s miraculously alive but also probably in a lot of pain, probably cursing god’s name yet again, and he gets struck by lightning a second time like??? What the fuck!!! how unlucky is that!! and so now he’s running for a forest to hide underneath the trees, once again furious at god, and he gets struck by lightning for the third time!!! so he finally makes it to the trees, probably crispy as hell, exhausted and in pain and he drops to his knees and says basically “god, please, for fucks sake, stop hitting me with lightning. I swear if you leave me alone i’ll go to a monastery and become a monk and re-invent this religion i guess but please just leave me alone” and he’s not struck by lightning again so he becomes a monk like??? i’m not Lutheran so i don’t know how accurate this drunk re-telling is but i believe it whole-heartedly and have gained a healthy respect for the wrath of god