#murphy deserves better

[verified-villain-fxcker]

I will never forgive Peaky Blinders for what it did to them actually.

[galaxina-the-pyro]

HDHDJDJDHDBBDDBBDBDBDNBD PHINEAS AND FERB IS COMING BACK, DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH IVE BEEN HOPING FOR THIS TO HAPPEN, AND ITS THE EXACT NUMBER OF SEASONS!!!!

…oh, and also Hamster and Gretel is coming back too. I don’t actually watch Hamster and Gretel - doesn’t grab me. But I might watch some of it when season 2 comes out.

And then there’s the middle child of the Dwampyverse shows…😔

I demand justice! GIVE US ANOTHER PNF X MML CROSSOVER DISNEY YOU FRIGGING HACKS!!!

[mylifestylearedilfs]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ cillian murphy x daughter!reader ࿐ྂ

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ WASHING MACHINE HEART : angst ; imagine ; all is fictional ; cillian is a bad parent here (probably a great father irl)

, , ,

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ BEING THE OLDEST childnever had been easy. y/n was cillian & his wife's first child, but she wasn’t wanted by them; she wasn’t in their plans. they were just before marriage when y/n was born, and she totally ruined all of their plans. unfortunately, she wasn’t this kind of child who was unexpected but loved anyway. maybe her mom paid attention to her when she was a newborn because she has this maternal instinct. but everything has changed since her brothers were born; they were the apple of her parents' eyes. they have always had the attention and affection of both of her parents; even if cillian was filming a new movie and didn’t have time for anything, he had time for his boys.

her parents always wanted the best for their boys; they have everything they asked for, and she was in the shadow of her brothers. she never heard her parents say ‘i love you’ to her. her childhood was full of crying and wondering, ‘why don't my parents want me?’ she was jealous of her younger siblings, she wanted to be loved like they were.

but the worst part of this came when she started to be a teenager. she started to understand more than she could as a child, but the nightmare didn’t stop. she started to be aware of the fact that her parents never really wanted her, and she could not do anything to make them love her. she was trying her hardest to get her parents' attention. she even signed herself up for a drama club because she wanted to have common interests with her dad and make him proud. but he never showed up for her performance because one of her brothers always had his own performance in theater, and he chose him, just like always.

she remembered, like today, her play where she was playing the main role, and after the show, she was looking for her parents in the audience, but nobody was there. she was still a kid, crying at the scene because her parents didn’t care about her, even on an important day like this one. she was doing all of this acting because she thought that her dad would be proud of her, and she wasn’t even enjoying it. she wasn’t happy doing that; she just thought her dad would be happy.

seeing other people her age having the best time with their families makes her wonder why her parents hate her so much and what she has done for this type of life. watching happy families makes her suddenly feel like a child who begs her father to pay attention to her.

, , ,

years passed, and she had her eighteenth birthday. it was supposed to be her happiest day in life because she started to be an adult, but of course nothing can be perfect, even for one day in the year. she wanted to celebrate this day with her family, but when she came to the living room, everyone was acting like they forgot what day it was.

she was mad. she had enough of being ignored all her life; all she wanted was to be loved by her parents and have a bit of attention this day. without thinking, she grabbed the family photo she wasn’t even be at and threw it on the floor. watching as the glass broke into small pieces.

“what is wrong with you y/n?!” her dad snapped at her, didn’t understanding what she was doing.

“what is wrong with me?! you-” she didn’t realize that tears were streaming down her cheeks. “you don’t care about me; you don’t give a shit about me” cillian wanted to say something, but she interrupted him. “you shouldn’t just make people if you are going to treat them like shit and make them think they do something wrong their whole life.” at this moment, she just broke into tears as she looked at her father’s face, and without saying a word, she came back to her room.

she didn't deserve it. she didn't deserve it at all.

, , ,

⇢ ˗ˏˋ thank you for attention! and im sorry for any mistakes. and remember it’s all fictional, cillian is probably great father but i wanted to write something like this. take care!

[querido-eh-dump]

End of May or early June..

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

[wyvernquill]

One more snippet of the Dreamling Anastasia AU

...in which we witness Hob and Murphy's very first conversation (spoiler: it doesn't go well). Please enjoy!

Link to the Masterpost!

(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)

---

For a moment, the scene unfolding before Hob makes him think he’s stepped into a fairytale - or perhaps a sweet and strange dream, haunting you ever so gently even after waking.

Once upon a time, thinks Hob, there was a Dream King draped in a cloak of midnight, and he held court over the ravens in a silver-winter forest under heavy, snow-laden boughs…

But then he blinks, and the silly, fanciful vision fades. The cloak is but a dark coat three sizes too large and marked by at least ten years’ worth of dirt and wear, the forest only a small and pitiful park fenced in by roads, and the snow a dirty grey, barely more than half-melted sludge where countless feet have trodden it down.

And the Dream King is only some beggar called Murphy, of course, uncanny resemblance be damned.

But there are ravens. Birds of all kinds, really, the sounds of their wings and their various songs nearly managing to drown out the noise of the city around them. Yet Hob is a practical man, and knows that they gather around their ‘king’ only because they’re clever little buggers waiting to be fed, and not thanks to any strange magics.

(Magic died when humanity rose up and brought the Endless low; and what little survived has fled, concealed itself, and would know better than to enchant a hundred or so birds in broad-if-cloud-dimmed daylight.

Magic died with Dream of the Endless, and all that is left are shadows and cheap facsimiles.

Magic died, and nothing will bring it back.)

And yet… there’s potential there, Hob thinks, as he watches Murphy draw his giant coat more tightly around himself, shivering but still holding his head high and proud, surveying the assorted fowl around him as if they were his subjects. There’s a sharp, delicate arrogance in his bearing that will serve their deception well.

And. Christ alive. He does look like him, doesn’t he. Like the Sandman himself, made flesh and bone and sweat and dirt. Made human. If Hob didn’t know, with absolute certainty… he could swear...

Ridiculous thought. Dream of the Endless would never sink so low as to get himself thrown out of a pub swearing and spitting, human or not.

Murphy’s eyes suddenly snap up, and Hob flinches instinctively, contemplates ducking behind the next tree or the column advertising the latest local plays - but the man’s gaze passes over him carelessly, long neck craning out from the ratty scarf wound around his throat as he scans the sky.

It’s the raven. The large, coal-feathered beast Murphy had with him at the pub, with the clever glint in its eye - and in its claws, it holds a whole loaf of bread, clearly pilfered from some bakery or street stall.

The raven drops the bread into Murphy’s lap, and then lands on his shoulder, cawing and nudging its beak against a sharp cheekbone in a strange avian gesture of affection.

Murphy rasps some sort of acknowledgement in his dark, hoarse voice that Hob is too far away to parse, stroking a finger along the bird’s side, before turning his attention to the bread.

His spindly, dirty fingers tear into it with the hungry desperation of a man who remembers with precise clarity when his last meal was, and also that it’s been far too long since then, and Hob’s stomach gives a sympathetic pang. He’s been there. Not so much recently - but he knows the slow gnaw of starvation, and will never forget it.

(He hasn’t gone hungry since meeting Gilbert, who’d rather skip on his own technically unnecessary meals if it meant his young human companion could eat his fill. Sometimes, Gil even hands Hob fruits he’s seemingly conjured up out of thin air, which are never as filling as the real thing, but taste heavenly enough to stave off hunger for a few more hours at least.

There must be some dream-magic there, something to do with Gil being, in all technicality, a meadow - but Hob doesn’t think about it too much. It’s sweet, the actions of a friend who truly cares, and that’s enough for him.)

Murphy raises the first morsel of bread up to his mouth…

…and feeds it to the raven.

Hob blinks.

Watches, as the man takes his own bite, chewing ravenously, and then tears another bit off the loaf, throwing it to the ground, birds immediately flocking around it, picking for their share.

The process repeats. Murphy goes through the entire loaf that way. One bite for the raven who stole the bread, one bite for Murphy himself, and one for the flocks of birds around him. Halfway through, the raven refuses its bites, presumably full, and from then on it’s one bite for Murphy, two for the birds. It’s already not the largest loaf, and a third of it is hardly enough to sate a grown man’s hunger - strangely selfless, this Murphy character. No wonder he’s thin as a rake.

(Then again, Hob supposes there’s strategy in it, teaching the birds that they’ll be well-rewarded for any bounty they bring him.

Altruism, or shrewdness? Hob wonders.)

Soon, there’s nothing left of the bread. Murphy still looks hungry, but it’s an exhausted, resigned hunger that’s there to stay. Hob doubts the man can remember a time he wasn’t hungry. This city is not kind to the starving, to the poor - Murphy might get a place in a workhouse, if he tried, but Hob doubts that quiet pride still shining through the veil of hunger would let him. And besides, they’re dying institutions, these days, workhouses - the modern world is turning up their noses at anything that might help the destitute, even as it churns out more and more of them. It’s a dark and miserable time they’re living in, and none of the glamorous parties the rich so love to throw these days will convince Hob otherwise.

But, well. If their scheme goes off without a hitch, then at the very least the new ‘Dream of the Endless’ will never go hungry again. Hob’s doing a public service here, if you look at it from the right angle - though he’ll be the first to admit that his main motivation is anything but selfless. Immortality is too rich a prize to pretend he doesn’t want it with every fibre of his being.

And he’ll not get it standing idly by and watching, that’s for sure.

Hob straightens his coat lapels, takes off his hat to comb his fingers through his overlong hair, places it back at a jaunty angle - and walks over to finally officially make this Murphy character’s acquaintance.

“Afternoon,” Hob says, still a few steps away, smile widening into a grin when Murphy’s gaze immediately fixes itself onto him, cold and filled with the sharp suspicion of a man most people go out of their way to ignore, and who does not trust direct address.

(The eyes give him away. Dream of the Endless had eyes like midnight stars, the depths of space and the glitter of distant galaxies eternally reflected in them. Strange eyes, inhuman eyes, endless eyes.

Murphy’s eyes are a pale, washed-out blue-grey, slightly sunken in their sockets, and perfectly ordinary.

No matter - they will already have to sell some cock-and-bull story about Dream having been forced into human form, the eyes will be the least of it.)

“What do you want?” Murphy growls, and that is perfect. The voice. Easily his best asset, besides the overall look. It’s right, scratchy and roughened by disuse, but just as deep and sonorous as Dream of the Endless's was. The harsh tone and tendency to curse like a sailor Hob witnessed at the inn will need to go, to be sure, this man speaks too much like a London gutter rat and not enough like the Lord of Stories - but, well, nothing a few lessons can't fix. Nobody else ever got the voice even remotely right, and this’ll already give them a lot more to work with.

“A moment of your time, m’lord. Nothing more.” Hob affects a cheeky bow, and does not waver under the cold disdain he receives in return. Mr. Murphy’s not a fan of teasing and gentle mockery, evidently - unfortunately, that is about 50% of Hob’s personality. They’ll get on just splendidly, won’t they. “Hob, at your service. Are you aware your lady sister is looking for you?”

A quick blink, even as Murphy’s entire scrawny body and haggard face goes very, very still.

“...I do not have a sister.” He says, only the slightest edge of uncertainty and confusion wavering in his voice. And then, “piss off, Robert Gadling” he adds, uncouth and vulgar, a scowl scrunching up his face. Oh, they’ll need to train that out of him, most certainly.

(Hob has not introduced himself as Robert, and certainly not as Gadling. That Murphy has named him thus nonetheless goes over both their heads.)

“No?” Hob smiles. “You’re not Dream of the Endless, then?”

Another blink - and then Murphy laughs, a horrible dissonant sound that seems like it ought to hurt his throat, the raven on his shoulder letting out a single caw alongside him.

“Are you drunk?” He snorts. “Dream of the Endless is dead. Every child knows it.”

“Every child believes it to be so. There’s a distinction.” Hob tries to take a step closer, but the sea of birds at their feet steadfastly refuses to part for him, so he thinks better of it. “You look exactly like him, you know. You might well be.”

“And you would know that, would you?” Murphy raises an arch eyebrow. “I think I’d remember having once been the personification of dreams.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Memory can be a funny thing.” Hob shoots back. “We don’t remember being born, do we? And some lose track of even more than that. How’s your recollection of your childhood, hm?”

Ah. Jackpot. The moment he speaks of remembering and childhoods, Murphy looks away, uncomfortable. Hit a sore spot there, has he? Memory issues. How interesting. How perfectly convenient.

“...you’ve had your fun now,” Murphy rasps, shifting uneasily, no longer so willing to defiantly meet Hob’s eyes. “I want no part in whatever game you’re intending to play with the London Poor, Gadling. Fuck off, before I make you.”

“Now, now, I really do think we’re on to something, here.” Giving up, Hob knows, is for fools who don’t really want to become immortal. “I’m quite certain-”

“Fuck. Off.” Murphy repeats, and turns his pale, unfortunately-human eyes on Hob again.

So do nearly a hundred birds, feathers ruffling and beaks clacking. The raven on Murphy’s shoulder caws, low and threatening.

Hob swallows, and takes stock of his options. Wonders if tactical retreats might not be just the thing for intelligent men who don’t want to die by bird before ever getting to take their stab at immortality.

“I’m only saying-” Hob tries instead, because he’s a reckless idiot.

Murphy’s eyes narrow, and he spits out a throaty sound like a command, the flock of birds rising as one, led by his personal raven jumping into flight with a sharp battle cry.

Shit.

Gilbert glances up when Hob returns covered in feathers and bird droppings, skin smarting where sharp beaks have pecked at him until he fled.

“I take it young Mr. Murphy was not particularly amenable to your proposal…?” He asks, delicately, lip twitching around a politely-repressed smile.

“Can’t say he was.” Hob shrugs easily, only wincing slightly at the way the movement pulls on his skin. “But I think I can convince him, Gil. Given enough time.”

“If you say so, young friend.” Gil, for his part, does not look particularly convinced either. He rarely is, when Hob first pitches his ideas, but he always comes around.

And so will Murphy.

Hob knows it’s only a matter of time… and, perhaps, some clever bribery.

[mymomhatesmyguts]

once again im yelling into the void about deh mothers but OH MY FUCKING GODD IT ANNOYS ME SO FUCKING MUCH WHEN PEOPLE VILLAINIZE CYNTHIA

like,, was she the best mother ever? no, of course not. did she make mistakes? of course she did, we all do. but she never PURPOSEFULLY harmed connor, she was trying her best. its her first time living too, yk, cut her some slack.

AND TO ADD TO THIS ‼️‼️ she knows shes making mistakes, but no one tells her how to fix them!! ima be professional and cite my sources: "its a puzzle, its a maze, i try to steer through it a million ways but each days another wrong turn."(anybody have a map?) THAT WHOLE FUCKING SONG IS ABOUT HOW HARD IT IS TO BE A MOTHER AND ALMOST NO ONE GETS IT

in conclusion, Cynthia Murphy tried her best and she was NOT the antagonist in connor's story.

[bellamysbooklover]

Why is John Murphy so overlooked?!? EVERYONE LOOK AT HIM RIGHT NOW. RIGHT. NOW

That is a baby girl if I’ve ever seen one

Look at his SMILE. Fuck oFF

He’s had an amazing redemption and everyone is sleeping on him. Live laugh and love John Murphy everyone. Have a nice day

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

Favorite Otps/Pairings:  Ted Mullens & Alexis Rose (Schitt's Creek) “I'd like to think that we helped each other get here. I know that we did. And when you get on that plane tomorrow I want you to know how grateful I am to have met you. I don't think I'm ever gonna meet another woman who made me feel the way that you do. I'm sure there'll be like some other woman, somewhere.”

[ccgg112]

Remember how Milo Murphy's Law was such an amazing show with a great set up?

Only for them to ruin it by letting a retconned version of Doofenshmirtz takeover the show?????

[zoe-murphy-is-my-wife]

I'M STILL ALIVE AND STILL IN LOVE WITH ZOE MURPHY

[pearlsdiamondsandvodka]

emily being the one to defend gerard most in the latest episode of adventuring party is so sweet🥺

[andiilikestoreadff]

Just when I think "how many hyperfixations can I have at a time, truly?!"

John Murphy appears 😳 and I am swept away to obsess over him again.

Update: Merlin has entered the chat not but a day later... 😑

[the-fangirl-diaries]

111 Thoughts I Had While Watching: The Edge of Love (2008)

 Keira Knightley, Sienna Miller, and oh, would you look at that. 

Keira can sing? 

1940s? London Blitz? Based on a true story? Tissues on hand. 

Childhood friends to lovers sounds like a good plot. 

Smoking is bad for you, kids. Don’t do it. 

Wait, he’s married and a dad? This will be interesting. 

Tommy Shelby? Ariana What are you doing here? 

Man, the handkerchief line was smooooooth! 

Vera giving Caitlin her number? They were definitely flirting. 

Getting serious Moulin Rouge vibes with the coloured spotlights. 

Tommy do be smitten like a lovesick kitten and I love it. 

LOOK AT THAT SMILE, I’M IN LOVE! 

“When he looks at me, and I look at him!” ~ Vera, maybe. 

His name’s William. 

THEM FLIRTING, AGH! 

Imagine having a good drink and then the earth shakes. 

“They all melt at the sight of a uniform.” VERA, I AM A PUDDLE! 

He’s walking her home? Where can I find me a gentleman like that? 

“A sad poem about a 100 year old man. Great.” ~ Caitlin, definitely. 

Caitlin loves Dylan, Dylan loves Vera, Vera loves Dylan, Will loves Vera. 

Not a love triangle, a love rectangle?  

Cillian, when will you do ASMR with that voice? 

Vera and Caitlin reading in bed together. They’re in love, Your Honour. 

Caitlin if all you’re good for is nurturing his talent, break up with him! 

Another air raid? 

Stopping a street fight without violence? Will, marry me already. 

Again, don’t smoke kids. Unless you’re a movie character. 

CILLIAN SINGS? WHAT? HOW THE -- HOW DID I NOT KNOW? 

“Dylan, Caitlin, I’m right there. Why are you --” ~ Vera, definitely. 

Vera, if you don’t dance with William, then move over, let me have him! 

The way he comforts her after the air raid? WHERE ARE MY TISSUES? 

“You have a raindrop running down your cheek, like a tear.” I CAN’T! 

“No word of mine will ever hurt you.” WILLIAM, I BEG YOU TO STOP! 

They’re doing the spicy time now and I’m crying. Thanks. 

NO, MOTHER, I AM NOT OKAY! 

“That should be me.” ~ Dylan, maybe. 

Dylan, enough, she’s in love with someone else, okay?! 

“Don’t write poems for me anymore?” Caitlin dump his sorry butt. 

Vera.....why are you looking at Dylan like that? Sus. 

William’s been posted? No!!! 

NOT WILLIAM BEING ADORABLE!!!! 

Dylan and Vera were childhood lovers. See, I was right! 

Why shouldn’t she tell William about it? 

Two girls, chillin’ in a tub, five feet apart, cause they’re not gay. 

Happy music time. 

“FOR OLD TIMES SAKE, EH? WHY’D YOU KISS HER?” ~ William. 

And now they’re singing together in Welsh. A love song, I guess? 

Oh, I know where this is going and I don’t like it. 

The way Caitlin tried to cheer William up. Awwww. 

“Love me, love me, say that you love me,” ~ William, maybe. 

All he’s asking is for honesty, girl! 

You can’t even tell him you love him? HE’S GOING OFF TO WAR! 

Why did I half expect her to shout “I love you” before he got on the plane? 

He’s so poetic even in his letters. 

Oh, no. She’s got the sicky icky which means she’s pregnant. 

She doesn’t want the baby, and yet -- hold on! 

A nurse telling Vera not to scream and Caitlin telling her off. ICONIC! 

A birth and an arm amputation? What an.... interesting parallel. 

Imma just skip over this part because it’s sad and a bit graphic. 

Okay, now she’s in Wales writing a letter telling William to come home. 

“It’s not what I married you for?” GIRL, WHAT? 

I JUST WANNA GIVE HIM A HUG!!! *sniffles* 

Wait, Dylan’s got a new woman? I’m not surprised, just disappointed. 

“If you were a man, I’d fancy you.” ~ Caitlin. 

YES, CAITLIN, GET HIM!!!! 

You sleep with other women because you’re a poet? WHAT? 

I write poetry and I don’t have a partner, but if I did, I wouldn’t CHEAT! 

You know what, you and Vera deserve each other. I’m done with this. 

See? Even the patrons at the bar know something’s up with them. 

Who’s looking after the kids while Caitlin’s on her bike? 

Don’t drink and bike, okay? 

Just friends, huh, Vera? Why’d you kiss him on your wedding day, then? 

He can’t even play with his kid? That’s sad. 

Flushing the poem down the toilet? Not what I expected but good on you. 

LOOK WHAT YOU DID! YOU MADE HER CRY!!! 

Now you’re taking a bath together? What’s William gonna think, huh? 

Poor boy is shell-shocked. 

I thought you said you were going to tell him you love him. 

He can’t even hold or look at his child because he knows the truth. 

Now he’s broke because you spent all his money. 

See? Told you he’d find out. 

Wait, what’s the child’s name? Rowatt? That’s a new one for the books. 

I already have a bad feeling about this Anita person. 

IT WASN’T THE BRITISH WHO RISKED THEIR LIVES!? WHAT?! 

Will had to watch a soldier’s arm be amputated! 

Dylan, you’re friends with these people!?

You have the AUDACITY to LAUGH while he’s having a breakdown? 

She’s just antagonizing him at this point. *sips water.* 

I shouldn’t say it’s okay that he slapped her, but SHE HAD IT COMIN’! 

William, whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t. 

Going to your wife’s boyfriend’s house with a weapon.... Oh, no. 

You weren’t aiming for anyone, but still, not the best idea, love. 

He told Caitlin what happened. 

Aww, he’s sad because there’s a bruise on Vera’s cheek.  

And because he scared Caitlin’s son and doesn’t like the screaming. 

COME ON VERA, MAKE A SMART CHOICE FOR ONCE! 

Thank you. I am this close *spreads arms out* to forgiving you. 

Okay, this moment with William and his son? I’m crying again, darn it!!! 

“Lashes like feathers, like yours.” WILLIAM! MY HEART CAN’T TAKE IT!  

Not surprising the police are involved after the incident. 

See? Caitlin wonder’s if the kid is Dylan’s, too. 

“You’re my friend.” SAYS THE GIRL WHO SLEPT WITH BESTIE’S MAN?

Asbestos walls? Aren’t they dangerous nowadays? 

“Scratch my head, Cat.” No, Dylan. Kiss my- Oh, look a rainbow! 

How was he supposed to know the walls were poorly built? 

If you can’t live without him, why’d you cheat on him, then? 

“It’s my firm belief that he tried to murder me.....” 

FORGET DEEP BREATHS, I’M SCREAMING INTO MY PILLOW. 

Wait! No evidence of murder? Yay, I guess? 

NO, NOT A HAPPY CAITLIN AND VERA MONTAGE OF THE PAST? 

Everyone made peace with each other. That’s nice. 

I was half expecting a sad ending, but I’m so glad it wasn’t. Also, no, I didn’t cry a hundred times, what are you talking about?! 

[mistapottaa]

As a fandom we agreed and respect the fancast of Timothée Chalamet as young Regulus Black <3 but we hardly ever discuss the fc for adult Regulus so hear me out...

✨️ Cillian Murphy as aldut Regulus Black ✨️

[the100anthroproject]

I am conducting an anthropological study for my master's thesis about feminism in The 100 and looking for fellow fans of the show to participate. If you are interested please message me on here or email me at the address provided in the flyer. Must be over 18 years old to participate.

[ludinus-is-a-bitch]

hey y'all i'm desperate for people to talk to about The 100. it starts out good, it keeps going good, it gets a little muddy, it gets real weird, and then it gets FUCKING WEIRD, and, you know, i'd just like to talk about it with y'all.