#Enjoy fucking unhinged Indigo and shocked AF Grimm lol

[evilfloralfoolery]

Daggers and Deception - Part 7

Sooo, even if you haven't read another of the other plotfucker parts, this is the one where everything starts to come to light and shit goes sideways. I didn't even fucking know who or what Indigo was until this part. Also, if you thought he was this even-tempered control freak, BOY HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR YOU lol.

This is the last part of the plotfuckery that I'm going to post. There's plenty more, but I'll summarize that, as there is one very particular snzfucker scene I'm dying to post after this, because fuck it.

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“Let me get this straight.”  Grimm leans back against an aging column of wood, arms folded across his chest.  “You’re a demon hunter.”

Indigo nods.  “Yes.”

“Hunting actual demons.”

“Yes,” Indigo repeats. 

“And the thing in my room was a demon.”

Indigo eyes him like he’s the most exasperating fucker on the planet.  “That is what I said.” 

Yeah, this is too much weird shit for him and that’s saying something.  He’s seen men bleed out in the streets, heard the talk of slowly plotted murder with nothing more than a kitchen knife and some jewelry making wire.  Hell, he’s even come across a naked dude running through traffic while high on who the fuck knows what, yelling about how his bullshit is a message from a god.  But this?  This didn’t just take the cake, it took the whole fucking bakery.

“Oh, come on, Indy.”  Grimm rakes a hand through his hair.  “I knew you weren’t a fucking book editor, but this is some bullshit.” 

“I am, in fact, an editor,” Indigo says in such a matter-of-fact way that Grimm rolls his eyes. 

“What, that your daytime job?”  If Grimm’s sarcasm drips any hotter, it will scald a cast iron pan. 

“In a manner of speaking.”  

And the guy just stands there. Just fucking stands there like this is some normal ass conversation about the weather or some shit.  The thing is, Indigo believes it.  Aside from being one of the most lethal snipers in the business, Grimm had a reputation for being a human lie detector.  Indigo definitely thinks he’s telling the truth.  

Which makes all of this shit weirder.

“Honestly, Grimm.  I do not know why this is so difficult for you to grasp.  It is very much like mercenary work.” 

Grimm laughs, the kind of laugh that says “you’re a fucking crazy bitch” without actually having to say it.  “Look, buddy.  I don’t know what you’re smokin’, but–”

A dagger is at his throat before he can blink, another pressed against his rib cage.  “See here, you positively insufferable bastard.” Blue flames ignite along the knife’s edge, the blade pressed against his throat with an icy sizzle. “I haven’t the time for your tedious interrogation or your indiscriminate buffoonery!”  

Indigo’s eyes aren’t just blue, they’re fucking electric fire, bright as a neon sign, glowing like fucking Christmas lights. 

A fine trickle of sweat ebbs down Grimm’s temple, despite the autumn chill. What in the next level circle of hellscape fuckery–?

Indigo's breath is ragged, a heated snarl of sound, abrasive and primal, with no semblance of the man Grimm has seen for the past three days.

“If proof is what you require, then you shall have it!”  Indigo shoves him aside hard enough to make him stumble and sends the daggers hurtling towards the nearest tree where they split into multiple blades, slicing and dicing the shit out of several branches. They rebound in a flash, streaking back towards him, fanning around Grimm's face like a goddamn firing squad, blades less than an inch from his skin.

Shit, shit, shit–

And then, they vanish. Just blink the fuck right out of existence. Indigo’s silvery hair thrashes in a wild breeze, electric azure fire igniting within his palms, racing up his arms and down his sides, suffusing his entire body in a brilliant flash of blue. 

The man is a wild, feral thing, unhinged and goddamn terrifying, his gaze targeting Grimm as one hand raises, a ball of cobalt flame crackling in his palm.

“Do you still think me a liar, Grimm Amadis?  Do you??”  

Indigo’s voice sounds like a chorus of himself, coming from all directions and nowhere at once.  And before Grimm can so much as blink, the fireball blazes right towards him.  

Grimm can’t move, can’t so much as think.  He does the quite possibly the stupidest thing ever and holds up an arm, as if he’s gonna block the thing like a punch, and to his sheer and utter surprise, it bursts into a spray of sparks, raining shards of ice upon his arm and nothing more. 

And now it’s his turn to be fucking furious.

“What the fuck, Solaris??”  He stalks towards the other man, who leaps from his reach like a goddamn cat. “You gonna kill my ass to make a fucking point?”

“Of course not!”  Indigo shouts in return from . . . atop the goddamn porch railing?  

Okay, whatever. 

“I cannot harm you, you insurmountable prat!”  

“Coulda fooled me, dagger-stroking firefucker!” 

Indigo hops down from the railing like it’s not an 8 foot drop onto uneven ground and lands a short distance from him, the blue flames licking over every inch of his body flickering out of existence. 

“What . . . did you just call me?”

Grimm blinks, stands up a bit straighter, lifts his chin. “You fucking heard me.” 

Indigo tilts his head. Muffles a snort of laughter into his palm.

But Grimm isn’t fucking laughing.  “Something funny, you blazing asshole?”

“Dagger-stroking firefucker,” Indigo repeats in that posh, proper English voice of his.  “That is quite good.” 

He takes a step forward and Grimm takes one back.  “Stay away from me. I mean it.” 

Indigo huffs a sigh as if Grimm is the most exasperating human on Earth.  “Grimm, I cannot harm you.  Even if I wanted to, even if it were my life or yours, I cannot harm you.” 

Grimm folds his arms again. “I don’t know if you missed it, but you threw a goddamn blue fireball at my head, pal.” 

“I did,” Indigo says.  “And you shattered it.”

He had–?? What the fu–

“Your energy, Grimm.  It shielded you.  Because that is what you are.”  Indigo’s gaze is steady, but tumultuous, his voice softening. “It is your Valor. You are the Shield.” 

Grimm holds up his hands. “Whoa, buddy.  I don’t know what the fuck you think is going on here–”

“Do you not feel it?”  Indigo steps closer and this time, Grimm stands his ground. 

“Feel fucking what?”

Indigo holds out a hand and Grimm stares at it like it’s a baby cobra.  “Your hand, if you please.”

Grimm shakes his head. “No fucking way.” 

Indigo’s voice gentles to something meditative, almost hypnotic. “Please. No harm will come to you. I give you my word.” 

Maybe he some kind of stupid fuck, but something about the weighted sincerity of Indigo’s voice lulls him into a false sense of security.  Or maybe that’s just some magical fuckery or whatever.  Nevertheless, Grimm reaches out, pulls back with a curl of fingers, and then forces himself to offer up his hand just the same.

Indigo’s fingers interlock with his own, their palms coming to rest against one another.

Okay, nothing. Just the strangely cool weight of Indigo’s grasp and–

The ink upon his arms itches, feels as if it burns for a split second, and warms to the same electric hue that suffused Indigo’s entire being not five minutes earlier.

“What in the absolute fuck. . .”  

Indigo’s skin is pale and luminous, an unnatural porcelain glow, an unseen force lifting his hair from his shoulder, the soft waves fanning around his face in a silver halo.  It is as if Grimm is seeing him for the first time and yet, already knows him in a way that words can’t possibly articulate. And from the way Indigo is staring back at him, the feeling is entirely mutual.

And as quickly as the touch is given, it is withdrawn.  By Indigo. 

“Damn it to hell!” he swears.  Shouts.  Shakes his hand like that’s gonna get Grimm’s energy off of him or something. “You mind telling me what the fuck that was?”  Grimm, too, rubs his arms, as if brushing something away.  

A flash of blue fire engulfs the other man, who yells something in–the fuck, was that Latin?– at the sky and storms back towards the aging Victorian house, Grimm hot on his heels.

“Oh no you fucking don’t!”  Grimm takes the stairs two at a time, beating Indigo to the top of the porch.  “You don’t get to do all of . . . that . . . and then just fuck off into the night like nothing happened, pal.  No fucking way.”  

A gun he doesn’t remember packing is suddenly in the waistband of his pants and he draws the thing, but doesn’t aim it. “You’re gonna talk.”  He clicks the safety off with an obvious gesture, a simple visual threat.  “Now.” 

Indigo’s stare is more of a dismissive regard than anything else. “Have you had that weapon this entire time?”

“Huh?” Grimm glares at him.  “Obviously or it wouldn’t be in my pants, asshole.” 

“Then you did not have it.” Indigo doesn’t give the Glock a second glance before pushing past him to open the front door. He glances over his shoulder with an exasperated look.  “Are you coming or no?” 

Like he has a fucking choice.

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