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wttcsms · 9 days

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if you feel like falling (catch me on the way down) | ONE

ᝰ.ᐟ after getting your heart broken by professional soccer player, rin itoshi, all because he loved the game more than you, you officially swear off all men — especially athletes. your publicist doesn't get that memo, though, and you find yourself roped into a fake relationship with yoichi isagi, who isn't just a pro soccer player, but also your ex's rival. things could get messy. ( fem!reader )

pairing yoichi isagi x reader (endgame), past! rin itoshi x reader word count 2.9k chapter synopsis there are certain perks to having a relationship that operates on a "private not secret" basis. for example, you're allowed at least two weeks before the batshit crazy people online figure out that little miss it girl just got her ass dumped. chapter contains partying to cope, social drinking, diet culture, this fic is so chronically online LOL author's notes so normally, i would organize the fic's different arcs or acts by explicitly saying "act 1" or whatever. like i said, we're gonna be chronically online, so the arcs are described as different "eras" and when it's a new arc, we'll get a new era 🤭 each era has special graphics for it: what the media sees vs what's actually going on. think of the era intro as a moodboard for the chapters that'll follow <3

⋆˚࿔ CURRENT ERA: PARTY GIRL 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ from the outside, it's giving irl serena van der woodsen but even better, no one can possibly have the same 24 hours as you, someone needs to convince you to drop the skincare routine STAT, matter of fact - we just need your whole game card

— guest starred on the hottest pop culture podcast where it was basically just a glaze session for you (besides the last 10 minutes where the host started asking about rin), articles that want to help readers live your (unattainable if you're not rich!) lifestyle, and a devoted fanpage that updates your every move... every move.

on the inside, it's actually giving listening and actually relating to sad music, asking an 8 ball if you're the problem, being desperate enough to believe those tiktoks that say if you claim this sound and interact 3x he'll text you back, wondering when you should mail him back his stuff, keeping busy in the public eye so no one suspects how miserable you are right now

— even spotify clocked you and it's auto-generated, customized playlist perfectly depicts what you're going through (talk about the saddest soundtrack to your life), got desperate and consulted quora (this is how you know you're at rockbottom). not shown: your credit card statement (retail therapy works, right? right?!)

“Promise you’ll be on your best behavior?” Yukimiya peers over his sunglasses so he can give you a very pointed look. You tilt your head innocently.

“When am I ever not?”

Yukimiya lets out a very loud, very drawn out, very exasperated sigh. When have you not been on your best behavior? Well, just last month, you got drunk, stumbled out to your garage, hopped in your custom-wrapped pink Porsche, and somehow ended up falling asleep on top of the hood. (In your defense, at least even in a drunken stupor, you weren’t stupid enough to drive.) Last week, you collected the numbers of about eight different athletes and models, sufficiently led every single one of them on, and are now actively ghosting all of them because they committed the cardinal sin of not sounding like, feeling like, or being anything like Rin. And speaking of the devil, Rin’s the reason why just last night, you ended up blocking not just him from your social media, but his whole entire team, too. You felt vindicated when you did this at 2 AM. Yeah, because that’ll sure show him! He hasn’t looked at your story once since the breakup (not that you’ve been keeping track or anything), but in case he tries to play it cool and gets one of his teammates to view it on his behalf, you’ll have put a stop to that plan.

(Even when you’re spiraling, you’re still painfully aware of the fact that Rin’s most likely doing okay, if not still performing at his best. He is most certainly not doing something as childish as getting his teammates to relay info on you to him. Meanwhile, you are apparently a social liability for your closest friends. Spectacular.)

“Don’t answer that.” You tell him. “I don’t want to know what my life looks like through your eyes.” It’s bad enough that every little thing you do gets documented, photographed, and then sensationalized on the Internet, but it’s one thing for strangers to commentate on your behavior when they don’t even have the full story. It’s another thing entirely when it’s your best friend criticizing your current lifestyle.

“I’m just saying, it’s going to be a very casual lunch with my favorite people. Not a party.” Yukimiya clarifies.

“Kenyu, you do realize that inviting me to a birthday party, and then saying ‘it’s not a party’ is kind of giving mixed signals right now.” Now it’s your turn to give him a pointed look, but just like his, there’s no true venom behind it. It’s Kenyu’s birthday celebration, anyway. You’re not about to corrupt Mr. Catholic Private School and tell him to throw a fucking rager.

“If my team gets their way, there probably will be an actual party. If there is, you’ll be the first one I give the details to.” There’s a distant shout in the back; the photographer is done with his lunch, and he’s ready to wrap this shoot up. Kenyu examines his hair in the vanity mirror before getting out of his chair and giving you a quick hug. Your photos have already been taken, and there’s really no point for you to be on set still.

However, Kenyu’s on set. Your only other viable option is to just go home and hide under your covers, rewatching Someone Great on Netflix and Doordashing Ben & Jerry’s. Juliette is home in France and won’t be coming back until the end of the month, and you’re not really in the mood to see any of your other friends. It’s tiring being around people who can’t separate front-cover-of-Vogue you from the real you. If you’re going to have to fake a smile, it might as well be on set rather than grabbing brunch with people who would kill to be able to leak something as headline-inducing as your breakup.

“Pinky promise?” You look up at Yukimiya. “You promise to tell me about the party even if I’ll make a fool of myself because apparently I don’t act on my best behavior?”

He rolls his eyes at your comment. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, and you know that. Besides, you could never make a fool of yourself. Anything you do is declared iconic, anyway.”

Having a famous movie director as a father and a certified Hollywood starlet as a mother, life wasn’t just set at easy mode for you. You practically were given an unlimited money hack and started off with like, five times the XP compared to any other beginner. At thirteen, you told your parents that for your birthday, you wanted to become a model. Two phone calls and a private jet flight later, and you had signed with the best modeling agency in the country and had your first ever photoshoot booked.

Fate gave you parents with connections, and you’d be a fool to not use it to your advantage. Fate also gave you the same photoshoot as another young model, and you’d be a fool to not befriend Kenyu Yukimiya immediately. Out of all the friends you’ve ever made, fate only gives you good luck twice: first with Yuki, then with Juliette. You used to think you got lucky three times — meeting Rin for the first time was like experiencing something cosmic. Now you know better. Even rich people can have shit luck, too.

Today’s unlucky situation is the way Yukimiya’s “favorite people” all happen to be athletes. There’s not a single person here who isn’t his teammate or somehow related to Bastard Munchen, except for you. If you didn’t love Yukimiya so much, you would have hauled ass. It’s normally easy enough for you to avoid soccer players at parties because they don’t normally get invited to the same social events you do, but now you’re the odd one out.

At least the food is good. You don’t have a photoshoot scheduled until next week, and that’s exactly why you’re comfortable with choking down half a bagel sandwich rather than socialize with the guys seated by you. Yukimiya’s real big on intimacy and the power of friendship or whatever, which is probably easier to achieve when you play a team sport versus the modeling industry, where good jobs are few and far between, and the reason why some models are so skinny is because they can’t afford to eat — literally and figuratively. If they’re not booking jobs, there’s no way they can buy groceries in this economy.

He has everyone assembled at one long table in the massive backyard of his mansion. It’s honestly kind of Last Supper-core, but it fits him. Little Yuki’s finally old enough to have a seat at the big kid’s table. He’s sitting across from you, and you’re sandwiched between Kunigami and Hiori. Next to Yukimiya is Isagi. Out of everyone at this party, soccer player or not, Isagi is the person you want to avoid the most. So far, you think you’ve managed to skirt under his radar. If everything goes as planned, you’ll be able to leave this lunch with your belly full and not having to interact with anybody. It’s looking like you won’t even have to drink in order to get through this.

“Hey, out of all of us at this table, who d’ya think would have the best shot at being a model?” Hiori is clearly speaking to you. The blue-haired player is looking directly at you, for God’s sake. You wonder if it’ll be mean to blatantly ignore him, but considering how this little question seems to have captured the attention of the surrounding players, it looks like pretending you’re hard of hearing is out of the question.

Inside, you’re dying. The last thing you wanted to do was socialize, but it’d be selfish and bratty to request that Yukimiya find more time in his busy schedule to have a one-on-one celebration with you. You’re here to support your friend. You can stomach being friendly with boys who have probably seen Rin more recently than you’ve last seen him. Fuck — why are you thinking about Rin? Do not think about Rin!

You grab one of the premade mimosas from the tray in the center of the table. You down the glass in one swift gulp. On the outside, you flash Hiori a bright smile and give an airy giggle. “Why? You trying to get a foot into the industry?”

Hiori’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “W-well, no. Just wanted to make conversation.”

“No worries! I’ve been trying to keep up with whatever you guys are talking about, but even after all this time being friends with Kenyu, I still don’t really get soccer.” Your smile is still intact. You reach for another mimosa.

“Rin didn’t teach you anything?”

Ever since you entered the industry, you knew that you had to get comfortable with standing out. No — you needed to thrive on standing out. You needed to crave, to rely on, people’s undying attention in order to survive. In the eyes of the media, you’re the center of attention. You got what every girl your age wants. At this table, everyone’s eyes are focused on you. What you want is to be back in your room, away from their prying gazes and curious stares.

But you’re a trained professional. Your smile never slides off, never turns into a grimace. You give a casual shrug, directing your answer to the person who mentioned Rin in the first place.

“I make it a rule to not discuss work when we’re together.” You look at Isagi, asking him with your eyes if that’s a good enough explanation for him. He holds your gaze, looking at you like he sees right through you.

You drink another mimosa.

After loosening up because of the drinks, you find casual conversation with the Munchen players to be easy. The boys honestly never shut up, and you don’t know what they’re talking about half the time, but you’re cracking genuine smiles every so often, and by the time Yukimiya is going around and saying his thanks for everyone showing up, you are…

Not drunk, per se. You’ve built up quite the tolerance these past few weeks, and it’s hard to get wasted off of drinks that are basically three-fourths orange juice. (Seriously, was Yukimiya getting stingy with the champagne? Sober You might be able to acknowledge the fact that Yukimiya might have just been preparing for the Worst Case Scenario, which would be you hogging all the drinks to yourself. Which sort of happened. Fuck. Sometimes it sucks to be known so well.) You’re definitely tipsy, though. Maybe half a tier above tipsy? Whatever the case, you are definitely in no shape to drive.

“Kenny,” you whine out his nickname, trying your best to pull out your puppy-dog eyes. “Please take me home.”

“Ah, damnnit, [Name].” He runs his fingers through his dark curls. “Did you seriously get drunk off of orange juice?”

“Champagne drunk is the best drunk. I’m pretty sure People Magazine quoted me on that like, last year, so it’s basically fact.” Yukimiya doesn’t seem overly impressed. “And I’m not drunk, but my alcohol levels right now are definitely above the legal limit. Sorry, but I don’t plan on making headlines for a DUI. Hard to spin that into something iconic.”

This gets Yukimiya to crack a smile. “I thought you were leaning into the party girl look?”

“Yeah, but after Justin Timberlake got caught for intoxicated driving, he made it look totally lame. He ruined it for us!”

“I wish I could drive you back, but I have to retake some photos for this sneaker ad I’m doing, and with traffic, I’m really cutting it close already. Do you want to just come with, or hang out at my place until I get back? You should’ve said something sooner; I could’ve asked one of the guys to drop you off.”

You crinkle your nose. “No, thanks. I’m not a fan of strangers knowing where I live.” Becoming a model at such a young age thrust you into the spotlight. With media attention comes total pervs who lurk in Reddit threads and 4Chan, and stumbling upon some of the things said about you, reading the things they would do to you if they found you, all laid out in disgusting, graphic detail, left you kind of paranoid. Getting doxxed might be one of your worst fears. No Ubers. No car ride homes with strangers. “I’ll wait here. It’s been a while since I went through your things, so I’m sure there’ll be enough of your dirty secrets to uncover to keep me occupied.”

“Did you need a ride?”

Shitty luck, indeed.

The teammate who decided to stay behind to help clean up (because he’s just that outstanding of a guy) is the sole reason for why you went buckwild on the mimosas. You can see why Rin was always frustrated with him.

“Nope—” You say, at the same exact time as Yukimiya nods enthusiastically.

“Would you mind? [Name] actually lives pretty close by, so it might not be out of the way.”

You shoot Yukimiya a scathing glare. He ignores it completely, smiling at Isagi.

“I don’t mind. That is, if you don’t mind.” Isagi is looking at you expectantly. Yukimiya trusts him. And you trust Yukimiya. By some sort of logic, you should reasonably be able to trust Isagi. It’s clear that Kenyu wants you to carpool with him, anyway, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so happy to dump you onto him.

“Sure. I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

What would happen if you jumped out of a moving vehicle?

At best, you’d get your pretty skin all scraped up, meaning your photoshoots would either have to be delayed, or you would have to endure all the clear distaste for your “unprofessionalism” in the workplace from the people who actually had to work to get to where they’re at. At worst, you end up hospitalized. Somehow, it seems easier to photoshop out a few cuts and scrapes than working with someone in a full-body cast.

As you weigh the pros and cons of jumping out of Yoichi Isagi’s vehicle — a sleek, black sedan that’s top of the line, sure, but understated luxury; it’s not flashy like the sports cars you see most athletes sporting — he smoothly reverses out of Yukimiya’s driveway. Isagi does that boyish thing where he ignores his backup camera completely and opts to rest one hand on the back of the passenger headrest, the other hand on the steering wheel. Fuck. Maybe it’s not a boyish thing. Maybe it’s manly. Isagi leans a bit into your space; not enough to bother you, but enough to where you can smell the scent of his cologne. He smells clean and fresh. Maybe it’s not cologne, but laundry detergent and fabric softener. Somehow, you find this very fitting of him.

He glances out the window to check for traffic and eases you two onto the open road.

He’s not playing any music, and you’re sure as hell not about to ask for the aux. You look out the window instead, watching the world pass you by through tinted glass. It makes everything around you appear darker. Somehow, you find this to be very fitting for you.

“You live around this area, yeah?” Isagi asks you, and you’re reminded that if you want to go home, you actually have to let the driver know where home is.

“Yeah, sorry. Keep heading straight, and I’ll let you know when there’s a turn coming up.” Talking to Isagi shouldn’t feel so awkward. After all, you managed to talk (and actually enjoy talking) to all of Yukimiya’s teammates. You even got along well with Kaiser. But it just feels weird — you’ve never met him directly, but you’ve heard so much about him, that it’s hard to not see Rin’s rants every time you look at Isagi.

So you don’t — look at Isagi, that is. You look at everything else. His car is clean. There are air fresheners in the AC vents. The floor of the passenger seat is oddly clean, like no one ever sits here. If that’s the case, you hope your heels didn’t track in any grass blades or dirt.

“Um,” Isagi awkwardly clears his throat at a red light. “When I mentioned Rin earlier at the party…”

“What about it?” Fuck, this is so embarrassing. Since the car is stationary, you’re in the clear, right? If you just unlock the door, you can escape on foot. Your house is now close enough that it’ll just count as today’s exercise.

“Sorry for bringing him up. I didn’t know—”

“—didn’t know what?” You turn to face him. His jaw is surprisingly sharp, and you watch the way he swallows before he answers you.

“I didn’t know that you two broke up.”

No one knows that you two broke up. You’re still in the process of making sense of it all, and because you’re so messed up over it, naturally you had to confide in Yukimiya and Juliette. Neither of them would ever share that secret, though.

So why the hell does Yoichi Isagi know?

“The light’s green.” You tell him, shifting your body in the seat, avoiding him by positioning yourself even closer to the door.

Neither of you say anything else during the drive.

#yoichi isagi x reader #isagi x reader #rin itoshi x reader #smau #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #series: if you feel like falling #fluff

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starshideurfics · 3 months

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Thirsty Thursday - Ring my bell, part 5

part 4

steddie, omegaverse, flagging/signaling culture, there’s plot now, in the smut, mdni 🔞

Eddie is surprised when he walks up to his dealing table and sees Chrissy Cunningham waiting in her cheer uniform. He considers turning around then and there, not wanting to risk her jock boyfriend coming to look for her and going all feral on him and bashing his face in. But he really needs to save his money, so turning down a paying customer isn’t something he can do.

He considers walking again when she startles so badly, but mostly he’s worried about her. She’s got blockers on, so he can’t scent much from her, but the tension in her shoulders tells him enough. The girl needs weed, or some xannies. All Eddie’s got on him is weed though, so it’ll have to do.

She’s still so jumpy, so Eddie hams it up, trips over himself to get her to laugh because laughter is easy. He shifts enough that the guitar pick he wears around his neck sneaks out from his collar.

Chrissy’s been fiddling with her own necklace—a padlock, just like Steve’s—and she asks, “What’s that one mean?” and then turning beet red. “Sorry, I just- You’ve always had the rings, didn’t think necklaces were your thing.”

“They’re not. But… Easy to keep a pick handy.” He pulls the chain forward, revealing the pendant it came with, the guitar pick a convenient excuse. Chrissy’s eyes go wide at the little anatomical heart, pierced with an arrow, and Eddie grins. “Gift from the prettiest omega I know.”

“Oh…” She shrinks in on herself again, and he knows he has to get her laughing.

“Second I scented him, thwp!” He clutches dramatically at his chest, mimes being shot through the heart and falls off the bench. Eddie pops back up. “It’s like he just gets me, about everything.” He tucks the necklace away, swings his legs back around the bench, and pulls out his lunchbox, offering her a discount on the already jacked up price for an ounce.

“Do you have anything… stronger?” Chrissy asks, glancing over her shoulder again, like she’s being watched.

“Not with me. Possession is 9/10s of the law or whatever, so best not to have anything too hard on me. And really, you should start with the weed.”

She nods, blue eyes so big in her face. “But, what if it isn’t enough?”

He pulls out a pen, writes down his number on her hand. “It’s spring break, so you can’t drop a note in my locker. Gimme a call, and I’ll see what I can rustle up.” He knows he’s got some Special K squirreled away, for in case Steve gets one of his bad migraines and he wants to sleep through it. “Or check the medicine cabinet—see if your mom’s got a secret Xanax script. One of those will melt your worries.”

“Okay, yeah. Thanks.” She smiles, and it looks real enough. She pushes herself up to standing.

“So do you want the weed?” Eddie joggles the baggie in front of her.

“Right, sorry! Yes, I do.” She reaches into the band of her skirt and pulls out a couple fives, trading him for the weed.

Eddie schools his face when he takes them from her. “Pleasure doing business. I hope it helps.”

“Me too.”

He watches her leave, the bills sitting close enough to her skin and sweat that they stink with her scent. Eddie thinks it’s vaguely fruity, but it’s too covered over in acrid fear that he isn’t sure at all.

💍💘🐽

Eddie sees Steve across the parking lot, the basketball game getting out the same time as Hellfire, and he has to clench his fist to keep from waving. He wants to run to him, kiss him, sweep him into his arms and deposit him safely into his van so they can drive home together.

Instead, he bids the guys goodnight and drives to Forest Hills alone. He beats Steve by more than 20 minutes, since he has to give Robin a ride home. Which means Eddie can do a modicum of cleaning, including rearranging the blankets and pillows on his bed to be a little more nest-like for Steve’s comfort.

Steve doesn’t knock, just comes straight in, and Eddie races to him. “Hey, Puppy, how’d the game go?” he asks, kissing him hello, waiting for an answer before going total horndog on him.

“Lucas scored the game-winning basket, so please have the guys congratulate him next week.” Steve has already complained about Eddie’s refusal to hold the game for Lucas, even took away his pussy privileges for a week until he’d groveled and explained how he had the entire year planned out, he couldn’t skip a week since he was finally graduating. This campaign was his baby!

And Steve liked the sound of Eddie graduating, so he was willing to forgive this one discretion.

“Of course, Stevie. And Erica held her own. You should be proud of your youngest.” He grins wide, and Steve fondly rolls his eyes.

“Please stop talking about the twerps like I birthed them.”

“But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” He sinks down to his knees, puts himself level with Steve’s crotch. “Want a pup of your own,” he murmurs, hand coming up to cradle Steve’s belly, “Right here.”

Eddie smells it when Steve slicks his pants, his sweetness sickly with his desperation for that little dream.

“Want you to shut up and fuck me already,” Steve moans, gripping Eddie by the collar and pulling him to his feet. He’s sloppy as he kisses him, and Eddie purrs.

He loves Steve and Steve loves him, and they both see their future together. He’s really getting sick of waiting for that future to start. But at least he gets to take Steve to bed right now.

🍃🍃🍃

The next morning, the basketball team wakes up in the shell of Benny’s Burgers. There’s blood and black on the ceiling, and Chrissy Cunningham’s broken body on the floor. It takes nearly an hour for the boys to stop screaming long enough to call the police.

Part 6

#steddie #omegaverse #fanfiction #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #ficlet #stranger things fic #thirsty thursday #ring my bell

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blackcat419 · 11 months

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How different cultures in ASOIAF view cats pt. 1

In our world, culture and religion shape how we view animals, and for this post, specifically cats. An example of how cats a view differently in cultures can be seen in Islamic cultures and Romani Cultures. Because cats clean themselves often, they are viewed as clean by Muslims and can be kept with the family. But for Romani, because of the Marime which states that the genital region is a source of impurity, a cat licking its own lower regions this becomes unclean. Roma still keep pets but they generally don’t let them sleep in their bed or lick them. This is all contrasted by American culture where a pet is viewed as a member of the family and will be referred to as the baby or child of their owners and is allowed to sleep in bed with them.

It’s so interesting and I want to expand this to how Westerosi people see cats and what types of cats they keep.

Dorne

Dorne takes a lot of inspiration from the Arabic would and I think it only makes sense for them to have a similar view of cats.

Cats keeping themselves clean makes them the perfect pets for humans. Cats are also known to pray to the seven if given a seat in a sept (cats love prayer rugs and it’s really cute). Both religious and hygienic, cats are viewed as more sophisticated than other animals and thus are kept closer by their families.

The salty Dornish are best known for their love of cats with many ancient breeds residing in their homes. The green orphans will sail with a cat or two and give them a fish from the days haul. Cats are also seen as omens of good fortune and many shops have a resident cat. Septa also keep cats control pests and because they will sleep at the feet of the seven when their statue is warm. The Turkish Van and Turkish Angora are both old and rare breeds of cats that would flourish in Dorne.

The Sandy Dornish also enjoy cats. Because cats naturally retain more water than dogs, they are fitted to live in the desert. These cats are some of the more wild ones as it’s common for the domestic cat to mix is wild cats. During harsh sandstorms, the Dornish will wrap the cats up in a blanket to protect them from the elements. Cats are known to love this and scene request it when their is no sand storm. The Savannah cat is a cross between wild Serval and a domestic short hair cat.

The stony Dornish are less attached to cats than the Sandy or salty Dornish. Every house hold does have a cat and it’s common for cats to sleep in the room of their favorite person, but the stony Dornish believe that cats have some impurity to them because they lick their own genitals. Families will often perform a cleaning ritual on their cats by wiping them down with a wet cloth to cleanse them of impurity. Cats in stony Dorne are slender and very angular, making them great at slipping through stony hills and along steep walls. The Cornish Rex and Devon Rex are popular cat breeds.

The Iron Islands

Cats were a big part of Scandinavian culture. The goddess Freya had her chariot pulled by Norwegian Forest cats (also called fairy cats) and it was custom for a groom to give his bride a kitten as a wedding gift. For Vikings specifically, cats were kept to control the pests on ship.

Because the Iron Islands is more based on mythical Viking culture than historical Scandinavian culture, we can have some fun with the cats.

Ships are a big part of the iron islands culture, so each ship should have a cat or two. Perhaps to “bless” a ship before it sets off, a kitten is brought into the ship and makes it their own. I also see the Ironman have a very communal ownership of the cats. Fisherman will give the cats some of their catch as part of a good luck ceremony and people will set up small cat houses for them. They could also view a cat staying with you as a sign of good luck. But because of Thai communal ownership, it would probably be taboo to try and keep a cat to yourself. The iron islanders see a cat as not belonging to a person but to a ship or island.

Types of cats I think the iron islanders would have. Because they’re kind of weird, I think some weird breeds would fit. The Selkirk Rex is known for playing in water, being loyal to their human, and also have some curly fur!

The Andal Kingdoms

The Andals had a similar relationship to cats that Europeans had before the Black Death. For the Andals, cats were viewed as mainly pest control for their farms and cities. People rarely tries to socialize kittens when born which led to people believing cats were naturally aggressive.

It wasn’t until Maesters discovered that cats help prevent the spread of disease by killing rats that cats became a more popular household animal.

The reach was the first kingdom to become very found of the cat. They were perfect help for their farms and perfect pest control for old town. Old Town holds a celebration of cats each year to thank them for preventing extreme disease outbreaks from happening in the city. The Redwyne family is famous for breeding Persians cats that resemble the pugs they breed with short faces. Rich families have a few Persian cats that they dress up as little lords and ladies as an extra show of wealth.

In the storm lands and riverlands, cats are seen as antithetical to the land. The kingdom’s natural wetness drives cats away. Fisherman are often at odds with local cat populations as they fight over fish. Despite the general population’s disinterest in cats, they are a common staple at inns and bars as they keep rats away from the straw and wheat. Patrons consider seeing a cat with folded ears as a lucky charm that their stay at the inn will be a pleasant one.

I reached the max amount of photos for this post so we will continue with westerlands, the vale, north, beyond the wall, and valyrians!

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf headcanons #cats in asoiaf #HotD #house of the dragon #hotd headcanon #cats in hotd #I love cats

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coochiequeens · 1 year

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“My bar has always been an inclusive bar,” she said. “Trans people should be respected and have rights, and lesbian women who are born female should also have a space for themselves.” “If the young woman said: I prefer women, then the trans woman was offended and cried transphobia. But this young woman is not transphobic, it’s just a matter of consent, she doesn’t like penises, since she’s a lesbian!”

A lesbian bar that has operated in Rennes, France for nearly a decade has been forced to close its doors following a disturbing swell of vandalism and death threats by trans activists. Orane Guéneau, the owner and manager of lesbian bar La Part des Anges, was publicly denounced as “transphobic” and accused of “misgendering” by critics.

Speaking with Ouest France, Guéneau said she made the decision to shut down the venue to protect her employees in response to increased aggression, both online and at her storefront. On April 14, four unnamed trans activists spray painted the menacing message “Fuck TERFs,” accompanied by a trans symbol, on the front door of the venue during activities that were aimed at opposing national pension reform.

“I have to close after the attack that we experienced,” Guéneau told Ouest France. “The window was tagged and a pane was broken, it was hyperviolent for employees and customers, and the bar was full.”

A few days before the acts of vandalism were committed, Guéneau made a book critical of trans activism available to her patrons.

Titled When Girls Become Boys and written by Marie-Jo Bonnet, her detractors considered the act to be representative of her “coming out” as transphobic, and condemned her on social media.

But the backlash was not limited to vandalism and social media condemnation, Guéneau also started to receive threatening messages scrawled on paper slipped under her door last month, some of which read: “Save a trans, commit suicide,” and “One bullet, one TERF.”

Guéneau faced further harassment throughout the month of May when a local chapter of the French feminist organization Nous Toutes published a statement calling for their supporters to boycott the bar.

“In Rennes or elsewhere: no feminism without trans people,” reads the call to action from Nous Toutes 35. “For several years, people from the Queer community have been denouncing attacks against them in a bar in Rennes: La Part des Anges. These recurring assaults are all the more problematic since this bar claims an identity as a lesbian and feminist bar.”

The statement continues: “Therefore, it’s important that this bar finally gets massively denounced. We would also like to call on the various political, activist or cultural organizations to stop organizing with this bar… transphobes have no place in our struggles.”

In response to the statement from Nous Toutes 35, Guéneau announced that she had filed a complaint for defamation, harassment and cyber-harassment.

Yet despite the claims of “transphobia,” Guéneau has said that her venue has always been accepting of people who claim to be transgender.

“My bar has always been an inclusive bar,” she said. “Trans people should be respected and have rights, and lesbian women who are born female should also have a space for themselves.”

However, tensions have escalated over the past five years as Guéneau defended lesbian patrons who were being harassed by men who self-identified as women and attended the venue seeking sex.

On multiple occasions, Guéneau told Charlie Hebdo, trans-identified males came to the lesbian bar to flirt with same-sex attracted women.

“If the young woman said: I prefer women, then the trans woman was offended and cried transphobia. But this young woman is not transphobic, it’s just a matter of consent, she doesn’t like penises, since she’s a lesbian!”

Women’s rights campaigner and founder of FemellisteMarguerite Stern shared her support for Guéneau, and questioned the accusations of “misgendering” leveled against her. Stern also placed blame for some of the harassment Guéneau endured in part on Nous Toutes for their public condemnation of the venue.

Nous Toutes, the liberal feminist group spearheading the harassment of the lesbian bar, has previously attacked causes they deemed to be “transphobic.”

In 2022, the group announced it would no longer provide data on domestic femicides due to concerns over the sex-based data being used by “transphobes.”

Nous Toutes had originally been founded to provide public insight into violence against women and girls in France, but launched into a social media war with another anti-femicide campaign group over transgenderism.

After Féminicides Par Compagnons ou Ex accurately reported that no trans-identified males had been murdered by domestic violence in France in 6 years, Nous Toutes responded by suspending their release of any data related to the murder of women and girls in the nation, claiming that the information was “oppressive” and “otherwise illegal.”

Nous Toutes then convened to determine how to make their femicide data reporting more “inclusive,” floating strategies which included counting general transphobia as femicide.

Violence against women critical of gender ideology is a regular occurrence in France, with multiple instances of women being physically attacked for not accepting the concept that trans-identified males were “female” being recorded over the past two years.

Reduxx previously reported on violence breaking out at French pro-woman events deemed “transphobic,” including on International Women’s Day in 2021 and 2022 when a number of women were left with injuries from rampaging trans activists.

In April of this year, a symposium intended to raise awareness of the plight of Afghan and Iranian women was abruptly postponed after trans activists threatened to violently ambush the event because of the presence of a gender critical speaker.

By Genevieve Gluck

Genevieve is the Co-Founder of Reduxx, and the outlet's Chief Investigative Journalist with a focused interest in pornography, sexual predators, and fetish subcultures. She is the creator of the podcast Women's Voices, which features news commentary and interviews regarding women's rights.

#France #Rennes #La Part des Anges #Ouest France #When Girls Become Boys #Marie-Jo Bonnet #Censorship #death threats against lesbians #Nous Toutes Calls themselves a feminist organization but is ok with harassing lesbians #Lesbians don’t like dick #transbians #Drop the T #transwomen being sex pests #TRAs not happy with allies unless they are absolutely servile #Féminicides Par Compagnons ou Ex told the truth #Telling men NO is not the same as femicide

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ohhcinnybuns · 4 months

Text

Thinking about AU baker Chuuya and florist Dazai this evening…

Chuuya owns a pâtisserie in a quaint cultural part of downtown Yokohama called “pêches et crème.” He loves to bake French goods to show love for his half-French heritage: Macarons, Éclairs, Chouquettes… Chuuya knew just how to satisfy his patron’s sweet cravings.

All the locals who enter his shop are immediately drawn to Chuuya’s charm and delicious baked goods. They compliment his artistry and use of chocolate and fruits to enhance flavors.

Though, they tell him he should move his beautiful shop because of the ugly ass building across from his potentially scaring customers away. The building looked hollow and devoid of life with its chipped grey paint and haunting ‘for lease’ sign displayed on its window. Chuuya makes note of it and thanks his patrons for their feedback.

And then, one day, the ‘for lease’ sign on the building across from him was gone. Over the next few days, Chuuya notices workers coming in and out of the building to give it a facelift, wondering what type of shop it will become. The grey paint on the building turned into a muted yellow, and the window borders were accented by swirling vinyl patterns of lush vines in the shapes of hearts. He thought it looked nice… or at least, nicer than the run down crap it used to be. He makes a mental note to thank his neighbor when the shop opens for upgrading the eyesore.

Until one beautiful sunny morning, Chuuya walks to work and finds a handsome brunette holding a bouquet in his hands, looking up at the newly renovated building, deep in thought. He seemed to be mumbling to himself, a hand on his chin. Upon further inspection, Chuuya spotted a van behind him with its trunk popped open to reveal buckets of flowers - roses, daffodils, tulips, daisies - flowers of every kind in bloom and filling his senses.

The floral scent overwhelmed him so much that he almost didn't realize he had stopped walking, his nose twitching, and finally, he sneezed. Gosh darn pollen.

The brunette breaks from his mumbling spell and turns to Chuuya.

When their gazes lock, Chuuya can feel his cheeks warm. The brunette was a lot more handsome than he thought… and the smile he gave Chuuya only stirred butterflies in his stomach. Is this what people call love at first sight? ‘Shit! He’s coming this way.’

Chuuya clears his throat and immediately begins to look for his keys to unlock his shop pretending like he wasn’t just gawking at a handsome man across the street. Was he running away? It sure kind of felt that way by the way his hands kept fumbling his keys as if purposely stretching time for him on this particular morning. Chuuya curses under his breath with a defeated groan until he feels a hand land on his shoulder.

Chuuya jumps from the touch; a tint of red highlighting his cheeks. He turns to face the man who towers over him, still clutching a bouquet in his arms with a grin on his face as if reading every thought crossing Chuuya’s mind.

Who are they? What do they want? Am I being robbed? Should I call for help? If he goes out, would he regret it under the hands of this handsome thief? Too many questions and too many scenarios run through his head. Maybe he should be more direct.

“May I help you?” Chuuya finally asks, his hands learning to properly hold his keys without looking like a clown. He shifts his pose to cross his arms over his chest, eyeing for any sign of potential thievery. He’ll kick some ass if he has to.

“Yes, actually. Are you Chuuya Nakahara?” asks the brunette, lifting his hand from his shoulder to twirl a strand of Chuuya’s hair away from his face. Chuuya immediately grabs his wrist and pulls away.

“Who’s asking?” Chuuya glares at the guy. Man, he was pretty but daft to think he could just creep up on Chuuya and start petting him.

“Why, your new neighbor of course!” The guy pays no mind to Chuuya’s glare. Instead, he lifts the bouquet adorned with red camellias, peach peonies, and white with salmon tint daffodils.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet as the name, Chuuya Nakahara.”

Chuuya is stunned silent, blushing furiously as the handsome man hands him the bouquet while mumbling to himself again, criticizing his work, “I should have added an orange flower for your hair or a blue for your eyes. Now it all just feels wrong.”

“I didn't see any blue flowers in your van? Wait a minute, you haven’t even told me your name yet or why you know mine!”

The taller man laughs, his head tilted back as if his name was the funniest thing in the world. He leans into Chuuya’s personal space, his hands slipping into his coat pockets and with dazzling smile, he says, “Dazai. Dazai Osamu.”

Chuuya’s throat runs dry. He was starting to feel parched, as if he had just run a marathon with no water for miles. The only thing he's capable of is repeating Dazai’s name as if engraving it upon his lips.

Dazai nods his head and steps away, distancing himself from Chuuya. His gaze becomes soft, and with another twirl of Chuuya’s curls, he says, “I’ll come back with a better one next time, Chuuya. I’ll see you around.”

Chuuya finds himself mindlessly nodding like it is normal to do with someone they have just met on an average Tuesday. An unknown feeling bloomed around him, and he knew it wasn't because of the flowers.

After they part ways, Dazai flashes through his mind during breaks, lunch, and baking sessions. Honestly, the brunette made quite the impression on him, and he blushed every time he glanced at the bouquet. He put them in a porcelain vase next to his cash register so he could see their beauty in full bloom. His patrons teased him about the beautiful flowers that sat beautifully in his shop. They added a floral necessity to the scent of sugar, chocolate, and cinnamon in the air.

Maybe he’ll consider asking for the florist's number and sending a box of his best pastries as a ‘thank you’ for the bouquet. Perhaps he’ll ask for a date or two, and finally find out how the smug bastard knew his name. It’ll make a great conversation starter for the next time they meet.

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