#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....)

[queerdiazs]

i’m actually super fucking mad. like, so mad it’s 11 pm at night and my heart is racing and my face is red mad. how fucked in the head do you have to be to bring your ship wars to a fundraising event? what the fuck?

[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.

[tossawary]

This is petty fandom salt, BUT... I've been chewing on this phenomenon that I've been calling "Fandom's Darling". It is related to things like "Author's Darling" and "Mary Sue / Gary Stu" and "Protagonist Halo" and all that jazz, where one character gains a peculiar narrative weight in a story.

"Author's Darling" is when a writer has a favorite character, and the world and all other characters sort of get... warped to put the Darling in the spotlight. It's most noticeable in TV shows with multiple writers, when a character you personally like suddenly has their previous characterization destroyed to make another character look good somehow. Every other character might become weirdly incompetent. The Darling's feelings are treated as The Most Important Feelings in any given situation. The logic of the fictional world seems broken past suspension of disbelief in order to validate this one character's beliefs or skillset or some other fantasy. And so on.

"Fandom's Darling" is what I've been calling the pattern where a fandom essentially crowns a New Protagonist for their fanfiction stories (it's often a side character rather than the original protagonist, but it can also happen to protagonists). This character becomes the self-insert for all sorts of indulgent fantasies, gaining special powers or backstories, and/or becoming the focus of extreme whump, and/or hooking up with all the various hotties, starring in all sorts of tropey AUs, and so on. They're not always an obvious Mary Sue version of themselves, but the character's original personality and interpersonal relationships tend to get warped or dropped completely, and other characters tend to become a little flat around them. I call it "Fandom's Darling" because it's not just one self-indulgent fantasy fic (you do you! Have fun!) with characterization choices that I don't vibe with (I have neither the time nor the desire nor the authority to police anything, I am just venting), but rather a prolific mini-fandom of sorts revolving around this empty doll / fanon version of the chosen vessel character, so it becomes a little unavoidable.

I am salty about this (mildly frustrated) (imagine a soft sigh of disappointment before I just go do something else) because you are FUCKED if you actually liked the canonical version of this character and their interpersonal relationships. It's almost worse than liking an obscure character that no one cares about. There's about a thousand fics starring your fave, but maybe only about a dozen of them are actually rooted in any kind of recognisable canon.

[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

[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.

[inkskinned]

the thing is there's like, a point of oversaturation for everything, and it's why so many things get dropped after a few minutes. and we act like millennials or gen z kids "have short attention spans" but... that's not quite it. it's more like - we did like it. you just ruined it.

capitalism sees product A having moderate success, and then everything has to come out with their "own version" of product A (which is often exactly the same). and they dump extreme amounts of money and environmental waste into each horrible simulacrum they trot out each season.

now it's not just tiktokkers making videos; it's that instagram and even fucking tumblr both think you want live feeds and video-first programming. and it helps them, because videos are easier to sneak native ads into. the books coming out all have to have 78 buzzwords in them for SEO, or otherwise they don't get published. they are making a live-action remake of moana. i haven't googled it, but there's probably another marvel or starwars something coming out, no matter when you're reading this post.

and we are like "hi, this clone of project A completely misses the point of the original. it is soulless and colorless and miserable." and the company nods and says "yes totally. here is a different clone, but special." and we look at clone 2 and we say "nope, this one is still flat and bad, y'all" and they're like "no, totally, we hear you," and then they make another clone but this time it's, like, a joyless prequel. and by the time they've successfully rolled out "clone 89", the market is incredibly oversaturated, and the consumer is blamed because the company isn't turning a profit.

and like - take even something digital like the tumblr "live streaming" function i just mentioned. that has to take up server space and some amount of carbon footprint; just so this brokenass blue hellsite can roll out a feature that literally none of its userbase actually wants. the thing that's the kicker here: even something that doesn't have a physical production plant still impacts the environment.

and it all just feels like it's rolling out of control because like, you watch companies pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a remake of a remake of something nobody wants anymore and you're like, not able to afford eggs anymore. and you tell the company that really what you want is a good story about survival and they say "okay so you mean a YA white protagonist has some kind of 'spicy' love triangle" and you're like - hey man i think you're misunderstanding the point of storytelling but they've already printed 76 versions of "city of blood and magic" and "queen of diamond rule" and spent literally millions of dollars on the movie "Candy Crush Killer: Coming to Eat You".

it's like being stuck in a room with a clown that keeps telling the same joke over and over but it's worse every time. and that would be fine but he keeps fucking charging you 6.99. and you keep being like "no, i know it made me laugh the first time, but that's because it was different and new" and the clown is just aggressively sitting there saying "well! plenty of people like my jokes! the reason you're bored of this is because maybe there's something wrong with you!"

[miilkybnn]

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

[aunmenosheteroenespanol]

2.12 Chimney Begins - 2.09 Hen Begins - 2.16 Bobby Begins Again - 7.04 Buck, Bothered and Bewildered

Tommy's family arc

[julijbee]

in awe of the beauty of the world

[bixels]

tarpit site.

[technically-human]

Can you draw something with Doom Patrol!Edwin and Netflix!Edwin?

Maybe something about Dp!Edwin talking about his feelings for Charles with N!Edwin?

It's just something I've been thinking of, make it a little angsty?<3

Glad you asked

ko-fi