#Because WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING

[evilfloralfoolery]

Daggers and Deception- Part 5

Plotfuckers, ahoy! Shit is about to get weird.

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Three plates of lasagna and barely passable bath later, Grimm has managed to make himself a drowsy mess who doesn't even bother to comb his unruly mane into submission before face-planting on to the spacious bed.  If he'd been poisoned, at least he'd die clean and full. 

The wound has not yet begun to throb at level 10 with his activity level and he takes the opportunity to slip deeper into relaxation, something he hasn't felt in a good three days since the damn shooting fiasco.  What had happened to that asshole, anyway?  Supposedly, Ace had shot him, but no one could find the bastard afterwards.  Blood on concrete with a trail that led to nowhere and an empty jacket at the end of an alleyway was all that had been left.  It was some weird, cryptic shit.  Bleeding men didn’t just vanish into thin air.  He’d had help somehow.  Someone must have been waiting somewhere.  They’d missed it.  And that was probably what bothered Grimm the most.  He didn’t just “miss” things.  Aside from his father, Grimm was possibly the most observant gun-toting asshole out there.  Nothing escaped his scrutiny.  Nothing. 

And then, there was the matter of not finding a weapon at the scene.  Ace claimed he’d shot the guy in the spine, dead center.  Just how he’d held onto a gun, ran, and then consequently escaped didn’t add up.  Maybe Ace should’ve shot him again.

From the opposite end of the bedroom, curtains flitter in the cold night air, but he can't be bothered to get up and close the window just yet.  He'd start sneezing his ass off eventually and that might motivate him to actually do something about it.  Maybe.  For now, he'd deal.  Cold weather may not agree with his sinuses, but it sure agreed with the rest of his body.  Nice not to be basted in sweat for once. 

But the lamp is another story.  The light from beneath the shade is a dull headache instigation and he manages to pull the cord to shut it off before flopping back atop the sheets with a sigh.  It'd be great if his neighbor would play some Beethoven or some shit, but he hasn't heard a peep out of the guy since before his bath.  Either he was off throwing knives at trees again or he'd sneezed himself into a coma or something.  Whatever the reason, it was quiet.  Too damn quiet.

And that shit was making him uneasy.  He reaches for his phone and taps the side, but gets a red flash of a battery light instead.

"Well, fuck you, too," he mumbles. 

Better get up and charge it.  Never know when Max might call for him for whatever reason.  Some rookie might do something stupid.  Or some seasoned professional. 

He struggles into a sitting position and fumbles for the cord on the lamp again, cursing a blue streak when the little fucker decides to break off in his hand instead of turn on the goddamn light. 

Perfect. Dead phone, dead lamp, bum arm.  That oughta make fumbling around in the dark shitloads of fun. 

His fingers find the edge of the mattress as his vision adjusts to the black-as-hell room and he swings his legs over the side, bare feet hitting the wood floor.  One step towards the wall.  The outline of the wingback chair is within reach, the moon finally emerging from behind the clouds to illuminate the room enough for decent sight.

He takes a step towards the armoire near the bedroom door, reaches out into the moonlit darkness and freezes in place. 

Something isn't . . . . something . . .

Just beyond his reach is a slab of darkness, an inky black that's ten times blacker than black should have any business being. Grimm blinks.  Squints into the space.  It's a shadow.  A trick of light.  No?

Mother fucker, it's a person.

His breath catches and he snatches the Glock from the nightstand, aiming it into the darkness with his good arm.

"I don't know who's there, but if you're hurtin' for a bullet in your ass, you're gonna get it.” His voice drops into the lowest end of a serious growl.

Somewhere close to him, the darkness growls back. 

A chill claws its way up his spine.  What in the name of fuck?

"How'd you get in here . . . " Grimm says more to himself than to whoever is lurking there in the damn corner.

Or whatever. 

A low, almost inhumane chuckle echoes from somewhere near the bed now.  Or the armoire.  Or the dresser?  Who the fuck chuckles in stereo like that?  

And that's enough of this shit.

Grimm lunges forward, but meets only empty air as the inky blackness dissipates into nothingness.  Upon the nightstand, the lamp flickers to life and the phone in his back pocket vibrates.

He jerks it out of his pocket and taps the side button, staring when the thing lights up and comes back on.  Full battery power. Like nothing had happened.  

Yeah, no.  Nope. Not today, Satan. 

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he slips his holster over his shoulders so the gun has a better place to rest.  Always felt more comfortable with it that way.  He’s just shoved the 19X into place when a knock at the front door sounds, brisk and insistent.

Goddamn it, he’s way too jumpy for this shit.  And Grimm is never “jumpy.” 

"Calm the fuck down, I'm coming," he barks and stalks down the hall to front door where he takes a moment to peer through the little peephole thing like a smart person. 

Outside in the hallway, his neighbor is waiting sans glasses, his long mane of silver waves spilling over his shoulders, his gaze steady and expectant.  

At midnight.  Okay, then.  

Grimm unlatches the door and cracks it to loosen the useless chain before opening it up. 

Indigo's demeanor is calm, but something in his gaze is sharp and intense, the man's eyes a damn near impossible shade of vibrant aqua. Grimm leans against the door frame and tilts his head.

"Something wrong?"

Indigo glances over his shoulder for a fleeting instant before meeting his gaze.

"Have you left your window open perchance?"

What the fuck kind of question is that?  Grimm scratches the back of his head with his free hand in a lazy rub of fingers.

"I might've," he says.  "What's it to you?"

"The heating unit in this building is quite unstable," Indigo says.  "If it runs all evening due to such a thing, it could pose a fire hazard."

Come the fuck on.

Grimm attempts to fold his arms before realizing his shoulder is gonna fucking scream, which would ruin his tall, imposing judgment pose, but whatever.  He settles for a downward glance and the cocking of an eyebrow instead.

"That's some pretty bullshit you just spouted," he says.  "You wanna tell me why you're really here?"

"The window, Grimm," Indigo says.  "Have you left it unattended?"

Obviously.  It's not like he's standing in front of it all damn day.

"Look," Grimm says.  "I don't know what the fuck your problem is, but---"

Without so much as a word, Indigo barges his way in and walks with a purposeful stride towards his bedroom, leaving Grimm gaping in his wake. Who the hell did this guy think he was?  

"Hey, just a goddamn minute, buddy!"  Grimm storms after him.  Sort of.  It's suddenly really damn difficult to walk, like his feet are anchors instead of flesh and bone. He struggles against what feels like imaginary mud.  Cement.  Some shit.  

Was he high?  No, he hadn’t taken anyth---

“What’d you put in that lasagna, huh??”  

Indigo appears in the hallway near his bedroom, nudging the door shut with his foot.  “If I had the intent to poison or drug you, the effect would have been instant.” 

Calmly.  Like he’s done this crap before or something.  But at least whatever weird struggle he’d been caught up in was over.  Walking was possible now and he wastes no time in stomping over to where Indigo still stands, intending to adopt a hardline stance, but yet again, the bum arm fucks that up.  Hard to look intimidating with your hand on your damn hip. 

“You didn’t come over here to close my fucking window,” Grimm says.

“Except that this is exactly what I have done,” Indigo counters.  

Grimm narrows his eyes before taking a peek inside the bedroom where sure enough, the window is shut, latched, and the curtains are drawn.  

“I suggest you leave it be, lest you burn down the entire estate.”

The guy is telling the truth, but not entirely.  Grimm can feel that much.  His built-in bullshit detector is on high alert, but the half-cocked truth is a pretty good foil.  And what’s more convincing is that Indigo fully believes in the weight of his words.  He could probably pass a polygraph with that kind of steely calm.

“So,” Grimm begins, scratching at the stubble on his chin.  “You knew my window was open and you felt like it was sworn duty to come over here and tell me to close the fucker because the place might go up in flames.”

“Correct,” Indigo says.

“Uh huh.”  Grimm tilts his head.  “And how’d you know my window was open? You can’t see that from your place.”  

“It has been open since this afternoon,” Indigo says. He levels his stare at Grimm with a studious sternness that could rival an FBI agent. “Surely you recall watching me from your vantage point near the edge of the wall.”

Grimm opens his mouth.  Closes it. 

 Well, fuck.  

He didn’t think the guy could see him from all the way up there, much less know what he was looking at.  

“I assumed that no one had told you to close the windows, so I figured I had best tell you myself,” Indigo continues.  “Now, if you will excuse me, the hour has grown late and I must retire.”

“Gonna cartwheel across the yard some more in the morning?”  Grimm says.  “Maybe throw some more knives at shit?”

Indigo’s posture stiffens almost imperceptibly, but his expression betrays nothing.  “Goodnight, Grimm.”  

For a moment, Grimm considers grabbing his upper arm to detain him or at least blocking the door with his body, but Indigo has excused himself already and made it into the hallway before Grimm can so much as blink.  What the ---- he hadn’t even seen the guy move, much less walk the fuck out of the door.

The sound of a creaking door clicking shut followed by the turn of a deadbolt is his only reply.  

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!” Grimm half-shouts into the hallway.

(TBC....)

[krysmcscience]

I have some questions about karaoke night, Alex Hirsch. Very Important Questions. Which I will happily scream at a poor hapless baby triangle who can have no answers for me, and possibly also does not have object permanence yet.

Follow-up that is I guess suggestive, but let's be real here, Bill's a fucking triangle:

Dude slipped right into his birthday suit, lmao

this is so stupid :D

Anyway, I don't care what anyone says, this brilliant individual knows what's up - Bill is absolutely way more of a monsterfucker than Ford could or ever will be, full stop.

[embraceyourdestiny]

to any americans who feel "paralyzed" and "dont know what to do" to help with gaza:

reading a fucking book. i beg of you.

in a time of knowledge suppression is it your duty to arm yourself with knowledge.

read about americas occupations in the middle east.

read about 9/11 from outside of america and see how they inflicted senseless harm and violence to countless amounts of people and have been suppressing your rights for the past 2 fucking decades.

read about any of the countless wars from the past 30 years. especially from a civilian's. and the victims and survivors' perspective. listen to the horror stories and do not plug your fucking ears as to what your country is doing.

and read about fucking gaza and palestine and keep up with what is happening no matter how "sad" or "uncountable" you might get.

dont look away from this.

you dont have the right to be comfortable during countless active genocides.

if you're knowledgeable, you're powerful, and our current state doesnt fucking want that.

you have the power to change things if you open your eyes and scream to the world.

wake the fuck up.

Edit: please check the reblogs there are readings and ways to help

[havenshereagain]

DPxDC Idea

Danny working at Wayne Enterprises as some sort of engineer, uses the in-house app for all his blueprints and stuff

He starts getting notes from a coworker in-app, and assumes its this annoying older guy in his department who constantly undermines him because of his age, despite his education and past achievements (i feel like in this AU the Fentons react well to the reveal and they work together on a number of non-lethal ecto inventions that have Danny's name attached to them)

Except one day his coworker mentions never using the app, and Danny suddenly realizes there's only one other TD he could've been arguing with in the notes of the app

[clownowo]

been replaying the Portal series I think this is where its heading

[amikoroyaiart]

Some 22 and 09 angst doodles

[morganbritton132]

Eddie is trying to get a book off the shelf at the library and Steve is in his way so he just tries to reach around him. Steve interpreted Eddie’s arms reaching around him wrong and hugs him.

They are not friends.

They have literally never talked to each other.

It’s a good hug and Steve pats Eddie on the back afterwards like, “Good talk.”

And then just leaves him there with a crush that is growing.

[o-wild-west-wind]

So uhhhh. This isn’t good.

For context, NIH study sections review and approve grant and fellowship funding for federally funded health and medicine research—aka, most of the health research that’s done in the United States. This includes research funds as well as salaries and funding for student researchers/pre and post docs at most US universities.

If you’re American, PLEASE contact your representatives about this. This has the potential for a devastating impact on health research not just for the US, but for the entire world. I expect we’ll have more information in the morning, but for now, I’d just urge them to do whatever they can to get this reversed ASAP.

[sciderman]

well - webtoons is over, gang

[rocketbirdie]

just move on already.

[irenespring]

Today I would like to shout out that one random Twitter person who made up that JD Vance bragged about fucking a couch.

Imagine making a random shitpost and less than two months later your joke is being used by a major party nominee for Vice President on live television at his introduction rally, earning him thunderous applause.

That poster must be having quite the experience.

[serpentface]

The pylidaigh, a type of vampiric snow ghost, as imagined in folklore in and around the Highlands.

This is a ghost believed to come into being when a person dies in the snow and their body is not found before their soul (still trapped without its funeral rites) 'freezes' inside of it. The body then reanimates into a pylidaigh's twisted form. It looks like someone who slowly died of starvation, just a thin layer of flesh over bones. Its skin is as white as the snow itself, so pale it can blend seamlessly into a blizzard. Most of its body appears subtly stretched and lanky, save for its exceptionally unsubtle long, skinny arms, which drag on the ground behind it when it walks. After a big meal of blood, its belly swells like the abdomen of a tick.

A pylidaigh can only tread across snow and ice, and so doorways and windows are best kept clear of snowfall during the winter in order to prevent it from reaching inside. It mostly comes out to hunt during blizzards when there is little that can prevent it from catching its victims.

In spite of its fragile appearance, a pylidaigh is supernaturally strong, and can run at great speeds when it wants to. No mortal weapons can pierce its body, nor can any bonds known to craftsmen hold it in place. It is usually said that chains forged like iron but made out of ice can bind a pylidaigh and render it immobile, but this smithing technique remains tragically elusive to the average joe.

This ghost is either cast as a wildly dangerous but tragic figure, or one that is more simply malicious. In either case, it is described as experiencing nothing but bitter cold. It shivers endlessly. It retains distant memories of what it was to be alive, and it is motivated by a futile desperation to experience the feeling of warmth again.

In more sympathetic framings, it is described as using its freaky gibbon arms to capture its victims and pull them into an embrace, rather innocently trying to warm itself against their body. This inevitably fails, and the embrace becomes a bone crushing squeeze. When that too fails to warm the ghost, it rips out the person's throat and drinks their blood until the victim is as cold and drained as the pylidaigh itself.

In other cases, this more pitiable narrative of a ghost seeking warmth with no comprehension of its actions is discarded in favor of making it purely monstrous. Here it is a type of vampire with an insatiable thirst, practically a physical manifestation of the worst of winter itself. Some tales acknowledge both variants, suggesting a pylidaigh's violent attempts to warm itself may be initially devoid of malice, but turns into an act of furious jealousy of the warmth of the living after years of suffering.

The only (more or less) surefire method to permanently kill a roaming pylidaigh involves trapping it with fire. They are attracted to any source of heat, and will attempt to warm themselves with the flames (if not tempted away by a juicy living human body). The fire itself cannot kill them (as the sheer cold of their body is more powerful even than flame) but they can be trapped if kept near the fire long enough for the snow it depends upon to melt. This does not kill the pylidaigh either. The monster will remain in stuck in place (and potentially become a threat again if it snows more) for the duration of the winter. Only when the spring comes and all the snow melts does it revert into a normal human carcass (though mysteriously invulnerable to decay), at which point it can be cremated.

Pylidaigh in the wilds also revert to a human corpse during the snowless seasons, but will roam again each following winter unless it is burnt in the interim. It is of critical importance that any human corpse found in high mountain pasture is cremated- not only out of respect for the poor soul trapped as an earthbound ghost, but to prevent the threat of the possible dormant pylidaigh emerging next winter.

[sfw-mlm-thoughts]

anyone else need a hug so fucking bad. anyone else feel crushingly empty inside. like physically. or is it just january again

[miilkybnn]

y’all know that one audition tape Neil did? Yeah, so anyways make it Soap

[castielsprostate]

breaking the sign in two by how hard im tapping it