#<- ​holds up giant monster paw for emphasis

[redhotarsenic]

J’ihwu has toebeans also. If you even care.

[introvert-no-chameleon]

Of Monsters and McGuckets

Fiddleford just wanted to have his morning coffee in peace, but Gravity Falls and the Stan brothers had other plans.

AO3

Fiddleford Hardon McGucket considered himself to be a patient, level-headed individual. One had to be if they ever hoped to survive Gravity Falls, and, even more daunting, live with Stanford and Stanley Pines. Keeping them in line was an occupation in itself. His co-workers were two of the most chaotic and morally questionable people he’d ever met in his life. (Then again, as someone who had once made a giant robot to terrorize his ex-wife in an admittedly misguided attempt to get her back, maybe he shouldn’t be throwing stones in that last department).

The point is, when it came to dealing with uncommon and frustrating situations, he usually managed to keep a straight head. But on one deceivingly lovely morning, just when he’d went out to the porch to sit back with a nice cup of coffee and the sun had just begun to kiss the horizon, he saw two large monsters sprinting towards the shack, and. Well.

It was only reasonable that he’d react the way he did.

The first thing he did was spit out his early-morning coffee, ruining his only clean tie in the process. The second thing he did was dash into the shack like the Devil Himself was on his heels. Lastly, he slammed the door shut, locked it, and began combing the living room for the shotgun he knew for a fact Stanley kept around. He thanked the Lord Stanford wasn’t here, lest he’d be chastising Fiddleford for “harming” (defending himself against) a perfectly healthy specimen. Never mind the fact that half of these subjects of study had tried to eat him, no sir. Scientific discovery was always more important.

(Sometimes, Fiddleford wondered how on God’s green earth Stanford Pines hadn’t fallen to his death into a ravine or some other nonsense in pursuit of an anomaly. Heaven knows the man, while undeniably brilliant, was severely lacking when it came to common sense).

A bang rattled the wooden door of the shack. Fiddleford yelped, dropping the pile of books he’d been in the process of moving in his scramble to find the gun. He eyed the secret lab entrance and wondered if the door would hold them back long enough for him to make a dash for it.

“Fidds, we saw you run in, will ya just open the door?”

Fiddleford froze. That voice, while even more gravelly than usual (a thing he hadn’t thought possible) was definitely familiar.

“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” he said, dazed, as he walked over to the door and unlocked it. “Stanley?”

Upon closer inspection, he couldn’t deny that the square-jawed face that peered down at him belonged to Stanley Pines. There were some…notable…differences, such as the fact that he had glowing orbs for eyes, all his featured seemed to be carved from stone, he had ridiculous pointy ears and fangs to boot. He’d be right at home next to the gargoyles from those pictures of cathedrals he’d studied for his History of Western Art course.

“Took ya long enough,” said Stanley, ducking his head under the doorway and lumbering inside. Each step made the floorboard groan loudly, and for a few seconds Fiddleford thought the man would break through the wood floor. “Thought we’d never get back.”

“Stanferd, do ya have…fur?” said Fiddleford, stepping away from the door to let the other man in.

Stanford—it couldn’t be anyone else, not with that straight-backed posture and furrowed brow peering over thick-rimmed glasses—walked in behind him, hands behind his back.

 Hearing the question, Stanford adjusted his glasses, with a large, six-fingered paw. His facial features were lion-esque, as was his entire body, save from the colorful green, blue and red feathered wings that trailed behind his body. He even had a cute little lion tail poking out from a hole in his pants. “It appears so, yes.” He cleared his throat. “We may have a…problem.”

Stanley, who had gone to the fridge to get a beer, came back glaring at Stanford with those bright yellow orbs. “No shit, Sixer. I hadn’t fucking noticed.”

Stanford’s ears flattened against his skull. Fiddleford would’ve found it amusing if Stanford wasn’t now 7 feet tall and didn’t have large, sharp teeth. “Language, Stanley.”

Fiddleford considered grabbing some alcohol as he took in the situation. After a few attempts at forming words, he finally settled for the question he found himself asking on a near-daily basis. “What in tarnation did ya two get yerselves mixed up in now?”

“Oi, don’t look at me,” said Stan. He jerked his clawed thumb at Stanford. “Mr. Science here was the one who just had to walk right into a mysterious, glowing lake that he almost drowned in.”

Stanford’s tail twitched, and he growled. “We almost drowned, Stanley, because you turned into 300 pounds of moving stone.”

“I was only in the lake because you started flailing around growing a tail and screamin’ for help!”

Ford sniffed, chin held up in that way it got whenever he’d start getting defensive. “Swimming with wings is incredibly difficult.”

“Yeah, I would know, I have them now.” Stanley stretched out his bat-like wings for emphasis.

Judging by Stanford’s bloodshot eyes and Stanley’s slouched posture, along with the fact that they seemed even more short with each other than usual, Fiddleford guessed that they’d been arguing on and off about this for a while. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Now see right here, the two of ya best calm down, you’ll tear the shack apart if you start fighting bein’ like this.”

The two of them, while far from calm, quieted down.

“Right,” said Fiddleford. “So ya discovered some magic water that turns folks into monsters?”

“Yup,” said Stanley. “We found it in some hidden path behind some bushes and a couple of boulders.”

It’s almost as if it was hidden away for a reason. “Did ya at least remember where the path is?”

“Of course,” said Stanford, having the audacity to look indignant. “What do you take me for?”

“An idiot who got us turned into two walking Summerween costumes because he couldn’t just collect the water in a cup and some gloves like a normal scientist?” said Stanley.

“As if you would know what a “normal” scientist does,” said Stanford, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright, fellas. Let me just get some food in me and then we can go back out and get some samples,” said Fiddleford. “I need me some caffeine to deal with this.”

Stanford opened his mouth but Fiddleford stopped him with the same withering glare he’d give his son whenever he tried to step out of line. “Stanferd Pines, if ya think I’m gonna run around the woods with the two of you, in this here state, on an empty stomach, yer sorely mistaken.”

“Fidds has got a point,” said Stan. “You probably haven’t had anything other than that piece of toast since you woke up.”

“I suppose some food wouldn’t hurt…” said Stanford. “I did have an incredibly strong urge to maul a deer we spotted on the way over.”

Fiddleford was getting some bacon out of the fridge when he heard the end of the sentence. He straightened up and slammed the door with more force than strictly necessary. “Y-ya did?”

Stanford seemed to come to the same conclusion Fiddleford had, because he raised his paws up. “Oh, n-no, rest assured. I don’t have any inclination to eat you.”

“Thank the Lord…”

“After all,” said Stanford, rubbing his chin. “According to mythology, sphinxes only consume humans if they are unfortunate enough not to know the answers to their riddles.”

“Don’t I feel better,” said Fiddleford, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do ya reckon ya can still have some bacon and eggs?”

“Yes, that’ll do,” he said. “Oh! I must write down our findings in my journal. Now, where did I put it…” Stanford went up the stairs, muttering to himself the entire way.

“Ya know, he actually started running on all fours at least twice on the way over.” Stan grinned through another sip of beer. “was the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Fiddleford sighed. That would explain the fighting. He rolled his eyes as he saw Stanley reach in the fridge for another can and shut it before he could. “Stanley Pines, it is 8 o’clock in the morning.”

“Ooh,” Stanley raised his eyebrows. “Two last names in less than five minutes, it’s a new record.”

“Stanley.”

Stanley pouted, and even with his new…physical features, Fiddleford still found it endearing. “Aw, come onnnn, Fids, I’m emotionally distressed!”

“Yer no such thing.” He smiled a soon as back turned to the other man. He took out their skillet and placed it on the stove.

“Y’know, I gotta hand it to ya. You’ve gotten a lot more assertive since we’ve met, it’s kinda hot.”

“Yer flattery will not sway me into lettin’ ya get another drink.”

Stanley laughed behind him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still bein’ serious. Ford didn’t even try to fight you about getting breakfast. If it was me, he’d be yelling at me by now about how we were wastin’ time and crap.”

“It doesn’t take much for the two of ya to get at each other’s necks.” Fiddleford cracked an egg on the edge of the skillet. Anyhow, that’s because he’s hiding away scribblin’ field notes. The moment he’s done, he’ll be tryin’ to drag us on out of here.”

“Eh, true.”

For a moment, the eggs sizzling and snapping on the pan filled the warm silence. His stomach grumbled as the savory smell of cooking food reached him. “Stanley, can ya hand me the coffeepot?”

The floorboards creaked behind Fiddleford. A shadow loomed over him. “Stanley?”

“…You’re not, uh, scared of me or nothin’?” Stanley’s voice had gotten so quiet Fiddleford had hardly heard him.

Fiddleford glanced back at Stanley, who despite his size was hunched over, looking mighty small for someone who was now a literal boulder.

“Why on earth would I be?”

Stanley blinked meekly. He gestured towards his entire body. “Uh…’cause I look like this?”

Ah. He did try to threaten them with a shotgun. Some of the unease he’d gotten rid of returned, but he tried his best not to show it. He swallowed down his fear as best as he could. “Should I be?”

Stanley frowned. “Eh, I mean, I feel different, but not in a “eat somebody” kinda way. I do have a very strong urge to perch on the roof and attack pigeons.”

“Fascinating.” Even without his caffeine, his scientific curiosity was finally starting to get the best of him. “Well, gargoyles are known as guardians meant to ward against evil. Perhaps you’ve developed some sorta protective instinct…”

He stopped mid-ramble. Even without eyes to speak of, Fiddleford could tell Stanley was avoiding his gaze.  

Fiddleford brought his hand to Stanley’s cheek. It felt warm, to his surprise, like rock that had baked under the afternoon sun. Stanley peeked up at him. “Darlin’, the only thing I’m afraid of is the damage you’ll cause around the lab if we don’t turn ya back. Yer like a bull in a china closet as it is.”

Stanley chuckled, leaning into Fiddleford’s touch. “Somebody has ta make things interesting around here.”

Something crashed overhead, quickly followed by a string of curses. A series of heavy objects thumped against the wood overhead.

“I’m alright!” called Stanford’s voice. “I simply knocked a bookshelf over my person, but this new form is surprisingly durable!”

“Things are interestin’ enough as it is,” said Fiddleford, his brief moment of curiosity gone as soon as it came. “Where in tarnation is the coffeepot?”

“Relax, Fiddlenerd, I’ll make ya a fresh one.” He went over by his side, giving him a playful shove that sent Fiddleford to the ground. “…Oops. Sorry, uh, forgot about the whole…stone thing.”

Fiddleford glowered up at his boyfriend, taking his hand as he helped Fiddleford back up. “Yer lucky a got a soft spot fer ya, else I’d be mighty cross.”

Stanly gave him the gentlest peck on the top of Fiddleford’s head. “Once I have my human body back, I’ll make it up to ya.”

Stanley gave him a cup of his precious lifeblood, black with two sugars, just as he liked it. Smirking, Fiddleford took a sip, getting warmed by more than just the coffee. “I’ll hold ya to that.”

*

Somebody please give Fiddleford a raise. 

Comment on what monster you all think Fidds should be, and I may do a second part. I've read some people make him a scarecrow, and I considered making him a centaur.

[j--meat-hook--j]

Round 1: Operation Smoked Ham

The assignment? Search and Destroy.

The target? Local Wolfsboone dog.

The location? A forest with a winding path.

The participants? A silent bacon-flavoured child and a flying, talking energy anomaly.  

Andrew was carrying boar around the arms, like a reverse piggy-back. (heehoo) The two were idly flying above the forest looking for the path to ambush the unknown two they were going against.

“D-o you shee them Boar?” Andrew asked his friend and roommate, Boar.

Some taps later from Boar later. N-O

“Whe-re else you wannananana try?” Andrew stunted out. 

Boar pointed to a deeper part of the forest and squeaked.

“Gocha.” Andrew followed Boar’s non-verbal directions. After some audible sniffs from Boar, they perked up and pointed. 

“There?” Andrew asked. Boar nodded so quick they jostled Andrew a bit. Boar pointed and Andrew saw it too, the dirt path that the “heroes” were trekking on.

“Foun da path.” Andrew commented. Boar gave a few taps in agreement. 

“Up or down?” Andrew asked Boar. Boar gave a few sniffs before pointing down the path, towards where the heroes would be starting. 

Andrew responded silently and followed in Boar’s directions. He lowered closer to the ground, Boar’s toes were just touching the highest branches.

S-E-E. Boar signed with urgency. Andrew stopped and dipped close to the trees to hide from sight. Andrew spotted the silhouette, nothing special about it. No notable heat, density or unique appendages.

“Who?” Andrew asked, info was key.

K-A-Y-A-K-I. Boar signed.

“Oh. Who?” Andrew asked, that info did nothing.

F-R-I-E-N-D.. Boar signed.

“Oh. Who?” Things weren’t going well for Andrew, he recognised the name but not the silhouette.

N-O  W-O-R-R-I-E-S. Boar signed.

“Wheres da ofer one?” Andrew struggled to verbalise.

A couple sniffs from Boar.

B-E-H-I-N-D. Boar signed.

“Drop you middle? Make lots of noise, I take care of dog.” Andrew asked. Boar nodded. 

O-P  S-H  I-S  A  G-O. Boar signed with enthusiasm.

“Lessgo.” Andrew flew above the trees again and right over the dirt path, trying to get the attention of Kayaki.

It worked. 

“Ki! We got incoming!” Kayaki called out behind her.

Andrew flew over Kayakii, he was looking for the other silhouette.

A double tap came from Boar, they spotted the other one. Boar gave three taps, then two, then one.

“See ya in a bit.” Andrew told Boar.

Operation Smoked Ham was a go.

Andrew let go of Boar, there was silence in the forest as Boar fell. Then came a loud CRUNCH as they landed. A small crater appeared where Boar landed, the sturdy kid was able to take the fall easily. 

“Ki! I’m gonna need a hand!” Kayaki called out behind her.

Even Andrew could hear the rumble of hurried steps as Kirai approached, the dog following him with a wagging tail. “It’s me, I’m here, where are they?” Kirai said, getting into a comical fighting stance.

Kayaki pointed to Boar up close and then Andrew out in the distance.

“There.” She said.

Andrew had a whole speech prepared for this occasion. High up in the sky Andrew puffed out his chest, rubbed his hands together and did a slight cackle.

“Hear me feebew heroes! It appears you’ve stumbled into our trap, for you see my associate and I have the brains and brawn to-”

Meanwhile on the ground, the other three were just staring up at Andrew. Kayaki looked towards Boar in an attempt to get some insight. Boar responded with a shrug.

“He does know we can’t hear him right?” Kayaki said to Kirai.

Boar tapped their fingers together a couple times.

“HA! He does do that.” Kayaki giggled at Boar’s quick wits and impeccable delivery.

Kirai’s face looked like a squashed up sponge of confusion and slight regret.

Back at the sky,

“And fli’ it uhsie-down. Prince of Bel-Air style!” Andrew finished his monologue with great gusto and a beam of light in the sky.

Boar was still staring up at Andrew in a mix of wonder and disappointment.

“Means go!” Andrew shouted down, that time it was actually heard. Boar pinched down on their nose and nodded in a muddle of frustration and disbelief.

Boar took a deep breath and activated their Quirk, a blood red aura surrounded their body. Boar’s eyes sharpened on Kirai and they charged.

“Wait Boar we can talk ab-” Kirai cut himself off as he pulled a quick 180 and ran.

“Duck and weave Ki! Duck and weave!” Kayaki advised Kirai.

“I’m ducking! I’m weaving!” Kirai called back.

Boar wasn’t the fastest person in Taiyuu, a decent pace could outrun them, but with all of Kirai’s unnecessary ducking and weaving it was a pretty close match.

With all of the commotion happening below him, Andrew ever the sneaky boy, snuck over their heads towards the Very Important Pubby. Andrew descended slowly towards the good boy who was doing little tippy-taps on the ground in excitement.

Andrew came face to face with the dog, his target. With one good hit Andrew could end the whole exercise, just easy as that. But that would mean this poor tail-wagging, paw-tapping, excitedly barking dog had to get hurt, Andrew couldn’t do that.

Meanwhile, at the borderline bloodbath not 20 meters away Boar had caught up to Kirai.

It was brutal, Boar sledged Kirai in the face and did a spinning kick to Kayakis' side. Kirai tried to give Boar the old what-for in the form of a punch. It connected.

“Ow.” Said Kirai.

Kayaki jumped on Boar’s back like a spidermonkey, flailing around grabbing and pulling at whatever part of Boar she could get her hands on. Boar reached around, grabbed her with one hand and hit Kirai with Kayaki.

Meanwhile, at the place where morals go to die. Andrew gathered a large amount of his energy into his hand. Andrew’s right hand was glowing and shaking with condensed power. He raised his hand, ready to strike.

“Nebula.” Andrew called out the name of his Super-move and began to strike the dog, the resulting explosion being more than enough to snuff it from this semi-mortal-plantlike-hivemind coil.

“Barf! Barf!’ The puppy barked in excitement.

The condensed energy in Andrew’s hand began to fizzle out but his hand continued towards the dog. The lethal amount of energy contained in Andrew’s palm slowly extended out and formed fingers. The ticking time bomb of Andrew Energy scratched behind the ears of the dog. 

“Who’s a goob boy.” Andrew said to the Booneswolf as he started scratching under the chin as well. The puppy responded by shaking its leg.

Meanwhile, at the beatdown of the century. Boar tripped Kayaki over with a properly timed leg sweep, Kayaki landed on her back with a thud. Kirai charged in for a kick to Boar’s ribs. Boar caught Kirai’s flying leg, raised it slightly and punched towards the man's Crown Jewels.

Across the island Wolfsboone let out a small breath of air through his teeth in sympathy.

A high pitched scream came from Kirai. Rip the homie. Boar shot their gaze over to Andrew and finally saw the tomfoolery that was afoot.

“Fech da shtick.” Andrew said to the dog and the boy threw the stick. The dog just looked at the thrown stick and back at Andrew with a small head tilt.

“Go on, fech.” Andrew encouraged.

Boar pulled out their handy-dandy phone for the first time today and frantically typed into it. Out of the phone came a flat sounding voice.

“God fucking dammit Andrew just kick the fucking dog.” The Text-to-speech said.

Andrew crossed his arms.

“Language.” He said.

An audible snap could be heard as Boar’s patience was through. The huffed over to Andrew and pointed at themselves and then the dog. Then Boar pointed at Andrew followed by Kayaki and Kirai.

“We swappin dance partners?” Andrew asked. Boar slowly nodded their head.

“Fine. But please don’t hurt Daisy too much.” Andrew asked his roommate and friend.

Kayaki dazedly looked up from the ground at Kirai.

“Hey, Kirai. You wanna do that thing where you get really mad and unlock a new power.” Kayaki said to the near unconscious Kirai.

Kirai let out a small squeak.

“Don’t you fuckin ignore me.” Kayak said, so done with this shit.

Andrew floated over to the two. 

“Pleash don’t ge’ up. Then I’ll hafta blast ya.” Andrew asked his two enemies.

“I’m gonna get up.” Said Kayaki. “Pleash don.” Andrew said.

“I’m gonna do it, and I’m gonna help Kirai get up too.” Kayaki said.

“I don’ wanna blast ya.” Andrew pleaded.

“You can just let us get up.” Kayaki said, slumping up from the ground. 

“No, bu’ I can’.” Andrew said.

“You can.” Kayaki said, getting onto one knee.

“I’ll havta stop you using my villanous teknees.” Andrew said.

“Like what?” Kayaki said, helping Kirai up onto his feet.

“I’ll, uh, leave a puddew so yah soc’s geh weh.” Andrew said so very evily. 

“You monster!” Kayaki said, having Kirai lean on her shoulder.

“....Now hol on. Haf I been blundered? Haf I been swindled? You were jus stallin for time wif dat whole convers-a-tion weren’t you!” Andrew stumbled out.

“Yeah.” Kayaki said. “Now Imma hafta blast ya.” Andrew said, the condensed energy in his hand swirling around and around.

“Okay, Kirai.” Kayaki slapped both sides of Kirai’s face. Kirai cracked open an eye.

“Yeah.” Kirai said, his voice noticeably higher than previously.

“Andrew’s gonna fire a giant laser at us, you need to absorb it and fire it back at him.” Kayaki informed Kirai.

“No. Cards.” Kirai said with a slight squeak. 

“Don’t worry, I brought leaves.” Kayaki said, shoving a handful of leaves in Kirai’s hands.

“Hate you. Hate you both.” Kirai said, leaning off of Kayaki and standing on his two feet.

Andrew's hand had finished condensing the energy, instead of the full fingered hand he had earlier it was now a swirling galaxy of an appendage.

“Quasar.” Andrew said the name of his supermove and let it loose at Kirai and Kayaki. A bright beam of light shot towards the two K-friends.

“Kirai, you have to try.” Kayaki said with emphasis.

“Kay. I’ll try.” Kirai said, holding the leaves out in front of him. He braced himself for the impact.

As Andrew’s laser neared Kirai’s bundle of leaves, the leaves emitted a black hole like effect and absorbed Andrew’s laser. The leaves in Kirai’s hands started sparkling a light Andrew Blue colour.

“Wha. Gib dat back!” Andrew shouted at Kirai angrily, that beam was technically Andrew.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Kirai said, just as surprised as Andrew. Kirai thrust out the leaves and the same beam Andrew fired out shot out of them.

“Oh, I get it.” Andrew said right before he got nailed in the chest by his own redirected laser. The impact sent Andrew flying back.

Kayaki and Kirai looked at each other, back at the knocked back Andrew, back at each other, back at the still out of control Andrew and back at each other. 

“I’m the best aren’t I.” Kirai said to Kayaki.

“Yep, mmhmm.” Kayaki responded.

Meanwhile, at the dog vs Boar action. Boar had just finished up with Daisy, the dog, whatever. They deactivated their quirk and walked over to Kirai and Kayaki. Kirai jumped back and hid behind Kayaki. 

Boar pulled out their phone again and started tapping away.

“Sorry about that, Kirai. No hard feelings? I’ll make it up to you.” The Text-To-Speech said on Boar’s phone.

Kayaki and Kirai looked at Boar suspiciously.

“You’ve still got a bit left to make up for Boar.” Kirai said, a cat in his lap and a cat on his head.

“I’m sorry, I just got lost in my anger.” Boar’s T-T-S said as the actual Boar took a sip of tea.

“You lost? You lost? I lost something.” Kirai said, taking a bite of one of Kayaki’s biscuits.

Andrew was still a little sad about Daisy, but Boar treated the group to a cat-cafe so overall today was a win.

[randomimperialcitizen]

The Tool For The Job An Ork short story

A small piece I thought would be a humorous example of Ork antics.

The thumping of artillery could be heard clearly in the distance. The Ork camp was far enough away to be safe from the reach of the guns, but only just. The wily brutes unwilling to be far away from the action. The Ork camp, or what passes for one amongst their kind, was a shoddy thing. A loose collection of scrap sheds and wilting tents. Their pattern was ever shifting as they were erected one day and cannibalised the next. Dirt roads were busy with traffic as scrap engines hauled mobs of Orks towards the next battlefield. On the edge of this mess was a two story structure making its home on the edge of the dusty wasteland. It was little more than an overgrown shack. Its walls were strips of an old tanker hull patched together and a roof of corrugated steel. Despite its slap dash appearance and rickety engineering, it was one of the most permanent structures of the camp. The shack was the main dispensary for grog. The main source of drink amongst their kind. To call it potable is generous, but the greenskins thrive on the caustic alcohol. Most Orks were smart enough to know that you don’t mess with the grog. And those dumb enough to start tearing down the walls got a belly full of bullets.

The shack was a riot of activity. The noise was deafening as each ork struggled to shout over the others. It was crowded as well, with every available space filled with a mismatched collection of furniture. In one corner a mek slouched on a dilapidated sofa nearly flattened from use. On the second floor, a freeboota captain is passed out, a stack of chipped shot glasses balanced precariously on a dainty coffee table made of fine wood and silver gilding. Gretchin ducked and weaved between the jam-packed tables. Grog sloshed onto their shoulders as they hauled overlaiden trays over their heads. There was little time for specific orders. The grots simply threw down their load on the driest tables and scooped up any loose teeth left out. If an ork wanted something fancy they could fight their way to the bar and pester someone in charge.

One group was having a particularly interesting conversation. With a table made from a train axel by the window, it was a good place for lunchtime chatter. Today they were having a particularly deep and meaningful discussion of orkish philosophy.

An ork in the colours of the speed Freaks drops his weapon on the table. A good three feet of pipe with heavy cogs welded on for the head.

“Dis is da only choppa ya need.” The speed freak declared, tapping his knuckles against his prized weapon for emphasis. “Ya zoomin along yeah? All ya need do is give em’ a wallop and pop goes der ‘eadz! Noth’n feels betta dan getting dem just roight.” The chair creaks dangerously as the red ork leans back. “Made dis beauty meself. Didn’t cost a single toof. Dats da best part, ya just need a stick wiff somethin ‘eavy and ya good to go!” 

“Bah!” another ork chimes in. This one was from the Snakebite clan judging from the tattoos and piercings. He leaned back in his chair with his arms folded, obviously unimpressed. “It doesn’t even chop,” he complains. He sticks his arm out, gesticulating with an upturned palm. “How can it be a choppa if it don’t chop?!” With this the snakebite leans forward and slams his own weapon on the table, spilling grog everywhere. It was the stereotypical axe of the orkish culture. A short steel haft with a brick of iron hammered out into the rough shape of an axe head. “Dis is a choppa, good an proppa. Any lad with some know-how can get ya one wiff just a pocket o’teef. Dis will kill anythin. And if it don’t, ya haven’t hit it enough! Every Ork should ‘ave one uv deez. If ya don’t, you’ze aint a proppa Ork!” He finishes his statement slapping the table.

Such a statement would typically end in a brawl to defend their Orkish pride. But the group had known each other for awhile now and were familiar with their friend’s puritanical rants. Now his inflammatory statement merely elicited a chorus of tired groans and a few eye rolls.

“Woah now, we all love somethin good an’ choppy.” The next ork in the circle chimes in, soothing the cantankerous Snakebite’s ire. This one was a Blood Axe kommando, his arms and face smeared with tiger stripes of blue and purple grease. “If you go at one o’ dem beakies or spiky ‘umies wiff dat, you gunna be hackin away for a day and a ‘alf,” the Blood Axe laments, waving at the axe at the table. He scoots forward on his improvised stool, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner. “What you need is wunna deez.” The bloodaxe slides a broad machete out of a leather scabbard. A simple piece of hardened steel hammered out into a straight backed blade. “Don’tcha worry, it’s good an choppy. But it’s stabby too. Real good when face’n dem ‘ard humies. Da pointy end is wutchya want for finaglin’ past all dem ‘ard bitz.” The kommando wiggles the blade around in the air, pantomiming the act of sliding the blade between his invisible quary’s ribs. “It’s everyfin an Ork needs.”

The circle of Orks hummed and hawed. None of them wanted to agree. It was a good weapon. Lethal and flexible in its uses. But a kommando’s recommendation to quietly go for a kidney? Quite un-orkish. But none of them could really come up with a decent argument. There is one member of the table who didn’t seem fazed. He was full of confidence with his toothy smirk. He was a big Ork. His bulk exaggerated by the gaudy, yellow amour he was wearing. He rattles like a sack of coins from the obscene volume of stolen medals tacked onto him. All the hallmarks of a member of the Bad Moons clan.

He wags his finger at the table.

“I got a treat for ya,” he offers.

He reaches down beside him, coming back up with a bulky chainsword. It was short and bulky, with a chunky engine block and a fat guide bar with a gap toothed chain wrapped around it. A strip of scrap was folded over as a back plate and a spiked guard added to the grip. It was an oversized and unwieldy deathtrap of a contraption, all painted in garish yellows.

“Now dis,” he says while he hefted the weapon. “Is da killiest choppa a lad can ‘ave. It slices, it dices and all dat good stuff!” The Ork was hitting his stride now. Speaking with jovial enthusiasm and becoming more animated in his sales pitch. “Dis bad boy will chop anyfin! Humies, beakies, creepy crawlies, whateva! And da best part? It’s flashy too and every Ork haz gots to be flashy.” He pats his prized weapon likes its a prized fighting squig. “Worth every toof,” he finishes.

“Oh, zog off,” the blood axe cries out. “Does it look like we’z made o’ teef?”

“Wut? Not my problem you ain’t got da teef,” the bad moons Ork deflects casually.

“He’s right,” the speed freak chimes in. “If I got dat much teef, I’m gettin sum snazz for me bike.”

“Or a new squig,” mumbles the snakebite.

The bad moons ork was losing his patience now.

“If ya don’t wonna spend da teef, why don’t ya get a stick like that git?!” The yellow clad points an accusatory finger at the speed freak.

Like all ork communications the polite conversation was quickly turning combative. The piece was quickly falling apart and devolving into a shouting match. Angry orks began pointing fingers and denigrating each other’s choices in weaponry. The snakebite accused the blood axe of being un-orkish and the bad moon called the snakebite a backwards simpleton. Amongst all this the evil suns ork was of the opinion that they were all self important snobs.

As their endless bickering dragged on a new ork entered the shack. A giant shadow filled the doorway. Too large for the crooked frame the colossal ork had to enter sideways, shuffling his bulk past the threshold. Once through the doorway one could truly appreciate his size. It was a monster of an ork, easily a head taller than any other ork in there and twice as wide. This was an ork nob, the biggest and meanest of the orks. The floorboards creaked and faintly trembled underneath the tread of his boots. With armour bedecked in chequered black it was plain to see that he was a member of the Goff clan. 

Unfortunately for the squabbling orks the big goff heard their murderous debate. A discussion pertaining to combat? Of course a goff’s opinion was needed. He lumbered over to the table. Too busy arguing, the gang of ork didn’t noticed the mountain of muscle towering over them.

“You’z all wrong, ya gits,” the big ork growls.

The group all turn to look up at the giant brute. The black clad nob shouldered his way to the table. Leaning over, he drops his hand on the scuffed tabletop. More drinks are toppled over from the weight of the massive paw. It was a calloused mitt covered in a decades worth of scars, the smallest finger missing a joint.

"Dis. Is da killiest ting out dere." He spoke with a confidence born of experience. “Ya put anyfin’ in dis hand, it’s da killiest fing out dere’. No matter wot.” He looks around the table as his orkish pride infected the others. “It can be ‘ard. It can be choppy. It can be stabby or just proppa nasty! It’s all killy cuz you’z an Ork!”

The table cheered at the oratory skills of the orkish noble. He leans in, in a conspiratorial manner.

“Don’t you worry bout da teef. Cuz dis’ll get ya all da teef you need,” The Ork nob says while pointing at his fist. “Yeah just need a good buddy and…”

He whirls around and plants his meaty fist square in the bad moons’ face. Bits of ork ivory fly through the air as the yellow Ork tumbles to the ground. The big Goff scoops up the Ork teeth scattered across the table.

“Drinks for dese good lads. I’m payin!” He holds up the first full of teeth, yelling back to the bar. The tables cheers again, even the bad moons boy joins in groggily, raising a fist from the floor. 

Another long night filled with grog.

[rallis-fatalis]

An Onyxpected Catch

On a normal day like any other, Adam decides to go fishing and hope for some good catches. That plan changes quickly when a certain blue dragon gets involved and the man gets more than he asked for. No day is normal when Rallis comes along.

It was just supposed to be a nice bit of alone time, a man and his fishing rod and the quiet river. Well, lava river. An afternoon catching eels in the peace and quiet of Mor-Ul-Rek. Just cast out the rod, pull up a seat, and read a book or something while waiting for an eel to bite. Hope a few had eaten some onyx so he could sell the bits when he smashed them open. An exuberant blue dragon playing with said eels was the last thing he wanted, and was frankly the last thing he expected.

The dragon stopped pawing at the lava at the sound of footsteps and turned around with a smile. "Hi Adam! What are you doing here? And what is that silly thing you're wearing?"

"Hello Rallis," he waved, much less enthusiastically. "Just fishing. And my outfit isn't silly! It's an angler outfit, perfect for fishing." He set up shop, casting the rod into the lava with a satisfying sizzle. Rallis snickered at his funny heavy outfit and the odd colorful spiny things pinned to his hat. "Hope you didn't scare them all away!" he barked at her.

"Nah, not all of them! Why, are you gonna play with them too?"

If playing meant smashing them open, yes. But he wasn't about to say that. "Just catching a few to look at is all," he lied.

"With a stick?" Rallis laughed. "Fish are caught with hands! Not sticks!"

Adam gave the lava a wary glance. "Yeah, I don't think I'm sticking my hand in that." Even with the icy gloves he was wearing, the lava heated the rod in his hands. "How are you here, Rallis? Don't you need a fire cape to get in here?"

The dragon snorted. "Are you assuming I don't have one?"

"You know, I shouldn't put anything past you at this point. You're always full of surprises. How did you manage to do the Fight Caves?"

"Oh it's simple! Jad and everyone are my friends!"

Adam looked at her in amazement. This story promised to be a lot more interesting than the book he brought. "Do tell."

"Alright!" she started with a giggle. "The warden of the Fight Caves told me I had to make my way through a gauntlet of fights and beat what was at the end. So I did just that! The first thing that happened when I started the gauntlet was I bumped into a little bat friend made of fire! They were super cute. And they brought a friend too!"

"Yeah I remember those," he told her. "They make you tired when they bite you."

"Oh they do?" Rallis asked with a tilted head. "They never bit me! They flew around really fast and we ended up playing tag. They were really nice! Soon these big blobby guys showed up, oozing out of the lava. I couldn't pet them, they were too hot, but they did enjoy dancing! They were super jiggly!"

She laughed as she danced around Adam. He just looked at her dubiously, thinking she was making it all up.

"Then two more little ones came and joined us. They were much less jiggly but they still danced with us. But then Xil interrupted us!" She grew pouty just thinking about it. "They shot these big sharp rocks at us and scared the jiggly friends away! So rude!"

"So what did you do?"

"I went over and had a talk! It's rude to just shoot at people and interrupt their day!"

Adam shook his head with a smile. "So you talked with a giant rock monster? Told it you were mad with it? That seems a little hard to believe."

"Well yeah! How else do you make someone stop doing something? You talk! Fix the misunderstanding! Why, do you not believe me?" She pouted. "Just because you can't talk with things that aren't human doesn't mean I can't!"

"Okay, okay, I believe you!" he held up his hands defensively. "What next?"

"Xil went away! And then Kih and Kek came back to play. It was all good!"

Adam was pulled away from the story by his fishing rod finally registering a catch. An eel squirmed out of the lava, Adam deftly unhooking it and dropping it in his bucket with a single smooth motion. Rallis clapped and gave the eel a pat on the head. Adam almost felt bad for what he was about to do to the thing.

"So Miss Pacifist, I have a question." Rallis turned her attention back to her friend. "When you were playing tag and dancing with your molten mates, how many showed up?"

She thought for a moment. "Hmm... I think there were two Kih, three Kek, one Xil. Then there was a big Mejkot, and a red Ket-Zek, an orange Ket-Zek, four small Mejkot, and Jad. So... fourteen?"

"F-fourteen?! You only faced fourteen monsters?!"

"Hey they aren't monsters, they're friends!" she snapped. "And yeah, why? How many did you see?"

He shuddered, remembering trying to keep count wave after wave, thinking it would never end. He wondered if he was even making a dent in their forces, feeling more ragged and beaten as the fighting went on. "I lost count around 80. There were more though. So many more... It was like they never stopped, like the same ones would keep coming back, over and over again."

"Oh, well that's because they do!" Rallis said matter-of-factly. "They're all made of lava and rock and magic, you can't kill them! They reform after a while. You likely did see the same ones a few times. I'd be mad and come back too if you beat me up!"

Adam sighed. So he could have saved himself some trouble if he had paid attention to that sort of thing? Was there a way to beat them so they wouldn't reform? He was starting to get a headache. There was no reason to think so much about it now, though. He had his cape and it was done. Luckily another eel helped snap him out of his inner groaning and moaning.

Rallis continued on. "Then the big Mejkot showed up and I told them they looked like a crocodile! They asked me what a crocodile was so I told them! I think they want to go visit the desert now. Then these two big frog dogs showed up and they were so sweet! They loved to be pet and have their bellies rubbed. Everything in there was so friendly. I'll have to go back some time!"

He ticked off what she described and noticed the lack of the whole reason for the gauntlet. "What about Jad?"

Rallis grinned and bounced. "Jad is a good friend! I was a little scared at first because she was so big and angry, but she stopped being so mad when she saw me with everyone else. Everyone ran off pretty quickly though, I guess they were scared of her too. But I talked with her and had a nice time! She kept sniffing at my pocket and found my candy so I gave her some. Jad has a pretty big sweet tooth, you know!"

"You beat Jad... with candy?"

She pulled out a wrapped gooey ball of taffy for emphasis. "Purple sweets to be exact! Want one?" She tossed him a piece and popped another in her mouth. "I gave her some and she was happy and left afterwards. It was a fun time!"

Adam squished the candy in between his fingers. The heat of the volcano was making it extra melty. "Let me get this straight. You played, danced, talked, and snacked your way to a fire cape? Do I have that correct?"

"Yep," Rallis said between chews. "They said 'make your way' through the gauntlet and 'beat' Jad. They didn't say kill or fight. I made my way through and beat her my own way. Why what did you do?"

'Shot everything with my crossbow.'

Another eel got hooked on the line. He had three now, hopefully one would have some onyx. Rallis poked at the eels in the bucket, scratching one behind the fin on its back. Adam pulled out a hammer and took one out of the bucket and held it in place on the floor. "Sorry little guy."

Rallis shrieked and quickly pulled the eel away, dropping it back into the bucket with the others and holding it away from the man. "What are you doing?!" she shouted.

"Fishing. You're supposed to hit them on the head first."

Rallis looked horrified. "You don't eat eels! That's horrible! They're small leviathans! You can't do that!"

"I'm actually not going to eat them," he told her. "I'm looking for something they might have eaten. Sometimes they eat bits of onyx."

"You're smashing them open for onyx? For money?! Adam you can't do that!"

"Why not?" he growled. "It's just a fish, Rallis, come on."

"Don't you 'it's just a fish' me!" She dumped the eels back into the lava before he could react, the trio happily swimming away.

"What the hell Rallis?!"

She threw the bucket back at him. "You shush! Now come here!" She yanked him along, barely giving him enough time to grab his gear before pulling him away from the fishing spot.

"Rallis I'm really not in the mood for whatever you're doing right now," he said grumpily. She didn't reply. They soon reached a small shop selling various gems and ore. Rallis dug into one of her many pouches and pulled out a hulking stack of tokkul and slammed it on the counter.

"An onyx, please," she snapped. The TzHaar running the shop handed her a beautiful uncut black stone. Rallis slammed it into Adam's hands. "There! A whole onyx! Now never try to smash my eel friends again!"

Adam couldn't believe what just happened. He stared at the gem dumbly. "Whether it's a fire cape or money, you don't have to kill stuff to get what you want." He almost wanted to snap back about that hypocrisy but didn't. She spun around and waved goodbye. "I'm gonna go say hi to Jad again. Bye Adam. Enjoy your onyx!"

After the moment of shock, he laughed to himself and walked away, looking the onyx over. "I should invite Rallis on fishing trips more often if this is how they'll go!"

[tokyoteddywolf]

1000+ Follower Special!!!

Thanks for 1000+ followers!!! 🙏🏻✨✨✨ Here, have some Shance!!! :D💙🖤💙🖤

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Lance had no idea how it had happened. One minute he was stepping into the adoption center for cats and the next he was on the floor of the nursery room, absolutely smothered in about a thousand wriggling, mewling, purring, fuzzy kittens of varying ages while his husband was busy parking the car.

Shiro walked in and abruptly made a high pitched squeal of endearment that you wouldn’t think such a big, buff, serious and scarred man with a prosthetic arm could make. “Oh my god, Lance! I was gone for not even ten minutes!” Shiro laughed as he pulled out his phone and rapidly took photos of his husband on the floor, flat on his back, absolutely covered in multicolored fluffballs.

Lance pouted and attempted to sit up, a tiny blue gray kitten chirping at him from her perch on his shoulder. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up, I know where you sleep.” The Cuban male grumbled, though he rubbed a few kitten’s ears affectionately, eyes soft with motherly love towards the adorable squeakers.

Shiro moved forward and settled down on the floor, a few more kittens mewing and clambering into his lap. The big man cooed and picked up several at a time, nuzzling into the silky fur adoringly. Lance smiled gently at the sight. His husband had always been a sucker for cats, and after their last cat, Voltron, died a few months ago from cancer, he’d been inconsolable. So Lance had decided to get Shiro a new cat, and if he sort of missed the sound of tiny padding feet and quiet meows around the house, nobody had to know.

The blue eyed kitten on Lance’s shoulder chirped again, and he scratched her neck affectionately. “Who’s a pretty girl?” He crooned as a tiny gray head butted into his cheek. A louder mew across from him had him looking down to see another, fluffier, solid black kitten perching on his knee, rearing up to bat at the blue kitten’s tail. “It seems that Blue really likes you, sir.” The assistant nearby spoke up, smiling from her chair in the corner.

“Blue?” Shiro looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah. Nobody here is really creative with names, so most of us just call ‘em like we see ‘em. The one on your lap is Black, she and Blue are sisters. Never seen a closer knit pair of siblings than those two. Though Black’s more Maine Coon mix and Blue’s more Russian Blue mix. Black took after their Mum, Blue after the Dad. Genetics are strange.” The brunette woman explained, pushing up her glasses and tucking a strand of red dyed hair away from the playful tuxedo kitten trying to nab it.

“She’s beautiful.” Lance muttered, now cradling the purring gray puffball in his arms and absently stroking just under Blue’s chin while Black mewled for attention too, prompting Shiro to scoop her up from Lance’s lap and lavish her in little rubs and tickles, which the kitten thoroughly enjoyed. “Lance, we absolutely have to take these two home!” Shiro declared, eyes sparkling with determination as Black attacked his face in cute kitty kisses.

“I can get their adoption forms for you whenever, just say the word.” The assistant lady smiled, tuxedo kitten now draped around her neck. The other kittens were sprawled around, tired after playtime. “Hon’, I thought we were only supposed to get one kitten?” Lance raised an eyebrow at his husband, only to get a big eyed puppy dog pout in return, quivering lip with watery eyes and all. “But Laaaance!!! You heard the lady! Black and Blue are really close sisters! We can’t just separate them!” Shiro whined pleadingly, holding up Black for emphasis.

Lance’s eye twitched, a sign he was weakening. “We’d have to get more things, you know. It’d be kind of expensive…” he tried, but faltered when Blue mewed and nuzzled at his neck adorably. Shiro dialed up the charm. “We have plenty of money! Pleeeeeaaassee dear honey darling love of my heart?” Lance snorted, laughing. “Okay okay, we’ll adopt them both, just stop with the ridiculous pet names. You’re so cheesy! I thought I was supposed to be the awful flirter in this relationship, not you!” He joked, Shiro giving him a beaming smile in return.

The assistant chuckled. “Alright, you two wait here while I go get the adoption forms.” She said, standing up and setting the tuxedo kitten down as she breezed out of the room, leaving the two men to play with the kittens a little longer.

Soon enough they were walking out of the adoption center with a carrier holding two adorable little balls of fur. By the huge, happy grin on his spouse’s face, Lance deemed this trip an overwhelming success in his book!

“Blue! No! Bad kitty, stop moving, you’ll make it worse! Shiro stop laughing and help me with her!” Lance wailed, attempting to pin down his rambunctious now-one-year-old cat with a cup of water stuck around her head.

His husband was currently laughing his ass off on the floor, red faced and wheezing while Blue stumbled and dashed around the living room, trying to whack the plastic cup off of her face. She’d just wanted a drink! Lance finally tackled the young Russian Blue mix to the ground, wresting the cup off with a ’pop!’ and a splatter of water all over the floor, which Blue promptly began to roll around in delightedly. She was one of those weird water cats, as Lance had discovered the day after they’d brought the kittens home and gave them a bath.

Black watched from her perch up high on the bookcase, purring lightly and twitching her tail in amusement. The huge Main Coon mix was a giant puddle of calm black fluff nowadays, always choosing some sort of high surface to settle on to keep watch over her territory. Like a lioness on Pride Rock, Lance had joked once.

Lance sighed in exasperation and scooped up his troublesome kitty. “Alright Beautiful, lets go get you dried off.” He muttered, Blue chirping in response and licking at his face with a rough tongue. He laughed lightly and disappeared into the kitchen for a towel.

Black mrrowed and jumped down from her high place, padding over to Shiro to check and see if her human was still alive. She patted his red face with a cool paw, batting at the white forelock until he recovered enough to sweep her up and nuzzle at her fur, and she responded with a purr and more soft kitty kisses to his face, as was their tradition nowadays. “Thanks for checking on me, Black. I’m good now.” Shiro chuckled, smiling as Lance came back into the living room with a towel wrapped bundle of damp fur.

“You were no freaking help at all you jerk!” Lance declared dramatically, pointing at his husband. “I feel betrayed, will I ever recover from this tragedy?!? I trusted you to have my back, instead you laugh at my suffering! Oh the indignity!” He continued his overly dramatic spiel, leaning back and moving his hand to press the back of it against his forehead like a damsel in distress. Blue meeped softly from her cocoon prison.

Shiro released a short laugh, sitting up fully to give his spouse a cheeky smirk. “It looked like you had everything under control already, dear.” He said cheerfully, amused at Lance’s dramatic nature. Black rumbled happily from her spot in his lap. “Under control? Did that look even remotely like I had it under control?” Lance raised an eyebrow at his lover as he set Blue free and used the towel to mop up the rest of the water, though luckily the cup had only been a fourth or so full.

Shiro tilted his head and hummed thoughtfully, tickling Black’s ears. “Well, no, but it was certainly entertaining.” He burst into more laughter at his spouse’s indignant squawk and sputtered through a mouthful of wet towel as it smacked him in the face, sliding off to land on Black with a wet slopping noise, causing Black to yowl a complaint and wriggle out from under the heavy weight soaking her fur.

“You sir, are a brat. No wonder you’re like, mentally seven.” Lance stuck his tongue out at said brat, who was trying to coax Black back into his lap. “Yes, but you love me!” Shiro sang as he managed to get his giant, fluffy monster of a cat back into his arms.

Lance sighed and gave his husband a fond smile. “Yeah… I really do.”

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hope you enjoyed ;3

[theconservativebrief]

Marvel’s legendary devil is back.

That’s right, Vincent D’Onofrio is once again playing Wilson Fisk a.k.a. the elegant kingpin of Hell’s Kitchen and the single best thing about that first installment of Netflix’s Daredevil, about Marvel’s blind, vigilante superhero.

Fine, fine: Daredevil, a.k.a. Matt Murdock (Charlie Cox), is back too, recovering after the events of last year’s The Defenders and headlining the third season of Daredevil after what seems like a long break. (The second season premiered on Netflix way back in 2016.) Critics were allowed to screen the show’s first six episodes and what I’ve seen is pretty good — thanks in large part to D’onofrio.

This doesn’t mean that things can’t go south in the latter half of the season, but at the outset of season three, the show is sticking to what worked in its first season: a friendship we can believe in, a villain that steals the entire show, and a more street-level view of evil rather than some kind of world-ending weapon.

This season finds Murdock bouncing back following The Defenders’ climactic cave-in, which seemingly doomed him and his on-again, off-again, sociopath soulmate Elektra. Also on the mend is on Wilson Fisk who, after season one, has found that he’s got so much more to offer this world than serving his consecutive and lengthy prison sentences for all the crimes he committed. In particular, Fisk wants revenge against everything and everyone who landed him in that prison in the first place.

Violence, death, manipulation — nothing is strictly business, it’s all personal for both Fisk and Murdock this season.

That in mind, here are five initial takeaways from Daredevil season 3:

The first season of Daredevil introduced us to the elegant monster that is D’onofrio’s Wilson Fisk, a bellowing storm of violence and cruelty crackling underneath a surface of quiet sophistication, wealth, and refinement. Daredevil’s second season suffered without Fisk’s gravity, tilting out of control at times as it introduced world-ending mythology and nefarious ninjas. So it’s a relief to have him back for this new season, even if he is behind bars and doing his best to figure out how to get out — and, more importantly, how to get back at the people who put him there.

D’Onofrio commands every scene he’s in, even when we’re watching someone else watch him (part of this season’s plot involves Fisk being under FBI surveillance). D’Onofrio calibrates every detail of his performance, down to the most seemingly forgettable stuff, and somehow makes those things unforgettable.

One of my favorite things this season is watching D’Onofrio eat things: The utensils shrink in his gigantic paws, yet he holds each one gracefully and lightly, like a conductor at the symphony. You get the sense that it’s hard for Fisk to move in this gentle manner because he’s holding back a force that’s used to crushing skulls. And in this controlled gentleness, there’s sophistication — making the prison gruel seem like sous-vide steak.

There’s a storytelling gimmick early in the season in which Fisk appears as Murdock’s evil conscience, goading Murdock to kill him. It’s not particularly convincing and the character comes off shouty and slapdash. I get that this is Murdock’s skewed view of Fisk as opposed to how we are really supposed to see him, but his filtered presence in these scenes makes it seem like the producers read the season one reviews and tried to figure out how to squeeze in more D’Onofrio — which is understandable, but not particularly beneficial to those scenes.

But when D’Onofrio is allowed to be Fisk, to really embody the cruelty and spirit of the villain, he taps into a strain of excited fear, like the tingle you feel after lightning flashes but thunder hasn’t yet struck. And lucky for us, and for this season, he invites us all to live in it.

Mavel’s Netflix universe has gotten super crowded. Since Daredevil kicked the whole thing off in 2015, there’s been multiple seasons of Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, and Iron Fist, and one season of The Punisher and the superhero team-up series The Defenders. And each of those solo shows comes with their own roster of supporting characters and villains.

However, from what I’ve seen of the season (and this could change), Daredevil seems uninterested in doing any giant crossovers, nor is it particularly concerned with fusing itself to those other shows. Daredevil is not like Iron Fist or Luke Cage, which both greatly benefit from guest stars from the other series. It’s fun to watch Cage and Danny Rand and their strikingly different personalities bounce off one another or see different characters’ interactions with Claire Temple — but Daredevil’s characters have plenty of chemistry already with each other.

Daredevil has a good core of protagonists in Matt, Foggy (Elden Henson), and Karen (Deborah Ann Woll), and their friendship is one of the more believable and human things in Marvel’s litany of shows. Adding in more characters, like what happened with Elektra, The Punisher, the Hand, and The Stick in season two, can work, but it can also, if done incorrectly, make the show feel rushed and congested.

The result this season is a tighter story about the trio’s friendship, or rather the toll Matt’s superheroism has taken on it. Being friends with Matt is emotionally tiring and physically draining — he isn’t ever honest with Foggy and Karen, nor is he particularly available when they need him to be. At one point they don’t even know if he’s alive, and the show plays around with that idea, that maybe just because you do good things or keep your loved ones safe doesn’t mean that they always see it, or that you see all the times you’ve let them down.

The ongoing refrain of the first season of Daredevil was that Fisk’s corruptive influence has woven its way into the economy, into the government, and into the police force. Murdock and his allies dispatched countless crooked cops and Fisk henchmen in that installment.

This time, the show wants to show how that corruption happens, and how Fisk’s superpower isn’t strength or being really rich, but rather how he’s able to take advantage of those cracks that let his influence seep in. What he’s found this season is FBI Agent Ray Nadeem (Jay Ali), an agent looking to move up in the bureau who can’t because of extenuating circumstances — the most debilitating being crippling debt that the agency sees as a corruption risk. Fisk obviously takes an interest in Nadeem, which he parlays into a greater advantage.

Some of the ways that Fisk gathers his intel and amasses his power requires a certain suspension of disbelief: Fisk benefits from writing that always makes him the smartest person in the room, often at the expense of everyone else, including extremely gullible FBI agents acting completely idiotic and forgetting that this is a man who makes El Chapo seem like the Barefoot Contessa.

Nevertheless, this season puts more emphasis on the regular people living in these super-powered times and caught in the crossfire between good and evil — and in the process makes some rather bleak points about how helpless regular folk would be in the face of it all.

[embedded content]

Bullseye — a major villain from the Daredevil comic books — becomes a major figure this season. Before you accuse me of spoilers, Marvel has been touting the marksman villain in its promos for Daredevil. But because I don’t want to give too much away, I’m just going to say that the origin story works because it’s told in a way that’s of interest to Fisk. It’s not so much about the character’s origin, but rather how Fisk figures out how to weasel his way into his head.

Oh, and it is very entertaining to watch Bullseye being really, really good at throwing things!

A season of Daredevil isn’t complete with one extended and beautifully choreographed fight sequence that happens in a hallway:

The one that appears in season three, episode four has a different feeling than the one above, from the first season, but it’s an equally good reminder that Daredevil still has some of the most innovative and thrilling fight choreography on television.

Daredevil’s full third season will be available on Netflix on October 19, 2019.

Original Source -> Daredevil season 3 is a return to what made the show so good in season 1

via The Conservative Brief