#abstract paintings of women's faces

[zoecsarts]

‘ blue ‘

[tiffanydaleo]

Rusty Rose

Rusty Rose by Tiffany Arp Daleo

11″ x 14″ Mixed media collage on paper I’ve uploaded Rusty Rose to my Fine Art America Shop, you can browse the home accessories and prints featuring this design here! Instagram Facebook Pinterest Tumblr Twitter YouTube Link

[expatesque]

Apartment inspiration has come to me. I bought this insane 1930's swan table. I'm getting a deeply impractical sofa with no arms and a black rattan daybed to go under the window. I'm inspired by my favorite Thorne Room at the Art Institute of Chicago -- romantic and feminine but clean.

[thejasonramos]

Eye to Eye

[daydreams-after-dark]

Blindfolds | Chan x Reader x mystery man (Minho)

chan x fem reader x minho.

Chan helps you fulfil your fantasy of having a "stranger" sleep with you

Word count: I think about 3k?

MDNI . Content warning below.

————- WARNINGS: unsafe sex, threesome, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal fingering, blowjob, orgasm, slight choking, cum eating, mystery sex, blindfold—————-

You walk down the dimly lit hallway towards one of the unused bedrooms in the holiday house you and your friends were staying at. You and your best friend, Chan decided the scenario will take place in a space that no one is using, to really maximize the mysteriousness of it the whole thing.

Butterflies are going crazy in your stomach, and you tug your satin robe tighter around your waist to try to settle them down. You feel rather sexy and feminine in the robe, the cream floral print against a gold background makes you feel like a queen.

You approach the designated door and knock.

“Come in.” Chan's voice calls from the inside. You swallow hard and push open the door.

You're immediately taken aback. The room is stunning. The decor is dark and moody, with the walls painted a dark grey blue, and the furniture looks as though it’s antique. Paintings of abstract naked women have been hung around the room.

There are various stained-glass lamps, emanating a seductive glow, and there is music playing low in the background. It sounds like French music. A woman’s voice seductively fills the room.

Then there’s the bed. Huge, King sized, so plush and high set. Chan is laying propped up against the dark timber headboard, he almost looks lost leaning amongst the generous number of over sized plush pillows. He’s wearing black tracksuit pants and a muscle tee. It looks out of place in such a sensually styled room.

“What do you think?” Chan gestures around the room.

“Th- this,” you stammer. “It’s amazing Chan.” You move towards the bed, stretching out your hand to touch the dark green quilt. It’s luxurious on your fingertips as you run your hand along the fabric and move closer to the head of the bed. The only thought going through your head is: Someone’s going to fuck you on this.

You perch on the side of the bed facing away from Chan, your feet barely reaching the floor. That's when you notice the black blindfold laid out neatly on the bedside table. Next to it is a bottle of coconut oil.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay?” Chan reaches out to touch your hand that’s resting beside you on the bed.

You inhale deeply and then slowly release the breath. How are you feeling?  It’s a mixture of feelings really. You're so very nervous. That you already know. But, you're also… excited. The idea of what’s about to happen is truly thrilling to you.

You can't believe your best friend Chan agreed to help you fulfil this fantasy. Of being blindfolded and fucked by a mystery person.

Chan smiles “We gotta get you ready!” He practically jumps off the bed and moves around to the side of the bed, taking your hand and helping you slide off the bed.

You've already discussed the details of how you're going to do this, covering safe words and safe gestures, what positions we are going to be in. These had been relayed to the mystery person who was going to be participating. The man coming to fuck you wouldn't be a stranger though. It was one of seven other men, that Chan knows extremely well. You've met them all too, and to be fair, you'd be thrilled to have any of them fuck you.

You stand in front of Chan facing away from him. There is tension in the air and your breath feels wobbly. He steps closer to you, and you can feel his breath on your neck and a pang in your chest. You'd really wish he'd kiss you. Chan doesn't know how much you actually want him. But he's never shown any signs of wanting you as more than a friend. He slowly reaches around, careful not to touch you too much, you wish he would, and pulls at your robe’s rope-tie.

It comes loose easily allowing your robe to fall open. Chan delicately pulls your robe off your shoulders letting it drop to the floor. You hadn’t put any underwear on, and now you're standing completely naked in front of Chan. And only Chan.

It feels extremely intimate and you're feeling self conscious. He hasn’t been this close to your naked body before. Goosebumps form on your skin. It isn’t cold in the room. Chan had thought of that too and had made the room a comfortable temperature. He’s so fucking considerate. You smile to myself.

You close your eyes and compose yourself. Fuck. You're really doing this.

Chan takes your hand again and grabs the blindfold in the other. He steadies you as you climb onto the bed where he resumes the position of laying down and propped up against a pillow and headboard. He directs you to sit between his legs facing away from him, and carefully he places the blindfold over your eyes and securing it at the back of your head. Your senses immediately heighten. This feels so erotic.

“Lean back on me.” He whispers as he guides you to lean back onto his fully clothed body. You can feel his hard, toned muscles flexing underneath you and his breathing is strained. Is he nervous? You can feel an erection beginning to dig into your back. Is this turning him on?

You imagine what this must look like, your exposed, naked body with Chan’s strong legs on either side of yours. You don’t know what to do with your hands so you rest them on your stomach. You don’t know where Chan’s arms and hands are, only that they aren’t touching you. You wish he’d wraps his arms around you. You wish he’d caress your body.

For a moment you try to imagine what it would be like if he did touch you. The sensation of him cupping your breasts, pinching a nipple, sliding his hands over your body. Then you remember why you're here, for a mystery fuck. A small moan escapes you. Did he hear you?

Chan nuzzles his face into your neck, resting his chin on your left shoulder. He's so close. “You already imagining a stranger inside you, hmm?” he whispers. You whimper. His voice turns you on beyond belief.

You don’t have chance to answer because there is a knock on the door. You suck in a breath. This is actually happening.

“Come in.” Chan calls out. You hear the door creak open and then close.

“Are you ready to begin?” whispers Chan in your ear.

“Mmm hmm, yes.” you reply.

“Good, because I think you are going to really enjoy this.”

He takes hold of your hands and places them on the bed either side of your body, using his hands to hold them down out of the way so you can’t go ahead and touch your anonymous lover. You had requested this. It makes you feel like you're being forcefully held in place, although you know you can change things if you want.

You feel the mattress dip slightly. Someone is climbing onto the bed near your feet. Who can it be? Is it Changbin? Or could it be Minho? Felix? Could it be Jisung?

A hand touches your ankle. You shudder, then very slowly and delicately it makes it way up to the side of your knee. Their touch is light and feathery. You swallow.

Then you feel a mouth, a moist, plush mouth just above your knee. You think he is about to take the kisses up your leg, but instead takes his kisses back down, making his way down to your ankle. It feels so sensual. Who do these lips belong to?

Chan releases your arms for just a moment so he can lift your legs over each of his legs, which are spread out wide on the bed. Then he goes back to gently pinning your hands to the mattress.

You sense the other man moving closer and a mouth reappears on your skin. This time it’s your inner right thigh. He drags his tongue from inside your leg near your knee all the way up your inner thigh, sending tingles through your body, but he stops before he gets anywhere near your pussy. He does this again, and then mirrors the action with your other leg.

His hands try to push your legs a little wider and Chan assists by moving his own legs wider again, forcing your legs to part just a little more. You're ready, wide open for whatever you're about to receive.

The touching stops, but you can feel him kneeling in front of you. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly in anticipation.

You're pleasantly startled when you feel a warm liquid landing on your breasts. The oil. Chan must have warmed it up somehow in preparation. You moan at the sensation of the oil dripping down around and between your breasts. You suck your breath between your teeth when you feel a pair of hands cupping your breasts, then squeezing and massaging the flesh in slow, but firm circles.

His hands slide easily over your oiled skin, and you squeal slightly when he squeezes your nipples. As the pinches and flicks become more aggressive you can’t help but arch your back and rock your hips at the sensation.

Chan shushes you. “We need to stay still and take it, remember what we agreed to?” That’s right, part of this was you needed to stay as still as possible, it was all part of being restrained. You compose yourself and stop moving. It’s so difficult but you're determined to play the part properly.

“Good girl.” Chan growls low. Good girl? You love those words.

More warm oil is applied to your stomach. There is so much that it coats your entire abdomen and runs down towards your core, and trickles down where your pussy lips meet. You feel bad for the bedding, it’s probably going to be a mess.

It feels so fucking sexy with your body being this slick and slippery. You feel like a goddess being worshipped and adored, yet at the same time you feel like a dirty whore who doesn’t care who fucks her.

You wait for the hands to return to your body, anticipating them all over your stomach and you moan and pant with the need to be touched now. You're desperate and on the verge of begging.

“Pl-please… please touch me.” you say.

“He wants you to call him ‘Sir’”, Chan whispers.

“Please touch me again… Sir.” you pant.

You let out a long, low moan as he pours the oil at the top of your pussy. It runs down through your lips and onto your asshole. You can’t help but try to wriggle with pleasure and frustration. Chan squeezes your hand, a reminder that you need to stay still. You don’t know where his hands will land next and the anticipation is pure agony.

The stranger lifts your legs up bending them so your knees are up near your chest. Chan removes one of his hands from yours to grip under your knee to help pin it against your chest, whilst the other man pins your right leg.

You feel the heel of a hand press firmly against your clit and begin to move in circular motions, much like they did with your breasts. It provides a grinding sensation that shoots pleasure deep inside of your abdomen.

“Fuck that feels so good… Sir.” you whimper as his hand swirls and presses on you for what feel like and eternity.

He then drags two fingers beginning at your clit all the way down to your asshole, dragging the oil and your slickness all the way down. Your cunt clenches as his fingers pass by the entrance, not stopping to explore. He presses a finger to your rim.

“Aaaah!!” you gasp at the sensation of the pressure.

He massages his finger against you, and you know you're going to open up easily for him. You are so aroused and so slick from yourself and the oil that it doesn’t take much for the tip of his finger to breech the entrance. You grip the sheets with your hands and pant shallow breaths as his finger slips in deeper, deeper, all the way in.

“You’re being so good for him.” Chan’s words of praise in your ear make you melt around the stranger’s finger and you're ready for more.

“Sir… please.. I need… can you put in another finger?”

He slowly removes his finger and you feel two fingers at your rim now. He pushes them in, going ever so slowly. It’s a stretch but he’s moving slowly enough that you're adjusting along the way, making the stretch feel achingly good. He must be experienced at this sort of thing. He knows exactly what to do.

You bring your left arm up and wrap it around Chan’s neck, as whispers words of encouragement in your ear.

The volume of your moans and whimpers grow so loud now that it’s drowning out the sound of the French woman’s singing. The man moves his fingers in and and out of your ass maintaining a relentlessly slow pace. The burning sensation with every drag of his fingers makes you cry out.

“Faster… harder… Sir I need… more.”

He quickly builds up the pace. Chan releases your hand to bring his hand to your neck, wrapping it around your throat and squeezing slightly but not enough to cut off air. Then he brings his thumb up to your lips. You open your mouth allowing him to slip his thumb inside. You pull at the hair on the back of his head and he pushes his thumb further into your mouth. The other man continues to fuck your ass with his fingers.

A mouth lands on your pussy. His tongue swirls around and through your lips. The tip of his tongue slides inside of you. Chan starts to fuck your mouth with his thumb, pushing it deep into your mouth roughly. You want him to ruin you.

You're practically screaming from the glorious agony, your senses are on overload.

Chan removes his thumb. “Is this okay?” he checks in with you.

“Yes… But… I want his cock now.”

“Ahhh yes, I bet you do. Let’s sort you out, yeah?”

The fingers inside your ass are removed and you feel the man shift his position.

His thighs press against the underside of yours. Then… you feel the tip of a cock. He pushes it against your opening, making you let out a pathetic whine. Your body is begging for him to push his cock in.

But he doesn't push it in. Moments pass and still nothing happens. What is happening? A sense of panic makes it’s way into your body. Has he changed his mind?

“He wants to know if we can take the blindfold off?” Chan asks.

You pause. He hasn’t changed his mind. You quickly decide what you want to do. Whoever it is wants you to be right there with him, making this moment together. Not him fucking you, but you fucking each other.

You bite your bottom lip. “Okay.” you say shakily. Your breath quickens at the thought of coming face to face with the man who has been pleasuring you so amazingly.

Chan takes over holding your right leg up and two hands come to rest on the sides of your blindfold, the tip of his cock slips into you slightly as he leans in towards you, giving you a tease of what’s to come. You can’t wait until he is all the way inside.

Your blindfold slides off but your vision is slightly blurry. You blink to adjust your eyes and the man before you becomes clear.

Minho.

He is looking at you expectantly, nervously, like you might run away at the sight of him.

You reach up and cup his face. His cheeks are flushed and lips pink and swollen. He isn’t even being the one fucked right now but he looks like he is.

“Hey.” you say with a dazed smile.

“Hey.” He replies. “Is this okay…do you want to keep…”

You wrap an arm around his waist and pull him down on top of you. His hands reach around to your ass and he lifts your hips up and pushes himself all the way inside of you.

Minho is finally free to make noises now and he makes long low moans as he rocks his hips into you. He looks down to where you're joined to watch his cock glide in and out.

You still have one arm wrapped around Chan’s neck, your other explores Minho’s body. His toned body undulates like some sort of exotic python. He’s even more skilled with his cock than with those magic fingers. He brings his mouth down onto yours mirroring his tongue with his thrusts. A skilled, diligent lover.

You melt together as his long, languid thrusts become deeper and you’re being pressed into Chan’s hard cock.

Without warning, Minho pulls out and flips you over in one fluid move so that you’re on all fours.

You look to the head of the bed and see Chan’s hard erection inside his sweat pants. You’re about to reach for it when you’re dragged down the bed by Minho. You look into Chan’s eyes longingly as you’re being pulled out of reach and he just stares back at you. You want to please him so badly.

Minho pushes his cock back inside of you making you cry out. Pleasure washes over you, mixing with the angst of yearning for Chan. He slides his thumb over your asshole and presses it inside. “Ahhh.. Yes, Minho.” You cry, squeezing your eyes tight.

He pushes it in all the way and rests his palm and fingers on your tail bone. His grip is perfect to rock you on and off his cock. You love feeling so filled up. You’re so close now.

Chan looks fucked out, like he’s on another planet. His engorged, swollen red cock is now out of his pants and in his hand, but he’s not doing anything with it. He’s just holding it absentmindedly. His eyes glazed over as he stares at you.

Minho must notice him too. “Kitten?” he pants. “Do you want to help Chan out? Make him come?”

You look at Chan eagerly. You’re practically salivating.

“Come over here Chan. It’s okay.” Minho encourages Chan over but he doesn’t move. “Before I cum.” He adds, hoping that will spur him on.

Chan, as if possessed, gets up onto his knees and crawls his way towards you. Once he is close enough he offers you the head of his cock and you take hold of it with one hand and guide him into your mouth. Chan whimpers at the touch. You lick your tongue along his shaft and over the tip before taking him deep into your mouth.

“Oh fuck!” Chan whines high pitched.

“Don’t use your hands. Make him work for it.” Minho growls.

You do as you’re told and release your grip but keeping him in your mouth.

Something in Chan snaps. He grabs the back of your head and starts plunging his cock into your mouth relentlessly. He tangles his fingers in your hair as he fucks your face without restraint. It makes you gag. It’s hard to take him and your eyes water.

You look up at him, he’s staring at you while his cock thrusts into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you almost choke. Seeing Chan using you like this while Minho pounds into you from behind, is all too much.

You cry out around Chan’s cock as your legs shake and your cunt clenches around Minho. Your arms and legs buckle underneath you but Minho is there to hold you steady. He wraps an arm underneath you, keeping you in position.

Minho suddenly pulls out, painting your back in his cum with a long moan.

Chan growls and moans and pulls his cock out to massage his release into your waiting mouth and tongue. There is so much, coating your tongue and dribbling down your chin. He leans back onto his heels, shaking as he watches you swallow everything in your mouth, and then use your fingers to scoop the remaining cum on your chin and licking your fingers clean. He looks horrified and startled. Oh shit, have you done something wrong?

Chan quickly gets off the bed and pulls up his trackpants. “Fuck. I am so sorry.” He is so flustered.

“I’ll get the towels.” Minho announces and hops off the bed.

“Chan?” You whimper. He doesn’t seem to hear you. He’s is freaking out. “Chan!” You repeat, “I need you to hold me.”

Chan looks down at you, as though he is scared. What is going through his mind? Cautiously, he edges closer to the bed and sits beside you. You’re still in an all fours position waiting to have your back wiped clean, but you kneel up to let Chan wrap his arms around you. You nuzzle into his chest. Why is he so upset with you?

You feel him relax against you and he strokes your hair. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.” He whispers over and over. You don’t understand. You fucking loved that he did that to you. You’ve wanted it for so long.

“Oh Channie!” You cry. “I fucking want you, you idiot!”

Chan looks at you warily. “Really?”

You reach up and cup his cheek. “Yes.” You whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips. He closes the gap capturing you in a heated kiss. “Stay with me tonight, Chan.”

“Of course, baby girl. Of course."

Minho returned, cleaned you up and helped you and Chan hop into bed.

"I'm glad you two have finally got your act together." he said laughing as he said goodnight and left you and Chan to snuggle together.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itshannjisung @kangnina @weareapackofstrays

[captainsophiestark]

More Than Just A Pretty Face

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join MyTaglist!

Written for my Year of Olympians, part of a bigger challenge being run by @yearofcreation2023​ which features a ton of awesome creators and runs all year! Go check it out if you haven’t already!

Fandom: Bridgerton

Prompt: Hera; The Queen, Women, Family

Summary: Benedict runs into a woman who might just be the love of his life at a friend's underground artist party, but things might get complicated outside the walls of the artist's haven and in plain sight of the rest of the world.

Word Count: 3,745

Category: Fluff, little bit of angst maybe? Not *really*...

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Benedict smiled to himself as he stumbled down the dimly lit hallway, people crowding in on either side of him. He was absolutely sober as far as substances went, but drunk and giddy on the feeling of being surrounded by so many artists, living lives happily as themselves and nothing more. No expectations of families or the Ton could reach them here, and it was a thrill like none other to join them any night he could.

After making a quick pit stop to grab himself a drink (he didn’t want to spend the night completely sober, after all), he continued to wander the hallways, looking for a place to pick up a paintbrush. This was one of the few locations he felt completely free to do so, with no outside pressures to weigh on him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take advantage of it.

He swung through the doorway of a salon towards the back of the house and, as he’d hoped, found a circle of canvases around a few models in the middle. He started for an open canvas, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what one of the other artists had painted on theirs.

The light and colors seemed to jump off the canvas, representing the subjects in a more abstract and yet equally beautiful way. The brushstrokes and blending combined into a unique style, truly unlike anything he’d ever seen before.

“This is… incredible,” he breathed, having drifted unconsciously over to stand beside the artist, getting a better look at the canvas in the process. He blinked a few times, trying to shake the stupor, then turned to face the person responsible for the masterpiece before him.

His breath caught in his throat as he made eye contact with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Cat got your tongue?” asked the woman with a raised eyebrow. She surveyed him critically, not looking entirely friendly, and his heart stuttered a little in his chest.

“I… I’m sorry,” he said. Was he stammering? He hadn’t been nervous around a girl since the time when Anthony had been his only sibling!

“What do you want?” she asked, continuing to stare him down mercilessly. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, trying to gather himself as he looked between her and her artwork.

"I’m terribly sorry to bother you,” he said, clearing his throat and gaining just a hair of his regular confidence back. “I just couldn’t stop myself from coming over when I saw this masterpiece.”

She turned to him with a scowl, but it quickly changed to a look of surprise when she found him referencing her painting.

“You came over here because you liked… my painting?” she asked, her tone an equal mix of suspicion and pleasant surprise. Benedict raised an eyebrow and gave her a lopsided smile.

“Well what else?” he asked, a slight teasing tone to his voice.

The woman glanced down, unable to completely hide a smile that broke onto her face before she looked back at him. “I… historically, when strange men approach me, it’s nothing to do with my skills or who I am as a person.”

Benedict shot her a roguish smile, all of his normal comfort and confidence finally returned. “Fortunately for you I suppose, even the most beautiful woman in all of existence can’t quite outshine this incredible painting.”

She stared at him, her eyes dancing with light and mischief as a smile again tugged at her lips. Despite her best efforts, she was clearly fighting a losing battle to remain stoic and critical.

“The most beautiful woman in all of existence?” she challenged, humor in her tone.

“I’d certainly say so,” he said, beaming at her and feeling a swell of pride at how flustered she seemed to become. “I’d have to go sing the news of who I’d just found to strangers in the streets, but it’s been overshadowed by the news of having found the most wonderful painting in the whole of existence.”

She laughed, and the sound sent jolts of electricity racing through every inch of his body. They shared a smile, and any doubts Benedict might have had about the truthfulness of his statements evaporated. They were facts, and nobody could change his mind.

“Well come on then, you flatterer,” she teased, patting the seat next to her. “If you’re here it means you’re an artist too, so let’s see what you’ve got other than a prolific affinity for flattery.”

He beamed at her as he took the seat next to her, securing a paintbrush and artist’s palette of his own.

“I can’t promise I’ll live up to anything like what you’ve painted, but I’ll certainly do my best.”

She shrugged. “Art is subjective. Anyone who tries to make objective value statements is a fool.”

He laughed, feeling lighter than he had in ages.

“I suppose you’re right.”

The pair spent the rest of the night and even the first few hours of the morning painting, laughing, and talking together side by side, making art and more importantly enjoying the creative space and their time with each other. Despite his initial moment of being tongue-tied, Benedict couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to this woman, like they’d known each other for ages and not just a few hours. He knew his brothers would mock him, but with each passing second he could feel himself falling deeper and deeper in love.

When the time came to say goodnight and for each of them to go their separate ways, his heart broke a little in his chest. Still, he said goodbye all the same, both of them promising to meet again the next time one of these gatherings happened. Benedict resolved with his entire being to make it happen, no matter what, and even that was barely enough to actually get him out the door.

For the next week, Benedict found himself completely distracted by thoughts of the mystery woman he’d fallen in love with in a matter of hours. He hardly thought of anything else, and his head was even more in the clouds than usual, much to the annoyance of his siblings. Anthony finally managed to snap him out of his daydreaming long enough to drag him to a long-awaited ball that had been the talk of the Ton for quite some time, although Benedict had done his best to avoid the commitment.

“The Queen herself is going to be there, along with plenty of high-ranking, eligible young women who only come out for the absolute highest society events,” lectured Anthony as the Bridgerton carriage approached Lady Danbury’s house, where the ball was to be hosted. Benedict sighed and stared out the window; he’d already heard this speech a thousand times. “Now that Kate and I are married, it’s your turn to start looking for a wife.”

Benedict rolled his eyes, knowing just how much it would irritate his brother.

“Suppose I want to die a male spinster,” he said, deciding to have some fun bothering Anthony. Anthony, as predicted, glared and sighed heavily through his nose, which immediately lifted Benedict’s spirits. He gave his brother a mischievous grin, and then it was Anthony’s turn to roll his eyes. Benedict’s fun was cut short, however, when the carriage at last arrived to the ball. Now he’d have to suffer through endless pleasantries and vicious Mamas trying to set their daughters up with him for the evening, with no support from his brother.

As predicted, the start of the night was incredibly boring. Benedict grabbed a drink as soon as he was in the door, and spent the next hour or so ducking every social encounter he could. He hovered on the edge of the room with Colin and Eloise, until finally, Anthony tracked him down and dragged him by the elbow back into the main room.

“The Queen just came out with her daughter,” Anthony hissed into his ear as they moved through the crowd. “You need to at least make an introduction.”

“Anthony, I don’t even know where to begin explaining to you how much I do not want to court the Queen’s daughter-”

Benedict had been in the middle of hissing back a terse response to his brother when he caught sight of the woman Anthony kept shoving him towards. Y/N, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and the best artist he’d ever met, stood next to the Queen in an absolutely magnificent dress, chatting politely with a suitor she didn’t appear to have much interest in. His heart stopped dead in his chest and his legs almost gave out under him. Anthony, unaware that Benedict’s world had suddenly stopped spinning, continued to push him over, until Benedict fell forward, almost knocking straight into the woman he’d spent every spare moment and then some thinking about.

She turned to him in surprise, her face lighting up for a brief second at the sight of him before her courtier’s mask quickly dropped back into place. Even that brief crack in the polite, vague interest was enough to make Benedict’s heart stutter in his chest. He just kept staring at her, still a little dumbstruck, until he heard someone clear their throat from his right.

“Mr. Bridgerton.” He turned to find the Queen herself staring down at him with raised eyebrows. He quickly righted himself and tried to regain his composure. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Y/N disguising a laugh as a cough, and had to resist grinning and shaking his head.

“Your Majesty,” he said instead, dropping into as low a bow he could. He stayed down for longer than usual, and when he finally straightened, the Queen looked grudgingly pleased.

“I assume you’re also here to speak to my daughter, now that you’ve paid your respects, like every other unwed man in this room?” she asked, a slight tone of amusement to her voice (much to Benedict’s relief).

“I…” he glaned at Y/N, slightly unsure of himself, but when he found her smiling back at him that confidence immediately returned. He turned back to the Queen, back straight and a smile on his face. “Yes, M’am. I’d love the chance to speak to her, if you’d allow me and if she’d have me.”

The Queen gave him the smallest smile of approval, then turned to her daughter.

“Well, Y/N? What do you say?”

Y/N smiled slightly at Benedict, then sighed dramatically and flapped her fan around before dropping it back at her side.

“I suppose,” she said, flailing dramatically a bit more before taking his arm with a smile. “Mr. Bridgerton, shall we?”

Benedict beamed back at her, his whole body feeling like it was about to combust in the best way possible. They strolled off through the room, walking rather quickly towards the exit to the garden, where they might actually get a bit of privacy. Anthony beamed approvingly at Benedict as they went, and Benedict made sure to shoot him a glare in response.

Every man in the crowd they passed gave Benedict a look to put his pointed scowl towards Anthony to shame, jealous venom rippling off every one of them. Benedict completely ignored them all. He was in heaven, and no one could ruin it if they tried.

Quickly, the fresh air of the garden washed over Benedict, and he took a deep breath in before letting out a contented sigh. He slowed his pace, Y/N slowing to match him as they transitioned into a relaxing stroll.

Once they were far enough away from the ballroom, definitely out of earshot of any nosy, problematic courtiers, Benedict turned to Y/N with an arched eyebrow.

“The Queen’s daughter?” he asked. She turned to him, a slightly accusatory look on her own face.

“Says a Bridgerton son, a member of one of the most prestigious, talked-about families in the Ton.”

“First of all, you and I both know talked-about often does not equal prestigious,” he said. Memories of everything to do with Daphne and Anthony as they went through the creation of their marriages flashed through his head. What nightmares. Entertaining, but nightmares. He shook it off, then continued, “And second, being the second son of a notable family is distinctly different than being in line for the throne, as well as the most sought-after woman in all of England.”

She gave him a small smile, the first he’d seen from her that was tinged with sadness, none of the light or attitude he’d come to enjoy seeing from her to be found.

“Surely you can see why I wanted to escape it all for a bit, then. Most wanted woman for my position and the power I offer a husband, and maybe my looks. Nothing else. Nothing of substance.”

Benedict felt as if an arrow had been shot straight through his heart. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Y/N, who came to a stop a few steps later to stare back at him curiously.

“Have you truly been made to feel this way?” he breathed, his stare never leaving her face. He remembered her mentioning something of the sort when they'd first met, but not with so grave a tone. She hesitated, giving him a scrutinizing look similar to that one a week ago before she'd realized his more innocent and sincere intentions, then finally sighed, apparently deciding to give him her trust for a second time.

“It’s more than being made to feel that way, Benedict,” she said softly. “I can see it and know it in every interaction I have with suitors who approach me.”

“Y/N…” Benedict took a step forward and reached for her hands, his heart squeezing at her words, but then thought better of himself and stepped back. He took a deep breath, then met her eyes, doing his best to convey nothing but absolute sincerity. “I almost didn’t come to this little party tonight, for the same reasons. My brother finally forced me to come, and now I’m very grateful he did, although I’d never tell him that.”

Benedict shook his head, momentarily distracted by the idea of how obnoxiously smug Anthony would be if ever told he was right, then managed to refocus on Y/N and the issue at hand.

“What I’m trying to say is… every time I come to one of these things, especially now that Anthony is married, I have nothing but piranhas and sharks circling me, trying to convince me to marry them or their daughters. I have money, and I’m the next closest thing to the head of the Bridgerton family, and that’s all anyone ever seems to care about.

“I can’t pretend to understand exactly what it’s been like for you, since I have quite a bit more autonomy than you, both as a man and as a second son. But I can imagine what you mean when you say you’re usually looked at for superficial traits and what someone stands to gain from marrying you, and nothing else. And if I’ve ever played a part in making you feel that way, then I am truly, deeply sorry. You deserve far more than that.”

Benedict watched Y/N, his heart absolutely hammering in his chest. He wasn’t even sure what he was hoping for, but her reaction felt incredibly important to him all the same. She glanced down, lips pursed, then met his eyes again with a small smile and that twinkle in her eyes that he’d come to love so much. He could’ve collapsed on the spot from relief and happiness.

��I can happily tell you, Benedict, that you’re the first man I’ve met in a long, long while who doesn’t make me feel that way, and never did. So… thank you, for that.”

He beamed back at her, his heart soaring and making him feel as though he was floating.

“Well, I’m very glad to hear it. Perhaps, if you’re interested… I could do more of that?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, a small smile playing on her lips as she took a few steps closer to him.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

He grinned, leaning in closer to her. His whole body burned, and he thought he could see a bit of the same excitement on her face.

“Well, as much of an honor as it would be for me to be allowed to court you the traditional way, it can be a bit… boring. As two fantastic and creative artists, we should be able to do a bit better than that, don’t you think?”

Her smile took on a bit of a giddy quality as she continued to look at him, and Benedict felt himself getting sucked into the same energy, riding high as he continued.

“What say you we have another artists’ rendezvous next weekend, at that same mutual friend’s house? We can find an empty room—surely there will be one in the entire house—and then draw, paint, and talk to our heart’s content. You can tell me about your favorite artists and things to do when no one else is forcing you into courtly activities, and I’ll tell you my favorite ways to upset my siblings and about the time my brothers and I almost stole the neighbor’s dog thanks to a game of dares that got wildly out of control.”

“I would like that very much,” she said, beaming back at Benedict. He swore her light put the shine of the sun to shame, and the warmth emanating from her made him completely forget the cold of the night air in the garden where they spoke. “But I have to ask… what shall we do in the meantime? After all, next weekend is an awful while to wait.”

He could’ve done cartwheels right then and there. Instead, however, he controlled himself enough to smile back at her and speak.

“Well… what would you like to do?”

She grinned, then glanced around their surroundings. Once she seemed satisfied that no prying eyes were watching too closely, she grabbed his hand and pulled her to him, linking her arm through his to return to the way they’d been walking before.

“This is going to be quite forward of me,” she warned, smiling all the same as they resumed their turn about the garden. Towards the far end, they turned back before getting improperly out of sight of any other people, making a slow, steady return towards the party they’d so badly needed an escape from.

“I’d expect nothing else from such a bold, strong woman such as yourself.”

“Well… what if, on top of our unusual form of courting that you so brilliantly suggested… we did the normal, proper society courting as well?”

Fireworks exploded in Benedict’s chest, but he did his best to tamp them down and sound somewhat put together when he responded.

“Do you mean regular courting as in… publicly spending time with each other, after I call on you to make clear my intentions to get to know you and, perhaps eventually… propose?”

Now she seemed to be the nervous one, fidgeting a bit as they got closer and closer to returning to the party. Benedict watched her with a smile, enjoying this brief role reversal.

“Well, I mean, that is… if you’d be interested in that. Of course there’s absolutely no pressure, I wouldn’t want to make you feel like you had to-“

Benedict came to a stop again, taking Y/N’s hands and pulling her to a gentle stop with him. They were only a few steps from the doors of the ballroom now, in clear eyesight of many guests of the party as Benedict smiled lovingly at this wonder of a woman he’d somehow lucked into meeting.

“Y/N… I can think of no greater honor than being allowed to court you publicly, perhaps with the intention to propose. Despite the fact that I will hear endlessly about it from my brother, I am quite confident you would be worth it.”

Y/N beamed back at him, joy clearly written all over her face. The two shared the purest, happiest smiles and held each others’ stares for a few more beats, then finally, Y/N cleared her throat and moved to take Benedict’s arm again.

“Of course, any potential proposal would hinge on our non-traditional method of courting going well,” she said as the two of them at last headed back towards the ballroom.

“Obviously,” Benedict agreed, ignoring the jealous looks of the other suitors around him and the smug expression he could see on his brother’s face even from across the room. “I could never shackle myself to someone without knowing she would be more than a pretty face to stand next to me, with whom I’d have nothing in common.”

He shot Y/N a mischievous sideways look and found her beaming back at him. Then, at the sight of Anthony quickly crossing the room, either to speak to him or to try to speak to Y/N (and either way ruining the moment), he spun to speak to Y/N again.

“So, in the name of proper courting… may I have this dance?”

“Of course you may,” she replied, a happy smile still on her face. He took her hands and they spun onto the dance floor together, then once they were chest to chest to begin the routine, she whispered so only he could hear, “And don’t think I didn’t realize you asked me to dance in order to avoid your brother.”

Benedict gave her a quick wink, then twirled her out from him in the opening moves of the dance. They were a bit sloppier than everyone else around them, which earned them both some disapproving looks from their family members, but neither of them cared.

They were both happy and having fun, and after spending so much of their time in court absolutely miserable, they deserved this. Although they couldn’t spend the entire night together, no matter how much they both wanted to, they took the moments they could and found solace in the fact that they’d be together again soon, and in a place where they’d be in private, enjoying each others’ company for hours with no interruptions. It was too early to declare it to anyone, his brother and Y/N included, but Benedict had fallen completely and totally in love, and he couldn’t wait to spend every possible second in his future with the woman he felt certain was his soulmate.

[sympyl]

Recently watched Abigail Thorn's new video, and a very specific part of the bit about plagiarism and men taking credit for the things that women have done really resonated with me. I am, of course, a woman, and I am involved in alot of male dominated communities, and in my time being in such communities I've realised that men don't even have to actively try and take credit for a woman's work for women to be erased from the story. As an example, anyone who has followed or looked at my blog at all knows that I paint alot of Warhammer miniatures, and I put alot of time, effort and skill into my hobby- collectively probably over a thousand hours assembling and painting models at this point, maybe drastically more. I often post photos of my work online- and, without exception, the people who comment on my photos just *assume* that I'm a man. I get comments all the time saying things like "Good job sir!!!" And "Fantastic work, man!!!!", and, while in some ways I at least appreciate the comment, the fact that my existence as a woman in the space is automatically erased from people's minds, and that it's instead attributed to some abstract "man" who doesn't even exist because I'm not male, fucking stings a little. And you can't even get out of this either- women who take photos of themselves with their models often get responses saying they're "doing it for clout" and are chided for using their gender to get fake reddit upvotes or whatever, and such comments often say "oh it would be fine if they just posted her models, let her models speak for themselves!" or whatever, completely ignoring the fact that they would just assume that a man painted it if her face wasn't showing. This effect is compounded if the woman posting photos with her models has like. Any boobs at all. Because of course.

Perhaps Warhammer (and other hobbies like it) is perceived as more male dominated than it actually is, simply because people just assume that the women who have always been here just don't exist.

[mlleclaudine]

Artist Paints Striking Portraits of Real Women of Color as Fearless Female Warriors

by Regina Sienra - My Modern Met, August 5, 2024

“Ebony Obsidian the Unbreakable”

Artist Tim Okamura first heard about Tomoe Gozen, a Onna-Bugeisha or “woman warrior” about 10 years ago, but the story stuck with him ever since. “I think the fact that the female samurai fought alongside men, had the same responsibilities and expectations resonated with me deeply,” he tells My Modern Met. In this figure, he found a creative engine, sparking a powerful series of paintings titled Onna-Bugeisha, where women of color are ready to take a stand and emerge victorious in a dystopian near future.

Okamura felt drawn to depict women from underrepresented communities both due to having grown up with a diverse group of friends and the lack of representation in portraits he saw in the galleries and museums he visited. “I felt called to consciously focus on creating work, specifically portraits based in an academic tradition, of people who were missing from the museums, people of color, whose stories deserved to be captured on canvas, with great care and reverence,” he says.

In his paintings, women don ornate kimonos and traditional garments, but also hold katanas with a defying look in their eyes. The highly realistic approach goes beyond Okamura's proficient use of light and shadow in their expression. He expertly depicts the veins and bruises on their arms, as well as the texture of natural hair. While hands have been a perennial challenge for painters, Okamura appears to depict them effortlessly, even reveling in painting them in different poses.

“The Northern Emissaries”

The artist shares that he has always loved the challenge of painting faces and putting human stories on canvas, which has in turn influenced his style. “Portraying someone in a way that both celebrates them as an individual and points to a larger metaphor for the human condition has always been important to me. Therefore I've always worked in the mode of realism. I think my technique has developed over time to be more impasto (thicker paint), textured, and with more push and pull on the paint surface, and with more exploration of abstraction, or micro-abstraction, in my backgrounds.”

The women depicted in his paintings are all real women he knows personally and commends for their positive energy. “At the risk of sounding cliché, seeing the inner light projecting outward as an important consideration when choosing my subjects, whether the painting is about them specifically, or whether they are playing a role, such as that of a female Samurai, as in the Onna-Bugeisha series,” Okamura says. “I feel very fortunate that I've found such great alignment with the spirit of the work, and the women who have participated in the process. Having an energetic connection I think is key to creating the best work possible.”

Aware of the threat women's rights are facing around the world, Okamura felt compelled to create this group of fearless heroes. “I believe the role of the artist is to open up avenues to alternate, constructive pathways and to establish new visions through elevated narratives,” he concludes. “I hope the Onna-Bugeisha series will inspire viewers to get unstuck from the muck and mire of discrimination and prejudice and can offer inspiration for a better future women warriors will play a key role in building.”

“Yaya the Demon Slayer”

“The Expectant Guard”

“The Fatal Crane”

“Lethal Hummingbird and Golden Fox”

“Luminescence”

“Conduit _ Conductor”

“Lighthouse Fire”

“Laws of Nature”

“Encouraging Words (Omoiyari)”

“Eventide (Song of Liberty)”

“Safe Space”

Tim Okamura: Website | Instagram

[formlines]

She Wears Red Lipstick

Francis Dick

from the website: “One day, I received an email from Andrea Walsh, now a Visual Anthropologist at the University of Victoria. I had not seen her since my retrospective exhibition at the Maltwood Gallery in 2000, for which she had written an essay on my work. We agreed to meet the following week: October 17, 2009. It was wonderful to reconnect.

I felt compelled to create a painting that represented Andrea. “She Wears Red Lipstick” was born – my first abstract painting. I was then inspired to create a second painting, “Haut Red”, and yet another, a triptych sold to Arctic Raven Gallery in Friday Harbour (brave soul!). “Witness” was next. I spent a year painting Andrea.  She continues to inspire me when I have a need to paint her, or what inspires her.”   – Francis Dick

Notes from DaVic Gallery:   Many paintings of women that I have seen the painter captures feminine beauty with admiration, and when I look at Francis paintings not only she captures the beauty of women with admiration but also with much love.  Andrea’s face forms in the upper right area with her nose, cheeks and luscious red lips.  Her hair curls behind into a full moon and a crescent moon above raven that sits on the left side.  Andrea’s neck line softly and delicately lines down to her bosom with her right breast forming yet another eye within an ovoid and her left shaping an F, D and A initials, Francis Dick and Andrea.

[nobrashfestivity]

Georgiana Houghton, Eye of the Lord, 1870.

Georgiana Houghton’s only major showing of her drawings in her lifetime was not a success. It was an elaborate affair at the New British Gallery in London organized at her own expense, but of the 155 pieces produced over a ten-year period, she sold only one. Nor was the critical reception particularly warm. According to a recent account, “most of the critics were surprised and alienated, dismissive, malicious, or amused”

Despite this disappointment, today there is a growing recognition that Houghton’s art is quite beautiful and worthy of our attention and that she and not the Russian painter Wassily Kandinsky (1866–1944) may have been the first to introduce works that were not tied to recognizable objects—abstract art. For decades, art historians have placed the beginning of abstract art at 1910 when Kandinsky produced his first nonrepresentational works, but Houghton’s exhibition of abstract drawings was held forty years earlier in 1871. Furthermore, the Swedish artist Hilma af Klint began painting beautiful abstract works beginning in 1906, four years before Kandinsky. Given the many challenges faced by women artists well into the twentieth century, it seems likely that sexism played a role in the telling of this story.

vis theskepticalinquirer

[zoecsarts]

,

[sofhtie]

still in my month long aminata moment. oops

“In that moment, against all reason, Aminata felt like she was in a fleet of two, a navy of her and Baru: she had just been promoted to Grand Admiral, captain of everything she had ever wanted.”

[ID: A digital painting of two dark-skinned women. One, Aminata, is dressed in red. She faces Baru, sat upon a white throne, looking down at her. An abstract ocean swirls behind Aminata, in shades of deep blue. Simple boats are drawn among the swirls in white. Aminata is nearly swept up in the waves, and Baru is not touched by them. END ID]

[thejasonramos]

Looking at you looking at me

[germanpostwarmodern]

For decades the women of abstract art were pushed aside: critics and propagandists like Clement Greenberg focused on the male “geniuses”, e.g. Jackson Pollock or Willem de Kooning, and ignored the women artists contributing to abstraction. This marginalization continued in the historicization of abstract art and abstract expressionism in particular: in important exhibitions, e.g. at the MoMA’s 1970 show „New York Painting and Sculpture 1940-1970“, few or no women were included and also art history treated them stepmotherly. The latter actually went well beyond the American and European realms and concerned Asia or Latin America as well.

But thanks to feminist art historians women artists of abstraction have been wrested from oblivion and, although often after their passing, finally their due attention and praise. This concern also drove the Whitechapel Gallery, the Fondation Vincent Van Gogh and the Kunsthalle Bielefeld to collaborate on the survey exhibition „Action, Gesture, Paint - Women artists and abstraction worldwide 1940-70“: besides well-known artists like Helen Frankenthaler or Lee Krasner the exhibition also features lesser-known protagonists like Aiko Miyawaki, Tomie Ohtake or Franciszka Themerson. The final stage of the traveling exhibition at Kunsthalle Bielefeld until March 3 again demonstrates the general diversity of abstraction as an artistic idiom but also the quality of the gathered artists which in no way correlates to their relative obscurity. Instead, the exhibition leaves the impression that the male-dominated art world deliberately excluded the contribution of women to abstract art.

In order to enter deeper into the history of women and abstraction the present catalogue accompanying the exhibition is highly recommended: it collects 7 essays shedding light on a variety of topics, e.g. the rise of gestural abstraction as a global development with men and women acting as innovators side by side, as Laura Smith concludes, or the particular situation women artists faced in postwar Germany as elaborated by Laura Rehme. Thus, both catalogue and exhibition are an inspiring point of departure for exploring the female side of postwar abstract art.

[headspace-hotel]

if you live in kentucky and its possible for you to do so, please, please fucking vote. tell your friends and family to vote. this abortion amendment makes an already ridiculously extreme abortion law even worse. if you can, if you're able, talk to people.

current law allows no exceptions for rape or incest and allows exceptions based on risk to the pregnant person's life only under very extreme, limited circumstances.

under current kentucky law, a child who is raped by a pedophile will be forced to give birth even if her body is not yet fully mature and she has a highly elevated risk of complications and death. a person suffering severe mental illness controlled by medications that are incompatible with a healthy pregnancy will be forced to endanger her life for that pregnancy (mental illnesses are explicitly not considered exceptions).

Childbirth literally always carries with it a risk of death and severe injury, and takes months to heal from. It permanently damages the body. It is a commonplace part of childbirth to have your vagina tear open to the point of needing to be stitched back together. Show me the Republican politician that is willing to let me take a pair of scissors to his genitals, and then we'll talk.

A forced pregnancy is an intimate violation of a person's body. If it is illegal to penetrate someone's physical body against their will, it should not be acceptable to legally require someone to let someone grow inside them for 40 weeks, with a high chance of severe injury and permanent damage to their body. In every other case, a person is legally allowed to protect themselves from this level of physically injurious bodily violation and harm.

The above contributes to the fact that 9% of women develop PTSD after giving birth. Women who have been raped or assaulted have an elevated risk of being re-traumatized by the birth—and that's only if they have a history of that trauma. If the pregnancy is itself a product of rape, the hell you are forcing upon this person by denying them control over the most intimate parts of their body in the most intense, long-lasting, excruciatingly painful way possible, is a torture no person should experience.

People think abortion "kills a child." Do you know what kills a child? Forcing her to give birth to her rapist's baby. And unlike the fetus, this child is a conscious, feeling being capable of experiencing fear and pain. It is monstrous to regard the welfare of something that is not sentient as more important.

There is a REASON women throughout history have stabbed themselves with knitting needles, forced sharp metal objects into their bodies, thrown themselves down stairs, and ingested poison to cause abortions. They knew they might kill themselves, and for them, that was better than being forced to give birth.

There are women right now in the state of Kentucky trapped in abusive marriages who are desperate to prevent a child from being born into a situation where they will be physically, emotionally and sexually abused. There are girls with abusive boyfriends who will use a pregnancy to trap her and prevent her from escaping.

People don't go out and have abortions for fun. And going over their reasons with a fine-toothed comb will get people killed, because desperation has driven people to kill themselves with dangerous attempts at abortion, and it will again.

If you live here, talk to people. Say this. Copy and paste it if you want, because this is what I've found hits with people. Get people to face pregnancy and birth as a real and dangerous process that happens to humans instead of something magical and abstract. Talk about abuse and rape, talk about the blood painted on the hands of every person who fights to block off the last way out for girls and women trapped in horrible, abusive situations. Get people uncomfortable. Say what you think will get through.

If you can convince even one single person who would not otherwise have voted to vote, you've doubled the impact you otherwise would have had.

Things are already so bad here, and we cannot let them get worse.

[seraphvm]

OUTLAWED LOVE PT 1, chishiya shuntaro x reader

SYNOPSIS: A kind of love that dare not speaks its name, Chishiya Shuntaro becomes conflicted in his own emotions.

★ genre & warning/s: enemies to lovers trope, fem!presenting reader,

★ sera’s notes: wrote this during class, honestly i’m not sure if this is good enough to be published ehslwjqoan, but enjoy <33

It was a rainy morning for the whole city of Tokyo, coming with a confident wind and heaven-given soundtrack washed the hues of the atmosphere into a strong and soulful vibrancy, vast amounts of citizens trudged through the sidewalks and stray dogs attempted to find warmth within the bushes, making everything seem calming, and so rain invites a street of colorful umbrellas to blossom in a fascinating way and danced like a ballet choreographed by the gentle wind.

Right from the blossomed clouds come water-petals into the fresh air, your umbrella snapped closed, releasing a gravity defying plume of small droplets which slowly flowed down onto the concrete floor like a piece of abstract art.

Oddly enough, your body somehow tensed despite the freedom that was born in this day without entering the depths of the building, gentle winds blew more mockingly but you couldn't lay a finger on what was wrong, maybe it was the pressure of entering a class this early in the morning? maybe not, however, shrugging the tensity off of your shoulders was the priority as for now in order to relax before stress overcomes you.

It wasn't unusual for you to feel pressured during the mornings of class since the professor you have is.. quite strict towards his students and will criticize you by all means, but it was the last term of your learning and you'd now soon be a lawyer, hopefully, maybe you'd even go up against one of your peers when you fight for cases, maybe Chish-

"You'd catch a cold for staring foolishly at your umbrella for so long."

Speak of the devil.

A familiar voice spoke in utmost superiority which wiped off the thoughts that was stuck onto your head, and then slowly, your peripheral vision revealed a blonde male holding onto an umbrella, staring down at your figure that was slouched onto one of the pillars of the building.

If it isn’t Chishiya Shuntaro himself.

"My well being doesn't concern you, Chishiya." You snickered while shaking your head attempting to give life to your flattened locks, it wasn’t the particular time to have an argument with him at the very start of the day but yet his eyes shimmered in utter amusement and satisfaction, it was like annoying you was as easy as ripping a piece of paper in half, a piece of cake even, the signature smirk painted over his features gently from the statement as you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the reaction.

“Wouldn’t want to be late as the model student of our class, don’t you?” The emphasizing of your current role in your class irked you even more, however, it is Chishiya after all, one of the most annoying yet smart law students in the field that had the ability to get under your skin in a flawless manner.

The relationship you have with that man was indeed questionable, it wasn’t considered as friendship, but neither did it be considered with acquaintances, sometimes the both of you would actually work together and present one of the best output in the class or deeper arguments about law would ensue with you whenever he was bored with his life.

His emotions was harder to read than other people in this learning area, simply keeping his face blank and his attitude as cocky as it ever will be was one of the traits everyone had took note of this man, but still women would still chase him despite having little-to-no chances of having a night.

It wasn’t like his attitude wasn’t tolerable, however he always had the chance to annoy you no matter what circumstance, making you strive to learn in a greater perspective to understand what was under this man filled with cunningness, and how his thoughts process, maybe the both of you would develop a fondness towards each other as well? but it was unlikely.

Before you could’ve think further regarding of this blonde man, the bell rang in its greatest of volume which stopped your tracts of observing every detail about him.

Oh how you sounded so obsessed.

“You can stop staring at me like I killed someone you know.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you have the ability to shut up.” The sentence made the male grin wider but then shrug lazily and walk off to the class both of you take, which made you follow suite and prepare yourself to be ready to defend your arguments once more against that man.

-

But just as expected, the whole session of the class was just the same as usual, Chishiya finding a way to mock your defenses and how you’d shade him in your answers to the questions, however just these simply actions of hatred seemingly felt entertaining, like it doesn’t particularly annoy you as much anymore.

Maybe you grew to understand how his attitude is just himself and it is never going to change whenever someone gets close with him or not, maybe you finally felt some part of better comprehension regarding about him? or maybe you were only just stupid? it wasn’t particularly clear how you tolerated him more than usual, but the information is there.

The professor was blabbering more information again regarding the topic whilst you were fiddling with your pen to focus more, as much as you hated to admit it, the topic was boring but it was only a few minutes left to freedom, which you had the utmost anticipation for.

In habit, you shoved both of your hands into your hoodie pockets to find some warmth due to the air conditioning in the classroom premises being like another version of antarctica, however, you suddenly felt a piece of paper meeting at your fingertips.

Odd, that wasn’t there before. You thought.

Even so, the piece of paper intrigued you at a great rate, so you took it out and unfolded to see its contents, if there is or not.

“Meet me at Lavender Cafe at dismissal, model student. I have a word to say to you. — C.”

What a sneaky little cat.

You chuckled to yourself in a bit of a shock and stuffed the paper back into your pockets before continuing on to listen to the teacher’s words, how did he even manage to get that into your pockets?

More overly, what did he actually want from you?