#its about comradery | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aether-starlight · 1 month

Text

Gymnopédie - Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, innuendos.

Summary: You confuse Zayne’s number with your trusted ride back home. When he insists on picking you up himself, how could you refuse?

Word Count: 1.7 K

The world was spinning, but in a pleasant way, as if gravity no longer affected you. You felt close to floating instead of walking, weightless as the cherry blossom petals that drifted through the air.

You were so light, in fact, that your fingers struggled to exert any pressure on the numbers in your screen, phone nearly slipping out of your hands and crashing into the pavement.

You leaned against Tara, both of you giggling about nothing in particular as you sat by the sidewalk. Her arm was wrapped around your shoulders, the sides of your heads pressed together.

Mojitos had been flowing like water tonight, a celebratory dinner after a mission completed with no casualties, hunter or civilian.

For a moment, you had been able to let go, put down the weight of grief, fear and uncertainty in favor of comradery, cheers and funny anecdotes from Captain Jenna and the eldest members of UNICORN.

Surrounded by your peers, you knew for sure someone had your back, and they wouldn’t let you fall without falling themselves first.

Pressing your phone to your ear—and almost dropping it again—, you impatiently waited for the other end to pick up.

Absentmindedly, you drew a strand of Tara’s silky hair between your tingling fingers.

“Your hair is soooo pretty,” you hiccuped.

“Oooooo. Thank you!” Tara pouted, close to tears, redder than ever. You probably looked no better.

“You’re welcome! I need you to give me some tips because ever since that wanderer burnt half of my freaking scalp—“

“Hello?”

You had forgotten you were on the phone.

“Ah, sorry Mister Song, hi~ I don’t see you.”

There were a few seconds of silence, and you almost pulled down your phone to check if Mister Song hadn’t hung up on you.

“It’s Zayne.”

The smile fell off your face, and like a fool, you double checked the contact name, as well as the time.

It was 3 am.

“Goddess, I’m so sorry. I thought—“

He cut you off, voice thick with sleep, not missing an inch of its imposing nature.

“Are you drunk?”

You winced—that was his admonishment voice, the one he used when your bood tests weren’t within standards, or you had circles under your eyes.

Like a huge cosmic joke, Tara giggled, leaning closer to slur:

“Is that your Doctor? He does sound as grumpy as you s—” You pressed your free hand to her lips, her whole face burning like a furnace.

The silence was deafening. Unbeknownst to you, Zayne had grimaced on the other side of the line, a half amused twist of his lips.

“I’m good,” you lied through your teeth.

“Sure,” he replied goodnaturedly. “Send me your location.”

Defeated, you hid behind a curtain of your hair. A terrible decision, considering how the world began to spin, even as you closed your eyes.

“Okay.”

By the time Zayne arrived, Tara was snoring, head resting on your shoulder. Meanwhile, you had been sipping on a bottle of water Captain Jenna had kindly given you before leaving.

“Hi,” you greeted once he lowered the passenger’s window, mortified.

His gaze met yours, inscrutable. He looked as awake as ever, had it not been for the slight ruffle of his hair, not quite as perfect as he was used to wearing it.

“Oh, you’re here!” Tara slurred, suddenly awake. “This one wouldn’t shut up about you, you know?”

You shut your eyes tightly. Maybe this was all an alcohol induced fantasy.

A swift pinch to your elbow let you know that sadly, it was not the case.

“I’ll assist you.” Was Zayne’s only reply, door slamming it his wake as he approached to hold onto Jenna’s arm.

If there was the ghost of a smile curling at the edges of his mouth, you preferred not to acknowledge it.

“Perhaps your friend could share more details on your opinion of me,” he teased over Tara’s head, hematite eyes full of mirth.

Now it was your face burning up. You were going to kill her when she was sober.

“Of course!” Tara hicupped happily. “She said she missed you,” she sing songed, extending the last word to an unnatural degree.

Tara —thank the Goddess— became dead weight as soon as her head hit the inside of Zayne’s ridiculously expensive car.

Which left you in a somewhat awkward silence. You said somewhat because Zayne seemed as comfortable as ever.

A low melody played from the stereo, something calm and melancholic. He had told you the name once: Gymnopédie No. 1.

Only once Tara was safely back to her parent’s house—her mother hugged you in thanks for taking care of her, making a tight knot grow at the back of your throat— was that Zayne dared to speak.

“This Mister Song, who is he?” He inquired, something flickering through his features much too quick for your dizzy mind to comprehend. His knuckles became pronounced, hands tightening against the wheel.

“My driver?” You replied, confused.

He hummed, eyes on the road.

“A close…friend of yours?”

“Does it matter?”

He shrugged, but it was far too stiff to be genuine.

“It always matters who you place your trust in.”

Silence reigned after that, nothing but your breathing breaking it.

What he said made sense, but the depth of his frown didn’t. He was driving you crazy. Hot and cold, hot and cold.

It was only once you had replayed the conversation in your head, that realization crashed over you. Something somersaulted in your stomach, filled you with an indescribable emotion.

“Zayne…are you jealous?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling, but it was a lost cause, mirth had permeated into your every word.

This was the closest you had seen him to bashful, pale pink blooming on his cheeks, Adam’s apple bobbing as he cleared his throat.

He loosened his hold on the wheel, letting the car come to a stop, as you were now at his place.

Your smile withered a bit at his lack of response, and took the brief silence as an opportunity to admire him. Zayne’s mouth had tilted down in a now sullen mien.

There wasn’t anything precisely pointing to it, but you could tell he had built a wall, frozen distance even within the warmth of his car.

“You are right. It is none of my concern,” he said, voice icy and impersonal.

Gripping his chin between your fingers, you guided his gaze back to you.

“Mister Song is a seventy year old man. I met him when his taxi was totaled by a Wanderer attack. He’s been my trusted driver ever since.”

He let the information sink in, the jealousy brimming inside him simmering.

A jealousy he knew he had no right to, which only served to upset him further.

You were not his.

But he was yours.

And yet, something in the way you looked at him begged to differ. You weren’t his because he couldn’t bring himself to ask, because he was a fool.

“What’s that look for?” You whispered, fingers trailing down his shoulder, basking in the soft fabric of his black shirt.

“What look?”

You tried to replicate his gesture, brows pulling together, almost making you go cross eyed.

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.

“Hey, I’m trying,” you complained, raising your hand to intertwine with the other at the nape of his neck.

“I didn’t comment on it.”

“You didn’t have to.” Your words still had a slurred edge to them.

“There is no winning with you.”

You laughed back.

“Just admit it, you’re obsessed with me.”

“Who said that?”

It was only then that a question that had been begging to be asked rose from the back of your mind.

“Why are we at your place?” You tilted your head to the side.

The petal spots in Zayne’s cheeks deepened in color.

“I would like to keep you under my observation, as you are still intoxicated.” He hesitated for a second, a low exhale escaping him. “If I have your permission.”

Your smile tempered into something different. Not upset, but serious.

As you regarded Zayne, something tightened in your chest. It hurt, but left you wanting.

Goddess, you wanted, you wanted, you wanted. It was a prayer your body hummed whenever he was close.

“I’d love to, Zayne,” you whispered. brushing a thumb to the edge of his jaw before letting go.

A light dinner, anc copious amounts of water afterwards, you were lying side by side with Zayne, wearing one of his shirts, and joggers that were definitely much to big for you.

The lamps on each side of his bed were on, as you were having a light conversation. He was resting against the headboard, while you had your face shamelessly pressed to the pillow on your side.

The scent of it soothed you, of lavender and soap.

“I have sent you letters,” he denied, voice rough with sleep.

“If only I could have managed to read them.”

He frowned deeper at your poke at his chicken scratch. Some things were just inescapable in the medical field, you supposed.

You leaned closer, finding his gaze even as he purposefully avoided it, suddenly brimming with affection.

“Aw, was that too mean?” You cupped his face between your hands, and much like the black stray cat you liked to feed, he reluctantly leaned into your touch.

Boldened by it, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I did read them, you know?” Your hands cradled the sides of his neck, thumbs resting below his earlobe. “I kept them all.”

Zayne’s lips twitched, but he managed to remain serious, gray eyes boring into yours.

“I kept your replies too,” he murmured, turning to lay a kiss on your wrist. “Though I was tempted to correct some grammar mistakes.”

You huffed, dropping your hands.

“Rude! For your information, my writing is impeccable.”

“You said perchance an unacceptable amount.” He chided, seeming to mull it over. “I don’t think that word means what you think it does.”

He was probably right.

“Whatever,” you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back against the head of his bed, setting your eyes forward.

The mattress dipped beside you, hinting at Zayne’s closeness.

“Are you upset?” He asked with an undertone of mirth to his faux concern.

You felt yourself flush deeper, forcing out a sarcastic reply.

“What makes you think that?”

He pressed his mouth to the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“As you so eloquently put into words, I’m obsessed with you.”

When you turned your head, your noses brushed.

“Yeah?” You breathed out. “How much?”

“A ridiculous amount,” he admitted, fixated on your lips, minty breaths mingling.

You smiled, pressing closer until your mouth brushed his.

“Good.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #zayne x reader #love and deep space zayne

571 notes · View notes

iamadequate1 · 4 months

Text

OK, this common refrain:

Just move on! You OFMD fans are so annoying!

Ridiculous.

What is happening with OFMD right now is UNPRECEDENTED. This isn't a cute little cult show: this is a juggernaut for Max. It's its #1 original show right now (using the metrics available right now since Max hides numbers). It's 30x in demand than the average streaming show. It was Peabody nominated. Max spent significant money on a FYC campaign for it. Its audience grew between S1 and S2, and S1 was already beating off Marvel and Star Wars shows on the charts. It can pull thousands of fans into conventions. It had a Times Square billboard just in October. Most of Max' social media interaction is from OFMD. If reports are to be believed, the S3 scripts were readied and they were already scheduling time for filming, releasing announcements, and interviews. It has succeeded in every metric a show can be measured in, and passed these expectations beyond any studio's dreams.

But it was derailed last minute by a tantruming CEO, a CEO whose incompetence is bleeding hundreds of millions out of the company and is destroying the reputation of and industry confidence in the company. The company stock has fallen over 6% since the OFMD announcement two days ago (not the sole factor but one of the biggest factors). If a show like OFMD cannot succeed at Max, no show can succeed at Max. If Max cannot support this show, it cannot support being a streaming service at all.

Is there a show cancellation that has ever compared to this?

This announcement is not because a fringe minority in and outside the fandom thought S2 was "bad", or that some people didn't like certain plot points of S2 (no hiding it here that I'm not a fan of certain fanons, though I enjoy all characters). Taika Waititi was excited and onboard; he wasn't "bored" and decided to move on. They didn't cram the original ending into S2 just in case. There is still story to be told, and this series earned the right to be able to finish that story. Ed and Stede are still in the shaky beginnings of their relationship! They need to dance, have domestic moments, have affectionate moments, get married (what was the point of David Jenkins hyping matelotage at every step?)! How does our pirate community actually move on with their lives past the English encroachment (personified in Ricky)? This isn't a video game, and the story didn't end because they reached a "Get to The Revenge" checkpoint. What personal paths are our beloved crew members going to go on? There is still so much story, and we didn't have a clean break.

We're telling ourselves that fan campaigns have worked before. These examples, the shows were all deserving, but they were not the juggernauts that OFMD is. Firefly, for example, was 98th in Nielson ratings, and it was nowhere near the biggest audience for FOX shows. Imagine if FOX had randomly decided to cancel its top rated scripted show for the lulz. Would FOX have ever recovered or been able to court new talent? (ETA: 2002 FOX. 2024 FOX already can't court talent. A rather expensive spectacle show like 911 smoothly and immediately transitioning to another, more stable network is not why I'm here.)

The streaming competition is tight right now, and Max had a miracle in OFMD, all without even bothering to promote it. OFMD has a passionate audience. It has deeply resonated with thousands and thousands of people, and it is not silly to have emotions about creative projects because that is the entire point of creative projects. We have invested real time and money into this. We've created a community. We believe in David Jenkins and all involved, and these are real people we want to support because they brought joy into our lives. The respect and comradery this crew has with the fanbase is refreshing and rare. They revel in the fans' returned creativity and passion where most others have chosen to mock instead.

I am not going to just accept the whim of some random guy in a suit. I'm not just going to shrug and say "Got me there!" I'm not going to be ashamed of having passion, any excitement, any thrill at a unique work that is unapologetically sweet, joyful, and sincere and gives us the beautiful diversity we see in our lives. If this can happen to THIS SHOW, this juggernaut, there is no point in ever being invested in a new creative project again, and that is not a world that I'm willing to accept.

I am going to fight and keep fighting for as long as it takes. If this annoys you, learn how to use mute and block functions and don't expect me to change because it's your first day on the Internet. Why shouldn't we expect excellence in media we invest in? Why shouldn't we be angry that studios are trying to collapse into one with mergers and reduce all output to five IPs with cookie cutter releases? Why shouldn't we expect that a show that has met all expectations to be rewarded by the studio for the value it added? Why should we be expected to just shrug at every cruel decision like this (a decision that doesn't even make financial sense) and hand over our money to some passionless, generic alternative? Why should we just consume whatever terrible product the studios spit out at us instead of fighting for ones that deserve to thrive?

It is not hyperbole that this is a turning point in the industry. We just spent the summer with studios demanding AI be able to replace all pieces of the creative process unchecked, and now we have an absolutely unprecedented strike down of a creative and unique show at the top of the industry because there were a few more (entirely imaginary) pennies to be had. This is inexcusable.

This is a long haul situation. Zaslav blindsided us, so alternative streamers wouldn't have even been on the radar at the beginning of this week. David Jenkins and company also can't make comments on any possibilities we have since they have to keep working relationships in this industry and they need contracts finalized first.

There is always hope, no matter how slim.

Don't give up, and don't give in.

Remember to @renewasacrew

#our flag means death #ofmd #renew as a crew #save ofmd #renewasacrew #saveofmd #david jenkins #i just really like this show #no cut! just giant wall of text

814 notes · View notes

ohthewh0rror · 5 months

Text

WHEN I’M WITH YOU

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚ prompt — Professor Slughorn assigns Tom a potions partner— the only problem is that it’s a girl he’s never met before. Will Tom ignore his growing feelings for his new partner or will he give in and accept how he truly feels.

Full Request: HERE

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: I introduce to you — Tom “she’s not like the other girls” Riddle. Also I’m sorry girl, I forgot to make her sort of weary of Tom and skipped straight to her just being nice. 😗

“When you think of me, is it fondly?”

Tom resisted the urge to rub his hands together to warm them. The frosty January air was unrelenting, seeping its way through the thick stone walls of Hogwarts making the lengthy descent into the school's dungeons more unpleasant than usual.

Eager to get out of the frigid hall, Tom mentally thanked Salazar when the door to the potions classroom came into view. Walking through the door, Tom saw a few of his fellow classmates already huddled along the back wall and talking amongst themselves. He gave them a polite nod as they wished him good morning, continuing to make his way to the opposite end, away from them.

From his spot in the back, Tom watched as the other students slowly trickled in. Girls linked arm in arm, whispering and giggling to one another; boys knocking into one another, speaking loudly about next week's Quidditch match. The sense of comradery left Tom internally recoiling in disgust as he tried to imagine himself acting in such a way.

Tiernan Lestrange came to stand next to him, a little closer than what Tom was comfortable with. Tom side-eyed the boy, but ultimately said nothing to him, choosing to instead focus on Professor Slughorn who called the class to attention as he used his wand to wave the classroom door closed.

Tom began to tune his professor out as he began his theatrics about the point they’d be working with today— befuddlement draught. A potion used to cause the drinker to become reckless, something Tom would take precautionary measures not to spill or ingest in any capacity.

“I will be pairing you off today—” was all Tom heard before he felt the trickles of irritation creep into his mind. Working in pairs was always something Tom hated, preferring to work alone instead of having to potentially be weighed down by some idiot.

“And Mr. Riddle,” Professor Slughorn called out, breaking Tom out of his thoughts, “you will be working with Ms. Y/L/N!”. Slughorn’s arm was stretched out, motioning towards a girl standing on the other side of the class, just out of view. Tom ran the last name over in his head a few times, trying to spark some form of recognition in his mind, but he came up blank.

Slughorn clapped his hands, telling them they have until the end of the hour to finish their potion. Tom mentally prepared himself for what kind of girl he may be working with as he made his way through the dissipating crowd of students to find his partner.

Ah, there she was.

She hadn’t noticed him just yet, so he took those few seconds to give her a once over. It would make sense he didn’t recognize her, she was not in his house. They locked eyes as she finally noticed him just a few feet in front of her, and she swiftly closed the distance between the two.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m Y/N” she said, introducing herself. Her voice, though a bit quiet, was sweet. It wasn’t the same condescending tone Tom was used to receiving from the girls that hung around Lestrange and Avery, and for that he was glad. Giving her a polite smile, Tom guided the both of them to an empty cauldron, “I don’t believe we have, my name is Tom.”

Y/N was not unbearable to work with, much to Tom’s relief. The only hiccup didn’t occur until thirty minutes into making the draught when she unknowingly overstepped a boundary of his. Tom had brought his hand up to drop the scurvy grass into the cauldron when she grabbed him; his eyes immediately snapped to her, surprised that she had the audacity to grab him.

“Wait,” she said, a hint of panic in her tone, “you have to add the sneezewort first.” Their hands stayed locked together as Tom took a peek at her potions book laying out in front of them. As his eyes glided over the instructions he saw she was right, causing him to now feel a little embarrassed at the mistake he almost made.

“You’re right,” Tom cringed on the inside, “it is sneezewort first.” Y/N let go of his hand as he lowered it to switch out the ingredient he was holding. Her grabbing him should have left him disgusted and discreetly wiping his hand against his robes to rid himself of the feeling of her touch But, it wasn’t disgust he felt from her touch; just annoyance and a lingering tingling feeling in his hand that he did not want to think about.

Tom and Y/N had just finished their potions when Slughorn had stopped in front of them. “A perfect brew! Though I expect nothing less from either of you!” Slughorn exclaimed in his usual jovial tone. “Thank you, sir,” Tom and Y/N replied at the same time. Tom and Y/N looked at one another, and he watched, unable to look away, as a genuine smile tugged at her lips.

Tom momentarily forgot they had been talking to Slughorn until the old fool spoke again, telling them they were welcome to spend the last few minutes of class how they wished. The two chose not to speak, something Tom was grateful for, as they put away their belongings. It wasn’t until the bell chimed telling them it was time for lunch that they spoke again.

“I’ll see you next Thursday, yeah?” Y/N looked at him with, what he could only describe as a hopeful look in her eyes. Tom nodded, “of course.” Tom watched as she left, her figure sauntering out of the potions door. He was once again reminded of where he was when he heard Avery’s grating voice ask him a question.

Though Tom did not have another class with her till next Thursday, he couldn’t seem to stop seeing her in some form. He saw her in the halls, a weird feeling gathering in his chest when she would give him a friendly wave as they passed each other by. He saw her in the Great Hall, his skin growing warm as his eyes accidentally caught hers from where they both sat at their respective tables.

Their next potions class together, Tom planned to work alone, but Y/N fell into step beside him, a playful smile dancing on her lips as she asked, “do you mind if I join you?”. Tom, who should have found a polite way to tell her to ‘fuck off’, couldn’t bring himself to turn her away.

“Not at all,” Tom wanted to hex himself. Why would he say that? Tom worked alone, he didn’t want nor need a partner, yet he did not hesitate to let her join him. It was beginning to drive him mad, how out of character he was being towards a girl he’s known for no longer than a week. Tom needed answers for why he was acting this way, for why he was being affected in such a way.

But answers wouldn’t come. For the next month Tom was tormented every time they worked together: sweaty palms, shortness of breath, conflicting thoughts. He was beginning to think she was attempting to bewitch him in some way, casting discrete spells on him. So, he began to pay closer attention to her, trying to catch her in the act, paying attention to her every move.

He noticed everything. From the way she hid behind her hands when she laughed all the way to how she liked her fruit cut a certain way. Every mannerism he noticed, he mentally jotted down— in case it was needed for future blackmail of course (he was sure he could spin the fruit thing into a vicious rumor of some kind).

Everything came to a head on February 26th. It was a chilly Friday night and the Slug Club was supposed to meet for a lavish dinner in Slughorn's office with its usual attendants.

Except, when Tom walked in it was anything but the usual attendants or atmosphere. Instead Tom walked into an office decorated to look far more lavish than usual with trays of food and drink floating about for guests to pick off of. As Tom walked further in, he saw more than just the typical group of boys that met once a month. He saw other students, as well as other adults, whom Tom assumed were acquaintances of Slughorn.

Tom thought of skipping this meeting, as gatherings such as this were out of his comfort zone, until something caught his eye. ‘Sweet Salazar,’ Tom thought to himself, exasperated. He couldn’t believe what he was looking at— or should he say, who he was looking at. It was Y/N, dressed in a flattering knee length, emerald dress. Tom thought of approaching her, but found himself rooted in place.

After a second, he finally found himself moving towards her, but before he could make it to her side, another boy approached her first. Tom slowed his steps as he felt a surge of white hot anger consume him at the sight of this Neanderthal touching her, as if he was worthy of such a thing. He was a plain looking fellow; average height, basic attire, and dull features.

‘As if she would go for the likes of him,’ it was that thought that made alarm bells go off in his head. Why would he think that? If not that boy, then who would she go for? Tom’s mind raced as he thought the question over. He fought with himself as he kept coming back to the same conclusion: Y/N deserved himself.

It was a conclusion he didn’t understand, but it was the only one he kept coming back to; the only one that made sense. Needing time to process what he realized, he slinked off, out of Y/N’s eyesight.

Tom was good at sneaking around and avoiding others, it was something he’d done since before his days at Hogwarts, when he was just a young child at Wool’s Orphanage. So it wasn’t hard to avoid Y/N for the remainder of the gathering, but in trying to avoid her, he ran into Slughorn.

“Tom! My boy! How are you enjoying the party?” Slughorn asked, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. Tom, though he wanted to be left alone, faked a polite smile, “I’m enjoying myself well enough, sir, you’ve truly outdone yourself this time.” He hoped a little flattery would help spend this conversation up, as he wasn’t in the mood to deal with him right now. “Good, good..” Slughorn trailed off, Tom hoped that would be the end of it, but the Professor seemed to have one more thing to add.

“I’ve noticed you hanging around Ms. Y/L/N more, and I must say, I like the idea of you two growing closer,” Slughorn confessed. Tom, though feeling embarrassed that his teacher noticed and decided to comment on an aspect of his personal life, played the bashful card. He forced himself to smile and glance at his feet, “I see.”

Slughorn gave Tom a pat on the back, wishing him luck, and departed to go mingle with more guests. Tom managed to avoid both Slughorn and Y/N for the rest of the night as he stayed in the furthest section of the party, mingling with the likes of Mulciber and Nott.

Finally having had enough, Tom decided to slip out of the room and into the empty hallway, intent on going back to his dorm and getting some rest. He hadn’t made it far from the party when he heard Y/N call for him from behind.

“Tom!” Y/N’s voice echoed throughout the hall. Tom stopped and turned to her, unsure of what she could need from him. Once she finally caught up to him, she stopped before him, slightly winded. Tom gave her a moment to collect herself, but a bashful look crossed her face as she seemed to be second guessing herself.

“Yes, Y/N?” Tom gently goaded, trying to get her to spit it out. It was another second before she finally spoke, “will you walk me back to my common room?”. It was a question that took him off guard, as that was not in the realm of what he guessed she could want. The fact that she wanted him to walk her back to her common room made his heart thump wildly against his chest. Giving her a slight nod, he held his arm out to her.

Feeling her hand delicately grasp his arm made him feel sick, having never done anything like this before. “Did you enjoy yourself? I assume this was the first time you’ve been invited?” Tom asked, trying to fill the silence. Well, that’s what he told himself at least. Truthfully, he just wanted to hear her voice; he could listen to her speak all day if she let him.

“Yes, this is my first time going,” she confirmed, “it was alright, a bit overwhelming if I’m being honest.” Tom nodded, knowing what she meant, “I felt the same.”

The two of them lapse into silence, only the sounds of their shoes could be heard as Tom escorted her back to her common room. Tom made sure to take smaller steps to be sure he didn’t accidentally drag her across the castle, but also, to prolong their walk.

Still, the walk was over far too soon as they came to a stop in front of her common room entrance. She let go of his arm, and the two of them faced each other. “Thank you for walking me back, Tom,” Y/N said. Tom gave her a genuine smile, “it was nothing.”

Y/N looked from Tom, to the entrance, and back to him again. She seemed as if she wanted to say something, and Tom, not wanting to be rude (for once) patiently waited for her to gather her courage to say what was on her mind. “I plan to go to Hogsmeade next weekend, would you mind accompanying me?” She asked.

The look on Tom’s face must have been awfully amusing as Y/N’s laughter reverberated throughout the hall. The sound of her laughter making his chest ache with how sweet it sounded. It made Tom wish he could bottle it up and keep it on a shelf; save it for moments when he needed to be reminded that something other than pain and cruelty existed in this world.

“So..” Y/N trailed off, laughter still evident in her tone, “is that a yes?”.

Finding his voice Tom agreed, “that’s a yes.”

Tom and Y/N bid each other goodnight, parting ways as she stepped through the entrance to her common room. As the entrance closed behind her Tom turned to make his way back to the dungeon, a feeling of anticipation filling him as thought’s of Y/N and their future date overrun his mind.

Taglist: @r-a-c-h-e-l

#tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #that’s all i got #take it or leave it

501 notes · View notes

easays · 3 months

Text

To Ragh; or, On Fatness

Hi! Below is an actual play mini-essay. These are written as part of a personal writing practice of thinking critically about actual play. I hope you find this reading engaging and know that all I write reflects my own interpretations rather than as an official representation/canonization of these shows. Keep reading for my interpretation of Ragh Barkrock's fatness as part of queer representation in Dimension20.

Ragh Barkrock may be one of the most beloved NPCs in Dimension20. It would be easy for Ragh, a bloodrush player good enough to potentially play professionally, to be presented as hypermasculine. In fact, the freshmen year art for Ragh, when he was antagonist rather than beloved ally, showed him in a muscular, inverted Dorito shaped body typical of a jock.

He's, obviously, built, and his cut jaw and cheekbones only bolster that image. As Ragh comes to terms with being gay at the end of Fantasy High, his countenance changes. When we see him again, the new art reflects a chubbier, happier Ragh.

The show aligning weight gain with acceptance and happiness already works against prevailing stereotypes that use weight loss as a quick metaphor for improving yourself and being the "real you." Moreover, connecting Ragh's acceptance of his sexuality with what seems like a larger comfort in his own body is a strong indictment of hypermasculine gay culture. As Gabriel Arana writes, gay men "must reconcile their sense of masculinity with their failure to conform to its heterosexuality." Not doing so has negative mental health outcomes, as Arana points out, and contributes to a culture that devalues fat queer people (see the popular "no fats, no femmes, no Asians" that often is touted in masculine gay subculture).

All of this, I think, is why Ragh's art for Junior Year was particularly impactful for me as a fat queer person. If being a gay man (or half-Orc, in Ragh's case) means having to situate your life in relationship to failing compulsory masculinity, then it seems there is an inherent queer aspect to embracing, celebrating, and showcasing a beloved NPC in an explicitly fat and happy body.

FHJY Ragh art by @caitmayart

Ragh is still strong and he is still fat. His body radiates a commitment to the power of fat bodies to exist in spaces they are often violently unwelcome in, such as gyms. Existing in gyms and sports spaces as fat people means dealing the "impossible standard that rejects nearly all of us" and upholds a diet culture rooted in impossible, Eurocentric and colonial body standards. In TTRPGS or actual plays, there is a unique opportunity to think about how bodies might exist in worlds different from ours, to imagine bodyminds as otherwise. However, as queer critics like Paul Preciado have noted, sci-fi and fantasy representations of cyborgs and other transformative bodies often lean into "fixing" disabled people or moving gender nonconforming bodies more easily towards technologies upholding a normative standard rather than questioning the standard all together.

Spyre is a world that deals with similar issues to ours, even without direct one-to-one correlations, so it, too, is a place where the narrative and artistic choices should be examined in how it helps us interpolate the world the audience resides in. From the Applebees cultish adherence to a deity-based nationalism to the various representations of parental neglect and abuse and every side story in-between, Dimension20's flagship show does not shy away from difficult realities even when recasting them through fantasy. Ragh, as a half-orc gay son of a disabled single mother, then, I see the arc his fat body goes through as meaningful and intertwined with his self-acceptance and queerness. He moves away from the toxic masculinity engineered into his blood rush team to instead pursue coalition comraderie with his friends to the point that he and his mother end up joining a communal living situation with those friends and their parents. Ragh's body expands as his family does, as his ties to community do, and to me, the gift of his fatness is the invitation to expansion that it holds out to us as viewers.

247 notes · View notes