[garfunkelworld]

♥︎ about me

garfunkel. she/her. i mostly draw & occasionally dabble in writing. if you like what i put out there, leave me a little comment or a note on your bookmark. it means more than you know! :)

♥︎ masterlist

my fanart. my fanfiction.

©garfunkelworld. you are welcome to share my art and writing elsewhere but if you do please let me know and please refer back to my tumblr / ao3 when reposting.

[garfunkelworld]

magpie ||| tom riddle

one's for sorrow

she is his first.

he never forgets his first.

it feels sacred, deeply ceremonial, as he breaks his soul in two and binds it to his diary. the diary that holds his secrets. the indignity, the shame, the loneliness. they are guarded now, the best way he knows how: by himself.

he is surprised at the ease of it.

it hurts, of course. a literal soul-splitting ache drives through him as he attaches the fragment of his soul to myrtle's and binds it to the pages.

but then everything feels the same again and he simply… carries on.

beginnings are often quiet.

two's for joy

the second time he kills, it delights him.

he laughs with relief, with an exhilarating pleasure he has not known before. even to his own ears, distorted through the vibrations in his skull, it is a foreign sound and he can acknowledge its misplacement on his lips.

he laughs because he is somebody. at last.

he has heritage. new and pure, as though he has only just been born.

the ring, clean of blood and yet dripping with it, glides onto his fingers with ease.

later he will wonder how this could be when it was twice as wide on the meaty, violent hands of his uncle.

later even, he will not wonder about anything ever at all.

three's for a girl

the reverence he felt for myrtle is absent when he kills hepzibah. it feels no more sacred than swatting away a fly on a hot summer's day.

he is past such distractions now.

he never cherishes the cup as he does the others. it is a means to an end. nothing more. and so he does not feel it when it is locked away in a dark room for decades, gasping for air ten thousand feet beneath the surface of the world.

he can't hear the cries. the choking.

it occurs to him that he doesn't hear much at all these days. there used to be so much noise where now there is not.

this new world is quieter.

it makes him feel old at times.

but he is perpetually young and still quite beautiful and he eats the secrets of this world with greed, gathering power until it pools out of him, until it is sparking from his skin, until his very eyes glow with it.

he asks himself, sometimes, if it will ever feel different. if the shrinking thing in his chest will ever feel smaller.

or perhaps bigger.

if the absence of these parts of himself will ever feel like anything at all.

four's for a boy

before he makes the locket his own he is a boy. after it is done, he is a man.

he is twenty years old and humming with power.

he is unprecedented.

he is unmatched.

the stars shine for him and for him alone.

he could be done here, of course. already, he has rewritten all the laws of magic. claimed his own and then some.

but why stop when completion is within his grasp? another two and he will be seven.

and what a fine thing that would be.

so neat. so tidy.

so complete.

he is never warm anymore.

five's for silver

he can acknowledge her beauty, strange as it is. cold and distant like a winter night.

he rarely asks questions anymore. there is a divine clarity in their place. but when he looks at her, silver wisps of air, he asks himself why she looks so much more alive than she used to.

as he considers this he realizes that all of them do.

she tells him her secret and when she does he could crawl into her beauty and be held there and lose himself in it. just as she is lost in his.

it is becoming increasingly difficult to turn it on, this strange fascination he once held. that made people addicted to him. he can still remember its taste. the adoration, the lust of it.

now, more often than not, the thing that people taste of is fear.

not her though.

he puts soft words into his mouth. a mouth cold enough that it could hold ice and it would never melt. and she drinks them all up.

he tells her what he intends to do and for a moment she looks regretful.

“if you must kill yourself," she whispers into the reflection of herself, "do not abuse me as a knife."

he is almost compelled to stop. to listen, to obey and see what will come of it.

but this is not what he does.

he goes deep into the woods, just as he had intended.

it is the hardest thing he has ever had to do.

after this, nothing is hard anymore.

six for gold

one more, he tells himself.

one more.

but not this one. no. this kill he will not tie to himself. this murder has another, much more important, hallowed purpose.

not that he couldn't do so if he wanted.

he tears himself apart habitually now.

it would not be difficult to make this child, this harbinger of death, another vessel to guard himself with.

but he decides against it.

he will think, later, that maybe this is why it destroys him. maybe he was meant to use this death. maybe he misread the signs. maybe the stars have failed him at last.

but he has never been wrong.

it doesn't make sense.

he calls upon the green light, as he always does. but unlike the other times he doesn't see it fade.

this time, it grows. more light, ever more light, blinding, brilliant, golden light.

and then there is nothing.

for years there is nothing.

when he awakens he feels, for the first time, the absence of himself.

it… he feels so small, much smaller than he thought he would.

then he meets salvation.

she comes to him in the woods. a wild thing. all sequins and scales.

he lets his fingers glide over her smooth body.

he whispers to her.

mother, he calls her.

he drinks her milk.

already, they have become one. it is only a matter of time.

when he is fat and strong with it, he murders the muggle and his eyes flash yellow, bright yellow just like the mother's when he ties half of himself to her beating reptile heart and is reborn.

seven's for a secret never told

a monster in the shape of a boy walks towards him from across the battlefield.

it doesn't feel real. he doesn't feel real.

but he knows that this boy is the only real thing in the world.

the boy speaks but his words don't make sense. nothing has made sense in a very long time.

they circle each other.

he raises his wand and calls upon the green light one last time. he knows it won’t fail him again.

he is power.

he is death.

he is deathless—

inspired by "Magpie" by The Unthanks.

[garfunkelworld]

It is gone now, that handsome face for which he cared little, that he regarded as scarcely more than the means to an end. His once devastating beauty is a mere human trait and much like his name he inherited it rather involuntarily from his filthy Muggle father. Beauty—no; that he does not pride himself on.

Tom Riddle’s vanity lies with his mother’s gift.

The gift whose marks he now bears. The gift that has made him a little more inhuman. The gift that speaks to him the promise that he is different, that he is special, that he is one out of a million, a rare breed and that even amongst those rare ones, he is better.

Indelible, Chapter 8: Boy. Snow. Bird.

PS: I guess I’m back bitches xx

[garfunkelworld]

Magpie: Podfic

I highly recommend you give a listen to @j03-05’s beautiful, rich and haunting podfic rendition of my microfic »magpie«, which you can find and read on ao3 or my tumblr :)

[garfunkelworld]

My queen will u pick up Harry’s ghost again?❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 it’s such an interesting premise pls don’t drop it

girl do I wish I had the time / headspace for HG rn 😭 I love working on that story!! I have a bunch more of it written, but I’ll need some good long free time to sort through it and proofread. I promise I am planning on finishing it though (someday) 😬

[garfunkelworld]

I have absolutely no idea how Tumblr works but I had to download it once I saw your art reposted via obsidian.pen on IG. Your work is just incredible, so dreamy and I can’t tell you how much I love it!

Wow 🥹 this made my day 🩷🩷🩷 Thank you for all the love magus xxx

[garfunkelworld]

scrolling through your blog and drooling. you're such a good artist and I want to devour your art. Also you're the reason I'm rereading 'dead things' rn fork like the twelfth time

awe thank you! i appreciate it! i also re-read dead things on a monthly basis hehe

[eve-venus]

blood and gold ❤️‍🔥

Thanks for the wild ride @obsidianpen ✨ art by the talented @garfunkelworld 🫶

[garfunkelworld]

Your fic sucks and your a talentless freak. Bitch how can you write Tomione when his soulmate is right there? Anyone who writes Tomione when they can just write Tomarrymort is just a homophobe. Them's the rules. You're not even one of those ppl who say it's bad to ship Tom with his enemies or people younger than him, but you're still shipping Tomione instead of Tomarry. Like why?

this is so funny when you consider that i haven’t updated any of my fics in months but wait it’s even funnier because the last fic I updated was tomarry

[garfunkelworld]

Sad B&G Haiku

Blood & Gold is done.

Might go touch some grass, then scream

into my pillow.

[garfunkelworld]

hermione ||| blood & gold ||| obsidianpen

"She was a riddle…The girl—Hermione—if that was her name… If that was even her name […] She was elegant until she wasn’t. She was egotistical and vain until something slipped. She was a well-dressed, perfectly manicured, pureblooded witch… but she wasn’t always. She was a riddle, an incredibly convoluted one. But Lord Voldemort was not worried… Riddles… He knew precisely how to deal with those."

for jamie @obsidianpen <3 read blood & gold here

[icanfeelthestarscaressingme]

Great art. Very well drawn. You're a talented artist.

But it's funny to think this is supposed to be Hermione Granger 😂 The heavily-lidded eyes, the strong jaw, the hair, that dress and the Slytherin aesthetics. Her being a Pureblood witch and the description. It's funny that whoever people ship with Voldemort eventually ends up being Bellatrix from temu because Voldemort and Bellatrix are so naturally inclined towards each other. The only character whose personality actually goes well with Voldemort is Bella, so you have to turn whoever you ship with him into Bellatrix. I love that. It's amazing.

[leaelakey]

Not everyone with slightly heavy-lidded eyes (which is also an art style choice) and a stronger jawline resembles Bellatrix. As you can see, her hair is brown, and this is art dedicated to a Tomione fic. Hermione will never be Bellatrix - that’s the point of Tomione. It’s Hermione x Voldemort.

And no, Bellatrix and Voldemort are not naturally inclined towards one another, that’s why there are popular Voldemort ships where she's not included 👍

[icanfeelthestarscaressingme]

You're one to talk. Even your OC Mila is Bellatrix from temu but blonde and short 🤣🤣

You directly stole Bella's scenes from the books and gave them to Mila. You know exactly what you're doing and why you're doing it. You know Bellamort is canon.

[leaelakey]

@lovelycyberdragon this for you. Be kind and take it from here, I'm tired of constantly explaining to these idiots that I'm not you.

[icanfeelthestarscaressingme]

Since you are Rose and you ship fuga and yourself, does that mean you have a crush on Fuga? Is that a confession? Are all your anti Bellamort posts your attempts to get Fuga's attention? Fuga won't fuck you like this, Rose.

[leaelakey]

I think Fuga will fuck Rose, and vice versa, since they’re both obsessed with each other. I support it, though - they can call each other slurs during it too, to really get it out of their system.

[fugamalefica]

Ew, no. I don't want to fuck you, little Rosie. You're not my type at all. Stupidity is such a huge turn-off. I understand your crush on me though. I also have a crush on myself 🖤

[garfunkelworld]

help what does any of this mean

[garfunkelworld]

Hi! Do you have an art policy for book binding (personal use only)? Since B&G will come to an end, would it be possible to include your art?

Sure! As long as it’s non-profit and you’ve okayed the binding with @obsidianpen, you’re more than welcome to print my art in it! :)

[garfunkelworld]

lester madison ||| blood&gold ||| obsidianpen

Lester Madison let out a booming laugh. “The illustrious Hermione Smith!” he said, and he clapped slowly a few times, applauding her—though his wand remained firmly in his hand. His smile widened wolfishly. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

i fear he might be a little late to the party because he’s been cancelled (!!) but here is my WIP / ink of daddy maddy™ for blood&gold by @obsidianpen

[garfunkelworld]

magpie ||| tom riddle

one's for sorrow

she is his first.

he never forgets his first.

it feels sacred, deeply ceremonial, as he breaks his soul in two and binds it to his diary. the diary that holds his secrets. the indignity, the shame, the loneliness. they are guarded now, the best way he knows how: by himself.

he is surprised at the ease of it.

it hurts, of course. a literal soul-splitting ache drives through him as he attaches the fragment of his soul to myrtle's and binds it to the pages.

but then everything feels the same again and he simply… carries on.

beginnings are often quiet.

two's for joy

the second time he kills, it delights him.

he laughs with relief, with an exhilarating pleasure he has not known before. even to his own ears, distorted through the vibrations in his skull, it is a foreign sound and he can acknowledge its misplacement on his lips.

he laughs because he is somebody. at last.

he has heritage. new and pure, as though he has only just been born.

the ring, clean of blood and yet dripping with it, glides onto his fingers with ease.

later he will wonder how this could be when it was twice as wide on the meaty, violent hands of his uncle.

later even, he will not wonder about anything ever at all.

three's for a girl

the reverence he felt for myrtle is absent when he kills hepzibah. it feels no more sacred than swatting away a fly on a hot summer's day.

he is past such distractions now.

he never cherishes the cup as he does the others. it is a means to an end. nothing more. and so he does not feel it when it is locked away in a dark room for decades, gasping for air ten thousand feet beneath the surface of the world.

he can't hear the cries. the choking.

it occurs to him that he doesn't hear much at all these days. there used to be so much noise where now there is not.

this new world is quieter.

it makes him feel old at times.

but he is perpetually young and still quite beautiful and he eats the secrets of this world with greed, gathering power until it pools out of him, until it is sparking from his skin, until his very eyes glow with it.

he asks himself, sometimes, if it will ever feel different. if the shrinking thing in his chest will ever feel smaller.

or perhaps bigger.

if the absence of these parts of himself will ever feel like anything at all.

four's for a boy

before he makes the locket his own he is a boy. after it is done, he is a man.

he is twenty years old and humming with power.

he is unprecedented.

he is unmatched.

the stars shine for him and for him alone.

he could be done here, of course. already, he has rewritten all the laws of magic. claimed his own and then some.

but why stop when completion is within his grasp? another two and he will be seven.

and what a fine thing that would be.

so neat. so tidy.

so complete.

he is never warm anymore.

five's for silver

he can acknowledge her beauty, strange as it is. cold and distant like a winter night.

he rarely asks questions anymore. there is a divine clarity in their place. but when he looks at her, silver wisps of air, he asks himself why she looks so much more alive than she used to.

as he considers this he realizes that all of them do.

she tells him her secret and when she does he could crawl into her beauty and be held there and lose himself in it. just as she is lost in his.

it is becoming increasingly difficult to turn it on, this strange fascination he once held. that made people addicted to him. he can still remember its taste. the adoration, the lust of it.

now, more often than not, the thing that people taste of is fear.

not her though.

he puts soft words into his mouth. a mouth cold enough that it could hold ice and it would never melt. and she drinks them all up.

he tells her what he intends to do and for a moment she looks regretful.

“if you must kill yourself," she whispers into the reflection of herself, "do not abuse me as a knife."

he is almost compelled to stop. to listen, to obey and see what will come of it.

but this is not what he does.

he goes deep into the woods, just as he had intended.

it is the hardest thing he has ever had to do.

after this, nothing is hard anymore.

six for gold

one more, he tells himself.

one more.

but not this one. no. this kill he will not tie to himself. this murder has another, much more important, hallowed purpose.

not that he couldn't do so if he wanted.

he tears himself apart habitually now.

it would not be difficult to make this child, this harbinger of death, another vessel to guard himself with.

but he decides against it.

he will think, later, that maybe this is why it destroys him. maybe he was meant to use this death. maybe he misread the signs. maybe the stars have failed him at last.

but he has never been wrong.

it doesn't make sense.

he calls upon the green light, as he always does. but unlike the other times he doesn't see it fade.

this time, it grows. more light, ever more light, blinding, brilliant, golden light.

and then there is nothing.

for years there is nothing.

when he awakens he feels, for the first time, the absence of himself.

it… he feels so small, much smaller than he thought he would.

then he meets salvation.

she comes to him in the woods. a wild thing. all sequins and scales.

he lets his fingers glide over her smooth body.

he whispers to her.

mother, he calls her.

he drinks her milk.

already, they have become one. it is only a matter of time.

when he is fat and strong with it, he murders the muggle and his eyes flash yellow, bright yellow just like the mother's when he ties half of himself to her beating reptile heart and is reborn.

seven's for a secret never told

a monster in the shape of a boy walks towards him from across the battlefield.

it doesn't feel real. he doesn't feel real.

but he knows that this boy is the only real thing in the world.

the boy speaks but his words don't make sense. nothing has made sense in a very long time.

they circle each other.

he raises his wand and calls upon the green light one last time. he knows it won’t fail him again.

he is power.

he is death.

he is deathless—

inspired by "Magpie" by The Unthanks.

[garfunkelworld]

“You’re not real.” Harry whispers. 

Little lines appear in the corners of Tom’s eyes. A hint of a smile. 

“A bold accusation,” he says softly.

Harry's Ghost, Chapter 4: Fracture

[garfunkelworld]

Pain is water. 

It seeps into every pore, saturates every one of your shirts and every one of your coats until you are drenched with it. Until all people see when they look at you is the wetness of your misery.

[garfunkelworld]

abraxas malfoy ||| blood & gold ||| obsidianpen

"Abraxas Malfoy," Riddle said quietly. His lips curved into a small smile. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight… but you’ve been awfully quiet for some time now, haven’t you?"

pt. 3 of my blood & gold portrait series for @obsidianpen