#soon Murphy

[ariparri]

The Former Jack of Spades

HPHM Cardverse Masterlist

Tag List: @catohphm @lifeofkaze @eternalchaoschocolaterain @oneirataxia-girl

If you want to be updated on content for the AU, especially for the lore, let me know and I'll put you on the tag list!

Duncan doesn’t catch a break does he? I could have given him a good life, but no I like the angst.

I know I was struggling to pick a color scheme for his appearance. In the end, the brown hair and black eyes spoke to me more xD I also wanted to give him a lighter color scheme in contrast to Coby's dark one. It’s a nice contrast to their characters.

❌ NO REPOSTING ❌

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Duncan Ashe, the esteemed Jack of Spades, also known as the Chancellor. Before his role, he was a mischief maker and enjoyed causing trouble alongside his friend, Coby McQuaid. Since they are good friends, Duncan acts as the voice of reason for the ambitious King Coby. They share a strong bond and both comrades can rely on the other in times of need. Even as Coby is the King, Duncan still refers to him by name rather than his title. Coby would even insist that their friendship shouldn't be treated differently due to their roles.

Duncan is a calm and flexible leader with universal capabilities. Praised for his determination and cunning, he does his best to inspire several of the younger members of his court, as he finds them to be the hope for their country should something happen to him. He carefully arranges his words to be as concise as possible; his eyes catch onto minute details; his actions are never wasted. Whenever a problem occurs, he acts upon the most efficient solution available to him.

Like with his second in command, Jacob Cromwell, Duncan also viewed Rakepick with suspicion and confided in him, "Patricia Rakepick is a person who does her actions on her own accord and will one day be someone who cannot serve under another." He then told Veruca to avoid the Ace at all costs after her brother's death. Rakepick and Duncan’s ideals would clash when it came to running Spades now that Coby wasn’t around. Duncan became worried when Rakepick was issuing stricter laws and rules over the country against his approval. His predictions of her character proved correct as she took full control not too long afterward.

There was too much tension between the Jack and Ace, the entire country could see it. And it wouldn’t be too long if Duncan had gained the support from the people to dismiss Rakepick from her position. Knowing he had to be dealt with immediately, Rakepick had invited Duncan to the clocktower under false pretenses that she was willing to let him handle human affairs. However, Duncan was aware of what Rakepick was planning and cut their conversation short by drawing his weapon. The two officials engaged in a duel, Rakepick having more experience in combat had no problems holding her own against Duncan. While he had more skills in marksmanship, Duncan was a decent swordsman. Rakepick commended Duncan for his insight, especially when he figured out what she had originally intended for him. Yet mocked him for thinking she’d be the one to deal the final blow. Duncan was caught off guard when he got stabbed in the back. When he finally sees who the perpetrator was, he is more than shocked to see the director of the museum, Verucca Buckthorn-Snyde brandishing a knife. The two women left Duncan in the clocktower. If the poison didn’t kill him, the blood loss would.

When it was announced that Duncan was assassinated, many of the people mourned his death. Some time after the civil war, and Veruca had claimed the throne, a monument was made as a memorial of Duncan. The country still celebrates his birthday with people placing flowers by his monument. Only a few people know that Duncan’s ghost haunts the clocktower. Rowan Khanna seeks Duncan’s advice on her position as the new Jack. Veruca, Olivia, and some members of Duncan’s court visit him just to keep him company.

[maybe-murphy]

Doodling in between studying for the final state exam tomorrow. Wish me luck!

[kobadit]

Coin Trick Lesson Robocop / Detroit: Become Human Scene from the fic "Metal of Man" by jjdgssp

[cillixn]

I'm gonna need Cillian edited as a cat lady

does this work for you

[pistachions]

Final stage of grief: acceptance (referring to mml s3 as 'if we got' instead of 'when we get')

[meowunmeow]

Fuuko ripping the seams of her idol outfit because of her muscles... I am so unwell .. ill, even... Save me Fuuko...

[leagueofdccm]

PLEASE LIKE THIS IF YOU WISH TO BE MAINS WITH MY MUSES The only thing I do ask of you is that if there is a certain muse you want, please write in the comments on who you want. It doesn't matter how many you want. but least i know if i ever send memes, or starters for y'all i know WHO YOU WANT already.

DOING THIS BECAUSE if anything needs organization it's this damn blog. lmao. Hello yes, to have things going on this blog I think i gotta make it organized, and see who wants to do things with my muses. If we are mains it means i will work on our threads first, the memes you send me will be worked on as well. any ideas you want, you can throw it my way without an issue ! also forming ooc connections along with our ic connections. if you want to ship, we don't have to go through the process of friends,or strangers-- we can establish the relationship between our muses. I am doing this to be more organized on my blog, and seeing who actually wants to interact with any of my muses to begin with.

Please, I ask of you-- trust it's annoying I know lmao. but do leave which muses you want for your muses if you are a multi-muse. As much as you want. I do crossovers do please throw in something you always wanted to do ! and those who aren't multi-blogs well just comment on which muses you want for your muses as well. To anyone who wants to be my main you will be my priority !! All the edits, all the love and all the plotting we can work on together !! ooc chit-chats and forming many amazing dynamics ! Headcanons, you name it !!! So please like this, and comment on who you want. I will also list names of my muses below to make it easier for y'all. go nuts. toss your oc's at my muses. whatever you want.

boys :

twd male muses : rick , daryl , oc jack smith , alden The boys : soldier boy, homelander, a-train, boomer ( ppg adapted to the boys ) you male muses : joe riverdale male muses : jughead , sweetpea , archie horror series muses : chucky , ghostfact caos male muses : nick until dawn : mike soa : jax taller last of us : joel Got : ramsay

girls :

twd female muses : maggie , rosita , michonne, beth the boys : starlight, bubbles ( ppg adapted to the boys ) you female muses : beck , peach riverdale female muses : betty horror series muses : tiffany caos male muses : sabrina got : sansa

[katykatyykaty]

[wyvernquill]

Another Dreamling Anastasia AU Snippet

So, this AU somehow gained some new traction over the past few days, and I remembered I still had this in my drafts! It's a direct continuation from the last post - the first time their paths cross, though I think I'll save their actual first conversation (already written!) for the next part. Mostly a lot of background and exposition, but I hope it'll be enjoyable nonetheless! Thanks everyone for your enthusiasm for this AU!!!

(Masterpost here!)

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

(I don't know why it just won't let me do the proper tag sometimes... I hope the people Tumblr refuses to let me tag will see the post anyway, I'm very sorry...)

---

There is a fight just about to break loose at the White Horse Inn.

It will happen because of a man; a pale, stick-thin skinny thing of a man, barely more than an ashen, grimy face under a mop of coal hair balanced on top of a ragged black coat, loitering close to the fireplace and trying not to be too obvious about soaking up its warmth. At his feet, half hidden beneath the torn hem-line of his coat, there is a bird, some sort of corvid, following the other guests - and their purses in particular - with its beady little eyes.

The bird’s master is watching, too, watching the inn’s staff collect coins and shove them into their pockets, watching the plates and bowls of food being carried about, hungry, starving-

And then he’s noticed watching, a barmaid muttering a word or two to the innkeep over by the beer caskets - and the moment the man’s eyes find the stranger, they narrow.

And in turn, the moment the stranger notices the hostile eyes on him, he seems to brace himself, something feral in the way his lips draw back from his teeth as the innkeep makes a beeline for him through the crowded pub.

Words are exchanged.

Words are exchanged, loudly.

An arm is grabbed - and the bird jumps up with an angry caw, beating its wings at the innkeep’s face, and the scullery boy runs over to help, as does the burliest of the barmaids.

(There’s that fight now.)

The stranger shouts and scratches and twists as he is dragged through the common room, towards the door, growling profanities in a hoarse, dark voice, while his bird squawks, wrapped in the scullery boy’s apron.

It’s a right mess, but perhaps not an unusual one - the White Horse makes quick work of unruly drunkards (and those who are here to pilfer money rather than spend it), and even as some guests are following the fight in fascination and with half a mind to join in just for the pleasure of throwing a punch, most of their clientele barely spares them a look. Soon, the stranger will be cast out into the cold and the night again, far away from the warmth of a fireplace, or the smell of food, or opportunities for thievery. Nothing special. Soon, it will be just a quiet evening, like any other…

If it weren’t for the fact that, over in the far corner, a familiar man, and a familiar something-altogether-else still managing a rather sound impression of one, have been nursing their drinks for a good hour already, trying to drown their failures in ale.

(The humans have robbed Destiny of his powers, torn his realm from him, burned his book - but destiny still shapes the lives of mortals and immortals alike; and it is that power, which makes Robert Gadling look up from the sad remains of his beer, and, for just a fraction of a second, lock eyes with the vagabond currently in the process of being removed from the premises.

That is enough.

With just one look, the wheels of fate are already set in motion, and our story can begin in earnest.)

"Hey, Gil." Hob nudges Gilbert's arm, not taking his eyes off the struggling, furious stranger. "Over there. Look."

"Hm?" Gilbert blinks owlishly, following Hob's nod to the commotion behind him. "Oh, yes, yes. Ghastly, isn't it? Disgraceful, that some hoodlums cannot conduct themselves in public houses with the appropriate decorum - in my days, I tell you, when the Endless were still-"

"No, look!" Hob cuts him off. "The hoodlum. Look at him, really look."

"Hrmmm," Gilbert makes a sound of polite displeasure, and fiddles with his circular little glasses, peering through them and across the room, where the haggard stranger is spitting abuse at the innkeep even as he is in the process of being shoved out of the door.

And then, "oh, good lord!" Gilbert gasps, and drops his glasses.

"You see it too, then?"

"I… yes. Gracious, yes. Like a ghostly apparition." Gilbert gropes for his glasses with one hand, eyes never leaving the stranger. "The physical resemblance - most uncanny. A good deal more malnourished and, ah… rather grimy, it seems… and yet, overall…"

"A dead ringer for Dream of the Endless, isn't he?" Hob finishes, nodding. “Better than any of the men that auditioned for us, certainly.”

“Heaven help,” Gilbert’s voice is weak with emotion, “even knowing it isn’t him, I feel like… ah, Robert, if he were only given a bath, some better garb… it would be as if His Lordship walked again!”

“Would be?” Hob’s grin is bright and hungry, like a hunting dog smelling his prey, as he pushes himself up from his seat. “Will be!”

“-and if I see either you or yer blasted bird thievin’ in here again," the innkeep snarls, tossing first the haggard stranger, and then a squawking bundle of black feathers, out into the snow. “I’m callin’ the coppers! Y’hear?”

The word the stranger spits back, gathering all his limbs and his dark coat around himself as he staggers to his feet and off into the night, is so filthy even Hob would blush upon saying it. A bit rough around the edges, this man, not exactly the model of a fairytale king - but such things can be taught, can’t they. Hob’s seen a production of Shaw’s Pygmalion, years ago, and if Higgins can make a fine lady out of a flower girl, then Hob and Gil can make a Dream Lord out of some vagabond.

“Begging your pardon, good man.” Hob leans against the doorframe, watching the stranger’s dark shape angrily stomp off through the snow, bird hopping along at his side. “Howsabout this, a shilling for anything you can tell me about the man you just tossed out of your establishment.”

“Whot, Murphy!?” The innkeep blinks. 

Holds out his hand.

Hob dutifully deposits one of his last few shillings in it.

“Thank you kindly, sir, much obliged.” A tip of the hat, and the coin disappearing in the innkeep’s pocket. “Murphy’s one of the local beggars. A filthy thief, too, and no mistake. He’s trained that raven of his into it - heard the city even pays him some little pittance to control the birds in the area! They wouldn’t do it if they knew what he was doing with ‘em. I don’t like seein’ him around the Horse, not with the trouble he’s causing. Stealing leftover scraps from tables I can forgive, might even give him a full meal now and then in the name of charity - but if he goes for the pockets of my regulars, the regulars don’t come back, understand? Can’t have that.”

“Course not.” Hob agrees readily. “Bad for business, a pickpocket.”

“Just so, sir. He’s been in the London area for… oh, eight, nine, maybe ten years? Hasn’t got a trade, not very willing to do an honest day’s work in any case, can’t hold down a job for the life of him as a result. Still thinks himself better than the rest o’ us, anyway. I’d leave him alone, if I were you - he’s vicious as all Hell, bit the kitchen boy once and the lad needed to get his arm stitched up afterwards. And that raven - the thing’s a demon, swear to God. A familiar, like witches have. If we were livin’ in a less civilised age, they’d’ve strung old Murphy up for witchcraft and devilry years ago!”

Hob hums thoughtfully. “Do you know if he has fallen in with that crowd? Not idle hearsay, mind, but facts. There’s still some men in London who practise the Old Arts, does he meet with them?”

(Hob has heard that the old Magus of Wych Cross died perhaps a year or two after his greatest accomplishment; for all his powers that tore Endless spectres from their lofty thrones, in the end he couldn’t defend himself against his own son finally snapping, smothering him in his sleep, and running off with the gardener. Good riddance to the old goat, in Hob’s opinion - but he had a good handful of supporters in every major city, and they can’t all have died with him.)

The innkeep takes his time answering, staring out into the softly-falling snow.

“...not that I know of, sir.” He finally says, cautiously. “He doesn’t meet with anyone, really, ‘xcept the birds. Solitary type, is our Murphy, with no family, and no-one to miss him if he freezes himself to death some night. But.”

A pause.

“There’s something wrong about that man, if you ask me. He has a look in his eyes… whatever it is, it’s not natural. Might be magic. Might be madness. I really couldn’t say.”

“I see.” Gears are turning in Hob’s head, puzzle pieces slotting into place, plans unfolding.

A man sleeping rough, with nobody to miss him or know much of him, fierce and angry and constantly on the brink of starvation, looking just like Dream. A diamond in the rough, and quite possibly desperate enough to actually agree to their mad plan just for a few weeks of guaranteed food and a roof over his head.

Dear God. He’s perfect.

“One more question, about Murphy.” Hob beams, half-giddy. “Where do you think I could find him, say… tomorrow?”

The innkeep’s eyebrows rise up into his hair.

“Can’t see why you’d ever want to,” he mutters into his beard. “But very well. On your head be it.”

He names a nearby small park, where Murphy often goes to feed his birds, and is rewarded for it with another tuppence; and then Hob saunters back to his and Gil’s table, already feeling like he can almost taste the promise of eternal life on the tip of his tongue.

(“We cannot know for certain that he will agree, Robert. He sounds like a most prideful young man - he is much like His Lordship in that regard as well, I suppose.”

“Oh, he’ll agree. I’ve been where he is, Gil, and there were times I would’ve sold my own mother to the devil for a warm meal and a bed to sleep in. Not that the devil would’ve taken the old bat even if I’d paid him, of course, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“That hardly makes it much better. We’d be taking advantage of the poor man’s unfortunate situation!”

“Everyone’s situation is unfortunate these days. And we’d be improving his, on the whole, along with ours.”

“Let it be noted, dear fellow, that I am voicing my ethical and moral quandaries.”

“I really don’t think our plan to scam the Endless is very ethical in the first place, Gil.”

“...now that I cannot possibly argue with.”

“There we are then.”

“However! You will have to be the one to suggest it. I will help you instruct him and present him to the Endless if you do convince him - but for now, I wash my hands of the matter.”

“Fair enough.”)

[querido-eh-dump]

End of May or early June..

(June, it's june as always i'm late) Happy Pride everybody [:

[connorjared]

connor and evan are foils to each other in the book. connor is a sheep in wolf's clothing and evan is a wolf in sheep's clothing

[thcbclter]

"what is the point of having security if they let anyone in who flashes them a dazzling smile and happens to have a $50 bill in their pocket?" akila sighs as she sees the blond approach her. setting her book down, she crosses her bikini clad legs and pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head. "if you're looking for finn, he is not home." // @bruiscdmouth

[maybe-murphy]

I gave in and watched the new cod campaign and here's the result, these two have taken over my brain.

[z0mbie2b0y]

Sincerely three, my beloved

[cillixn]

Bradley Cooper should’ve won.

[everett-fornow]

mw when i remember my skrimbly skroinkies run a torture ring

ignore my excessive use of red gradients