#i wanted to draw what i felt listening | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carewyncromwell · 3 months

Text

"You want a ride to fame? I've got the fastest route! What's it gonna be? Are you in or out?"

x~x~x~x

HPHM Cardverse developed by @ariparri // Rakepick's outfit // Duncan's outfit // the more "court-worthy" outfit Duncan eventually bought for Jacob

x~x~x~x

The day Jacob Cromwell first arrived at the palace of Spades, he earned more than a few skeptical side-eyes. It was hard not to judge Jacob poorly, when he strolled inside dressed in clothes more appropriate to working in a mechanic's shop than in one of the most powerful royal courts in Cinderhaven. His black slacks and white shirt were clean and his boots were polished, yes, but he'd rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and the lone pop of color in Jacob's outfit -- his red suspenders -- were far too informal for such a setting. And yet Jacob walked with his head held high, almost arrogantly so, and went straight to work in his new workshop just down the hall from the office of his boss, the also very recently installed Jack of Spades, Duncan Ashe.

One of those most skeptical of Jacob -- at least at first -- was the Ace of Spades, Patricia Rakepick. She had been the one hold-out in selecting Duncan as Ulrich Scheller's replacement, citing his young age and subsequent lack of experience as rationale, but she'd ultimately been overruled. Not only did the King of Spades, Oskar Doyle, support Duncan's promotion, but the Queen of Spades had agreed with it too, before her tragic death. Even Ulrich Scheller himself was steadfast about Duncan being the one to take his old position.

"Mr. Ashe may be young, but he has discerning judgment -- far better than even I had at his age," the former Jack had said. "I've always valued his counsel as my subordinate, and I think the Court of Spades will come to appreciate that very same counsel once he takes my place."

Rakepick was not convinced. And, to be fair, it was hard for her not to feel some resentment at how seemingly easily it had been for Duncan Ashe to climb the ranks of power, while still fresh out of university. Perhaps it was dumb luck or the fact that Duncan was a young man with a good sense of dress from a reasonably well-respected family -- a more objective source might also have pointed out that Duncan was a far more likable person than Rakepick. Even despite his brusqueness, he could be witty and funny and yet also dedicated, down-to-earth, hard-working, and supportive. Duncan chased his ambitions with laser-precision, and yet he also never failed to take helpful input from the people around him. His pride was never so inflated that he couldn't take constructive criticism or admit when he was wrong, nor was it an obstacle to him making iron-clad friendships that gave him people in his corner who stuck with him solely out of sincere enjoyment for his company.

Rakepick's critical view of Duncan Ashe, however, completely justified her initial suspicion of Jacob Cromwell. This suspicion quickly flickered out, though, when she made a point to stop by the Jack's stooge's new workshop.

It was still quite early that morning — most of the King’s, Jack’s and Ace’s staffs had only just started their work for the day -- and yet that oddly chipper new "favorite" of the Jack of Spades' was already hard at work. He’d arrived a good half hour before his scheduled shift and used that extra time to hang up the blueprints for the couple dozen projects he'd already hashed out to show "Ashe" when he arrived later that morning. Then, at his formal start time, Jacob set about testing out his new power-saw (which the curly-haired young man had fanboyed over when he first saw it) to cut out a metal skeleton for his blimp prototype while also making some alterations to the blueprint on his desk.

By the time Rakepick dropped in, she found Jacob in the midst of a short "break" in his work, which entailed him adjusting the screws on a device set up under his desk.

Because Jacob was so preoccupied with what he was doing, he didn't get a good look at who had entered. And because he was so used to being an overworked part-time mechanic, cook, and librarian, his first instinct was not to stop what he was doing, introduce himself to the person, and ask how he could help them, but to greet the stranger cheerfully without even looking up from his work.

"Hey there! Come on in and look around if you’d like — I’ll be right with you!"

Rakepick cocked her eyebrows at the young man largely obscured under the desk, tightening the screws on what looked like the foot pedal of an old sewing machine. With a roll of her eyes, the Ace looked around — only to be startled by the prototype hanging over her head.

It resembled — for lack of a better term — a small mechanical dragon, with its “head” and “limbs” cut into halves hanging from separate wires. The wings were crafted out of aluminum, carved wood, and fabric, and the “body” was a balloon with multiple model stairways attached to it and aluminum “legs” hanging off of them and cut open to show off rooms on the inside. Even the head (adorned with two thick lightning rods as horns) was cut down the middle to show off a miniature cockpit on the inside.

Rakepick actually raised her gloved hand to shift the head around, her eyes widening with interest upon the intricately designed interior. It even had a miniature control panel with what looked like tiny fuses. When she tapped at one of the levers inside the model, two spotlights appeared out of the dragon’s mouth, casting a light down onto the multiple blueprints laid out on the desk.

"It’s a modified blimp," said Jacob’s voice from under the desk. "Those mouth lights would be hydroelectric-powered, via collected rainwater -- I originally thought of using solar power, but too much concentrated heat could run a risk of the thing catching fire, since the blimp itself would use hydrogen...much less rare alternative to helium…"

Rakepick raised her eyebrows. "Hydroelectric power, you say?"

Didn’t Duncan Ashe bring up something once about hydroelectric power in one of his meetings with Ulrich Scheller…?

"Yeah!" said Jacob cheerfully, still not looking up. "I brought it up to Ashe a while ago, shifting our main source of power away from coal and toward hydroelectric -- and he thinks it’d be a great way to save money for other projects. Plus water's much less hazardous to work with…though if coal can be mined more safely, I reckon it could still be used, just in smaller amounts…still need to make a prototype or two for that project…"

Then this person was where Duncan Ashe stole that idea from. Rakepick pursed her lips. It seemed this new Jack really was good at getting credit not rightfully owed him.

"But hey, there's only so much time in a day!" Jacob laughed to himself. "Only sent my letters of resignation in yesterday morning — didn't really have time to get all these ideas out of my head, before that…"

Rakepick glanced around. By her count, she could see five unfinished blueprints hung up on the wall, one more and several printed graphs on the work bench next to an old phonograph, and what looked like a row of small plant boxes with thermometers stuck in each one.

"…You did all this just in one day?" she asked.

"In half a day, a night, and some of this morning. But yeah."

This boy works hard, thought Rakepick.

"Though a few ideas I'd been ruminating on for a while, beforehand," Jacob pressed on. "I just hope it's enough…I've never worked as any kind of advisor before. Don't really know how much my work will be commission-based and how much will be free-lance…"

Rakepick crossed her arms, considering the young man's spade-gloved hands under the desk testing out the little sewing machine wheel he'd attached to the leg of his desk. Only when he turned it did Rakepick realize it was attached to the phonograph on the desk, and the wheel turning also made the crank handle rotate.

"I think that depends on whether that project on your desk is something the Jack commissioned," said Rakepick, "or if you came up with it for him by yourself."

Jacob laughed. "Oh, this? Nah, this is just a personal project...I wanted to use it back at the mechanic shop, originally, but I didn't have proper room for it...Wyn, my sister Carewyn, she let me keep it in pieces under our window, until I could figure out where to put it -- "

Once Jacob had finished his adjustments, he got up off the floor at last, sat down in his chair in front of the blueprint, and pressed the foot pedal. The pedal made the wheel rotate, which subsequently turned the crank on the phonograph so that it could play the record set on it.

"When the red, red robin comes bob-bob-bobbin' along...along... There'll be no more sobbin' when he starts throbbin' his old sweet song..."

Jacob's almond-shaped blue eyes lit up in delight seeing his invention working right, and he cheerfully sing along to the next few lines.

"Wake up -- wake up, you sleepy head! Get up -- get up, get out of bed! Cheer up -- cheer up, the sun is red! Live, love, laugh, and be happy..."

Rakepick's eyes trailed over the modified phonograph, along the careful metal-work attaching the disparate pieces and the screws securing them to the work bench. All this effort and inventiveness, for something this boy wasn't intending to get any reward for from his employer...

Rakepick's lips curled up in a very slight smirk. She had to admit -- she was impressed.

Still pedaling away to play the song on the record, Jacob finally looked up at the person who'd entered his workshop with a smile. That smile dimmed, though, when he realized just who he was talking to.

"Oh," said Jacob, startled. His foot stopped pedaling as his eyes flitted quickly to the sword at Rakepick's side and the stylized silver-white pauldrons on her shoulders. "Uh...you with the military or something?"

Rakepick smirked. "'Or something.' Patricia Rakepick -- Ace of Spades. And you'd be Jacob Cromwell, of course."

"Uh -- yeah." Jacob looked sheepish.

Rakepick's smirk widened a bit. "You seem surprised to see me."

"Sorry -- I didn't think anyone outside of Ashe's people would be interested in any of this," said Jacob, sounding slightly abashed as he crossed one leg across his lap. "I mean, this stuff's really more for interior projects -- nothing that fancy..."

"You sell yourself short, Master Cromwell," said Rakepick. She once again indicated the prototype of the blimp hanging from the ceiling. "Frankly I'd say with a brain like yours, you could make a rather fine Jack yourself, some day."

Jacob's blue eyes went very wide. Then, almost immediately, his expression gained a much darker look -- one that swept through offense and disgust so thoroughly that it was close to revulsion.

"Uh -- no," he said incredibly bluntly. "Ashe is the Jack."

"I never said he wasn't," said Rakepick, "merely that you're more than qualified for such a position. More qualified than many candidates I could envision as Jack...or King, for that matter..."

"I wouldn't want the post, in any case," Jacob cut her off. "I'm not here to do Ashe's job, or the King's."

So this boy had no ambition in that direction? That was reassuring, to Rakepick.

"Good to hear it," said the Ace, before she added a bit more lowly, "...Though it occurs to me that may be why you were brought here in the first place."

Jacob's eyebrows furrowed. Rakepick folded her arms behind her back as she considered him.

"Mr. Ashe brought up your ideas to the rest of court, long before your arrival," she said grimly. "He's glided to where he is partly on the back of your creativity -- is it so surprising that he'd want to keep leeching off of your efforts and use them to earn further prestige for himself?"

Rakepick's eyes narrowed a bit.

"Your talents are far too impressive for you not to get full credit for them, Master Cromwell. I can think of quite a few projects outside of the Jack's domain that could use a mind like yours -- ones that would pay very well and offer further rewards, for your efforts."

Jacob, however, had already closed himself off visibly -- he slouched back in his chair and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing.

"No offense, Madam Ace, but I'm not here for money or 'prestige' or whatever. I don't give a damn about politics -- I'm here because I want to do something useful, not prance around like a show horse, schmoozing with people. The only power I care about is the power in my brain and in my own two hands -- and I intend to use them to work really hard and make things that solve real problems. I want to help Ashe and the Country of Spades, however I can."

Rakepick's brows raised. This boy wasn't interested in financial reward either? A truly rare breed, to find at court.

"...That's quite noble of you, Master Cromwell," she said, and she meant it. "And it's for that reason that my offer still stands. If you wish so much to be of use, your talent and creativity would be incredibly useful, in giving the army the means to protect the Country of Spades. Your blimp prototype, for instance -- I imagine it could be a perfect flagship, with some minor alterations and a proper set of guns -- "

"Guns?" Jacob repeated, appalled. "Madam, the blimp of that prototype is full of hydrogen. Anything using gunpowder could risk setting the whole thing ablaze. That flying machine is strictly meant for long-distance transport, to reduce travel time and be more resilient to bad weather..."

"A very good idea, when our King has to travel frequently to other parts of Cinderhaven."

The stylishly dressed Jack of Spades had materialized seemingly out of nowhere and walked up behind Jacob's chair, bringing his hand onto his subordinate's shoulder. Jacob looked up at him, and his expression immediately brightened.

"Ashe!"

"I'm flattered that you approve of my staff appointments, Madam Ace," said Duncan, though his voice betrayed a notable edge, "but as you might've noticed, Jacob has quite a few projects already in the works for his place here, working for me. I'm afraid any commissions you might wish to offer him will have to wait."

Rakepick pursed her lips. She got the feeling that Duncan had overheard a lot more of her and Jacob's conversation than he would've admitted -- he was more than clever enough to eavesdrop for important information before making himself known.

"Perhaps," she granted. She turned on her heel, but paused long enough to shoot a cold smile over her shoulder at Duncan. "But don't hoard him away all for yourself, Mr. Ashe. A young man of talent like Master Cromwell could change the world, so long as he has the freedom to chase his own success."

Duncan clenched his jaw as the Ace strolled off.

"Don't hoard him away" -- you dodgy geebag, if you even think of trying to snatch Jacob up for yourself -- !

"What a weird woman."

Duncan looked at Jacob, startled, to see the man frowning very deeply at Rakepick's retreating back.

"She acts like she's complimenting you, and then she says things that make absolutely no sense," Jacob muttered irritably. "'So long as he has the freedom to chase his own success' -- as if I somehow don't? And insinuating that I'm here to do your job...I'm a technology guy, I'm not here to waste time kissing up to people..."

"Good to know you think I'm wasting time," Duncan said very dryly.

Jacob looked sideswiped. "Huh? What, no -- I didn't say that! I said it'd be a waste of time for me to do that..."

"Of course it would -- I'm already doing it," Duncan cut him off smoothly with a wry smile.

His smile then faded as his face grew more serious.

"...Jacob...what Rakepick said...it's not true, not a bit of it. Of course, yes, I did share your ideas at court -- but I did not take credit for them...I told the former Jack they were yours. And I didn't want you here so you could do my work for me or make me look better. I wanted you here because...well, your ideas are useful, and I..."

I want you around. I want you around all the time, not just at that old tavern every Tuesday and Thursday...

Duncan swallowed, his dark eyes flitting down to Jacob's lips and back up into his blue eyes.

"...I do...want you to succeed. I want your work to be appreciated. All of it -- whether it's for me or not."

Jacob grinned. It made his blue eyes sparkle, even though his face lacked any light of revelation about the unspoken sentiment in Duncan's posture.

"I know, Ashe," he said. "And that's all I want, really, to know my work means something. Sure, the paycheck's great -- " he gave a cheekier grin, " -- makes it easier for me to support myself, Wyn, and Mum, you know...but I took the job because you wanted my help, needed my help. And well, you know me...I like to help people. Especially the ones I care about."

Duncan tried very hard to bite back the flush rising in his cheeks. Somehow Jacob completely missed it, though, because his focus was drawn to the blueprint he'd left on his desk.

"Speaking of which!" he said brightly. He snatched up the blueprint and held it up for Duncan to see. "I sketched out a concept for a new hydroelectric generator, for your upcoming meeting with the King of Spades! I suggested several dimension sizes, since I wasn't sure how big the boiler here is, but I thought the palace would be a good place to test its efficiency and ability to heat multiple levels..."

Duncan looked it over and nodded in approval.

"Not bad," he said, and his lips unfurled in a more mischievous smile. "I think the King and the rest of the court will be very impressed with it, and you, when you accompany me to the meeting."

Jacob was taken aback. "Wha -- ? You want me to -- ?"

"Yes -- but only after I take you shopping for some new clothes. I'm not introducing you to Oskar Doyle in red suspenders."

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm cardverse #cardverse au #jacob cromwell #patricia rakepick #duncan ashe #my art #art #my writing #fanfiction #lololol while drawing that one extra jacashe drawing under the cut I was listening to kaci battaglia's crazy possessive #and it felt SO much like an inner monologue for duncan seeing rakepick trying to recruit his -boyfriend- subordinate #'call my man again and I'mma F*** you up!' XDDD #also for the record duncan that IS the nicest outfit jacob has at this particular time in his life #lane even cleaned his clothes specially so they'd be spotless ;~;#jacob wanted to wear the red suspenders because red's his favorite color and carewyn supported him because color is good!#jacob did end up really liking what duncan picked out and bought for him though :')#oh yes! and all allusions to the previous king and queen of spades are inspired by lore developed by ari about them <3 #red red robin is a fun parallel because in hphm canon carewyn's animagus form is a robin #whereas carewyn listens to a lot of songs about bluebirds in this canon when lane calls jacob her 'blue jay' in most canons

9 notes · View notes

postmortemnivis · 2 months

Text

no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her.

simon really meant it, every bit of it, he’d come back to you somehow. he would find his way back to you. wether it was walking through the front door quietly not to wake you up in the middle of the night or cold in a coffin. he’d rather have you hold his dead body than not to have you touch his skin ever again.

that’s what simon was thinking about as his ear ringed so loud he couldn’t focus on his surroundings. he looked up at the sky, so blue it almost didn’t feel right. why so blue when so much blood was being shed?

he occasionally would feel the ground he was laying on tremble, maybe a hand grenade, maybe a body falling next to his. the smell of gunpowder filled his covered nostrils and he could feel his lungs collapsing on themselves from the thickness of the air he was breathing. his eyes weren’t doing good either, filled with dust and sand from the dry earth.

it took him a few more seconds to focus his eyes on something, something that possibly wasn’t moving, his head spinning each time he tried to sit up. something was weighting on his legs, holding him down. he struggled to raise his torso and groaned at the sight of a large body blocking him. he let himself fall back down.

he was ready to go, a sharp pain to his side telling him he wouldn’t last long alone. he’d been through worse, way worse, the scar provided by the meat hook was proof of that, but something was telling him this was as bad. he was ready to go.

the only thing he could think about in his last moments was you. he thought he could see glimpses of you, maybe your hair in the corner of his eyes or he’d hear your laugh as another fire shooting started. his eyes searched for you frantically. he wanted to tell you to leave immediately, scream it at the top of his lungs, but his voice was caught in his throat and you weren’t really there. his mind just playing cruel tricks on him.

your name was repeated like a mantra in his head, repeating it so many times it almost lost a meaning. almost. a prayer, a chant. he sure needed to pray, for you.

he had been shelving the thought that tormented him for months. he wanted to go and confess his sins, he almost felt the need, his palms itching with haste anytime he thought about it. years had passed since the last time he had set foot in a church, so many that he had almost forgotten the reason for the visit. the ghosts of the past never abandon you, especially if they are people you love, especially if they are family, the innocent. its always the innocent who pay the highest price.

‘i wonder what she’s doing now, who’s gonna knock on her door and tell her im gone.’ he thought. ‘hopefully price. he’s the one with tact and the most considerate. he’ll help her when i’m gone, keep an eye on her.’

the sweet smell of your hair replaced for a moment the one of blood and gunpowder, your laughter still echoing in his ears. he pictured your sweet face and big innocent eyes looking up at him.

“promise me something?”

“mhm?” he hummed, surprised you were still up. his hand hadn’t stopped caressing your hair since you laid down on his chest, your hand resting on his collarbone as your ear listened to his calm heartbeat. “yeah, anything.”

“promise me you’ll always come back.” you whispered in the dark room. “promise me, simon.”

he nodded, taken aback by your request. you weren’t the fondest of his job, he knew it, he hated to concern you like he did.

“yes.”

“promise.” you urged. “please.”

he bent his head down and kissed the top of yours, his arm sliding down your back and drawing you closer by your waist. “i will, love. i’ll always come back to you.”

you sighed, the knot of thoughts in your worried head began to untie. “mh.”

“better now?” he softly asked. his voice was hoarse from his constant shouting orders at the obstreperous recruits. you gave a short nod. “i mean it.”

he groaned as he managed to get the body off of himself, struggling to get on his knees.

fucks sake, he couldn’t let you live with him gone like this. it was selfish of him to leave you in such an abrupt way, really. he tried to push away the image of you opening the door to find price with a carton box filled with simons stuff from the barracks with the balaclava and skull mask on top and your knees hitting the floor before he could even say anything.

his legs didn’t feel like they could hold his weight up, he immediately fell to his knees as he heard another rapid fire too near him for his liking. his gun was long gone, he had to manage to survive alone, again.

“crawlin’ it is.” he breathed as he started to drag his tired body with the strength of his arms alone. you had always praised his strength: he could lift you with one arm alone, you loved to be held and hold on to his arm anywhere and at anytime. that was the main reason he always pushed for more while training, and the motivation your sweet compliments always gave him now were gonna save his life. he made a mental note to kiss and hold you a little longer and tighter if he ever made it home alive.

he could see the building his team was supposed to meet up in case things got bad. it looked so far away that it was alarmingly close. maybe it was just his messed up vision, a mirage, but he could swear he saw you from a window looking at him, urgently motioning him to come.

he brought the thick balaclava above his nose so he could breathe better and as enemy gunfire continued to flow, he kept his head low as he moved dead bodies from his way.

he could hear your voice calling for him and he wanted to call you for you back, but the noises of the battlefield were hurrying him to get to the safe zone first.

he stumbled by the door as he brought himself up, one hand stabilizing him as he held on to the doorframe as the other went to press on his wound.

“lt!” johnnys voice called before he rushed to help him. “ye cheeky bastard, i told them not to leave yet, to wait for ye.”

“gaz saw you get shot.” price swung simon’s arm over his shoulder in order to help him to the nearest table, where he laid down.

“he saw that right.” simon bit the inside of his cheek as price inspected his wound, pressing on it. “is he a‘ight?”

“he’s fine, hit his head but had his helmet on, he’s getting checked out by the medics.” price informed him as simon winced at the sharp pain. “there’s at least two bullets in here, didn’t pass through, stuck.”

“just take ‘em the fuck out.” simon groaned. “how’s it lookin’?”

“you’ll live.” price patted his shoulder in comfort before he went to call a medic.

“we really thought we’d lost ye there, lt.” johnny’s face was glowing with sweat and blood, the black war paint smudged messily all around his face and his mohawk dusted.

“helicopter’s leaving in thirty, boys!” price’s baritone voice called from the other room.

simon scoffed, sighing and closing his eyes, finally letting himself relax as your figure started to fade from the corner of the room where it’d been standing, silently looking at him. “won’t lose me, can’t wait to go home, johnny.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simons a loverboy at heart #simon is not ghost

4K notes · View notes