#I’m incapable of writing hurt I think hehe

[kaleidoscope-of-thoughts]

Safe

Whumpee’s eyes fluttered open, slowly coming into focus.

“Hey, Whumpee,” came Caretaker’s soft voice.

Whumpee turned their head to the side and was met with a gentle smile. Their eyes welled with tears at the familiar face.

“Hey, hey,” Caretaker’s smile dropped, “you’re safe now, love, it’s alright.” They gently started running their fingers through Whumpee’s hair, trying to calm them.

Whumpee wanted to ask them what had happened and how they had gotten there, but they already felt their eyes getting heavy. The overwhelming exhaustion was pulling them under once again.

“You can sleep again it’s okay, I’ll explain everything later…I won’t leave you,” Caretaker whispered while they switched to stroking the backs of their fingers on Whumpee’s cheek.

Satisfied with the statement, Whumpee let their eyes close and focused on the soothing touches from Caretaker.

They were finally safe.

[anonymous-tals]

Oh my god, I cannot begin to explain how happy this response made me. Genuinely, like- I’m smilin’ so much, man.

I won’t reply specifically to all of it cause, ya know, a lot of the sections, I’m just gonna be, like, YES, so if I don’t say anything about a specific sections, just assume there’s a YES, OH MY GOOOOOODDDDD, LITERALLY, hehe.

Oh, god, coming back up here right now to just give a fair warning. I really…I’m incapable of writing anything short. It was, like, a win whenever writing letters back and forth with a friend of mine and I only filled in the front and back of one page. A miracle. Don’t feel pressure to respond with any huge thing, or feel free to just leave it at this, take as much time as you need to even get to reading this in the first place. I literally have nothing going on in my life right now so I have all the free time in the world so don’t feel like you have to match my response time, heh, oy.

Genuinely, feel free to just leave it at this because I am capable of infinitely rambling about this show so- Just saying this so you don’t feel pressure, ha:

Anyway, uhhh, here we go:

This honestly makes me think of Adhir, and you bring this up later too, the solution he had was simple and yet, no one else thought of it because no one else cared to. I will say, that I think the Bluth family does have a little "variation" of that solution they use on Gob. Adhir's strategy of giving Gob treats when he pays attention or answers a question right kind of mirrors, I feel, the Bluth family system of sticking Gob with the unsavory jobs with the promise of a "treat" if he pulls it off-this treat being their attention, pride, or even respect, however false it may be.

Oh my god, yeah, I didn’t even think about the connection between these things. Yah, like, they tell him to do this job for a treat but there really isn’t even a treat there at all. It’s all just to get him out of their hair. But then Adhir comes in and he ACTUALLY gives him the treat. He actually rewards him when he does well. I was checking back at a fic I’d written cause I was like, “Oh, man, I better have included hesitation when he first accepts it,” and I did and I’m very glad cause I feel like Gob would’ve been sort of untrustworthy at first.

Here’s the part:

“‘Exactly,’ Adhir said with a smile, handing Gob a candy. Gob looked up at him and then back down at the candy in front of him before taking it and placing it in his mouth. He smiled.”

Every day I cry. Every single day I cry.

YESSSS! gob believing he is only going to ruin steve who he believes to be a good kid. gob knowing that he is virtually homeless, and does not have the functionality to care for a kid. you say that, in his head, "the kindest gesture he as his dad could so is run away, the only way to ensure he never hurts him" and im just like, yeah! exactly! he really does believe that, and honestly, i do have to wonder what steve feels when it comes to gob- there is a want to connect with him, repeatedly, but he also seems to understand that gob is flaky "he's not coming back" and such. And yet he still responds, he still leaves his door open.

I think of that moment, where steve says "I'll never forget this" and when he leaves, gob says, " will." and I think that moment might also have something to do with steve understanding a little bit of gob- and i know its meant to be comedic, gob literally calls him a mistake, but hes also trying to comfort him, and i dont know, i think about that moment a lot from steve's perspective, and how it affects his relationship with gob.

Oh my god, not to be redundant but I cry every day. I never thought about that. Yah, like, Steve really seem to show an understanding of Gob. The “he still leaves leaves his door open”, UGH. Literally. You’re so right, he has, like, an understanding of Gob. He gets his dad. He understands he’s clearly got stuff going on and even though it hurts, he let’s him go and he LEAVES HIS DOOR OPEN FOR WHEN GOB’S READY, AHHHH. Crying. Sobbing. Steve is another character who is just…He’s too sweet. He’s too pure. I love him.

Yes!! i LOVE this, and honestly, I have to say I'm so glad that we started this discussion, because I am so curious about your thoughts on Gob's sexuality. I thought for the longest time he was bisexual, probably because of the various relations hes had with women that he doesnt brag about to his father (like that one girl who he shoved off the yacht when george michael came to visit. i know he was virtually homeless, so I thought maybe he was with her for a place to stay, right up until i remembered he was living on the yacht, so he didn't need to actually be with her) leaving me to assume its not all a persona and he genuinely enjoys sex, but at the same time, he doesnt seem invested in any of relationships up until tony, who he is positively giddy for.

So I at times think that those relationships are a product of him once again putting on a performance in which he tries to convince himself as well. and i thought that he was definitely attracted to woman, at least a little bit, because he was so absolutely repulsed by kitty, making me think oh, so he could like woman, but not her. and then i flip flop back to 'but have we ever seen him in a happy relationship with a woman? we can argue his happiest was with lucille 2 but-" and this goes on and on. is he bi? is he gay? i would like to hear your thoughts on this, gob not knowing he could bi until the wall illusion and buster yells that bit about alive and bisexual is so funny to me, but i dont know if it would be backed by canon.

Oh my god this section was supposed to be Marta but instead I ended up going on about my thoughts on "gob bluth: bi or gay" instead, my bad.

Not your bad at all! I’m happy to delve into this! When I first got into the fandom and watched the show, I also assumed he was bi but I read this post by @gobbluthbutagirl which I HIGHLY recommend checking out(if you haven’t already, if you have, you can skip this section honestly, there’s the part I wrote about the Buster thing which I made a bullet point so you can just read that part if you’ve already read the post)(or, actually, you could probably just go read that post and then come back here and then skip to my little bullet point instead of having to read both) when you have the time and, like, I really, truly believe he’s gay. I’ll parrot some of the points they mention but I don’t wanna steal their thunder so again, credit to them.

There are many times in the show that we see him with women but as you said, he never seems happy in those relationships. And an even more stark comparison, he never is like how he is with Tony. It’s night and day, frankly. Literally, months have gone by and Gob, out of the blue, still fresh on his mind like it happened yesterday, giddily talks about how Tony Wonder’s beard tickled him. He’s not like this with any other of his relationships, all of which are with women. He spends the whole of season five trying to get back with Tony. He never does this with any other women. And that’s not because they didn’t treat him well. Marta is super nice and incredibly supportive and it’s not just some breaking point that got Gob to open up with Tony in season four. We see that he responds to kindness and support in the earlier seasons and is kind back. Like, for example, during the Tiny Town episode, he is incredibly nice and toned down and genuine the whole time he’s doing that and even after he learns it was Buster helping him, not his dad, he actually has growth and says that maybe he and Buster should spend more time together! So it’s not like he’s just this completely cynical, rotten person. Marta, and others too, were incredibly nice but it still didn’t work. To quote directly from the essay: “Why? Because he is gay. He is fundamentally incompatible with them on every level.” Any kindness he received from these women was tainted by the fact that he is a gay man in a relationship with a woman and unhappy and bitter at the woman and the relationship because of that.

The women Gob was with in the earlier seasons were all a part of that facade. All a part of him trying to convince himself that he is straight, what ended up as only a reminder that things don’t work(which culminate in season four). I think Ann and Lucille(and Joni, but that’s more, like, blatantly obvious) were very much so last ditch, desperate efforts to find a woman he was attracted to. I think you could say he got along with Lucille 2 but I do not believe he was attracted to her in a romantic or sexual way. Again, no relationship with a woman that we see Gob in reflects the relationship he had with Tony. And with Ann, it was a desperate, last ditch attempt at finding someone, anyone who worked, and he sleeps with her that night(he was originally gonna break up with her) and he ends up sobbing and collapsing onto the ground, incapable of getting a comprehensible word out. And someone pointed out, I can’t remember if it was this essay or not, but we don’t even truly know how many times Gob has slept with women because of how many times he’s lied about it. We even see in season five, he says something along the lines of, “Yeah, Kitty was pretty sweet on me,” but in reality, he panicked and did everything in his power to try to avoid her and in the end, did nothing with her. And yah, I agree, I think Kitty seems to be an extra level of repulsive to him but we also see on two separate occasions, with Nellie, he’s crying instead of sleeping with her and with Ann, he’s crying after, and there are countless more times where he’s lied about sleeping with women, he lied about sleeping with his wife to a fault. Etc, etc, etc! He’s in, like, near-total denial in the early seasons and he’s been able to keep it up until season four, when he’s started to realize he’s never gonna find a woman he’s attracted to.

We also know Gob’s been with men before Tony and, again, to quote the essay, “Tony is the first man Gob has ever “allowed”(his own words!) himself to develop feelings for. And he’s spent his whole life trying and failing to develop feelings for every woman under the sun. And he’s fucked with his memory so much that there’s really no telling how much of it he remembers and how much of it he doesn’t, but the fact of the matter is this: he remembers his night with Tony, and for the entire remainder of the show afterwards he does not sleep with a women ever again. And not for a lack of trying.” (I would continue quoting after that but again, I don’t want to literally just type a whole paragraph. Again, if you haven’t already, please go read this essay when you have the time) Gob’s thought process is him constantly trying to prove not only to others but to himself that he likes women(which, obviously, fails to work, but the fact that he slept with them and did stuff with them means he can’t be gay, right? right??? A gay guy couldn’t make himself sleep with a woman, right?????(wrong)). He has so many opportunities after Tony to sleep with women but he doesn’t and he struggles to even LIE about sleeping with or being attracted to a women in season five. He can hardly even get the words out! And again, while Tony and him are same and are soulmates, there’s nothing specifically about how Tony treats him in the sense of understanding him and supporting him that other women he’s dated, like Marta, did not check the box for, but the reason they don’t work is because he is gay.

I always interpreted Buster saying that as him just coming to the conclusion that Gob is bi based on what Gob told him. I like to believe that Buster knew to some extent, I mean, he saw him around Tony during the Sword of Destiny stuff. He saw how he talked to him and about him. Buster’s the only one who ever truly payed attention to him, like, actually listened, so I’m sure he noticed other things too(and Michael literally shouted, “I knew it!” so I feel like it’s realistic to believe it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret) but it’s not like Gob was divulging his love life to him OTHER than the times Gob bragged about sleeping with women. And in season five, Gob is talking to Buster, saying how he’s gonna turn himself back to being straight because he’s not to gay and, ya know, it’s obvious to Buster that Gob is definitely not straight but in his mind, perhaps what’s confusing his older brother, who seems to be identifying with both straight and gay, is that he likes both men and women. I mean, from Buster’s perspective, that would make sense(also, I love how supportive Buster is, haha). When in reality, with the information he does not have that we do have points to Gob being very much so not interested in women and very much so interested in men.

Again, it’s night and day when you compare how his relationships with women to his relationship with Tony, how happy he is, how more accepting of himself he is, how much he’s grown, how willing he is to run off with him, to leave his family for this man, the first man he allowed himself to develop feelings for, no one ever before in this show has had that affect him and talking about relationships, there’s one common theme and that’s that they’ve all been women, and that’s only corroborated by how uncomfortable and how much he avoids doing anything or even at times LYING, literally, JUST SAYING WORDS that affirm an attraction or that he did stuff with women later on in the show.

Anyway, not to say it again but to say it again, I don’t wanna just rewrite this persons essays but less well organized, haha, so I’ll stop here. And again again, not to say it again, but I recommend this essay that they wrote. It’s so good, so well written.

I've never seen him as straight, and then the last two seasons happened and i was like awesome, they confirmed it! its canon! tony and gob are truly the gay love story of all time.

Also, I gotta say something about this, I was(am, to be frank) the most OBLIVIOUS person ever. Literally, not only was I like, “haha, look at Gob, accidentally flirting with Gary and that other guy at Sitwell and he slept with a guy in a threesome, haha! What a silly, oblivious, very straight guy!”, I got up to the episode in season four where Gob and Tony have their whole thing going on and I was kinda feeling shaky on season four so far so I was close to quitting watching and I saw the scene where Tony and Gob were doing all their romantic stuff and Gob confesses he has feelings for Tony and Tony says the same and the narrator says the feeling was friendship-

AND I BELIEVED IT! I took it word for word. And I stopped watching there! I STOPPED. WATCHING. THERE. For YEARS I thought their relationship, which I only saw through fanart, was just a fan hc thing and I was like, “Aw, that’s a cute hced pairing :)” and then literally last year I got hyperfixated on Gob one day and was scrolling through Tumblr and I saw a meme with that guy in the corner of a party, the party being those who didn’t watch season four or five, and the guy in the corner said, “They don’t know Gob isn’t straight” and I was like, “WHAT?!” and I finished the rest of the show in one night. The fact that they are real is just- I- It makes me so happy. Like, I don’t even have to make stuff up, they are REAL.

Like, okay, if the joke was obvious, if people understood that the feeling was in fact not friendship(more than friendship, rather, obviously, that’s an element), I don’t think I’d have a gripe with that line. But because of oblivious people like me, that line drives me batty. Literally, I got this comment on my video essay where, because it was relevant to my point, Gob being gay was mentioned throughout it:

Really, it just feels like willful ignorance at this point with some of these people because- I don’t even know what to say to this. I mean, I have a lot to say to this, let’s be real, but- It’s just…I’m astounded. Like, Mitch Hurwitz has literally said stuff on multiple occasions about Gob being in love with Tony in a gay way, I don’t- I don’t get it.

Okay, moving on before I start to rant about this again.

I totally agree with everything you said about marta! her becoming a part of gob's support system is so awesome, and youre genius for thinking it. you know who else i wonder about? nellie. do gob and franklin still work as her "voice on the phone?" you know, that hot cop gob and baby/young steve holt idea i have is suddenly growing be hot cop gob and escort nellie ending up befriending each other after showing up at the same job/party, or when gob starts following people to their cars.

also unrelated, but i love the closet guys and adhir and their patience with gob, and honestly, i am so happy for him, he needs more people in his corner, i am so glad for tony who is so obviousiv in love with him

Okay, I know I said I’d just skip over and have an assumed YES with things where that’s all I really have to say for but I just have to specifically go to this and say YESSSS. I didn’t even think about Nellie, I love that!!! God, that’s so true. That’s so real. Also, I love how in the scene with Nellie, Gob has Franklin with him. It’s so funny. Gob cares so much about that puppet, the narrator literally described Franklin as the one friend who didn’t mind having him around, I sob. I sob every single day of my life. He really does need more people in his corner, heheh. And yes, literally, Tony- I- Okay, I remember you asked about my thoughts on something specific about him at the end so I’ll elaborate more on him at the end but also, just…God, they are SO SAME but also NOT SAME in the best ways! They bring the best out of each otherrrrr.

Also, I’m a big fan of the idea of Tracey and Gob friends(I talk about this next so I’ll stop here).

and idk, just something about, when gob becomes a waiter, he goes to the flirting/saying he'll sleep with them route for the tips-and when he finds out he's not getting tipped at the event later, "things get ugly" so yes, it is very much gob viewing "tricks as a different but effective area in his repertoire. its an asset thats his and one that he succeeds at, whereas with his illusions, what he really loves and is passionate about, he is seen as a goof.

Oh man, I am only now realizing how deep the trick and illusion stuff goes. Like, ya know, haha, silly gag, BUT ALSO. I’ve always utilized someone calling his magic ‘illusions’ as a way to show them as an ally, a friend to Gob. A way to show that they respect him. Like, I hc that Tracey would’ve been close with all the siblings, including Gob, and Gob and her would’ve been particularly good friends, him getting, like, immediately attached to someone who shows any interest in his magic career(and in this case, it’s a girl he doesn’t “have to” date so there’s not even pressure there. in my mind, like, if Gob ever got along with a woman, he’d be like, “Oh no, wanting to be with a women? What if that’s because I’m gay? But I’m not gay so-” and to prove that to himself, immediately try to make a move because that makes sense to internalized homophobia logic: he must be gay if he doesn’t wanna sleep with every single woman…and I mean, he is gay and does not want to sleep with women but ya know, that’s obviously not how straight people work, haha). And it adds a further level to Gob sticking to his passion for magic when he corrects people. He’s sort of sticking up for himself and it’s in a bit of a silly way but still, it’s just a further example of his family never taking him seriously. Expecting things of him but also, at the same time, expecting him to never live up to them.

Also, how you described his whole time with the entourage, being transactional, that’s EXACTLY it. I remember, in the first instance of them interacting, one guy is like, “Hey, you’re a magician, huh? Go show my boy, Mark Cherry, a trick,”(paraphrased, ha) and Gob’s like, “Well, it’s an illusion-” and they rudely interrupt him and go, “Show him a trick,” and Gob sort of pauses awkwardly and is like, “Yeah, here’s a trick!”

Gob’s naivety and trustfulness is really put on display throughout the whole entourage thing and it just makes me so sad. My poor, desperately lonely, inadept-at-picking-up-social-cues son, Gob Bluth.

kinda unrelated but bipolar gob. just. bipolar gob + some flavor of neurodivergent for sure. and maeby as well!

Oh, yes, I love this interpretation of Gob. I’ve been doing research for my writing and I still don’t feel like I have a good enough grasp on it to write it properly, I don’t want to not do it justice(as someone who has mental illnesses that are constantly being misconstrued, it drives me batty and I don’t want to contribute to that with other ones). I really hope I’ll be able to aptly portray it in my stories one day cause I just love that interpretation of his character. I think it aligns very well with how he’s portrayed, from what I’ve read.

For Gob, I hc him as having adhd, being autistic and being dyslexic and I hc Maeby as having adhd and being dyslexic. I don’t think there’s actually any real, sufficient evidence for either of them being dyslexic but I’ve decided they do and that’s my reasoning, haha. With the adhd, Maeby just gives off the vibes combined with her struggle in school, and it’s similar to Gob except I have more direct stuff for him in terms of “evidence”(I know that’s not what they were going for but, ya know, evidence in terms of, like, you can interpret him this way because *insert instance here*). I was talking with someone, though, and something about Will Arnett’s performance just…It gave Gob a very neurodivergent vibe. Like, idk. Cause really, you could absolutely have someone else play Gob, still be basically the same character, but not have the autistic and/or adhd vibes but something about how he played him…(which we also identified in the character, Terry Seattle, who Will Arnett plays on Murderville). Idk, idk.

I feel gob is looked up to by buster bc hes his oldest brother yes, for sure, but also because its an act of rebellion in a way, as well as it being safe to look up to gob be hes not a "threat" in terms of lucille's love.

anti gob bias installed from youth is such a nice way of putting it. they love him, no doubt, but they also do not understand him. which is why buster is so interesting to me, as he does not have the same attitude.

Yes! Like, I do, of course, think Buster’s love for Gob is genuine but I think these play into it. Especially because as we see with Annyong, if someone is competition, Buster usually gets much more territorial. But yah, I do think Buster genuinely looks up to Gob and admires him. I wrote a whole thing about it but they’re so similar in a lot of ways(I also hc Buster to be autistic, which I’d be kinda surprised if that wasn’t an intentional choice because a lot of his idiosyncrasies particularly reflect it so, like, if not, wow, that’s some accurate unintentional autistic coding) and they’d get along so well if Gob wasn’t so defiant towards the idea. But I think the adventures and development we see them have does reflect to them having a sort of friendship that was probably more active during childhood. Now, it would still have been very much so, like, Gob being like, “You suck and are a nerd,” and Buster making a noise of disappointment but I think they had bonding moments within that.

I feel like Buster is very good at listening. I mean, he has to listen to Lucille all day long and he’s chill with that and I think it’s also just a part of who he is. While Michael absolutely is Gob’s main sibling who he goes to for comfort/is willing to open up to, Michael still is not the best at comforting(not meant as Michael slander, he’s trying his best, heh). Buster, on the other hand(specifically referencing back to the “I totally freaked out scene”) is very gentle and he listens. He doesn’t try and solve the problem. He doesn’t bash Gob for freaking out. He doesn’t act like he’s better than him cause, god knows, he’d probably freak out too if he was being questioned by prosecutors. He just nods along and kindly validates Gob, not deeming his freaking out a good or a bad thing. It just happened and, yah, that’s no fun, huh? He, I think, is the one sibling who understands Gob. He is the one sibling who cries alongside him(the Tiny Town episode, in fact, Buster is the one to start crying first). He is the one sibling who is truly supportive of his magician career. I think Buster sees a lot of himself in Gob and while he’d never admit to it, I think Gob sees a lot of himself in Buster too.

also, wondering what would happen should gob cry in front of tony)

I feel like Gob would try(key word: try) to hide a lot of his emotional, “too much” side because he wouldn’t wanna scare Tony away but the first time something like that happens, he’d see that Tony isn’t weirded out or scared away. He understands him and if he doesn’t, he works to get an understanding and then he understands him. I feel like recognizing that someone would be willing to stick by him even with all of, well…him coming along with that would take getting used to but even with that, it would make him incredibly happy, heheh.

i am so interested in this be "i do think tony saved his life indirectly" resonates with me so much, i would love to hear you expand your thoughts if you want, its just, yeah, yeah he did. gob is so vulnerable, and far past beyond the point of caring. he is so dependent on forget me nows, he is just, so alone, and then theres tony and suddenly he has purpose

its just- the fact that gob was willing to run away with tony essentially. on the parade float, he was so ready, and its just- its everything michael has threatened but been unable to follow through with, and here gob was, actually able to be willing to do it, for and with tony.

Finally! Huzzah! We’ve made it to the end, hehe. Let’s see how long this is, oy vey…

We see how Gob is with Tony having been and in the end, continuing to be in his life in season five. He’s acting marginally and comparatively better and is infinitely more patient and doesn’t lash out at Tony, which is astounding cause if these kinds of events happened in the earlier seasons, Gob would’ve lashed out. And he helps Tony get out of his contract with the Gay Mafia, a totally unselfish action that no one asked him to do and he didn’t expect or demand anything out of Tony in return. He just did it cause he loved Tony. People, outside the family, are much more tolerant of Gob and that speaks to better behavior, on top of the better behavior that we see. There’s even a moment in the finale where Gob calls out to Michael in a very genuine tone and I think he was trying to get his attention so he could talk about the fact that Michael knows and maybe even apologize for giving him the forget-me-now. To quote Mitch Hurwitz on the subject, “Gob has gone over to the light side.”

But where would Gob be without him? Well, he’d be right back where he’d been for years, continuing to strive for support and love from abusive people who will never love him who keep him on a string of hope for their own personal use, treating him like he’s disposable, which he, in his actions, has come to agree with. He’d be trying to force himself to live a life he does not want to live and being eternally unhappy at himself and the world because of it. He’d continue to drive the last few people who were willing to stick by his side away. The tags are from a post talking about how it’s a miracle Gob has survived this long, kept “pep” in his step, kept moving forward, bouncing back, but if we’re not going on show logic but real life logic, how long could one realistically keep that up for? Gob has learned to be resilient but season four is such a dark pit for him where things are only going down, down, down further into a dark pit of isolation and someone like Gob who needs people, who’s always had someone to rely on, even if the support wasn’t top notch, is not exactly equipped to handle isolation. He’s someone who wavers so drastically in ability to function and be a person and needs those people to rely on when he again emerges from the pits of despair or comes back down from a blur of nights upon nights he hardly even remembers but now he has no one; at the very least, he’s close to it. STEVE of all people calls him out. Steve, his ever-understanding son who’s been willing to put up with his bullshit because he understands that deep down, his dad does care and that he is dealing with his own stuff, calls him out, and rightfully so.

I think the quote they play during Gob’s flashback to his time in the storage locker, which unironically is a contender for one of my favorite scenes in the show just because it’s so meaningful, sums it up well.

“You know, if tomorrow you won’t open up and let someone else in, then the treasures you have inside may never come out.”

That night, Gob’s arc with Tony starts. Gob was 100% already crushing on or even in love with Tony before this point in time but that night really solidified things for him. I mean, undeniably, from the start of his plan, he was hoping for Tony to notice him. He did not need to look gay, especially not single and gay to go in that club. At that point, his denial is already getting harder and harder to upkeep and he’s started to realize that he really will never find a woman who he’s attracted to. But it’s the flashback, the subconscious voice he heard, he has that really cements that in his mind. If he is not true to himself, true to the world, if he does let someone in, he will never be happy. The genuine kindness and love he holds inside of him, which we see glimmers of throughout the show, will stay locked inside of him forever.

And to focus on my specific verbiage, it’s indirect because, well, obviously, Tony didn’t literally save Gob from a near death experience. But even so, Tony didn’t make Gob change. Tony did show him kindness, he showed him understanding, unconditional love, love that didn’t stop when you were being “too much” or weird or unconventional. But Gob still had all the opportunity in the world to further fester in his arrested development(hey that’s the name of the show!). As I said, it’s not like Tony is the first person who’s been nice to Gob. The combination of forced reflection from not being able to take the forget-me-now, Tony’s love AND Gob actually loving him back made Gob ripe for change and he DID but that was a choice that he made. Gob chose to be better. He chose to take initiative, he chose to be patient, be kind, he chose to let Tony make the call on whether he wanted things to continue, on what he was comfortable with, because he was willing to compromise and wait for Tony to be ready, possibly even lose him, because he loved him and cared about him and that’s what you do when you love someone. He just wanted Tony to be happy. And wildest of all, Gob was willing to leave his family, the people he’d been working to get the approval of for his entire life. He was willing to give up the chance at getting his father’s approval in particular, we could even lump Michael in there too. He was willing to try to start to deal with the hard reality that he was gay and that he loved Tony when all he’d ever done in his life is avoid it and practically everything else about himself. It’s astounding, really.

It really is wild to me how this isn’t talked about more when season five is discussed. Like, obviously, in the AD spaces I most frequent, people recognize this but…Like…My friend told me she watched a video talking about the entirety of Arrested Development and they didn’t delve into anything about this when it’s the kind of thing they would usually talk about and like- Guys, this show is called Arrested Development and not only did one of them actually show growth but out of all of them, it was Gob??? And also it happened in a plot line where Gob is gay and in love with Tony Wonder??? Like, how is this not, like…It’s so amazing!

ANYWAY, I’m cutting myself off here. Again, it was an absolute treat reading your response. You have such incredible insights to the show and I was literally, like, yessing all throughout it, hehe. You mentioned messaging me about the fic and stuff and please feel free to! Little known fact about me, might not have noticed this(/s), but I LOVE talking about Arrested Development so if you(or anyone else who sees this, heh) ever wanna talk about literally anything related to Arrested Development, I will be nothing but over the moon about it, heheh.

I hope you have a wonderful day.

Honestly one of my favorite parts of arrested development—and something I wished we had more of—is the relationship between Maeby and Gob.

See the thing is, they’re so similar! They have their schemes, theyre liars, arguably the most chaotic members of the Bluth family, and they’re also often the forgotten/overlooked child. (Also some flavor of gay- bi maeby truther)

But it’s more than that! My favorite part of the last two seasons is obviously the Blunder but what I also loved is how the narrative was now widened and following the different members of the family.

We got to see what Gob gets up to when he’s away from his family, when in the previous seasons it wasn’t always clear/the family didn’t know and didn’t want to know

And sometimes I really wish we had some of that in the earlier seasons if only so I could see all the Maeby and Gob interactions that go on unnoticed. I mean. Gob knows about Maeby’s job making movies. ("uncle gob?" *gob pauses in trying to throw a sick cat overboard/hiding from said cat* "maeby?") And, he voiced (or rather Will Arnett did) the voice over for a Gangie movie.

During the inner beauty contest/pageant Gob is the one who recognizes Maeby and asks her who her favorite family member is (a friend of mine theorized that question was asked without him knowing it was Maeby and he’s just a dumbass like that, which I agree he would be a dumbass like that but I have to believe he recognized her)

And idk, I just really love the dynamic they got going. They’re so similar and chaotic and I would have loved to see some uncle-niece shenanigans.

(That being said I also loved uncle-nephew shenanigans and I miss the George Michael and Gob interactions too. George Michael being awed by Gob’s magic was so sincere and beloved by me)

[turinn]

❤️ this rinne bday event is so cute 🥺 im looking forward to ur future events hehe i rlly love the way u write <3 may i request touch prompt #17 thank u!

🥺🥺 thank u sm aaa <3 I nearly wrote another injury for this one bc apparently that's my go to for some reason?? but I decided I didn't wanna be repetitive sjfjskdsf I hope u like it!!

17. Holding the others chin up

"Hold still, will ya?"

"No, you're gonna poke my eye out." Rinne rolled his eyes at this, as if it wasn't a completely fair evaluation of his general level of skill. You were sat across from a makeup mirror, your chair turned to the side, and Rinne had pulled a stool up in front of you. How the hell he'd roped you into letting him practice makeup on you, you still weren't sure.

"C'mon, have a little faith in me." He grinned, brandishing the eyeliner pencil that somehow managed to look menacing in his hand. It was too late to regret saying yes, since you were already here, but you really could kick yourself for the way you seemed incapable of turning Rinne down when he smiled at you. He could've found someone else to help him, or heaven forbid just practiced on himself, after finding out that the only member of ES staff with the patience to do his makeup pre-live had broken their wrist. But no, in true Rinne fashion, he'd immediately decided that this was the perfect opportunity to spend time with you- as if the two of you didn't spend every free moment together already- and apparently make your life hell while he was at it.

"Show me proof of hell freezing over and we'll discuss the possibility of that." You flinched once again as he brought his hand close to your eye, biting back a laugh when he pouted at you. "How is this supposed to help you do your own makeup, anyway?"

"If I can do it on you, I can do it on me."

"Ah, so I'm your sacrifice?"

"Exactly." He took your chin in his free hand, tilting your face up toward the light. His grip was gentle enough that he didn't hurt you, though he made sure that even if you flinched you wouldn't move so much as to ruin his handiwork. With a look of concentration you'd only seen on him before when gambling, he traced the pencil over your eyelid, surprisingly deftly. It was a deep red, just a little darker than his hair, and you made a mental note to be sure to remember to wipe it off before you went to bed. Turning up to work with yesterday's smudged red eyeliner wouldn't be a good look. The warmth of his fingertips on your chin was almost distracting, given how high they had the AC running in the makeup rooms of Ensemble Square. It reminded you of other times he'd held your chin up. Your first kiss, the time some drunk guy had hit you because of your association with Rinne and Rinne had patched up the cut on your eyebrow, the countless times he'd done it to calm you down when you'd been crying so hard you didn't think you'd ever stop. The man had his faults, but everyone does, and in reality you'd never loved anyone as deeply as you loved Rinne- nor had you ever been loved as deeply as you knew he loved you.

"Hey, honeybee, are ya still with me?" You were snapped out of your thoughts by his voice, and you flushed as you realised you'd zoned out thinking about him.

"Ah, yeah, sorry." Rinne simply smiled at you.

"I'm all done. Well, nearly. You're just missing one thing." Before you could ask what, the hand still on your chin was bringing you in closer, and he kissed you in the way only Rinne could, gently and roughly all at once- like jolting awake in the middle of the night. "There we go. You're perfect now."

Looking in the mirror, you couldn't help but be surprised at how well he'd done. The lines were smooth and clear, and nothing was smudged or misplaced.

".... You definitely knew how to do this already, didn't you?"

"Ya can't prove that." He responded, with a shit-eating grin that told you just how right you were.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Hiiii! I saw you asked for fluffy requests!! I love your writing so i got excited hehe

I just went through a ROUGH breakup, could you write where Levi comforts one of his scouts (or members of his squad) who he likes after she gets dumped?

Thank you!!! Xoxo ❤️❤️❤️

Hey I hope you're feeling better I'm sorry you have to go through this but I'm here if you need anything sweet anon, this really made me write hurt/comfort once again, so I hope you like it.

Pairing: Levi/reader

Tags: eventual fluff, hurt/comfort, takes an unexpected turn that I hope you like

November Sunsets

Levi, ever since he could remember himself, was lonely, neglected by life and stripped of anyone he ever cared about. The cruel unfairness of life was something he was forced to accept from the moment he came out of the womb; whilst other children had a last name to claim themselves with he was just Levi, Kuchel's bastard son.

Thinking back, life was the most unfair for his mother as well. The way he would hear men would treat her, hidden underneath her bed, or sticking his head to her door while supposedly playing with other little bastard children. Children of his fate that he couldn't remember the face of. Did anyone remember his own face? Deemed ugly, unbelievably short, dirty and incapable of being bright, that's what life had set for him from his very first breath.

Everytime he had refused to accept his fate another tragedy would curve it's way on his body and soul, staining him with little reminders of how he should sit back and crawl his way through what was simple meant to be. Indescribable gory deaths had happened before his eyes, taking any blue hue he had noticed and liked away from them. Insufferable agonies in the form of nightmares haunted him during the night, his mind didn't want to let him rest.

His heart had to become cold and hard as stone, but the humane of his nature only managed to plaster this longing of his on his face. Perhaps being human was a punishment everyone endured, whether they were born noble, loved by everyone or in a brothel, with almost no one to want them in this world.

Only two years after he had set foot and is remaining days in the Survey Corps were never certain. He was aware that it was a given profanity at his agreement to join, and egoistically he would have chose this any other day over counting down days in the underground. In that rat hole, he was expected to fall ill and possibly dead at any given time in his late twenties.

He still looked like a phantom in the mirror. Whatever concluded his being was set and done unfairly, from the way his skin was as pale as snow and so sheer that made his purple veins show practically everywhere to his lacking height caused by malnutrition and lack of sunlight. Was it the veins around his lips or the ones under his eyes that perfectly blended with his sacked under eyebags? Was it that his nose was small if looked individually but looked elongated in the context of his face? Maybe it was that he was filled with scars.

Oh, and that he looked atrocious with those dark locks in combination with light eyes.

Despite never doubting his abilities, or letting insecurities get the better of him it was in moments like this that he felt broken.

By setting his clippers down on the sink, after making sure there was no single coarse hair on them, he slipped in his usual light gray button down shirt. He didn't bother to secure any strap of his gear on him yet; it was this early in the morning that no one was probably awake yet, only him and his throbbing head, so strapping himself with the gear could easily be avoided for the time being.

The flames flickered inside his cobblestone fireplace demanding to be fed with fresh logs in exchange for his warmth. His hands worked mechanically, throwing logs I the crevice delicately careful not to fill the room in ashes. With a maneuver stir the flames roared with rage, engulfing the wood almost too pleasantly to eye. He didn't hesitate to plouch down on the wooden floor, legs crossed and hands stretched towards the newfound warmth in an attempt to ease the lingering cold of his fingers.

Usually this was the time for the first tea of the day. Under any other occasion his brain would munch on him for the lack of the hot copper liquid in his stomach, but today was different. He contemplated on weather this mere fire could ever warm up anything other than tea but he refused to seek the therapeutic feeling of hot water entering his body. If he couldn't warm up on the outside why would he put any effort to do so in the inside.

The throbbing in his head ravaged the insides of his skull with striking rushes of pain at random places. When he went to rub on his forehead his ear would screech in ache, testing to see if his patience could handle such tag game.

Refusing to soothe any part of his aching body meant that he'd have to physically suffer throughout the upcoming day. Had he been any more grumpier he would be thinking about assigning everyone with another cleaning task, nontheless it didn't fit the nature of his mood. He felt like locking himself in his office to avoid as much human interaction as possible, he wasn't social to begin with so why shouldn't he be granted some days to recharge his ability to utter anything else than a grunt.

He sighed, head falling to face the floor as his eyes were framed by his ebony locks. He seemed to despise them, today more than ever. Was it because of you? It was a question that puzzled his mind for a couple of days, eating away any spare piece of logic he was ever left with. The only thing he knew, or supposed was that this feelings were probably meant to feel like that, at least for him.

Him, who shall never enjoy a simple pleasure of life such as experiencing the feeling of falling in love and having a lover to tend to his soul's wound. Of course he had to be dense enough to let such opportunity go as only a question arose days after day he'd spent with you. Did he deserve to be loved?

Yet those days with you, those days that he cut absurdly were fidgeting with his mind in the worst way possible, trying to torment him over the memory of your face.

It had started off as a simple admiration of your combat skills. The intimidating brushes oh your skin on his everytime he chose to spare with you out of all member in his squad, the sweat that dripped off of your forehead as your eyes gleamed with the enthusiastic power gathered in your fists.

Then, it was the way your hair flipped off of your shoulder when you would wrap your camel colored jacket on your form under the lingering tingerine lights of the sun setting behind the walls. The way it bounced on your back as you gripped the reins of your horse, leaving small encouraging sounds of victory as it seceeded its training tasks. He had taken notice of how well kept your hair was, always fresh and squeaky clean as it framed your face loosely.

Levi was smitten, wrap around your little finger in the blink of an eye, his nights agonising, his days filled with you mellowy blendind in any scenery and he couldn't get you out of his head. Your affections towards him were meticulously counted at first but he had sat back down and watched as you let yourself go around him, sparring smiles and watery glances to him during meals.

Before he knew it he had found himself longing to be in your arms every single moment of the day, much like a lovestruck teenager. As much as it seemed embarrassing for a man his age to swoon and melt like a candle at the sight of such youthful and sweet woman, he couldn't help it. His loner's manners had started to abandon him in your presence, the persuasion of your soft eyes had him giving in. The sweet touches of your hand on his cheek, allowing his head to rest on your palm as he talked about the enormous work Erwin had assigned him with, curved in his head forever, replaying every time he seeked some form of comfort.

Had it not been for Mike and Hange entering his office unexpectedly that one day he had forgotten to lock, he wouldn't have been forced to leave it all behind to avoid spoiling both his and yours reputation. It haunted him; they way he longed for you as his heart clung into his chest like a prisoner, but his words to you as you cried your eyes out that sunset kept reminding him he was not deserving of anything.

When news spread like a plague in the higher ranks everyone had turned on him and seldomly to you, whispering heart rotting comments. Among them that you were no good for eachother be it due to appearances or the context of your backgrounds. Levi knew the oxymoron of those dynamics, yet why did anyone have to point them out, to make him feel smaller than he was whether it was for teasing or not, he couldn't phantom.

Not only life was unfair to him, he had to strip his own self of the only thing he had a positive effect in his life just to go back to being a what the Scouting Region wanted him to be. Humanity's Strongest. The man with no weaknesses who slaughtered the gigantic beasts with skill and determination. His heart was supposed to belong to humanity, not you, not anyone else.

It hurt. To watch you give out your beautiful giggles to someone else through his office window ached him restlessly. The imagery of your sweet affectionate movements was right before his eyes, directed to someone else this time, during those beautiful November sunsets felt like gunshots aimed anywhere in his vital organs.

You had fallen for someone else, those were the news going around the squad lately. Petra bubbled enthusiastically about Gunther's encounters with you in the small alleyways of Trost on your day offs. Eld would scold you for dressing up appropriately for your dates and Oluo would miserably immitate him, giving you playful comments about reeking shit while biting his tongue. As Petra had informed him, his affiliations with you unbeknownst to her or any other cadet in the picture, Gunther was treating you perfectly, almost too good to be true. Something that made his heart fall into pits of darkness, all masked safely by his humane flesh and skeleton combines.

Would anyone ever treat you like he did? With such serenity? He knew, despite how short lived your fling had ever been, there would never be anyone like him in your life. And for that he had to be the one to punish himself. His fate would be pleased if he turned on himself wouldn't it?

Upon hearing the knock on his door, his mouth automatically spat the familiar inquiry on the knocker's intentions. It felt deaf to his ears; his mind was working on its own while he forced it to torment him with more what ifs. As his fingers brushed brushed underneath his nostril to scratch away any awkwardness that had gathered in the spot with a buzzing feeling.

"It's cadet (L/n) sir" he heard you yelp as you paused, unsure of what to say next. "Personal business if you don't mind!"

When you entered at his command, his eyes didn't dare to spend a second fixated on your bouncing locks. Instead they blinked into your (e/c) ones, staring at the melancholic expression that was plastered on them. Lower on your face, your lip trembled, teeth biting hard not to allow it to show but your efforts had already fell into vain as he quickly noticed it.

He hadn't realised you weren't sitting on the chair before his desk until he got up from his position on the ground, eyes immediately noticing you in his usual spot. You were curled up in a ball with your knees fitted to your eye sockets, silently suppressing what seemed to be the start of a brawling session as he sat there and watched, not daring to touch your back with his hand.

What had happened so early in the morning that had sent you in his office? The two of you weren't much on talking terms nowadays, a restriction he had forced on you from the day that he ended your shared endearments. As potential scenarios chewed on his thoughts your whimpers only grew louder and harsher.

"Don't you dare ask why I'm crying!" You spoke, small hiccups leaving the back of your throat as each time it roared with another wave of sorrow.

"It could be helpful to know."

His steel eyes never met yours as he spoke with his typical steady voice, although this time he had tried to take any nasal sound away from it.

"You're the reason I can't have anything work for me. Gunther said so himself." Another crashing wave of sobs overcame you and he watched frozen, unable to do anything just yet. Confirmation on your status had to be spoken, he wouldn't love to be touchy with another man's woman even if ever cell in his body ached for her.

"You're achingly beautiful, my heart will forever be yours and you knew it. Gunther' isn't fit to be a replacement for you. You get to be the one who comforts me for this breakup, for our breakup up, I can't talk about that shit with anyone else. You're all I ever had and you left me to pretend to be that weapom they want you to be." He had expected you to winch, to flinch or have any negative reaction to his touch on the back of your head, he had prepared himself for it, he had planned the words he'd say but such a reaction never came. You only have in to his lingering touch, hand reaching out for his in an attempt to pull him close.

He didn't feel the pain of his knees hitting the wooden floor as he coarsed you to his neck in full might, he ignored the heart that beat fast at the sound of you admitting you weren't over him, he chewed back at the thoughts that mocked you for calling him achingly beautiful.

The fidgeting of your fingers on the button of his shirt served as an action of your nervousness but all he could care about was that he could feel your heart beating at the right side of his chest almost in synch with his.

"I'm here." He soothed, one hand running through your soft locks as the other one pressed you to his chest. "I'm sorry" he admitted. Whether it was too late was up to your heart's desire to decide.

"You better be." You sniffled the goo that threatened to fall on his shirt.

"You should know by now. I can't bear to watch you thrive with anyone. Tch, I'm a smug runt myself for that."

He fell in silence as you tried to give into his caring comfort. It all felt too familiar, too rushed and too bitterweet to be real. He blinked at the thought and slightly bit his tongue to confirm he wasn't sleeping.

"I thought we belonged together, I thought... I thought I found something in you that was mine."

As your eyes brawled with hit tears once again your fists came to clench onto his shirt. There were distinguishable pauses in your crying; rashes of unspoken pain inside your chest that burned you to think about. It was all too familiar of a feeling to him and it only ever made him press you impossibly closer to his form.

"If it helps, I did so too."

It's only when your face lifts up for your wide eyes to look into his that he realises how much you've cried. Despite the practical darkness of the room your eyes are obviously bloodshot, painted with agony as they burn holes onto his skin, making him shut his in defense of his soul.

"I miss you so much and I can't sleep at night. I can't look at anyone and pretend they are you, they all see through this. I still love you and it hurts. I don't want it to hurt, Levi." Your confessions striked that particular nerve in him that made him numb, frozen on the spot, dumfounded over your words. Had he knew he'd be the reason that love pains you he would have never lead you on, he would have never looked at you with small looks of adoration as you ride your horse's together and most importantly he would have never let his filthy lips touch your angelic ones.

But he didn't find it in him to regret any of his actions.

Not now, not when his lips were begging him to be interlocked with the only pair then had declaired a match.

"I know I came here all of a sudden but it's been nights I haven't slept and I can't do this anymore. J-just hold me and once the sun is out I won't bother you anymore." Even if you tried to speak that nonsense with him you should have known better that it wouldn't work. He could already see the faint purples in the horizon, glazing over the glass of his windows as they lightened by every passing moment.

He knew why you were in his arms, he knew that pushing you away was never an option either. Thus, his hands came to rest under your face your face to tenderly direct it to his. His mouth opened but the words that he spoke took hours, years, eons to come out.

"What if I told you that I still love you, what would you say? Would you press your lips on mine and want to start over?" He inquired as he swallowed the hard lamp that had gathered in his Adams apple. "Would you speak your words in actions?"

The first light of the sky protruded behind the mountains, spreading a yellow light evenly around the sky. As you nodded and tugged your head close enough that your nose touched, your lips faintly brushed against each other's and his heart sped in unimaginable paces.

In the moment he wasn't a doomed underground ugly thug, his nose wasn't misplaced on the context of his head. He wasn't just Kuchel's bastard son that everyone wanted dead. He was that part that you had claimed as yours.

Small victories against his fate didn't always leave him hollow with unbearable loss after all.

My requests are always open, if you want to drop anything I'd be more than happy to write what you want ❤️

[littlemisslipbalm]

“Just Dandy!” Camp Counselor!Harry

AU: Harry and you are camp counselors, always at each other’s throats, but now, you’re at each other’s lips ;)

hehe what is this?! I saw some prompt a while back with writing your name out with prompts and mine was like alternate universe, best friend’s brother, and intoxication - so you’ll have all of that if you read this! I wanted this to be kind of fun, kind of silly, kind of ~campy~ - still it gives me strong soulmate and love vibes, idk i’m just incapable of writing casual life, like this has to be some epic love, still this is very lowkey, I’d say, -- anyway let me know what you think! This is definitely a 1 part only tho :) there is no gif that goes with thisss except if i found something from LWWY mv lmao but what i chose is cute

Word Count: 3.8k | Warnings: kissing and alchohol, and language?

-

How’s it going, Camper?” he said. 

You rolled your eyes, “Just dandy, Counselor.” 

You turned away from Harry and continued working, you were surprised he didn’t have his trail of fans right behind him for the first time all day. 

“Oh c’mon, Y/N, you know you can just call me Harry,” he said with a sickly sweet voice, laying on the charm. 

“Oh?! Harry! I didn’t realize it was you. Can you walk out and walk back in so I can swoon immediately at your presence?”

-

It was just a summer job, but somehow it had turned into something more. You and your best friend, Annie, began working at the camp once you became too old to attend yourselves, this being your second year as a counselor. You had to be 18 or older to be a counselor, you and Annie were 19.

This year you were both in charge of the oldest group of girls there, the 13-16 year olds, the ones closest to your age. The ones closest to all of the counselors' ages, meaning they had crushes on your male colleagues and weren’t afraid of going after what they wanted. Thankfully, most of your fellow counselors would shut down the young girls’ advances immediately. However, there was one camp counsellor who revelled in the attention and he was the one who received the most by far. Annie’s brother, Harry, was two years older than you, and he was the young camp goers’ greatest subject of affection and puppy love.

He was, admittedly, very attractive, his body chiseled and taut from working out, tattoos littering his arms and body variously. His hair was brown and flowy, flopping all around and into his face to give him the boyish charm that the girls’ - mostly the girls - fell for. His personality is what kept them around, he was cheeky and fun to be with. Extremely adventurous, too, always wanting to check out something he’d never seen before. Annie and I always had to remind him that he couldn’t just walk into the woods with a bunch of young teen girls. He would never do anything to hurt them, he simply didn’t see their advances as flirtation, he was oblivious and just thought they were just as interested in nature and exploration as he was. At least, that’s what he always said. You knew better, that he loved the ego boost he got from it.

-

You thought back to when it was your last year as a camp goer, Harry’s first year as a counselor. Every girl was constantly swarming you and Annie in hopes of hearing a little more about Harry and what he was like. Annie kept a tight lip, not really enjoying the attention that her brother was bringing her. Harry had been gone for just one year, when he was seventeen, too old to attend, but too young to be a counselor. Yet, within that one year he had transformed from just another guy attending the camp to a man with authority. He also had matured a bit, bulking up, getting tattoos, the likes. The girls around you were eating it up, all you could do was roll your eyes. Sure he was cute, but he was Harry.

On the first day of his camp counselling, you were assigned to his group for setting up the California Spot. The first day of camp was always a set up day, the campers helped the counselors put the place back together and then on the second to last day, everyone took it back down till the next year’s first day. The California Spot was the part of the camp by the river and small lake, the camp’s “beachiest” area, hence the California name. It wasn’t that hard of a set up so older campers were the ones who usually got assigned it. And new counselors usually got assigned it too, so they couldn’t mess it up, it made sense then that Harry was the counselor in charge. Everyone seemed to be happy to be there, except you, mostly because you and Annie hadn’t been put together, but also because Harry was in charge of you.

Harry walked up beside you as you were dusting off floaties in the back shed. “How’s it going, Camper?” he said. You rolled your eyes, “Just dandy, Counselor.” You turned away from Harry and continued working, you were surprised he didn’t have his trail of fans right behind him for the first time all day. “Oh c’mon, Y/N, you know you can just call me Harry,” he said with a sickly sweet voice, laying on the charm. “Oh?! Harry! I didn’t realize it was you. Can you walk out and walk back in so I can swoon immediately at your presence?” You gave him a pointed glare, clearly not amused at whatever he was trying to do. Get a rise out of you, maybe, just being his annoying self, probably. He chuckled, “Ouch.” He was about to speak again, but you cut him off before he could ever start, leaving his mouth agape. “Harry, I know you think you’re a big cool counselor now, but you’re always just going to be Annie’s kind of annoying older brother to me. So don’t come in here trying to get off on some power trip with me.” Now he was definitely taken aback. After a moment of staring at one another, both of your anger seeping out of you. He took a step closer to you and whispered loudly, “We may know each other outside of this, Y/N, but you can’t speak to me like that in front of other campers. I’ll let this go, but you cannot undermine my authority like that when others can hear you.” You were silent, unsure how you had gotten yourself in this situation. “And by the way, I was just trying to be funny with you, Y/N, take a joke,” he finished and walked off with a huff. You stood there, dumbfounded, watching him disappear out of the door and back to the makeshift beach. You honestly felt a little bad, you knew it was his first day, maybe you shouldn’t have been so harsh. Oh well.

For the rest of that summer, the two of you didn’t really talk. Only occasionally and it was always kind of awkward. The next summer you had off so you didn’t see Harry much at all, except for the part of the summer before and after the camp occurred and you were at Annie’s house. He and you got along a lot better during those small moments. Without the camp setting of him having authority over you, you enjoyed his presence more. He wasn’t bossy and he wasn’t surrounded by throngs of your peers. He was just Harry and you liked that.  Your first summer as a counselor was fine as well. Harry and you became more like friends that year. He was happy to help you and Annie understand counselor duties around the camp. You laughed when you and him were assigned the California Spot to set up. Thinking back to when you two had gotten into a fight that lasted almost a year.

Unlike the first time, you walked up to him at the edge of the lake, feeding a line out for safety. “How’s it going, Counselor?” you asked him, some play in your voice as you tapped his shoulder. He glanced behind him, at you, and smiled. He threw the rest of the line in the lake and stepped back to be beside you and look out at the lake. “Just dandy, Counselor,” he said, while he nudged you with his elbow and winked at you. You both laughed and he threw an arm around you and spun you around in his arms. It felt nice. Harry and you being friends was a good thing. For you and him, but also for Annie, she had hated the year when the two of you were at odds with each other.

-

Now it was your second year as a counselor. Harry was at Uni now so it was going to be the first time seeing him since last summer. You didn’t feel any excitement about the prospect, but you were definitely happy to see him. A similar amount of happiness as seeing any other counselor, you were sure of it.

Two campers, in your supervising group, raced up to, giggling all the way to your side. “Have you seen Counselor Harry yet, Y/N?!” they exclaimed, overly excited. You put your clipboard down by your side and lifted your sunglasses from your face. The girls were about your height and likely 15. “Um, no I haven’t, has he grown a third eye or something?” You looked at them with indifference and a hint of amusement at your own joke. They both rolled their eyes. “No!” The first girl, Elise, responded. Georgie continued, “He’s just gotten even hotter than he was last year!” “If that’s even possible!” Elise chimed in, talking over Georgie. You looked up to the sky as if you were praying to a god, asking yourself why you loved this job so much?

You offered the girls a tight lipped smile. Disregarding what they said about your colleague and friend, you shooed them off to go unpack. Then, you continued on your walk around the camp grounds. You stopped at the mail area to check to see if you already had mail from your eager parents, they would send you a letter a week while you were away, even though you had your phone on you as a counselor.

Seeing no mail, you turned on your heel and was about to step foot back outside when you were blocked. There wasn’t a lot of context for you to see what you had just bumped into, it was large, hard, and dark. You backed up and blinked. “What the f-” You looked up and it was Harry. He was wearing an all black ensemble, you being shorter than him, caused you to only see his shirt when you walked directly into him. You took in the rest of his appearance and realized he had cut his long hair since last summer, it was now short but slightly flowy, but pushed back as opposed to how it used to be - swept across the forehead.

“Didn’t see you there, m’sorry,” Harry said. You noticed his hands holding onto your waist, he had reached out instinctively, not wanting you to fall. “It’s alright, good to see you, Harry.” He seemed as though he was about to say something, but you cut him off. You had a habit of doing that. “I’d love to catch up, but I’ve got some stuff I have to take care of.” You were being vague on your excuse, but you were already walking away before Harry could call after you, “See you around then! ...I guess.” He definitely couldn’t deny that he was a little disappointed that you couldn’t spare a minute to talk to him.

-

You and Harry interacted seldom over the next few weeks. You were paired up as supervisors for various activities with the campers, but whenever you two talked it always seemed like one of you was itching to leave the conversation. Sometimes you would sit beside each other at counselor meetings and meal times. There you would talk a bit more, but still there was something off. Annie even asked you if you were mad at Harry. You replied that you weren’t, citing ‘we just haven’t had anything to talk about with each other, I guess’ as reasoning for the distance between you two.

It was the last Saturday before the camp ended, evening, when you heard a knock on the cabin, you were staying in, door. You weren’t in your counselor clothes anymore, instead an oversized old t-shirt and some sweatpants with your school’s logo. You assumed it’d be a camper needing assistance with something. To your surprise, it was none other than Harry. He also had changed from his counselor clothes for the day. Instead he wore dark sweatpants and a flannel, barely buttoned up. You thought he might catch a cold with how much of his skin was left exposed due to his button job.

“I bring libations!” He says happily and barges into your cabin. You had been lucky this year, while not being assigned Annie as your roommate was a bummer, you had been assigned another counselor whose boyfriend was a lead counselor, and got his own room, meaning she was almost never in yours. Tonight was like usual, she wasn’t there.

Harry continues into the room despite your figure still standing at the doorway, a look of complete and utter confusion on your face. Harry answers your question before you even have the chance to answer it. “It’s our last Saturday and I want to get sloshed with a friend, won’t you join me, Y/N?” He pulls out the handle he had somehow hidden on his trek over to your cabin.

“We’re not really supposed…” you began. Harry shushed you, saying, “Live a little!”

“It’s against the rules for us to…”

“Please!”

“We could lose our jobs if we…”

“For me?”

“This seems like coercion,” you huff, sitting on your roommate’s bed, seeing as Harry has taken residence on yours. You were thankful you’d had the ambition to make it today.

“It’s only coercion if you really didn’t want to do it, but I know you better, Y/N. You never followed the rules as a camper, why would you follow them now as a counselor.” He took a swig straight from the bottle before offering it up to you.

You grinned and leaned across the small space between you and Harry, grabbing the bottle happily.

You thought back to sneaking around the lake house when you were younger, with Annie and Harry, sometimes even just Harry. One of you always somehow got your hands on a bottle of some alcohol that was heinous, but did the job of getting you three (or two) off your asses.

Now you were of legal drinking age and that was definitely a plus when you were in your real life. As a counselor though, you felt like you needed to be alert and being drunk was most definitely the opposite of that. Still, Harry made a point, you liked having fun and the camp was ending soon. There were also plenty of other counselors the camper’s could go to if they needed anything for the next few hours. It wasn’t like you and Harry were the only people they could get help from. 

You threw back your neck, the bottle attached tightly to your lips. Happy to be finally letting go a little.

Truthfully, the second year as a counselor hadn’t been as fun as the first. The older kids were harder to deal with and it was slightly more draining dealing with them then the younger campers.

Your pull was big and Harry was quick to reach over and pull the handle down, stopping you from getting hammered immediately. “Easy there, this bottle’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

You rolled your eyes and stuck up the middle finger at him. “You’re an ass.” You both laughed.

As the alcohol began to pass between the two of you steadily, the conversation came much more easily than it had been for the past weeks.

Eventually, when the bottle reached the two-thirds gone mark, Harry and you were sitting on the ground facing each other, nice and close. He told you how his Uni experience was going, not as great as he’d hoped it to be, if he was being honest with himself, he said. You talked about how bored you were with life back home. He chuckled at that.

As you got further past the line of tipsy and into the territory of fully intoxicated, you couldn’t help but notice the sound of Harry’s voice. He was talking again, but you weren’t understanding what he was saying at all. All you were noticing was how his mouth moved around the words that came out of his mouth and how nice it all sounded.

He continued talking and you squinted your eyes at him. Then, without the knowledge of your brain, your hands were reaching out and cupping Harry’s face. He stopped talking at this contact and he looked at you curiously. Your mind was fuzzy and made no registration that what you were doing was slightly odd, especially with no warning to the receiver of your touch. You looked back at him, with a look of quiet interest all over your face.

“Keep talking,” you said. Harry nodded and began to ramble again, confused, but not against whatever you were doing. As he spoke, you ran your fingers around his dimple and the smile lines that appeared when he said things with “A” “C” “E” and other syllables that made his lips quirk up.

“Feels nice.” Then, Harry faltered in his thought process. His mind was numbing from the alcohol as well and the sensory overload he was beginning to have from your hands was enough to make him stop speaking again. He looked in your eyes as you focused on his mouth. You were sat up on your knees, practically leaning on him, while he was sat cross-legged, with his hands out behind him. When he stopped speaking this time, you didn’t tell him to start up again. Instead, your hands floated even closer to his lips.

You ran your hand over the entirety of his mouth first. Then, you took both your pointers and used them to manipulate Harry’s mouth into a smile. He bared his teeth for you. You giggled. Then, you brought his lips back to neutral and ran a finger around the outline of his lips. Then, your hand disappeared from his face and you sat back on your heels. Harry missed your touch immediately. While odd, he had liked the tingles behind his face that he had experienced from it.

“Why’d you stop?” he whined quietly.

“Because…” you trailed off.

“Because why?”

You sat silent. You repositioned yourself to laying down completely on the floor and looking up at the ceiling. You sighed and said, “I don’t know.. I forgot.”

Harry smiled at the response and shifted to lay beside you. “You’re drunk as shite, aren’t you?”  He reached his left arm across himself and bopped your nose, along with his tease.

“It’s not like you’re any better,” you grumbled and rolled onto your side to face Harry’s body.

When you were drunk you felt completely alive. Your entire body tingling yet foggy at the same time. You blinked hard, twice, taking in the man beside you. He was long in the position he was in. His silhouette was quite attractive at the moment, your bedside lamp illuminating half of his face in golden light, the other falling into darkness, beyond where the light could reach.  

“Because you’re too beautiful,” you whispered, finally remembering your reasoning from Harry’s earlier question. Harry moved his arm to rest it under his head. Giving him a slight vantage over you.  He wobbled slightly, as if his head might slip from his hand’s grasp. Yet he controlled it after a moment.

“Oh?” The slightest smirk graced his face. Your comment fed his ego, but his ego had mostly gone to bed since the two of you had begun drinking. Your intoxication caused his comment to get to you so much more than it would have sober, not that you would have been having this conversation sober. Either way, his simple ‘Oh?’ made you cover your face with your hands and laugh embarrassedly for a moment. Then you let your hands trail down your face a bit so your eyes were peaking at Harry and you were biting a finger in your mouth.

“So you think I’m pretty?” Harry said, completely intrigued with what you were saying. You took your hands away from your face and mirrored his position, leaning your head on your hand. You wobbled like Harry had, trying to maintain your balance. Only this time, Harry reached a hand out to steady you at your waist. Your shirt had shifted up, throughout your wiggling, so your skin was bare where his hand touched. The skin his hand met was lit on fire. The sparks being sent out and fizzling throughout your body. You closed your eyes at the sensation and hummed almost inaudibly. Harry licked his lips at the sound and decided that it was okay to leave his hand where it was.

“I asked you a question, Counselor,” he whispered. You blinked open your eyes at his words. For one moment, your stupor was gone and you saw everything rather clear. “Yeah, I think you’re quite possibly the prettiest person ever, Harry.” He was silent for a moment, shifting once again onto his elbow, his body now towering over you once again.

“Well that’s simply not true,” he said, finally, shaking his head slightly. You couldn’t help but laugh, “You? Humble?” Now that Harry was sitting more upright, you shifted so you were leaning on both of your elbows, much closer to the ground than Harry. His hand remained on your waist, causing him to hover above you. This unspoken shifting of places was weird, the meaning of it unclear to either of you.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but...I just know I’m not the prettiest person ever.” He looked away from you. “And why’s that, Counselor?” you whispered, staring straight at him, even if he was avoiding eye contact. Then, suddenly, he was looking back at you, his eyes dark and intense. Despite the intensity in his eyes, though, his voice was soft and sweet. Perhaps, even, darling.

“Because...you’re the prettiest person ever.”

As you opened your mouth to say something, Harry leaned down over you, lips meeting yours. His lips brushed softly against yours, but you wanted more. You reached a hand up behind his neck and pulled you closer. He met your passion with his own and pushed his lips more desperately against yours. As you pulled him closer, your ability to hold yourself up faltered. It sent you both tumbling to the ground, completely. You whined slightly, but weren’t fazed by the wooden floor. You continued to press your lips to Harry’s and he groaned appreciatively into you. After a few minutes of wet, hot kisses, Harry reluctantly pulled away. Your chest was heaving steadily and Harry couldn’t help but notice, but he shook the thought from his mind. He took one hand from the ground and let it roam down the side of your face. You smiled up at him.

“Now, that is what I call ‘just dandy’!” He said. You rolled your eyes, “Oh my god!” you moaned and shoved him off of you. You stood up and Harry followed quickly behind. Both of you had sobered up significantly during the kissing. You faced each other and Harry smiled. A smile crept onto your face, too, matching his perfectly.

“I hate you,” you said one last time, never really meaning it.

“Uh-huh,” Harry responded, taking you into his arms. He pressed a kiss on the top of your head. His lips softly brushing your hair.

“Hate you, too.”

Neither of you could be further from the truth with those words.

-

Tag list: @cronias13, @theresthingsthatwellneverknow, @harrys-cherry

Hopefully that actually works this time! Have a nice day 🤍!

[platonicavengers]

Pinky Promise

pairing: avengers x teen!reader; platonic!steve x teen!reader; platonic!natasha x teen!reader

word count: 1,772 (hehe told y’all)

warnings: sadness, depression, maybe swearing?? idk i don’t pay enough attention, post-infinity war feels

author’s note: im :) fine :) not :) sad :) at :) all :) also why do i always write angst am i that incapable of letting anyone be happy hahahah help

summary: it’s been a year since thanos snapped his fingers, and you still feel just as upset as you did the day it happened, but steve and nat are there to try their best to help you :)

my masterlist | read it on ao3 | read it on wattpad

One year; 12 months; 52 weeks; 365 days; 8,760 hours; 525,600 minutes; 31,536,000 seconds.

Since it happened. It, of course, being Thanos snapping his fingers, successfully eliminating 50% of life throughout the entire universe. Since you lost so many of your closest friends, your family.

Some people say that it gets easier with time, that eventually, it stops hurting as much. That after a while, the pain just isn't as bad.

But they would be wrong.

It's been an entire year, and for you, it's only seemed to get worse. The pain just grows each day, the loss of some of your favorite people just taking a larger toll on you as the days go by.

And the team could tell. What's left of the team, at least. Even out of the survivors, not everyone stayed around at the compound, as it would just bring back memories of those they've lost.

Tony had gone to live with Pepper and their daughter, Morgan, in a cabin on the lake. Bruce had gone somewhere, you weren't even sure where he was, and the same with Rhodey. Thor left to go establish New Asgard, and you hadn't seen him since. Carol, although technically not an official member of the team, was up in space most of the time, so you never saw her, either. That left only you, Natasha, and Steve.

Natasha was the first to notice. The way you rarely left your room, and if you did, your eyes were rimmed with a red tint, and your cheeks were puffed up. And if she ever got the chance to speak to you, you would only give her one or two word responses, far from the usual energetic and lengthy ones you used to give.

Steve noticed not long after, partially because Natasha pointed it out to him, and partially on his own. He saw the way you always wore sweatshirts or t- shirts belonging to your fallen friends. He heard you crying at the late hours of the night, when you thought no one else was awake.

So the two of them came together, trying to think of any and every way to help you, to take your mind off of everything, even just for a few minutes. But you did know this. You still stayed locked up in your room, today, especially, not even attempting to drag yourself out of bed, knowing that the only thing you were capable of doing today, was mourning.

••

The minute your alarm clock went off at 7 AM, you could already feel the familiar sensation of a wave of tears approaching. You were used to it by now, and just let it happen on its own.

With the sleeves of one of Wanda’s hoodies folded over your hands, you pressed your wrists to your eyes, trying to stop the stinging feeling of the tears. Your attempt was futile, and a steady stream started flowing down your cheeks, onto the comforter below you.

You sighed in frustration and annoyance when the tears wouldn’t stop. It seems like everyone else has moved on already, you thought to yourself, so why can’t I?

You buried your face in your hands and let out a loud sob. You shook your head, slowly lifting it from your hands as you stared up at the ceiling for a moment. You internally swore at yourself, knowing that what you were about to do was immature, but you were going to do it anyways.

“Hey, u-um,” your voice was quiet, hoarse from going so long without speaking, not to mention nasally from all the crying you’ve been doing lately. You brushed your messy hair out of your face, sniffling loudly, “I-I don’t know if anyone can hear me, but I, uh. I wanted to try an-and say something, just in case any of you guys a-are listening right now.”

You sobbed again, swearing under your breath, “Get it together, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself. You cleared your throat, trying once more to speak, “U-um. I just wanted to say that, um, I miss you all,” your voice broke off, the tears falling faster now, “so much. Uh, I miss you and love you all so much. I would do anything to get a-all of you back here, right now. Whatever it would take, I don’t care. I-I need you all, so badly.”

You cursed at yourself again, much louder than you intended to. Unbeknownst to you, Steve and Natasha heard you. They shared a look, before stopping what they were doing, and standing next to your closed door.

“I’m so, so, so sorry I didn’t do good enough. I tried, as hard as I could. I tried everything I could think of to get everyone back,” your voice had fallen into a low whisper, “b-but nothing worked.”

The pair outside your door felt their hearts break. It hurt them so much to hear you in such pain, and they knew they couldn’t stand to listen any longer. Natasha glanced at Steve, communicating with him through their eyes. Steve sent her a slight nod, knowing what she wanted to do.

The redhead slowly stood up from her squatting position, softly knocking on your door. She spoke quietly, a warm and caring tone laced through her words, “Y/N, sweetie? Could you open the door, please?”

You froze. You hadn’t expected for either of them to try and talk to you. Lately, they had stopped trying to get you to unlock your door, to open up, even just a little, after realizing that you refused to. You stayed silent for a moment, not knowing how, or if you wanted, to respond.

“Please, Y/N. We just want to help you, I promise, honey.”

Natasha’s voice was so calming, with the slight motherly tone coming through her words. You felt your resolve falter for a second, and you contemplated whether to let her in or not. On one hand, you didn’t want them seeing you like this, although you knew they wouldn’t care. But on the other, you so desperately craved comfort, reassurance, especially from those you trusted and cared for so deeply.

“Please,” this time it was Steve that spoke, “we know you’re hurting, and we want to help.”

With his words, you broke. You felt the sobs building up in your chest, and you ran to the door, unlocking and it and yanking it open roughly. You fell into Natasha’s open arms, sobbing. Steve wrapped his arms around you as well, joining the embrace. Your body shook painfully, but the feeling of two of your closest friends holding you so tightly helped soften the blow.

It took you around fifteen minutes to calm down. The whole time, both Steve and Natasha stayed with you on the floor, still holding onto you tightly, occasionally whispering short phrases of comfort into your ears.

When you eventually did settle down, you could feel your body growing tired from your sobs. You slowly lifted your head from Natasha’s shoulder, and she sent you a small smile. She wiped away the tears from under your eyes with the pads of her thumbs, and tucked your hair behind your ears.

Steve shifted so he was in front of you, and he could see your face as he spoke to you, “How ‘bout we have a movie day today, huh? No work, no responsibilities, just hangin’ out and watching movies? Sound good, hmm?”

You weakly nodded, trying your best to send him a smile, but the corners of your lips barely lifted up. He smiled back at you, helping you and Natasha both up from the ground, and the three of you walked together to the living room area.

You sat down on one of the couches, Steve taking the seat next to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, slowly rubbing your arm as Natasha stood in the kitchen, gathering snacks for you all.

As Steve picked up the TV remote, going to put the first movie on, a memory of a day similar came to mind.

“Everybody sit your asses down, it’s movie day!” You grinned widely as Tony shouted at the rest of the team. You plopped down on one of the couches, Steve on your right, and Wanda on your left. You loved having movie nights with the team, as they were a rare pleasantry in a life as hectic as yours.

“Yo, Tiny! Heads up!” Sam called out to you, chucking a bag of popcorn towards you. You giggled as you caught it, quickly ripping it open and shoving a handful of the snack into your mouth.

Steve reached a hand into the bag, trying to steal some of the popcorn, but you quickly smacked his hand, causing him to send you a playful glare. Your eyes widened as you saw popcorn floating out of the bag, but you jokingly rolled your eyes as you turned to your left, seeing Wanda using her magic to grab some of your food. You sighed, a small smile on your lips, “I really can’t have anything around here, huh?”

You were cut off by a loud “Shh!” and you glanced over to one of the other couches, offering a sheepish smile to an impatient Natasha.

You were brought back to reality by a loud shout of your name, and you blinked your eyes a few times, seeing both Steve and Natasha in front of you, worry clear on their faces.

They both visibly relaxed when you looked at them, but their concern quickly returned when they saw your eyes well up with tears, and a sob break its way past your lips.

Natasha wrapped her arms around you, bringing you to her chest and slowly rocking you back and forth, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I-I miss them s-so much!” You stuttered out between sobs.

Natasha felt herself tear up, her hold on you tightening, “Oh, sweetie, I know, I know. I miss them too.”

A few minutes later, Natasha released from the hug, but kept you tucked into her side, running her fingers through your hair. Steve grabbed ahold of your hands, gently rubbing his thumbs on top of your fingers, “I promise you, Y/N, we’re gonna get them back. We’re gonna get them all back.”

You wiped away a lone tear, whispering, “Pinky promise?” You knew it was immature, but you held up a shaking pinky, desperate for reassurance, no matter how childish it made you seem.

Steve chuckled softly, wrapping his pinky around yours, “Pinky promise.”

[peshcel]

Riddle Me This: A Tom Riddle Character Study

[Also posted on Reddit, if you want to comment/share your thoughts!] 

Riddle Me This: A Tom Riddle Character Study

*Warnings: some profanity, spoilers, and puns.

‘Twas but a regular Saturday eve when a question of utmost importance grabbed hold of me: ‘Voldemort, why such a You-Know-What?’

You see, while Voldemort appears to be a very classic villain, Tom has proven to be an enigma wrapped in a Riddle (hehe). So, equipped with what I remembered from my BSc in Social Psychology, I also called upon my therapist friend with an MSc in Forensic Psychology to explore what would drive someone like Tom Riddle to become Lord Voldemort.

In this gone-awry Reddit comment, I will drag you along for a deep dive into how our little Dark Lord grew up and discuss concepts like power, control, sense of self, and terror management – all up to the point where Tom Marvolo Riddle introduces his clever anagram ‘Immortal Love Rodd’ ‘I am Lord Voldemort.’

Join me on this character study journey of about 5,500 words (15-30 min) where I try to figure out how Voldemort came to be.

Oh, and be sure to share your thoughts at the end of the ride!

 Baby Lord Voldemort: A Pensive Pensieve Trip

“Voldemort is my past, present, and future.”

 Long before we found out Snake-face Voldemort had barely a soul left, we thought he was the purest form of evil out there. He had done despicable things before his supposed death and had now resurfaced as a gross face on the back of someone’s head, hell-bent on killing this little kid. As we gradually learned, Voldemort was once Tom Riddle: a charming, brilliant, orphaned Wizard with the potential to go on and do great things. But, we also learned many little tidbits about the circumstances before his birth, about how he grew up and how he portrayed himself at Hogwarts, which has given us just enough to come up with our own theories about his personality and how he was shaped.

So, before we continue, let me quickly arm you with some abnormal psych. terminology. Both Riddle and Voldemort really match the three personality traits of (malignant) narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy, aptly known as ‘The Dark Triad’. 

Plucked straight from the Wiki, summarized for your convenience:

Narcissism

is characterized by grandiosity, pride, egotism, and a lack of empathy. 

Malignant narcissism

is when narcissism is combined with antisocial behaviors; the evil side of narcissism. (I stumbled upon

A Study in Evil: Voldemort, the Malignant Narcissist

after writing all of this, but I highly recommend giving it a read if you want a deep dive.)

Machiavellianism

is characterized by manipulation and exploitation of others, an absence of morality, unemotional callousness, and a higher level of self-interest.

Psychopathy

is characterized by continuous antisocial behavior, impulsivity, selfishness, callous and unemotional traits (CU), and remorselessness. (Better distinguished as ‘primary psychopathy’.)

*Sidenote: the term ‘sociopath’ is quite often used in pop culture, sometimes even interchangeably with ‘psychopath’. The actual diagnostic term is ‘antisocial personality disorder’, as described by the DSM-5. However, there is a difference between sociopathy and psychopathy, a whole slew of them actually. Important to note is that a ‘sociopath’ refers to a person with antisocial tendencies that are ascribed to social or environmental factors, whereas psychopathic traits are thought to be more innate, i.e. genetic causes (x).

We are given facts in the book that suggest psychopathic, antisocial, and (malignant) narcissistic traits are evident in Tom Riddle from early childhood. Using all that information, I want to take you on a ride to see how all these tidbits together shaped Tom Riddle and how that would lead him to become Lord Voldemort (not to be confused with ‘going Full Voldemort’).

  The Interplay of Nature and Nurture, and Magic

Psychopathy is believed to be a complex interworking of mostly nature but also nurture, let’s unpack this in regards to Riddle.

Tom Riddle is born to a Pure-blood mother, Merope Gaunt, and a Muggle father, Tom Riddle Sr. When we are first introduced to the Gaunts, Salazar Slytherin’s last descendants, we meet a violent father and son, and a daughter who takes the brunt of it. We are told that the entire Gaunt line has a history of inbreeding and that they are known to produce individuals with violent and unstable personalities. They live in dire conditions but are incredibly proud people and sneer at the mere existence of Muggles. Merope grows up poor and abused, traumatized, ridiculed for her lack of magic that seems to be more the result of the abuse than the cause for it. Not far from their shack in Little Hangleton lives Tom Riddle Sr.: rich, handsome, somewhat of a prat, and the object of Merope’s affections. Being no great beauty and with little to offer, she “hoodwinks” Tom Riddle Sr. and escapes her dreadful life with her family. Merope is soon with child after their marriage and decides to release Tom Riddle Sr. of whatever spell he’s under, but he leaves her immediately.

Let’s consider the circumstances surrounding the conception of Tom Riddle. J.K. Rowling said that Voldemort could not understand love as he was conceived in a ‘loveless union’. However, she also stated that had Merope decided to live and raise Tom, his life would’ve turned out differently by knowing ‘love’. We could understand the tidbits shared by J.K. to mean that a child born into a loveless union would perhaps grow up in a loveless household, would have no good examples of what love is and would not know or be shown love. While Dumbledore hints that he suspects Merope used a Love Potion to “hoodwink” Tom Riddle Sr., we only know that magic was used. I always understood said ‘loveless union’ to be a magical violation – violation in every sense of the word – and that Tom’s incapability to love was due to magic that tried to correct a balance, i.e. the Laws of Magic™ were violated. Now, I’m no Magical Theorist, but this could mean that actual Magic™ is at play in addition to a genetic predisposition to explain Tom’s psychopathic traits.

Apart from these genetic and magical factors, we could also consider the environmental factors that influenced the biological development of Tom. Merope was left destitute and depressed when Riddle Sr. abandoned her while pregnant. In the dead of winter, with a lot of stressors and suppressed magic, she gave birth to Tom at the orphanage and then died. While we don’t know how her pregnancy developed, this being all guesswork, the prenatal stressors and perhaps a complicated birth due to her suppressed magic could have influenced Tom’s brain development. Brain development or deviating brain structures are linked to psychopathy (x). Simply said, the parts of the brain responsible for empathy and guilt or fear and anxiety don’t work the same for psychopaths, e.g. they don’t experience fear or other affects the way others might. In a psychopathic child, for example, this could mean that they would be hard to socialize because they don’t fear punishment even though they might know that it is a consequence of their behavior. It’s also what makes them great liars (psychopaths can ace a lie detector test like no other). It can also mean being more prone to boredom and seeking thrills as a result (low arousal theory). We could even view all of this in light of ‘Magic™ development’ instead of the Muggle term ‘brain development’.

In addition to taking into account these hereditary, biological and prenatal factors, we'd be remiss not to look at the effect of nurture. Now, we don’t actually know that much about Tom’s early childhood except for what we learn during Dumbledore’s visit to Wool’s Orphanage in 1938. We find out that Tom steals from people, has no qualms about hurting animals, scares and bullies other children, and is a consummate liar ‒ all while having/showing no remorse. Mrs. Cole, the matron of the orphanage, refers to Tom as being a funny boy and odd, that he was a “funny baby, too” and “hardly ever cried”. It is conceivable that the caretakers gave him less attention in response to his lack of showing his needs through crying and that he was picked up and held less often. It could also be a chicken-or-egg situation: perhaps he didn’t cry because he learned his cries would not be responded to, etc. Even if we leave magic out of the equation as to why they would find him ‘funny’, it is likely that he showed general ‘abnormal’ responses and behaviors not appropriate for his developmental stage that were unsettling to others. It is easy to assume that this would lead to people distancing themselves from him and alienating him further. Regardless of cause-effect, there are clear signs here that Tom grows up maladjusted and that his attachment style falls somewhere along the dismissive-avoidant. I think we can assume that the lack of developing a relationship with at least one primary caregiver would really put a damper on having any semblance of a ‘normal’ social and emotional development.

There seems to be a clear interplay here of genetic, biological (magical) and environmental factors as the perfect foundation for dysfunctional personality traits to really come to fruition.

  Power & Control: A Narcissistic Trip 

 “There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.”

 Strap in as we first take a little detour for a quick exploration of narcissism. As previously stated, we clearly see signs of malignant narcissism in young Tom, characterized by grandiosity, pride, egotism, and a lack of empathy, combined with antisocial behaviors. What is particularly applicable in Tom’s case is Kohut’s theory of narcissism. 

The Little Narcissist

 In psychoanalytic theory, primary narcissism in children is part of their development.

It is normal for children to develop self-love and object-love, as Kohut puts it. Entertaining notions of greatness, magical thinking, feeling omnipotent and omniscient and believing to have a certain immunity to the consequences of their actions is all part of this development. It is quite innocent, but it can become pathological. According to Kohut, children are normally gently disillusioned of these grand notions, in a nontraumatic manner, by maturing and becoming part of society. Pathological narcissism, however, develops when the child basically has defective narcissistic structures of the self by having this process disrupted.

This defective structure fits Tom Riddle to a T. In addition, Kohut’s theory of object-love really applies here as well. According to Kohut, either a child has a ‘mother’ to confirm their grandiosity, or they seek an adult to create an ‘idealized parent image’. This means they will seek an adult, someone powerful they can look up to, so they can bask in their reflected glory. For Tom, having neither someone to confirm his grandiosity nor someone to look up to means he creates his own powerful parent. We notice this when Tom explicitly asks Dumbledore about his father being a Wizard, since his mother obviously could not have been; she wouldn’t have died if she was. One can imagine his (narcissistic) rage when this image was shattered later on. His five-year search for the Chamber of Secrets to confirm he’s the Heir of Slytherin is a direct result of Tom’s continued search for a sense of self.

  The Narcissist’s Plight: Need for Control

 One of our main human motivational processes is the desire for control. Actually, it is perceived control that really helps our general sense of well-being. This need exists and is deeply embedded in all of us. However, when people are tried and tested, feel threatened or powerless, a lack of agency can kickstart all kinds of coping mechanisms to maintain the sense of self. So, simply put: the less perceived control you have, the greater the need. 

 When we speak of power, we speak of control. If there is anyone who is desperate for control it’s the narcissist. The narcissist is believed to have such low self-esteem and fragile ego that it will, subconsciously, protect itself from being injured at all costs. Controlling your circumstances and those around you is a means of guarding and protecting the ego. Anything less just won’t do. A threat to that control, that power, is a perceived threat to the sense of self.

Power is a concept that really tickles Riddle/Voldemort’s Niffler as we pretty much learn from the get-go. Consider again, for a moment, where and how Tom grew up. His ability to control came from his magic. Seeing as how Tom grew up in an orphanage, not a penny to his name and very few resources, I think that Tom learned early on that everything could so easily be taken away from him ‒ by someone bigger, older, someone who had more power. While Tom could ‘control’ his circumstances to some degree with his magic, he was still a child. He seemed to have an innate understanding of his powerlessness, i.e. lack of control. Perhaps less helpless than other children, but still a child dependent on others. Not only that, but he was dependent on people he deemed lesser than him, less intelligent, less special. Something a narcissist like Tom would deeply resent. The thing here is that viewing others as beneath you or believing oneself to be superior to others is an ego defense to deal with insecurity, shame, rejection, etc. Tom develops this ego defense but also gets confirmation of his grandiosity through having magical power that actually does set him apart.

 Rejection is another big theme in the life of a narcissist; one that Tom was very familiar with. He was unwanted and fully made aware of it: his mother ‘left’ him by dying, his father never came for him, he was not chosen for adoption, and there were many other children vying for attention. Attention that Tom did not receive but perhaps believed he was owed. Originating from a sense of entitlement, someone like Tom would come to view any sort of rejection as a slight (for he is smarter, better, etc.). While Tom might not have even wanted such attention or even had a particular need to belong – considering he didn’t view anyone as a peer/equal – the fact that it was not automatically given to him was probably construed as insulting. 

  Control Through Controlling Others

 Mrs. Cole told Dumbledore that Tom scared the other children and that it was hard to catch him at any bullying or other malicious acts. With the ability to control his magic at such a young age, along with being highly intelligent, he was quick to figure out how to use this to his advantage. He could fly under the radar when needed, manipulate those in power, and use his skills to control others through fear ‒ ultimately to protect himself and what little he had, but also relishing how he could lord his power over others, establishing his superiority and showing them all how special he was. I believe that Tom honed the art of manipulation at a young age as he couldn’t fathom other ways of tying people to him, of forming relationships ‒ unless there was fear or a sense of owing. His magic gave him the additional tools to control those that didn’t have it.

Then, a defining moment: Tom meets Dumbledore.  Using the same control tactics he has probably used with everyone around, Tom tries to command Dumble to do/say certain things. If you squint, you could even say that Tom was able to put a magical compulsion in his commands. Dumbledore, being who he is, is unmoved and even gently puts Tom in his place, which in Tom’s eyes would be considered a slight.

When Tom learns there is a word for his abilities, he is very eager to show off and be acknowledged for it by someone he could potentially identify with, someone who can show him the path to more knowledge, more power, someone ‘worthy’. For the first time, he encounters someone he wants to impress; he does this by boasting about his abilities. How telling it is that our Little Lord says that he “can make bad things happen to people who annoy me,” – not “mean to me” as the movie had us believe.

Here, Tom seems to have accidentally truly revealed himself – perhaps for the first time, definitely the last time. Out of childlike excitement and eagerness, he has shown his hand, which he immediately regrets when it is not followed by recognition and/or approval from Dumbledore. Dumbledore, quickly catching on to the power dynamics, asks Tom to address him as ‘sir’ or ‘professor’ and immediately establishes his authority. Tom accepts it begrudgingly, “expression hardened”, as he needs Dumbledore to tell him more. Upon Tom’s demand, Dumbledore’s power is then quickly, and casually, displayed when he uses the Flame-Freezing charm on Tom’s wardrobe. If I’m being honest, I always found Dumbledore’s ‘casual’ display of power to be very loaded and quite problematic, ‘destroying’ something of Tom’s where he had stashed his very few possessions. Yet, Tom quickly goes from outrage to “expression greedy” when he realizes Dumbledore was just showing his power and using it to impress, i.e. instill fear (Tom immediately asks Dumbledore where he can get “one of them [wands]”). 

When Dumbledore uses his ‘power’ to then confront Tom with his stealing and bullying, Tom reluctantly concedes that he cannot manipulate Dumbledore and doesn’t deny his actions, knowing that ‘being truthful’ is how he can appease and steer Dumbledore. He even accepts the humiliation of having to return the stolen items and apologize to others.

Honestly, the whole interaction between them is so significant, so amazing and so telling of Tom’s typical interpersonal dynamics and relationships. It’s no wonder he starts to despise and avoid Dumbledore. Tom had made himself the master of his little universe, believing that no other has his special type of power. Not only did Tom lose his cool during the conversation, he showed weakness by being vulnerable. As Tom learns when he joins the Wizarding World, Dumbledore is even more powerful than he thought and holds strong political power to boot. Someone like Dumbledore, for example, is not just threatening because of his power but because he can see behind Tom’s mask. 

  Control in the Wizarding World

 The interaction with Dumbledore seems to set the tone for Tom’s understanding of ‘power’ in the Wizarding World. It is something he further internalizes when he arrives at Hogwarts and gets sorted into Slytherin, a House of mainly Pure-bloods. I wholeheartedly believe that this little Snake immediately understood the blood status dynamics at school and the hierarchy within Slytherin House; things beyond his control. It is not a stretch to believe that the Slytherins, in particular, bullied him, ostracised him—rejected him—for his lack of Wizarding name, lack of status and money, and tried to show and put him in his place, thus fueling his rage. So at the age of 11, Tom had the mental acuity to realize he needed other tactics to become influential, to wield his power. 

Seeing power and status being inherently awarded to Pure-bloods, the very ones who reject him, his own search for a claim to power/his superiority starts off with an obsessive in-depth exploration of his heritage. It is natural to assume that, along with this quest, Tom educated himself on social politics and how to improve himself. He was able to show humility and regard for others, be inhibited and not boastful. We learn from Dumbledore that Tom at Hogwarts showed signs of covert narcissism: no outward signs of arrogance or aggression, seemed polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. He had already learned how to control certain impulses, ingratiate himself, how to hide in plain sight. He just continued to perfect it; he became above reproach by being the perfect student in the eyes of the adults, while fooling his fellow students and building his own following (feeding his ego along the way). He played into Slytherin politics and managed to establish himself as something to behold and to be frightened of, especially when he learned of being a descendent of Salazar Slytherin – a legit claim to power. He now had proof of something he had always believed: I am above them. 

  Loss of Control and Terror Management

 Throughout his time at Hogwarts, Tom managed to perfect his control over others. Despite all his received praise and accolades, his ego remained fragile. I think the fact that he could not escape his blood status, his class – made especially salient when he had to return to the orphanage during the summer – really fueled his obsession to confirm he’s the Heir, i.e. to strengthen his sense of self. 

 Apart from the orphanage, Tom spends the rest of his formative years at Hogwarts, where he is, at most, considered a Half-blood if not a Muggle-born – i.e. lesser than. His fragile ego and sense of self is constantly challenged if not outright attacked. What’s even more confronting is that he also still has to return to the orphanage during summer break in the years 1938-1945 until he is of age. A place where he cannot use his magic; where he cannot sow the merits of his efforts at Hogwarts; a place where he has little to no control. He has to go back to being an orphan, in an orphanage, among Muggles. This having to return to Hogwarts is even more interesting to note when you consider there is both a Muggle war (WW2) and a Wizarding war (Grindelwald) happening.

 That’s why we should also place all of this in the context of when this all took place. Tom experiences both WW2 and the Grindelwald days while he’s a teenager and still at Hogwarts. While he was safe at Hogwarts during most of the year and the winter holidays, he still had to return during the summer. Let me quickly add here that Grindelwald never attacked Britain, but Muggle London was dealing with (the threat of) bombings during those years, with heavy losses in terms of homes, businesses, and lives. Tom just about avoided The Blitz (Sep 7, 1940 – May 11, 1941) and the evacuation of children of Sep 1, 1939 (although, how he managed that, don’t ask). It’s safe to say that times were incredibly tough and unsafe in those days. 

 So on that note, let me introduce you to Terror Management Theory (TMT). It basically means that when faced with ‘terror’, i.e. one’s own mortality, the anxiety that goes with it can make people do some really effed up things. People will start chasing ways to boost their self-esteem, their self-worth, and for ways to confirm that their life has meaning and that they certainly are not insignificant or disposable. That they matter. Mind you, this all takes place without people even realizing that this is driving them. This theory rears its head when we speak of racism as well. In trying to elevate their sense of self, people can attach great importance to the group they identify with. They will then seek out ways to confirm their group is superior to others (well, well, well). 

This theory seems to also fit Tom’s strange, half-assed Heir of Slytherin shenanigans. Same as what happened in the interaction with Dumbledore, Tom’s glee at finding out he’s indeed special makes him impulsive and greedy, disregarding the consequences and acting out of his ‘careful’ character. He has new power within his grasp, new thrills to seek and uncover. In his excitement, he is reckless and gets Myrtle Warren killed. While the rest of his attacks seem very planned and controlled, perhaps to impress his new Knights but most likely to see how far he could push boundaries, it also shows that he either doesn't think or doesn’t care about potential consequences. He is arrogant and unfearing. He could never get caught. Tom only starts caring when his actions become disadvantageous to himself; Hogwarts would close if the attacks continued, meaning he would lose all that he had skilfully and carefully cultivated.

In short, the need for control can drive one to go to really terrible lengths. Straight up tomfoolery, if you will. And if anyone went to great lengths, it was Tom Riddle’s becoming of Lord Voldemort.

  Becoming Lord Voldemort:  The Narcissistic Psychopathic Wizard’s Guide to Ultimate Power

“What I was, even I do not know … I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal – to conquer death.”

 Before we found out the little tidbits about Tom Riddle, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s motives seemed straightforward: Pure-bloods must reign supreme. Knowing what we know now, it would be too simplistic to state that Lord Voldemort was purely driven by hatred for an imagined inferior Other. Namely because at the core of hatred lies fear. A need for control and the deep-seated fear of losing said control would be something Tom would and could never admit to. It would mean acknowledging that something (i.e. fear) had control over him, in effect a weakness.

He is a Half-blood orphan with nothing to his name, a nobody. He has a smidgen of hope when he discovers he is a descendent of Salazar through the Gaunts, but any notion of tangible rewards associated with that is shattered when he finds the Gaunts fallen from grace into obscurity. There is fear of forever being a nobody, unremarkable; entering the world with nothing and leaving the world with nothing ‒ all the while knowing that he is obviously destined for greatness (hello narcissist, my old friend). 

He derived his new sense of self from being a descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin, who ‘rightfully’ detested those of lesser blood. As is typical for the malignant narcissist, Tom really has a ‘transparent’ defense mechanism to protect his fragile ego: projection. His hatred of his own lack of pure blood leads him to distance himself from it, denying whatever undermines his belief of being something special and extraordinary or not being worthy of the name. Distancing himself from that what makes him common and unworthy, he literally takes on a new name and kills off the Riddles. By going to extreme lengths, he can distance himself and 'eradicate' that what he despises most about himself. He is not like those 'filthy' Muggles: the ones he was forced to be dependent on, those lesser beings that deprived him of what he was owed; the ones that left his mother for dead, etc.

His 'great' blood is obviously the reason for his 'greatness', his destiny. Not only was this thought fed by the Pure-bloods around him, but it is the rhetoric that gives him a supply of Pure-bloods fanning at his feet. A thrill in of itself to see the privileged worship him. 

Riddle's actions seem to have always been very self-serving. He never preached what Grindelwald did; it was never for the ‘greater good’. It is quite evident in the vagueness of Voldemort’s politics regarding purity. It was simply a means to an end; just a way to see how far he could go in amassing power. The ‘mission & vision’ he proposed was probably one of the few things that Pure-bloods could get behind and would go to great lengths to achieve/protect. For Tom, it was a way of opening doors. Not only financially and socially, but also in terms of access to knowledge hoarded and guarded by Pure-bloods. Becoming and remaining uncontested in every sense of the word would mean being in control. No longer dependent on what others are willing to ‘grant’ him. No one would ever be able to challenge Him, take anything from Him, ever again: the ultimate power.  

Control of the Uncontrollable

So let’s turn our attention back to power: what would be ultimate power for a Wizard? Something a Wizard has never done and somewhere a Wizard has never gone before: beyond the veils of Death; surpassing mortal constructs ‒ and defeating something as terribly common as 'death'. I think this seed, this fear, was planted in Tom’s mind from a very young age. We see it when he asks Dumbledore whether his father was a wizard, for his mother couldn’t have been “or she wouldn’t have died”. Aptly enough, this fear of death or anxiety induced by the thought of one's one mortality stems from low self-esteem, which a narcissist has in abundance.

It’s also interesting to go back to a psychopath’s psychophysiology. Psychopaths are believed to have low arousal compared to others and are prone to boredom. They could go to lengths to find a ‘thrill’. Discovering the limits, pushing boundaries and going beyond that would be completely on-brand for a Wizard with psychopathic tendencies. Maybe I’ve read too many fanfictions, but a common thought seems to be that the Dark Arts are highly addictive, so someone like Tom would keep pushing it and pushing it, until he could go where no one has gone before. Thus begins his slow decline a la: ‘A Horcrux, you say? Hold my butterbeer, imma make 7.’ 

It’s intriguing that he went for dependence on external objects to safeguard his continued survival. Objects that he either entrusted his most loyal followers with or hid in locations that had meaning to only him. He even had a magical living creature be the container. As we saw over the course of the series, it really wasn’t all that foolproof. But that’s the arrogance of Tom Riddle; he believed that while not many Wizards would even go down the path of creating a Horcrux, none would even conceive creating seven. What’s more, how would anyone even have the smarts to figure out his pattern, his way of thinking – preposterous. If only he had known about the Hallows sooner. Alas.

Granted, there were other ways of circumventing mortality. But ‘cheating’ death by becoming a vampire, for example, would mean being a slave to one's own bloodlust and limitations, dependent on others still to sustain you, i.e. no control, still killable. Another obvious avenue would be using the Philosopher’s Stone as Flamel did, but it would not be anything new. Stealing it or copying it would mean nothing to him. He would be ‘immortal’ but weak and feeble, dependent on a stone, also still killable. So it seems that it’s not necessarily immortality in and of itself, but controlling how and when you die. 

Conclusion: Spiraling out of Control

To summarize the why, Tom Riddle was a narcissistic psychopath with a high IQ, immense magical ability, a chip on his shoulder and something to prove ‒ and a need to be acknowledged for it. The potent mix of nature, magic, and nurture seemed to have really worked their, ehm, magic (sorry). Tom’s ‘abnormal’ behaviors in his childhood were strong predicting factors for the potential to entertain notions of one day being a Dark Lord. However, the odds seem like they were already in that favor before he was even born when we consider his genetic makeup along with the circumstances surrounding his conception and his birth. The Muggle environment he grew up in and the Magical world he was then introduced appear to be the ‘umami’ flavoring for the mix to inevitably lead him down his self-destructive path. 

Tom’s actions and behaviors all seem to boil down to an excessive need for control and the deep-seated fear of losing it. Growing up with Muggles, he used all his talents to exert his control over those weaker, sans Magique. In his peak Riddle days, Tom was quick to figure out he could control people by using his glib charm, his looks, and his extreme intelligence to manipulate everything to his liking. He was able to trick people into ‘wanting’ to give him the things he desires, making people believe that he’s ‘giving’ them something in return. With his psychopathy and narcissism fully taking the wheel, it seems that he no longer cared – or saw the need – to pretend to cater to the wishes of others. Fear became his main tool in the peak Voldemort days; the only thing he deigned to ‘give’ others was allowing them to stay alive, avoid punishment, or allowing them to unleash their darkest fantasies. In chasing evermore control, power, he ends up spiraling. His actions shift from sly, cunning, covert manipulative behaviors to more impulsive, erratic and desperate behaviors, all stemming from a loss of control, of his carefully cultivated power. His mask, literally and figuratively, disappears.

It’s impossible to look past the incredible symbolism and irony of the Horcruxes. In his belief that eliminating and eradicating his weaknesses would make him untouchable, that very pursuit ended up being his undoing. With the killing off of the last vestiges of ‘normality’, he seemed to be completely driven by his impulses (or his Id, as Freud would say). If we add ‘death terror’ to this, it would explain why it went as far as Going Full Voldemort and becoming a mass murderer blindly obsessed with a prophecy that merely hinted at his potential defeat. 

Rowling said that Voldemort's boggart would be his own corpse, and I think that makes sense ‒ for Voldemort, that is. His corpse would signify the fact that he could die and thus be defeated, the ultimate loss in the ultimate battle for ultimate power (say ‘ultimate’ one more time!). I think Tom Riddle's boggart would've been a poor man's grave; not only did he die (ugh, lame), but he died with nothing to show for it. 

With all that being said, being a psychopath does not evil make. However, Tom Riddle’s dire need for a sense of self, immersion in the Dark Arts, and the mutilation of his soul are what really made him turn into an unmitigated You-Know-What. The destruction of his soul left a shell of a man driven by dark base emotions: Full Voldemort.

The end.

[seksipomminpurkaja]

2, 3, 6, 15, 17, 19?

2. Who’s the oldest character of yours, defunct or not?

Oh gosh do i even remember, I had this sonic oc mc edgelord Poison the hedgehog i’ve no memory of how he looked, all i remember that i was very excited about him in a sonic oc forum

3. Has creating a character ever made you realize something about yourself?

Kinda what i aspire to be, not a particular character, but kinda all of them, and idk

6. When creating a character, do you come up with the visual concept or the written concept first? 

Visuals usually, but then there’s exceptions like Lucas and Amir and nikita, all of them have started off as a dumb doodle on my notebooks

15. Which character is your guilty pleasure?

hehe Harlei, she’s not the type of character i usually go for but here she is and i’m kinda ashamed of how nasty i made her

17. Which character is the easiest to draw/write?

Maya, because she’s been around so long i think i have the most detailed backstory for her and many outfit concepts and trivia from fer fighting style to her relationships with other’s, she’s my number one baby i love her i’m sorry i hurt her so much, but then again, i’m not as sorry as i should be

19. What’s more important to you: visual design, unique personality, a trendy character aesthetic, etc? If you’re not sure, then what’s the first thing you usually nail down in a character?

I strive for unique personality and unique looks in every character, but there’s bound to be similarities, i guess visuals again, i doodle something down and if it reminds me too much of someone else i’m doing it all over again and change everything. I’m never quite satisfied with anything bc i always feel like i’m incapable of anything in every way 

[bansheecompanion]

Marrish “Deleted” Scenes

Hello everyone! 

So, since we’re all frustrated by the fact that there has been almost no marrish scenes so far, I thought we could write our own. The idea is to write scenes that would have been cut off, but that could have been canon, so that we can all pretend they really happened lmao. So, if you have any idea, you can send prompts to me (or to someone else who has a better writing and takes prompts, or just write it yourself! :D)

I’m not born an english speaker, but I tried to write one of these scenes. It is set during Episode 5, after the Stilinskis refuse to believe Lydia (around 00:27 minutes into the episode). I apologise in advance in case I make some typos or write sentences that make no sense. 

Hope you enjoy! (don’t hesitate to give me feedback, since I have absolutely no idea if my writing is worth anything! And I also think I should warn you that Stydia/Stiles mentioned haha) (I needed it for “oh-shit-i’m-jealous”!Parrish, hehe)

Title: If Only You Could Know

Rating: K+

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

read on AO3

Lydia stumbled out the Stilinskis’ house, her vision blurry from the tears filling her wide eyes. Her shoulders were shaking with sobs, and even her legs began to tremble as she felt a sudden weakness, as if she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders for too long, and when she realized that she just wasn’t able to walk properly, she sat down on the sidewalk, clutching the old certificate between her hands; as if she were praying and the paper were an old relic that might somehow help her. The jeep did belong to Stiles. She knew it, she could feel it in her guts. But how could the Stilinskis not remember? Lydia had quickly solved the puzzle in her mind: Stiles was the nickname of the Sheriff’s father, and if he was their friend, he must have been a teenager. And now, the jeep in the high school’s parking… He was a teenager, probably still leaving with his parents.

No, only his Dad, a voice corrected her.

There wasn’t any doubt. Stiles was Noah Stilinski’s son. How could he not remember him? How could he refuse to remember him?

For some reason she couldn’t explain, the idea that even his father didn’t remember Stiles made her heart break even more. She let out a heavy sob and closed her eyes, hugging her legs to her chest and then resting her forehead on her knees.

Drowning in her sorrow, she didn’t notice the Sheriff Department’s car slowing down before her. A familiar voice seemed to be calling her name, but it seemed so far away at the moment that she didn’t react, keeping her head bowed and her eyes closed.

He would have recognized this strawberry-blonde hair anywhere. The usual warm feeling that rose inside his chest every time he was near her didn’t fail to appear once again. Jordan had grown used to it by now, and even if he couldn’t just simply ignore it, he tried to convince himself that this was only a reaction from his other self, that it was the hellhound reacting to the banshee and nothing more. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way about her.

She was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, her head buried in her knees in a worrying position that made him frown. He slowed down, but she didn’t seem to hear the engine. As the car stopped in front of her, he noticed that her shoulders were shaking almost violently. She suddenly seemed so small and broken, sitting here alone.

“Lydia?” He called, hesitating, rolling down the window.

She didn’t respond, not even lifted her head. He called her one more time, this time with more confidence, but it was as if she couldn’t hear him, so he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car.

“Lydia,” he spoke softly, gently putting a hand on her shoulder.

She started as she felt a warm hand resting on her shoulder. She looked up and saw two green concerned eyes staring down at her.

“What’s wrong?” Parrish asked, sitting down beside her.

He kept his hand on her shoulder, and Lydia felt grateful for it. His hand was steady and warm, which was strangely soothing, and seemed to calm her tremors.

“It’s Stiles,” she blubbered helplessly. “Nobody believes me when I say he was — is, he is real, his parents think I’m crazy, even Scott isn’t sure anymore and I just… I…”

Her cries didn’t let her finish her sentence, so she looked down, ashamed to be so incapable of controlling herself. She could feel his eyes on her — she often did, but never found a plausible explanation for it. Then he simply said:

“I believe you.”

She let out a small gasp and turned to him. For a moment he looked her over, watching her half-open mouth, unable to keep his eyes off her full lips that were still moist from her crying. Then he realized what he was doing, and with a wave of contempt for himself he locked his eyes with hers again. She was blinking at him, startled, with lashes wet from tears.

“You really do?” She asked through a tearful voice.

“Yes,” he replied with a warm smile, giving a soft squeeze to her shoulder.

“But… you don’t remember him either, do you?”

She sounded full of hope, and Parrish almost regretted his previous words, realizing how she had wrongly interpreted them.

“No, I don’t,” he began carefully. “But that’s not the point. What I mean is, if that means so much to you Lydia, and if you believe that he exists, I don’t need any proof. I trust you, that’s all. If you believe he is real… then so do I.”

He kept his gaze on her face while talking, and didn’t look away once he had finished. Lydia couldn’t believe what she was hearing — that he was ready to believe someone he had never heard of (at least after Stiles was taken) did exist, even if she had no way to prove it. She felt her brow furrowing slightly as she tilted her head on one side, staring back at him with real wonder.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered in response, realizing at the same time that she had been holding her breath, as if she expected him to tell her that he was joking and that she needed to see a therapist as soon as possible.

Her voice was still a bit husky, and she could still feel the dampness on her cheeks, but she had calmed down and stopped crying. She thought of Stiles; she knew he would have believed her too, if Parrish had been taken instead of him.

Parrish smiled at her — a small but honest smile, full of kindness and comfort.

“I wish I could help you,” he told her honestly. “I really do. I hope you’ll find him, because… you really seem to care about him.”

“I do,” Lydia nodded. “Very much. I think… I think must have loved him,” she murmured while focusing her eyes on her knees, so quietly that she wasn’t sure if he had heard. She regretted her words almost instantly, wishing she could take them back, thinking how silly he must have found her; a teenage girl desperate to find the love she couldn’t even remember.

The words hurt much more than he had expected. If she had fired a bullet inside his chest, it would have been less painful. Before he could even control it, the warm feeling in his chest suddenly started to burn; and this time it hurt like hell. She wasn’t looking at him, but still he dropped his head between his shoulders, afraid that his eyes had suddenly turned into the shade of molten lava. He let his hand fall from her shoulder and clenched his fists, trying to control his body.

It’s the hellhound, he told himself, it’s trying to take over. Yet he didn’t feel the hellhound’s sudden control like he usually did when he turned. There was pain and rage inside of him, and as he tried to reach the hellhound to shut him down, he realized with horror that these were his own feelings. The hellhound was here, he always felt its presence when he was near the banshee, but the beast seemed asleep, apathetic, which only left him, the man. He was so unused to such emotions that it took his breath away for a brief moment, short enough for Lydia not to notice. He was furious, furious at himself, and furious at this boy, Stiles, even though he could not find any valid reason to be angry at the poor kid. He had done nothing to him.

But she loves him, a voice calmly pointed out.

The hellhound. It had finally awaken, alerted by Jordan’s excessive reaction, but it didn’t seem to want to take over him, which reassured Jordan. It was just observing quietly, from the back of his mind.

What did you think, it went on, its voice full of sarcasm and mockery. That she was meant to be with you? That you and her were soulmates?

Shut up, Jordan snapped internally, trying to silence it, although he knew it was quite useless. The hellhound was part of him, always revealing his darkest thoughts and desires when he least expected it.

You poor fool, a voice sighed, and Jordan was unable to tell if it was the hellhound’s or his own.

Lydia was eighteen, yes, but she was still in highschool, and he was almost twenty-five and a Sheriff’s deputy. It was wrong. He must not — he had no right to feel the way he did. The hallucinations he had, even if they were probably the results of their supernatural bond, already made him feel bad enough. They did have a bond, but it was only because of the hellhound. He had been drawn to Beacon Hills through his supernatural alter-ego, and it was the reason they had grown closer over the summer, however he couldn’t help but wonder if the hellhound hadn’t been there… would there be anything left between them?

“I’m sorry,” she apologized after what she probably thought was an awkward silence because he didn’t know what to reply. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Don’t apologize,” he reassured her. “I’m glad you told me.”

She finally looked up at him, her eyes still a little puffy.

“Why?”

“Because… because that means you trust me. And I know you don’t trust people easily, so… thank you.”

She offered him a curious look in return.

“Why wouldn’t I trust you? You saved my life at least three times, and my friends’, back in Eichen House. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have killed them all. Besides, this could have killed you too. You put yourself in great danger just to help us.”

“It wasn’t really me, you know. It was the hellhound.”

“Of course it was you,” she responded, sounding almost hurt.

“You don’t know that. I’m not like you Lydia. You… you are the banshee. You access the supernatural, it works through you… but it doesn’t control you like it does with me. It’s like… it’s always with me. Sometimes I can hear a voice in my head that is not mine, telling me things… I’m aware that it could take over me at any moment, and that I wouldn’t be able to stop it. It could hurt people. Perhaps even people I care about… maybe even you.”

Lydia blinked at him, startled. When finally she spoke, her voice was soft.

“I’m sorry. I’ve spoken with the hellhound, once, and it wasn’t a nice being. It must be so hard to have it constantly with you… But, Jordan, you are a good person. You remind me of Scott, sometimes. You care about people. And that’s why you’re also a great cop. This, your kindness, it’s stronger than the hellhound. I know it is. You think it controls you, but you can control it. And that’s what you did that time you broke through the walls of Eichen House, just to help my friends getting me back.”

“I wish you were right,” he sighed. “But what if it was just the hellhound, wanting to get the banshee back?”

Lydia breathed deeply.

“What does your heart tell you?” She asked delicately as she tilted her head to meet his gaze, putting a comforting hand on his arm, just above his wrist.

Jordan glanced down at her hand, liking the feeling of it, as if a small bird had just landed on his arm. Then he looked back at her. She was watching him, a sad smile curling her lips.

I came for you, he thought as he gazed at her. I came for you because I couldn’t bear the thought of knowing you in that place, scared and alone. I hated myself for letting them take you in the first place. I was so afraid that they would hurt you. The hellhound was ready to kill anyone that got in our way, and I knew I would have let it.

It was me.

The whole time.

Instead he just slightly shook his head before looking down again, sighing.

“You know,” Lydia started, hesitating, suddenly almost shy. “Sometimes, Scott couldn’t restraint his transformations… but he told me that he had found a way to control this, by finding an anchor. His anchor was Allison, the girl I told you about. Maybe… maybe you need to find an anchor, too. Someone close to you, someone you care about, like… I don’t know, maybe Deputy Clark.”

“Clark?!” Jordan chuckled, half amused, half amazed to see how unaware of her impact on him Lydia actually was.

Suddenly quite conscious of their age difference and of his deputy uniform, Lydia blushed, taking her hand back and bowing her head bashfully. They had never talked about such personal things before. She just knew he lived alone, and he only knew that she had dated Jackson, because apparently Scott couldn’t tell the story of “the boy who had ended up turning into a giant murderous lizard” without mentioning the fact that the said murderous lizard used to be her boyfriend. However, she herself had never once mentioned her love life to Parrish, though she considered him as a friend… but was this feeling even reciprocal? Did he see her as a friend, or just as a teenage girl, a “smart kid”, like all the rest of the adults seem to see her? Parrish had always been kind to her, treating her like an equal, but he was nice to everyone. How was she any different? He had never talked to her about Clark, she had just… guessed, seeing them laughing together, him sitting behind his desk, Clark casually leaning on it, both sharing a coffee. She had thought she liked him, — because who couldn’t like Parrish? — and that he liked her, because… well, Hayden’s sister was a very pretty, very smart and brave young woman. And they worked together, so it seemed predetermined… But now, seeing how amused Parrish actually was, Lydia understood how wrong she had been. It had been silly of her to assume that they were together just from a few interactions. And very heteronormative, she scolded herself. Maybe Parrish liked men. Maybe Deputy Clark liked women. Or maybe both. None of that was her business anyways.

“Or Deputy Gray,” she added just to correct herself, still not looking at him.

“I’m not gay,” Parrish replied, laughing at her visible embarrassment.

“Oh… Well, maybe Clark would…”

“I’m not interested in Clark,” he cut her off.

“Okay,” Lydia nodded quietly before biting her lips into a thin line to prevent herself from talking any more nonsense.

“You have a point though,” he added carefully. “Maybe I need an anchor.”

“Do you think you could find something? Or someone?” She questioned, turning back to him.

He was considering her thoughtfully.

“I think I already have,” he finally said, looking straight at her, his gaze steady and calm.

For some reason, his stare made her feel uncomfortable. He had never looked at her like this… or she had never noticed. She squinted, brow wrinkling slowly, trying to come up with some sort of explanation.

“Lydia,” Parrish began, “I—”

“Parrish?”

Lydia jumped, but didn’t bother turning back to face the Sheriff. Instead she closed her eyes to calm down the beatings of her heart. She didn’t know if they were due to the Sheriff’s sudden interruption, or to Parrish’s penetrating gaze. She had completely forgotten about the fact that she had been sitting on the sidewalk in front of the Stilinskis’ house.

“What are you doing there? Is she alright?” Stilinski questioned.

“Yeah, don’t worry Sheriff. I was about to give her a ride home,” Jordan replied, getting up on his feet.

“Okay. Okay, good,” the Sheriff nodded, visibly worried, before slowly going back inside the house, while he kept glancing behind his shoulder.

“We should probably go,” Jordan said.

He held out his hand to Lydia, who hesitated before taking it carefully, as if she were scared to burn herself by touching him. He helped her to set upright on her feet, but she staggered a little, so he instinctively put a hand on her waist.

“I’m fine,” she assured. “And I can walk back home. I don’t live very far from here…”

“You’ll never accept my ride offers, will you?” He teased her, trying to act normal, after what he had almost said.

She managed a laugh before replying:

“I just think my mom would freak out if she saw me arriving in a deputy’s car.”

Parrish smiled. This was probably true.

“Goodbye Jordan,” Lydia prompted. “And… thank you. For understanding,” she added as she began to walk away.

“Will I see you soon?” Was all he managed to reply, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate.

“I don’t know… just, be careful with the ghost riders. Don’t let them take you. I… we need you around,” she whispered.

Parrish nodded seriously, feeling like she had just gave him a very important mission. He watched her as she walked away, her heels clicking on the grey concrete, but she had only made a few steps that she halted to a stop, before spinning around towards him.

“Jordan, can I ask you something?” She asked, suddenly more confident.

“Sure, what?”

“Are we friends? Like… do you actually like me?”

“What? Lydia, of course I like you,” Jordan snorted, turning away to laugh.

Way more than I should.

She seemed pleased by his answer, for a sweet smile formed on her full lips.

“Okay. I just… needed to know. Because of, you know, our age difference. And your status. I was scared you might think I was too young to be your friend, or that you were afraid that people would start talking if we were close,” she explained, walking up to him again.

“Let them talk,” he responded, lowering his head so he could meet her eyes. “If I had to choose between you and my job, Lydia, I’d choose you in a heartbeat.”

Her smile faded slowly at his words. Jordan wondered if he had said something wrong, but before he could add any more, she stepped on her tiptoes and planted a small kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” she breathed again before turning around and walking away for good.

Jordan’s jaw had dropped. The cheek where Lydia had laid her lips was burning.

But what a lovely way to burn.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

9, 16, and 18 for the intrusive OC asks? (Your choice for the OC, but I think Fane would be interesting!)

Ask, ask, ask! I answer, answer, answer! X3

And I will go with Fane since these are pretty interesting questions for him! The wonders of having a really, really complex OC. (sometimes I forget some shit about him lol)

9. What do they dream about?

This question I especially love since Fane has some very tangible dreams. Despite not being a mage, Fane has an odd connection to the Fade. He can feel things as if he were awake, sometimes more than when he is. A blade hurts, a flower will smell as if it just bloomed, and he hears singing and life.

One such dream is from when he was a child, perhaps 5 or 6, at best. (yes, I wrote an excerpt just for you~!)

***

Before the abuse began, Fane had dreamed of a temple, fortified with foreign magic and glittering from the marble it was built with. It felt familiar, warm, safe.

It felt like home.

Fane's feet would pad up the incredibly large steps leading to the doors, sure footed and confident. He would open the towering doors without any struggle, the elegantly, rune engraved surface silently opening for him, as if welcoming him inside with radiant light and open arms.

From there, exploration began.

He would walk around with curious eyes and purposeless footsteps, not the least bit afraid of potential traps or how he had gotten there in the first place. The inside of the temple glittered just as intensely as the outside, like it was encased in ever lasting ice, and it carried the same temperature as a snowy day did. The frosty sensation would nip at his nose, make his bare feet tingle, but it didn't hurt.

It never hurt. It only felt like home.

Between all the ice and pristine marble, he saw murals painted in a strange style. They were of elves, of constructs unimaginable, beautiful scenery that told a story, and most of all, dragons.

They were majestic, otherworldly, larger than life. Each one was different, each breed unique with its horns, its scales, its build. No mural was the same.

He would trail his hands along the fresco of the white ones his innocent eyes landed upon - gazing at its form with a feeling of longing and fascination, in equal measure. Small fingers would trace the lines that were impeccably painted, idly wondering who had had such a steady hand to create such beauty before childish curiosity would have him continuing on down the corridors.

But his eyes always stayed fixed on the draconic set observing his venture, not realizing their color matched his so perfectly.

As he would move along the walls, hand trailing after him as he kept it connected to its shining surface, the dried paint would shift before his eyes, the majestic depictions seemingly beginning to move as if it were alive. It would move with his touch, dance from his will, but before he could guide it in a direction he seemingly wanted to go, he would wake up - reality kicking in the doors of the ephemeral palace he had traversed for only a night.

Those dreams continued until the abuse began. After that, there had been no glittering temple of diamond marble, or dancing dragons with two toned eyes.

No, there was only pain and sorrow, grey and crimson, and he did not wish to explore those nightmares.

They hurt. They always hurt.

***

I'm so sorry, this question made my mind go bleh! Hehe!

16. What do they beat themselves up over?

*takes a deep breath* Everything.

Joking, joking! Fane doesn't beat himself up about everything, but it's pretty close to it. If I had to pick one thing out of everything Fane beats himself up for, it would have to be when Mhairi was attacked by a templar when she was twelve. He felt like he hadn't done enough, hadn't been fast enough. He had stopped the templar's sword with his own, but he still hadn't been proficient enough for it not to go awry.

Fane's sword bounced off the templar's, sending it flying like a scythe, and it...cut into Mhairi's face, leaving a scar above her right eye down to her lip. It's one of his greatest failures as not only a brother, but as a protector. Mhairi views it as heroic, and doesn't blame him at all, but Fane... Well, we all know how he is about stuff like that.

18. What’s something they don’t tell anyone?

Fane is a man of many secrets. Most he knows and most he doesn't. A lot of his secrecy stems from not wanting to bother someone else. Hence why he keeps the abuse he endured a secret from his sister. He doesn't want to hurt her, to let her realize that their father was a monster.

Solas knows pretty much every sordid detail of Fane's past - both of them. However, Fane doesn't tell Solas right away about the circumstances surrounding his transition into an Elvhen body. And that's mainly because Fane himself didn't know until he began to explore his memories in the Fade. So, for the longest time, Solas is guilt ridden, as Solas is, and literally believes Fane was simply reincarnated, and that he had aided in completely sundering the dragon's identity. It's a hurdle they take a little while to get over, especially since Solas could have helped Fane piece together his memories more fluidly, but again, it's Fane. Stubborn dragon meets stubborn wolf.

But all in all, Fane eventually tells people everything, but it's a lot of work to get there. He's incapable of hiding things forever, even though he thinks he can. *side eyes*

Thank youuuuu for the ask! Apologies for how long it is, but I wanted to write the little excerpt because yessss! <3