loredump

Ft. Dominic Cooper, Joe Gilgun, Ruth Negga, Ian Colletti, Graham McTavish, Pip Torrens, Mark Harelik and more.

Here is my half of the trade featuring his^^ very cool polites design 🤭💞

The Just A Man (Antinous Version) animatic it's finally done!

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐊. "birds of a feather." of course, a little jab. nothing could be right without at least one of them going for the eyes. always nice to reminisce on the times, trying as they may have been. always a thorn at his side. always ready to throw himself to the fire, always ready to be the lamb who didn't run scared from the slaughter.

oh, but he thought about it too, just not in such detail. in his mind, matt murdock was a fly, hard to catch, but when he did, just one crunch. just one. it was unpleasant, really. the thought of crushing a fly between his fingers. dirty, even. on some level, there's shame. to kill a blind man, personally, at least, has to evoke some sense of.... mm, no, it doesn't. he knows, fisk knows. this one wants you to look down, to watch where you step, as if he were just some mild mannered attorney.

fisk licks his lips, looking around as if stifling a laugh. "you are.. a viper, mr. murdock." he can't help but laugh. his smile's from ear to ear, shiny and dripping with venom. like a lion that shows its teeth before he bites down. blind man or not, he never felt stronger eyes on him, save for gao. "surely, in our america, there is no such thing." he drops the smiles, the decorum, he speaks plainly. "he has a death wish. judge kapernaki, he's dying. cancer. stage three." of course, he just happens to have access to private medical records. "i looked." that's why threats don't work. what's the threat of death to a dying man. a promise.

". . . ." and given that little admission of crime. "i accept." welcome, mr. murdock.

ding! "ah, lunch. hungry?" he didn't wait for a response. "double it. for my friend."

He’s feeling like the ostracized lanky kid in the cafeteria—where the bully is his own senses. He can smell the internal eating of cancer easy, the moth pattern of puffy overgrowth to not just make up for the cell loss, but replace it.

Only he never met Kapernaki in person. Christ.

In the drag of barely coming to terms with missing a crucial piece in the puzzle Fisk had all along, Matt didn’t notice the food. Duck.

❝Your whole life you’ve profited off of people’s suffering.❞

Fisk’s musk unfurls in the layers of a perfume sample all throughout the premises. He’s been enjoying mobility perks far beyond the scope of his fellow inmates, because that would be beneath him. Viciously, Matt wants to shrink his cage, make him sit, roll around in the blood and shit he’s slid here on. Fisk accepting also means he’s desperate.

For a beating. Yeah, likely.

"think yourself better." men died for less. "trading comfort and success for muck. how is the light bill?"

not exactly a good brief, but better than talk of settlements and reminders that he is now bound by attorney client privilege but what's more worth in the long run? fisk in jail? again? maybe the upgrade to maximum can with fucking hulu t.v. instead of whatever trash is on apple. even now, he's in this cell of his own volition. a show of respect and love for the law. that he will fight corruption the right way. it almost sounds like a mythical rise... perfect for a mayoral run, oh, senator? president? god.

"insanity? i've had to do many things, mr. murdock, but debase myself is not today, or ever an option. if this is the best you have for council, i'll take my other lawyer. looks alone won't keep you on payroll, neither will pity with a jury." but please, do play up the poor blind, very much not near-lethal nightstalker of criminals.

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐊. "forgive me if i'm overly cautious, mr. murdock " he has every right to be. standing in the face of the devil himself, dead little eyes, judging every action, moral and otherwise. even now, he knows those eyes see him. they see him. only he doesn't see them, not truly, not yet. it didn't matter though. one righteous son was all new york needed. fisk will allow it. "we were never on the best of terms, you and i. in fact, i remember one or three times you've tried to throw the very same book at me that this bull-headed, antiquated, little man."

he doesn't trust you. however, if his intuition is right, fisk understands. "justice? still?" as if he expected the response to change. to live in the great country that they do, and still believe in justice. many a miscarriages of it in barely a year, and still. he can't tell whether it's impressive or a sign of mental decline. worrisome, especially because he's considering.

Rapid-fire so he doesn’t think,

❝The Sixth Amendment guarantees the right to due process and an impartial jury.❞

Fisk’s heart is leagues meatier than average. All the TRT it pumps through on the daily, it’s as close to humanly engineered for as any could be. He’s got the inches and pounds on Matt, but not the aim. The mania.

It would only take that much folding for him to maybe-daze Fisk with a blow to the head. The cops posted outside placing bets on tonight’s Mets game are an unequal toss-up between turning a blind eye to him roughing Fisk up and not letting Matt Murdock walk these halls ever again undisbarred.

Officer Kumar, in particular, has a vendetta because of his late brother. But he’s in the minority. Most of them are indirectly billed by Fisk’s dirty money.

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐊. "birds of a feather." of course, a little jab. nothing could be right without at least one of them going for the eyes. always nice to reminisce on the times, trying as they may have been. always a thorn at his side. always ready to throw himself to the fire, always ready to be the lamb who didn't run scared from the slaughter.

oh, but he thought about it too, just not in such detail. in his mind, matt murdock was a fly, hard to catch, but when he did, just one crunch. just one. it was unpleasant, really. the thought of crushing a fly between his fingers. dirty, even. on some level, there's shame. to kill a blind man, personally, at least, has to evoke some sense of.... mm, no, it doesn't. he knows, fisk knows. this one wants you to look down, to watch where you step, as if he were just some mild mannered attorney.

fisk licks his lips, looking around as if stifling a laugh. "you are.. a viper, mr. murdock." he can't help but laugh. his smile's from ear to ear, shiny and dripping with venom. like a lion that shows its teeth before he bites down. blind man or not, he never felt stronger eyes on him, save for gao. "surely, in our america, there is no such thing." he drops the smiles, the decorum, he speaks plainly. "he has a death wish. judge kapernaki, he's dying. cancer. stage three." of course, he just happens to have access to private medical records. "i looked." that's why threats don't work. what's the threat of death to a dying man. a promise.

". . . ." and given that little admission of crime. "i accept." welcome, mr. murdock.

ding! "ah, lunch. hungry?" he didn't wait for a response. "double it. for my friend."

"this isn't a charity, so. what else you got?" cue the jingle of the vials. this had to be premium, but.. some form of self-preservation had to be screaming 'think twice, leon!' but there was no telling when this operation would over, much less w wait a second, how did he know?

he'd gotten a bit lazier, and honestly he'd been in spain far too long. his own health and his own way of presenting had fallen a bit wayside because his main focus was ashley. blue eyes narrowed in disdain towards the merchant. " fine, let me see what i've got. but eyes up here, buddy," his hand gestured up to his face, a snarl of a glare to attach to his warning.

as for what else is in the vault.. a lot of things. there's a t-virus sample somewhere in there, no doubt. this man.. even his eyes betray age, but his hands are smooth and young. couldn't be over 30, much less near 40s. physically, at least. he knows this place like the back of his hand, and can seemingly move completely undetected in the light of day. the people here know him. infected? can't be. he's got his senses, he's sane and hell, maybe he is infected, because these prices are suddenly real shit.

"hm." he takes a gem or two, eye balling it with a keen, cautious gaze. "short." first rule of bargaining, you don't show you entire hand, leon. "discount? hahah! discount?! he wants a discount! oi, brother! he wants a discount!" cue the second merchant walking from the mysterious door near the b two?! "tell 'em t' sod off, an' take his little rocks with 'em too! hahah!" well. that explains a few things, at least.

"listen, i know y'clearly need my wares, but you're not bringing much t'the table." oh for the love of.. just shoot him. "ah, if y' shoot me, understand, that there's 'nuff here for 'bout a few days, and that'll mean these doors will be shut t'you forever, so.. none of that now." just in case. gun happy americans n' all. can't be too careful.

he's not sure what to expect. the hooded figure usually has random deals, but when he's offered the vials, he puts his hand out to inspect them. sure as shit, it definitely was. he wasn't going to ask how. mainly because he needs to not be weak and not being on testosterone has made this significantly harder.

"this isn't a charity, so. what else you got?" cue the jingle of the vials. this had to be premium, but.. some form of self-preservation had to be screaming 'think twice, leon!' but there was no telling when this operation would over, much less w wait a second, how did he know?

Gladiator Polites!! Was listening to the song that I ended up using for the speedpaint below and was inspired to do like a cool fighter Polites drawing but also wanted to actually try and make one of those chaotic cool Backgrounds. I think I did pretty well! So the idea is Polites is fighting as a gladiator and acting under the ferocity blessing of Ares To the person who requested Gladiator Polites, eat well uwu