#lmao sorry for not posting any art in so long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunieepo · 10 months ago

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tbh i've purposefully avoided posting anything about AI art onto any of my public accounts because i just know my opinions on it wouldn't be popular. and i'm saying this as someone who is really, REALLY passionate about art - creating and critiquing art are literally my lifelong passions. but so much of this AI art debacle has become about people making bizarre declarations about what is or isn't "real art" - defining it using nebulous metrics like "the soul" and such.

the ethical issues with AI art as it currently exists are undeniable, and i wish people would focus on that instead of trying to define what "real art" is. because the thing is, gatekeeping the definition of "real art" has been going on for centuries! there are still people today who think video games aren't real art, even. a few decades ago, there were people who thought movies (cinema, film) couldn't be real art! the definition of art evolves and grows, and i resist and question any effort to suppress that.

some thought exercises for people who think they can define "real art" so simply:

is animal-created art real art? are pufferfish nests real art? are elephant paintings real art? does an animal have to reach a certain threshold of intelligence in order for its creations to be considered art?

is duchamp's fountain real art? for those unaware, this was a mass-manufactured urinal that the artist signed and submitted for an art exhibition as is, with no alterations aside from signing it with a marker.

is digital art real art? remember that digital art comes from machines translating human input into pixels on a screen. is this an acceptable use of machine intervention in art creation because the software performing these actions was not created using machine learning? is it because the human has more perceived control over the output?

is photography real art?

is music real art? is music composed using digital software real art? if a song utilizes a heavy amount of sampling, is it still real art?

many digital artists use software that allows them to create layers with filter options that adjust the colors of the layers beneath them using an algorithm (overlays like multiply, screen, etc). in this case, the colors of their images have been digitally altered by a piece of software in ways that most artists don't fully understand. is the image created as a result of this process still real art? can the artist claim full human ownership of the colors, which were digitally altered using a machine algorithm? would your opinion on this change if the machine algorithms behind overlay layers were created using machine learning?

some digital artists make use of "pen stabilization", a type of software algorithm that manipulates tablet pet inputs into a steadier curve to remove jitter. are lines drawn using heavy amounts of stabilization still the artist's? can the artist claim human ownership of lines drawn using near 100% stabilization?

many digital artists will use stamp brushes to get past having to repeatedly draw a static pattern, such as to fill the leaves in a tree. this is essentially a glorified version of copy and pasting repeatedly, except that a software algorithm introduces semi-random rotations and color jitter to give a more natural appearance. is a tree drawn using this process still real art? does your opinion on this change if the artist created the stamp themself, vs downloading it from another artist? does it change depending on how granular the artist was with making manual adjustments to the stamp outputs?

what proportion of an image is allowed to come from stamps, filters, and software tool usage before it stops being real art? is photobashing real art? what percent of an image has to come from freehand drawing for it be considered real art?

are edits of other people's art real art? does your opinion on this change if the editor had the original artist's consent? what percentage of the pixels has to have been changed by the editor before it is worthy of being considered real art?

one popular usage of "AI art" is to apply an "AI filter" over an existing image, which takes a drawing and then utilizes a machine learning based model to alter the image pixels. is an image created using this process real art?

if a person generates an image using a machine learning model, such as stable diffusion, and then draws over that image, is the resultant drawn-over image real art? what percentage of the pixels has to come from a human hand for it be considered real art? what if it was only 1 or 2 pixels that were manually manipulated? what if the only thing a human adds is an overlay filter?

if a person generates an image using a machine learning model, such as stable diffusion, and has very strong intent and emotion about how they want the resultant image to look, tweaking their prompts and specifically trying many different options before the output is in accordance with their vision, why is this not real art? is it because they did not specifically intend on every single pixel in this image? what percentage of pixels in an image has to have specific human intent for an image to be considered real art?

in 3d animation, physics simulations are used to calculate the positions of moving objects, and then artists manually adjust the outputs in accordance with their desired product. spider-verse, for example, was partially created using a combination of "traditional" software and some in-house created machine learning models. is the animation created using this software real art? does it only become real art once a human has gone in and reviewed it? is an individual frame of animation that hasn't been reviewed by a person and was generated via software and simulations not real art? would your opinion of this change if the machine learning models had not been created in-house? would it change if the training datasets had been acquired unethically?

if a traditional artist closes their eyes and splashes paint at a canvas, is the resultant splash of paint real art? if the artist had no emotion or specific intent when casting the paint across the canvas, is this still real art? are pollock paintings real art?

can a mistake be real art? if an artist tips over a can of paint and creates a beautiful spill, could they present the canvas as is with no further alteration, and that resultant image be considered real art?

can art styles be "stolen"? do artist own their art styles?

do you support copyright law? how much inspiration is allowed to be taken from something before it is considered plagiarism vs derivative, and should derivative works be punished?

what is the precise difference between the way ai art "steals" art styles, vs the way a human being takes inspiration from them? remember that many machine learning models take directions and instructions from humans, and often do not learn in a vacuum devoid of human intervention.

some very popular artists, who i will not name, have been accused of having "soulless" art. these artists "mass-manufacture" their images to look very similar and consistent and have seen a lot of financial success as a result of their repetitive works. is their "soulless" art still real art, even if it was made completely without the use of AI technology?

were you bothered by images generated by dall-e, back before stable diffusion became popular? did you consider images generated by dall-e to be art? did you consider dall-e to be unethical?

what is it about machine learning models that separate any software derived from it from software made without the use of machine learning? why is the usage of an art program that did not come from machine learning seen as ethically superior? what is ethically wrong with machine learning models? is it only if the training dataset was scraped without acquiring explicit consent? is it only if the learning was performed supervised vs unsupervised?

can software itself be art? can you find artistry in the way a program has been written - in the lines of code created by a human? in the intent and emotion of the programmer who crafted a piece of software?

please note i'm not trying to be condescending by asking these, and don't assume you know my answers to these questions, either. these are questions i asked myself when i was chewing through these debates and trying to quantify exactly what i found so objectionable about many of these "what constitutes 'real art'" takes.

reblogs off because i don't want to engage with strangers on this topic. i'm open to debate but only if you're going to be civil about it. please remember that i'm an artist too.

#and if i may personally as a neurodivergent person who has never really felt quite fully human #some of the arguments being made really alienate me im not gonna lie!#anyways i dont fully know yet what i truly define art to be #but perhaps i enjoy it being some undefinable thing!#i think to me art is a conversation between the viewer and the creator #and art can be found in so many places where people dont traditionally think to look #art can be anything to me. it becomes worthy of critique because it evokes thought #i can't guarantee that whoever made something had intent or a soul or whatever #but i can guarantee what i myself feel in reaction to the things i view as art.#that's real enough to me and much more quantifiable than things i can't prove or know for sure.#i might delete this later and if i lose any followers i'm sorry LMAO.#i really don't mean to come off as pretentious im just really passionate about art and also about logical consistency #sunie posts #long post

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gregthesillyone · 1 year ago

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hi, sorry i’ve been kinda inactive recently, here’s some ocs because their canon birthday was yesterday

also!!! happy belated birthday to kel from the hit game omori!!! art block is kicking my ass still so i wasn’t able to make a drawing for him unfortunately, but at least i recently started writing the first draft of the kel-centric au i’m working on!!!! i’m so excited omg

#my art #oc art #oc artwork #original character #LOOK AT THEM!!!!!!!!#it took a lot of courage to post this tbh #i’ve never shared or talked about my ocs or any stories of mine publicly before #that and i feel like i’m disappointing people by not posting something related to omori like i usually do #i feel like that’s what people expect from me and that not posting that is letting them down #so it makes it hard to branch out even though i really want to #but i know that’s not true and i want to overcome that #idk. i guess i’ve just been really burnt out recently #but anyways sorry for the long vent(?) lmao #i tried something new with the lighting!! it’s a little lazy but i wanted to make it look like a spotlight/flash of a camera #i just liked the vibe it added #it made it feel kinda nostalgic imo #ask me about their lore PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

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wizardsix · 25 days ago

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probably won't be making any other veilguard posts bc I'm over it and I think we've beaten this game into the dirt enough. my ask box is always open if anyone wants my thoughts on smth specific or just wants to complain but I think I've had enough lol I want to move on to other games

#wish i could make proper analysis posts but im tired and honestly this game doesn't deserve it #others have made actual good posts i couldn't do it justice esp since im not really a dragon age fan i haven't even played origins #much . i think i only got up to helping orzammar and then i got extremely lost and gave up . that was years ago tho i don't remember shit #im a dragon age 2 lover that's all #anyway im definitely gonna play avowed and kcd2 so i might post about that #i didn't mean to turn this into a bg3/dragon age blog this was supposed to be my game sideblog lmao #always looking for other game recommendations tho if anyone has any #sorry 2 those who followed for bg3/da content and not for my sparkling personality . idk how i got past 1 follower #hope u stick around for future complaining i mean critiques #six speaks #still gonna rb bg3/da stuff i just wont post my own takes as much #mostly bc my fixations in other media dont last very long and like #id rather put this energy into my own art than dragging bioware when they clearly wont learn from this #anyway #my advice is if youve been hurt by bioware put that hatred towards doing smth good for urself these ppl do not deserve ur time any longer #make better art out of spite or smth idk

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undermostcorgi · 10 months ago

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i saw this text post and i had to make this so quick (words slightly edited to match them sorry)

#my art #dnd oc #velzannek #zekyan + pelaven #sketch #hobgob family #this was SO low effort gjdkgjdnf #i had fun with it though #maybe i should do more deeply unserious art like this lmao #their expressions were very fun and it was interesting to try to stay true to their designs and characters with super simple sketchy lines #omg just realized this was still in my drafts sorry for not sharing this gem #also i just realized looking at this for the first time in a while but #because of the way zek is positioned im imagining him IMMEDIATELY slipping and falling on his ass after this LMAO #also also just realized how long its been since i posted any art lmao whoops #IF YOU HAVE SUGGESTIONS SEND THEM MY WAY I AM OUT OF IDEAS #THIS JS A CRY FOR HELP

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undressrehearsal · 18 days ago

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a bite of luxury

summary: you decide to look for a sugar mommy and stumble across this strange girl that seems to have more to hide

tags: sugarmommy!ellie, rich!ellie, vampire!ellie (yep, we got it all) alcohol, reader is poor lmao, reader uses she/her and is referred to as a girl once or twice, no smut in this one sorry gotta establish the world first

word count: ~8k

a/n: it's been so long since i posted a fic lol working full time and trying to finish my book is killing my schedule BUT i hope y'all like this this was my fiancee's idea and i'm running with it i got a LOT of plans for this one - plans i think y'all are gonna love

also the drawing in the cover is made by @nramv seriously go check out their work they're so talented!!

if you wanna be added to my tag list just lmk!

You hadn’t been searching for a sugar mommy.

Truthfully, when your best friend had sent you the link, you had dismissed it immediately. She had been joking about it for months, talking about how much easier it would be if you just found a nice older woman to take care of you. You hadn’t even opened the link - you only rolled your eyes, replied with a middle finger emoji, and left it at that.

And yet things kept piling up. The stack of bills on your kitchen counter was growing to a concerning height, a mountain of unanswered responsibilities that was getting harder to ignore. Your landlord kept calling you - you no longer answered, just watched the phone ring until it finally stopped and ignored the increasingly angrier voicemails. Your apartment was an absolute disaster; you could never be bothered to clean it, because by the time you got home from working both of your jobs, you only had enough energy to eat a bowl of leftovers and promptly pass out in bed.

The link kept popping up in your mind, each bill in your mailbox a gentle reminder. You found yourself scrolling all the way up the text chain to find it again during sleepless nights. So many times you would only stare at it, your thumb hovering over the blue letters, before you closed the chat and threw your phone down.

It was stupid, of course. But as time went on, the idea of letting yourself get buried alive under a mountain of debt - of getting evicted from your apartment and having to crash on your friend’s couch - seemed all the more stupid.

So, late on a Thursday night, after you had had another anxiety attack staring down at your bank account, you went back up the text chain, and you clicked the link.

www.seeking.com

It didn't take long for the messages to start coming in. You should have been flattered, honestly - you had at least a handful of people in your messages practically begging you for the honor of paying your fucking rent - but you really just felt like you were playing a part that you hadn't even read the script for. You had curated your profile with all the things that made you appear more cultured than you actually were: going to museums and pondering over Baroque art and reading poetry over a pretentious cup of coffee. Sure, these were all things you had done - you had photo proof, after all - but somehow you didn't recognize yourself. It felt like you were looking at pictures of a stranger living a life you wanted but couldn't reach.

Most people were fine - charming, even. You got maybe one or two that felt like they would lure you into their sex dungeon to murder you, but that was expected with any dating site. You even went on a few dates, scrounging up the nicest dress you owned and getting pampered at a five-star restaurant or going for a ride on an older woman’s personal yacht. One person even took you for a helicopter ride, which was fun but she was a little too handsy on the first date to warrant a second.

One name kept popping up though, a name that was becoming far too familiar in your notifications.

ellie: meet me at 8 <3

When she first messaged you, you had thought she was like you: somebody searching for a partner to pay their bills. Her pictures didn't exactly scream sugar mommy material. Her first picture was just a normal selfie taken outside; she wore a worn out leather jacket, her short hair tangled from the wind and green eyes squinting in the sunlight. She had stupid pictures of mushrooms and candid shots of her browsing a science museum, looking far too excited in front of a t-rex skeleton. Hell, in most of her pictures she looked like she was wearing clothes she had found at a thrift store.

You had thought she was like you, until she sent you a picture inside her fucking Rolls-Royce.

“Fuck,” you audibly cursed into the quiet of your room. You had been talking for a few days, and she had begun to do that - sending you small selfies throughout the day. In the last one, she had taken a picture in front of the mirror at the gym, flicking off the camera, her lean muscles glistening with sweat. Before that, it had been a blurry picture of her dog, Riley - a huge German Shephard - splayed on her back at a park, leaves stuck in her fur.

So, yeah, when you found out Ellie was not only rich, but rich enough to casually have a Royce, you were more than a little surprised.

The selfie was cute, you couldn’t deny that. Her hair was wind-swept, catching in those long ass eyelashes. Ellie’s nose was scrunched up, freckles popping against her cheeks, holding up a peace sign.

She was fucking adorable and you already knew it. But seeing her worn out leather jacket and messy hair against black and white leather seats that looked like they, alone, cost more than your entire apartment complex combined - it was a little jarring.

And when she asked you out on a date soon after - after finding out she wasn’t Iike you but rather searching for someone like you - how could you say no?

Ellie offered to pick you up - like a gentleman, she had said - but frankly, you weren’t quite convinced yet that she wasn’t some blood-thirsty pervert trying to lure you into her dungeon, so you politely declined. Instead, in your nicest dress and heels you hardly wore because they pinched your toes, you called an Uber.

You had never been to this side of town. You had plugged in the address Ellie gave you - had double and triple checked it while your awkwardly chatty Uber driver tried asking you about what you do for a living - but the streets here were so unfamiliar you may as well have been in another city. You looked at the foreign buildings rising up around you, large windows giving you a glimpse of the life inside them. People were sitting outside in the chilly air, laughing over wine and dinner. Looking at them - with perfectly sculpted hair and clothes you would have to spend several entire paychecks on - you felt like a cheap impersonator dressed up in a costume.

The Uber pulled up in front of a hotel, and your heart stopped. Surely, this wasn’t where Ellie had sent you - leading you to some fucking hotel room when you hadn’t even met yet?

You turned to the driver, your home address at the edge of your tongue, when the car door opened.

You had practically been leaning against the door to peer out the window, and nearly lost your balance when it was suddenly gone without warning. You looked up, ready to yell at whatever pretentious prick in Prada was trying to fuck with you - but your voice died in your throat.

Ellie was shorter than you thought she'd be, honestly. In all her pictures, she had this commanding energy, like she would tower over you in person.

Which, to be fair, she was. She had her arm propped on the doorframe above your head, leaning over so she could meet your eyes. Her hair was pushed back from her face, a few stray strands falling over her forehead, and she was looking at you with an intensity that hadn't quite translated through her pictures.

Ellie smiled - that adorably crooked smile you had seen in all her selfies - and said, “Hi.”

And the only word you were able to get your mouth to form was, “Fuck.”

Ellie blinked at you for a moment - long enough that you could feel the flush creeping up your neck and were ready to walk home if you had to - before she finally laughed. That wasn’t like what you had expected either; she had this deep, rough laugh, almost like she was trying to hold it in.

She looked up at you through her lashes - you tried to ignore the way your heart inexplicably skipped - and said, “I’ll take that as a compliment?” Her voice tilted up at the end like it was a question. Ellie ducked her head down further, looking past you to meet the driver’s eyes, and pulled cash from her back pocket. With her most charming smile, she handed it to the driver and said, “Thanks for getting her here safe.”

You didn’t see how much money she gave him, but after she took your hand and guided you out of the car, you turned back just in time to see his grin before he sped off.

“Thanks for coming out.” You looked back at Ellie and found yourself speechless once again. (You, thankfully, were able to hold in the expletive this time.) The worn out jacket that had featured in just about all of her pictures was missing, replaced instead by a pristine, white satin shirt, the top few buttons undone to expose a sliver of collarbone and a gold chain beneath. Despite the chill in the air, she had a classy black jacket hanging from her arm as though it were an accessory. Ellie smiled and looked down, licking her lips before saying, “You’re quite the sight for sore eyes.”

You tried to smile at her but found that your eyes kept flitting behind her, looking at the looming monstrosity of the hotel. It was a nice hotel - the kind that had a huge fountain right in front of it and a chandelier in the lobby that sparkled through the window - but it was a hotel nonetheless. Despite the set in your jaw, traitorous tears stung the corners of your eyes; you wanted to kick yourself for actually thinking that Ellie might be different.

Ellie followed your gaze over her shoulder, her smile dropping, before she quickly turned back to you with panic in her eyes. She stumbled over her words as though her tongue weren’t cooperating: “Shit, I’m sorry, this looks really bad doesn't it?” She grimaced and squeezed your hand she was still holding, scratching awkwardly at the back of her head with the other. “Fuck, this isn’t the first impression I wanted. I could promise it's not what it looks like, but maybe it'd be better if I just showed you?”

You honestly did think about telling her to fuck off. She was a complete fucking stranger that you only really knew from a dating app, and she was trying to lure you into a hotel in a part of town you were unfamiliar with - really, only an idiot would follow her.

But she was looking at you with wide green eyes, the lights around you shining back like stars. While searching for the constellations, you found yourself saying, “Okay.” You blinked, pulled from a trance, and added, “But you should know, I do have a taser in my bag.”

That pulled a shocked laugh from Ellie’s lips. She gently tugged on your hand, pulling you towards the door, and said, “Smart girl.”

You knew that the hotel was outside of your price range because a perfectly groomed doorman opened the door for you, waving you inside with a gloved hand. You didn’t take much time to process the interior - the chandelier was just as grand as it had seemed from outside and elaborate columns rose to the ceiling - because Elllie was pulling you towards the elevators. It was like she wanted to ignore the fact that she had brought you to a hotel at all. You couldn’t decide if that was reassuring.

In the empty elevator, you gently drew your hand back and leaned against the wall opposite her. You tried to ignore looking at the way her pinstripe slacks hugged the curves of her thighs, the fabric straining when she propped one booted foot on the wall behind her.

“So,” you started in a desperate attempt to fill the awkward silence, “if you’re not leading me into a seedy hotel room on the first date, then what are we doing?”

“Okay, one,” Ellie said, chuckling, “this is anything but a seedy hotel. And two, what kind of a date would it be if I ruined the surprise?”

“And what if I don’t like surprises?” you countered.

Ellie grinned. “I think you’ll like this one.”

When the elevator doors opened, Ellie held her hand out to you as though it were a question. You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand back in hers and letting her lead you out into open air.

You nearly choked on a gasp.

The bar itself was beautiful - fairy lights stretched above your head, twinkling like stars and casting the rooftop in a warm glow. Wooden tables and plush couches were spread artfully around the space, far enough apart to provide the patrons scattered about with some privacy.

The bar was beautiful - but the view was fucking breathtaking.

The city stretched out beyond the railings, open in a way you had never seen before. The skyline rose around you, each building shining like its own little galaxy amidst a sea of stars. The city lights blocked out the actual stars - a fact that never failed to piss you off - but you could see the crescent of the moon rising over the city, casting a quiet glow like a veil.

You looked back at Ellie, and whatever your face held made her grin. She leaned in just enough so that her murmur was for your ears only: “So, was I right?”

You blinked, momentarily distracted by her proximity - she smelled intoxicating, spicy and warm with a hint of tobacco beneath - before you finally said, “What?”

Ellie snorted, breaking whatever spell she had put you under. “The surprise,” she said, leaning away enough for your head to clear. “Was I right?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pursing your lips as though you had to think about it. You couldn’t take your eyes away from the skyline stretched before you.

You finally said, “That depends on how good the drinks are.”

When Ellie laughed, her eyes crinkled in the corners, her nose scrunching. It was a full, rich sound, hanging in the air above your head like helium. It made something in your chest tighten, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

She squeezed your hand, a twinkle in her eye, and said, “The old-fashioned's to die for.”

You pursed your lips again to hide your smile.

Ellie didn’t bother checking in with the host, simply shot her a smile and a wave as you walked by - you tried to bite back a giggle when you saw the host’s face turn red, her eyes tracking Ellie as she led you to a table right along the edge of the railing. She pulled the chair out for you - “Such a gentleman,” you laughed - before taking the seat opposite you.

As she waved over a waiter, you took a moment to lean your head over the railing. It was made entirely of glass, giving you a clear view of the city below. You could hear the distant sound of traffic, cars racing below you like shiny beetles, but it was like it was coming from a different world altogether. Everything seemed impossibly, wonderfully small from up here.

You looked up at the sound of your name to find a groomed waiter wearing a fucking waistcoat standing before you. Ellie was looking at you with laughter in her eyes, her lips twitching.

“Shit, sorry,” you said, immediately flinching at your own curse. You suddenly couldn’t remember the proper etiquette in a fancy bar, feeling out of place and underdressed even in your nicest outfit. You looked between Ellie and the waiter, wracking your brain for any kind of drink that wasn’t a trashy cocktail you’d find at a dive bar.

Seeing you floundering, Ellie gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Do you like wine?”

Relief washed over you as you nodded. Turning back to the waiter, Ellie ordered something that you couldn’t even hope to pronounce, charm lifting the corner of her mouth. She spoke to the waiter with the steady ease of familiarity, laughing at some inside joke; you briefly wondered just how often Ellie came to this bar. Surely, a nice place like this - at the very precipice of the world, looking down at the stars - wouldn’t be a regular stop on anyone’s schedule, but Ellie and the staff spoke like old friends.

When the waiter left, tussling Ellie’s hair playfully, she turned back to you and the awkwardness of a first date finally set in. Sure, you had been texting Ellie every day for a week now, but you still hardly knew the girl. You knew she liked mushrooms and hiking. You knew that most of her clothes were from the thrift store even though she could afford any designer brand she wanted. You knew her favorite video game was Dishonored. But nothing you knew was enough for a relationship.

But you weren't exactly looking for love, were you?

After a moment of silence, Ellie cleared her throat, looking out over the city. “It's nice out here.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself, covering your mouth; it didn't cover the laughter in your eyes. You said, “You're really talking to me about the weather?”

Ellie opened her mouth, an indignant sparkle to her eye, before shutting it again. It was like she was malfunctioning, opening and closing her mouth yet no sound came out. She furrowed her brows, looking at you as though you were something new and interesting, before finally chuckling, looking away. “Yeah, I-I guess I am.” When she looked back up at you, her eyes were surprisingly sheepish. “Not making a great first impression, am I?”

You couldn't stop the smile that crept up to your eyes. You leaned closer, propping your chin in your hand, and said, “I think you're doing okay so far.”

Ellie laughed that wondrous laugh again, her nose scrunching up, and the cord in your shoulders loosened.

“Okay,” she sighed, her eyes still alight with residual laughter. “Okay, damn. Tell me about yourself.”

“Well now this just sounds like a job interview.”

Ellie threw her hands up in mock frustration, trying to stifle her own grin. “Okay, fuck, knock me down again! You're obviously an expert, so show me how it's done.”

She leaned back and crossed her arms, looking at you expectantly, and it was the perfect moment for your drinks to arrive. Ellie did, in fact, order an old-fashioned. The waiter set two wine glasses on the table, producing a bottle seemingly from thin air. He held it out, explaining to you in rehearsed prose the year, acidity, and complexity in words that passed straight through you. You nodded along even as you didn't process a single word he said.

When he left, you turned back to Ellie and said, “How did you find this place?”

Ellie took a sip of her drink. The lights of the city danced in the amber glass. “Just an old haunt of mine, I guess.”

You took a sip of the wine, taking the distraction. It was warm on your tongue, tasting of wood and fruit and something spicy just underneath. The wine you usually drank was the stuff you could find in your nearest grocery store, often tasting concerningly like bug spray and bought with whatever tips you had managed to scrape together from work. It was usually shared with a friend on your kitchen floor, the walls and thoughts spinning over your head.

You much preferred wine like this: The taste of warmth and fire on your tongue, the cool air brushing your shoulders at the edge of the sky, and a beautiful person sitting across from you.

When Ellie lowered her glass, you could see amber droplets of whiskey clinging to her lips before her tongue darted out to catch them. You tore your eyes away, but her smile said that she had caught you staring. A chill ran up your spine that you were sure was just from the cold.

Seeing you shiver, Ellie wordless reached behind her where she had tossed her jacket over the back of her chair. Standing, she rounded the table only for a moment, only long enough to place the coat over your shoulders. Her hands lingered there for a second too long before she retreated, sliding back into her seat as though she had never moved.

“So, why are you here?” she finally said.

You pulled the jacket around your shoulders, distracted by the smell of it. The same smell that must be her perfume clung to it, spiced and warm like an open fire, but something else clung to the fabric too. It was strangely metallic, sharp and intoxicating, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was shockingly warm against your skin.

“I’m here,” you said, raising a brow and ignoring her real question, “because you sent me this address and told me to meet you here at eight wearing my nicest dress.”

The corner of Ellie’s lips quirked, a grin she was trying to hide. She clasped her hands, leaning across the table so you could smell the whiskey on her breath. “And you agreed to meet a stranger at a seedy hotel,” she murmured, mocking your remark from earlier. Her grin revealed itself when your cheeks flushed. “But why are you here - what are you seeking?”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “That’s kind of a dumb question, don’t you think? It’s pretty obvious why I’m on the app.” You cocked your head, leaning across the table, feeling a strange thrill when her eyes flashed. Your heart fluttered at the proximity, and you couldn’t remember when you had become so easily starstruck. “The real question, Ellie, is why are you?“

Ellie’s eyes darkened, and you weren’t sure if you just imagined her eyes flicking down to your lips. She looked back up at you through her lashes, her voice rough when she said, “That’s a third date kind of question.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What makes you so sure you’ll get a third date?”

Ellie tilted her head, a slow smile pulling at her lips, and said, “Call it a hunch.”

The waiter came to check on you, appearing at your shoulder like a ghost. You hastily retreated, leaning back in your chair as though the electricity in the air had shocked you, and took a sip of wine that was more than a little overzealous. You tried to choke it down as Ellie waved the waiter away with that heartstopping crooked smile. What happened to you? Since when were you so easily charmed by freckles, green eyes, and smart-ass comments? You couldn't remember the last time you had been so infatuated during a normal date, let alone one with these kinds of strings attached.

“So you don't want to be in an interview,” Ellie said once the waiter was out of earshot. “I guess all my typical getting to know you conversations are out of the question.”

“I didn't say that,” you countered, your throat still burning from your accidental wine waterboarding. “But come on - what girl are you going to impress by asking her questions like ‘Tell me about yourself,’ or ‘Why are you here?’ or ‘Why are you more qualified for this position?’”

“Okay, okay, goddamn,” she said, laughing. Grabbing the wine bottle, she looked at you for permission before pouring you another glass.

You brought the glass up to your lips, taking a sip to hide your smile. The flush in your cheeks was surely from the wine and nothing else. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I hardly know you.” On one hand, that felt entirely untrue - but especially after this recent discovery, you really knew nothing about this girl. “Tell me about you.”

Ellie laughed that same rough laugh and your heart jumped. “Oh, so you're allowed to be the interviewer.”

You nodded, twirling the glass between your fingers and looking at her expectantly.

After a moment, Ellie rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, but you could see the humor in her eyes. She downed the last of her old-fashioned and, like a good sport, said, “What do you want to know?”

Turns out, there was a lot to know - more than a simple dating app would tell you. Ellie had an older sister, Sarah, who lived in Dallas. Her dog was named after her childhood best friend. Her jacket wasn't thrifted after all, but had been her dad's. Speaking of which, she used to go hunting with him every season (“I haven't been in years, though,” she said, her eyes distant). On the weekends, she'd go to antique stores to look for art and trinkets to fill her house - her favorite antiques were from the 17th century. She hated horror movies and was a sucker for a good romance.

In return, you caved and answered her pressing questions. You told her about your best friend - Ellie laughed when you told her that your friend had sent you the link to the app in the first place. You told her about your favorite show that you binge-watched whenever you felt like you were spiraling. You did not tell her about your apartment that was probably the size of her closet or the fact that you'd have to watch your budget after taking the Uber tonight, not to mention the extra $30 Uber to get home later. You did tell her about your family, and a strange, unexplained sadness crept into the creases around her mouth. You did tell her about your job, but didn't mention the second one you worked to afford groceries. You told her you were hoping for a real, human connection, yet didn't mention that you couldn’t imagine finding it in a fucking sugar mommy.

All too soon, the wine bottle was empty and your chest was comfortingly warm. The lights strung across the bar danced above your head like fuzzy stars, and Ellie's smile was the brightest amongst them. Her glass was still empty, her wine glass dry, and yet her eyes told you she was intoxicated by something far stronger.

“Sorry,” you said, giggling despite yourself. “I didn't mean to drink it all.”

“Don't worry about it, darling,” she said, her voice silky smooth, reminding you of melted chocolate sliding down your throat. She tilted her glass, letting the remnants of melting ice clink against the side. “I wanted to make sure I could drive home okay.”

The waiter arrived then, pulling the bill from his pocket and handing it to Ellie. You couldn't read the number upside down, not through the haze of the wine, but the number of digits made your stomach clench. Ellie dropped a black card into the folder and handed it back to the waiter.

“How much do you want me to Venmo you?” you asked when she turned back to you. You clenched your hands in the hem of your dress, already calculating the extra shift you'd have to pick up to afford it.

Ellie tilted her head, her brows furrowed. “Nothing,” she said, as though it were obvious.

“That wasn't exactly a cheap bottle, Ellie,” you laughed. “Let me give you something.”

Ellie hummed, propping her chin in her hand and looking at you with those same intense eyes; it sent a dangerous shiver down your spine. “I like when you say my name.”

You blinked at her. “Excuse me.”

“I want to hear it again. That's how you can repay me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ellie, I-”

“Okay, now we're even,” she interrupted, smiling that crooked grin that you had started to crave. The waiter returned with her card and Ellie produced cash from her pocket, handing it to the waiter directly. He thanked her profusely before making his exit, grinning. When Ellie looked at you again, you were still watching her expectantly, dumbfounded. She finally rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what kind of date would I be if I made you pay?”

“You're not making me, I'm offering.”

“And I'm saying no.” Ellie stood, straightening her shirt; when she tugged at it, the collar fell a bit, exposing sharp collarbones beneath.

Rounding the table, she offered a hand to you, pulling you gently to your feet. You pulled her jacket tighter around yourself, knowing you needed to give it back yet unwilling to part with it just yet.

Taking your arm, Ellie leaned in close enough that your breath caught in your throat and said, “I know why I found you on Seeking, okay? So, if it's alright with you, let me spoil you. Even if that just means one bottle of wine.”

You laughed, but it sounded breathy even to your own ringing ears. “One very expensive bottle of wine.”

Ellie shrugged, a sparkle in her eye. “It's a small price to pay for your company.”

You were silent in the elevator, but you held on to her arm as though afraid to let go. You couldn't figure out why, but something in you urgently wanted nothing more than to be close to her. You couldn't remember the last time you had felt such a pull from somebody.

Back on the street, the lights of the city seemed so much brighter than they had before. Ellie released your arm, turning to face you, and there was a strange pinch between her brows that you couldn't translate.

“Do you want me to call you an Uber, or do you want me to take you home?” she asked, and your brain short-circuited. When you could do nothing but stammer, tripping over your own tongue, Ellie laughed. There was no mockery behind it, only quiet, bright amusement. “I meant I can drive you to your apartment so you don't have to drunkenly sit in an awkward Uber that smells sickeningly sweet and the driver tries to make mind-numbing small talk.”

Your sigh of relief came out more like a laugh.

Ellie tilted her head and stepped closer to you, her hand reaching out to graze your fingers, and that sigh was sucked right back into your lungs. Being so close to her made your head spin. Her breath fanned against your cheeks, smelling of warm whiskey, when she said, “Unless you want to come to my place?”

It had the uncertain tilt of a question, and Ellie wouldn't quite meet your eyes.

“We don't have to do anything,” she continued in a rush. She scratched anxiously at the back of her head, a nervous laugh slipping between her lips. “We can just sit and talk more. Or watch a movie - my dad had this huge collection. I'm not gonna - You know, I'm not going to do anything you don't want.” She finally interrupted herself with a groan, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Fuck, sorry, I wanted it to sound more suave than this.”

And you would be a fucking idiot to go home with this impossible stranger. You had been taught better - never get into a stranger's car, and for the love of God, never let them take you to a second location. You could let her take you back to your apartment at least - you were admittedly incredibly tipsy and didn't particularly want to endure another ride with an annoyingly talkative Uber driver. You could go home, back to your claustrophobic, quiet apartment, and maybe - maybe - text Ellie about setting up a second date.

You were not stupid enough to go home with somebody on the first date.

Except clearly you were, because you took the hand that was still grazing your fingers and looked up at Ellie - the contours of her face were shockingly etched with insecurity. And your dumb mouth said, of its own volition, “Okay.”

You had expected something flashy, like what a wealthy person would own in a movie - like a penthouse overlooking the city with too-white walls and electric guitars hanging, unused, on the walls. Maybe she had walls completely made of windows so it felt like you were on a pedestal overlooking the world.

You hadn't expected a house that was older than your great-grandparents.

When Ellie pulled into the driveway, you were sure she was just pulling in someplace to turn around, that she had missed her turn somewhere. But she put her stupidly-expensive car into park and killed the engine, shooting you an awkward glance.

“Sorry,” she said, chuckling. “I know it’s not much.”

You could only look at her incredulously, speechless, before looking back up at the house before you. You couldn’t even call it a house really - estate would be more fitting. Maybe mansion. Fuck, her house was the size of your apartment complex. It towered over you, three stories of intricate woodwork, warm brown beams wrapping around the structure like an elaborate skeleton. With beautiful eaves winding around the roof and an entire turret reaching for the moon, it looked like something that had stepped right out of some 1800s southern gothic novel.

Ellie cleared her throat, startling you from a trance. You looked back at her and, for some reason, couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

”Shit, sorry,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand. “I just - I’ve just never seen anything like it.” When Ellie’s eyes clouded over with uncertainty, you added softly, “It’s beautiful. Besides, Ellie,” you added, laughing again, “‘not much’ doesn’t really suit you.”

Ellie opened and closed her mouth and yet no words came out. She was looking at you again as though you were something interesting - something new and exciting. Nobody had ever looked at you that way before, and the way your heart clenched at the sight was more than a little dangerous.

Ellie finally smiled, huffing out a laugh - your heart was pretty satisfied with how often you were able to make her laugh - and said, “Do you still want to come inside?”

And, surprisingly, you said, “Yeah, I do.”

As Ellie got out, rounding the car to open your door for you, you discreetly checked that the taser was still in your bag. Sure, you had agreed to go home with a practical stranger, but you couldn't be too careful.

The porch steps creaked as she led you to the door - double doors (of course), with stained glass and twisting vines carved into the wood. When Ellie opened them, it felt like you were transported to a different time on an entirely different world.

The grand staircase caught your eye first - how could it not? Warm wooden steps covered in a blood red runner, a white banister winding up, those same vines that seemed to be the house’s signature carved into it. You could see a large, stained-glass window at the landing before it curved to disappear to the second floor. Moonlight splintered through the window in broken relief.

As though in a trance, you wandered further into the house, walking to the fireplace situated right beneath the stairs. The wood stacked neatly inside was cold, untouched by a flame. There was a large mirror set atop the mantle, its gold frame a work of art alone. In the reflection, you could see the flush to your cheeks, and tried to convince yourself it was only from the cold. You still wore Ellie’s jacket, and you pulled it tight around your shoulders, as though it were a shield.

You watched Ellie’s reflection as she walked slowly towards you, a small smile gracing her lips. She came close enough to touch - close enough that you could feel her cool breath against the back of your neck - and yet she didn’t put a hand on you.

“There’s a lot more to see than the foyer,” she murmured, the words brushing your skin. “If you still want.”

And you couldn’t stop your own smile as you turned back to her, your heart skipping at her proximity. “Show me.”

She took your hand, her fingers shockingly cold, and led you into what must have been her living room - sitting room? Despite the fact that the house felt more like a museum - like you would get scolded for touching anything - the room was surprisingly cozy. A large, plush sectional was situated in front of another fireplace- this one also unblemished. Blankets and quilts were thrown over the couch and the accompanying chairs, leaving this time capsule looking strangely welcoming.

“Okay, I have to ask,” you said, turning back to Ellie. She was watching you carefully, gauging your reaction with soft eyes, and you lost your train of thought. You opened your mouth but no sound came out; you weren’t sure if that was more or less embarrassing than the several curses you had said earlier in the night.

Ellie hummed, raising her hand as though she wanted to touch you. She stopped only inches away from your cheek and dropped her hand, saying, “I’m an open book.”

You had to turn away to collect your thoughts, wandering across the room if just to catch your breath. The opposite wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. You ran your fingers along the spines of vintage classics, an array of science books, and comics, enjoying the irony of seeing Savage Starlight in the middle of all this history. You picked up a copy to keep your hands busy.

“How, um,” you started, stumbling over your words, “how did you end up here?”

Ellie hummed again, and you heard her footsteps following you. “Here as in this town, this country, this world? You gotta be a little more specific.”

You sighed, giving in and turning to look at her. She kept a careful distance, standing a few feet away from you with her hands in her pockets. “You know what I mean, smartass.”

Ellie chuckled, but her eyes had grown distant, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She took a few more steps closer to you, looking at the comic book in your hands. On the app, she hadn’t struck you as the type to get easily bashful, and yet she had proven you wrong a few times already.

“My family lived here,” she finally said, quiet as a secret. You watched her carefully, jumping at the opportunity to stare at her without those intense eyes looking back at you. Her brow furrowed and she pressed her lips together as though she was in pain, her green eyes shining. “It was just… passed down, I guess? It’s kind of always been here ever since I can remember. I’m not entirely sure when it became mine.”

You tucked the comic book back into its spot between The Iliad and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You said absently, “How old is this place anyway?”

”It was built in 1816,” she said automatically, as though it were memorized.

“It’s an awfully big house for just one person.” You looked up at her through your lashes as she stepped closer - close enough that you could smell that same metallic warmth that seemed to cling to her.

“It is,” Ellie murmured, smiling. She reached out again, and this time she allowed herself to touch you. Her cold fingers brushed against your cheek before she gently cupped your jaw, tilting your head so you’d look at her properly. Her green eyes were downright intimidating. “But I keep good company.”

You rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t convince yourself to look away. “Is that what you say to all the girls?”

Ellie hummed, bracing her other hand on the bookshelf behind your head, and murmured, “No, I don’t.” She pressed in closer, her gaze dropping to your mouth, and you felt like your heart was going to leap from your throat. Ellie huffed out a laugh as though she could hear it pounding against your chest. When her thumb brushed your bottom lip, your lips parted on instinct. She didn’t look away, transfixed on the point where her skin touched your mouth, and you almost didn’t hear her when she said, “Can I?”

And you had never been the kind of person to kiss on the first date, but she was looking at you with eyes hooded with want, her breath fanning against your cheeks. When she licked her lips, you couldn’t stop your eyes from following the motion. Her lips glistened, parted and plump, looking so impossibly soft. Somehow, past your haze, you heard yourself say, “Yes.”

Ellie took her time in kissing you. She pressed you back gently, your shoulders pressing into the bookshelf behind you, and touched her nose to yours. She took a deep breath, breathing you in. Her hand was soft against your cheek, tilting your jaw up, and you hardly had to move to finally kiss her.

Ellie tasted just like she smelled - spicy and metallic, the old-fashioned still hanging on her tongue. Despite the cold of her hand on your cheek, her mouth was impossibly warm, her breath slipping between your lips; it was intoxicating in a way that the wine couldn’t compare to. Her mouth moved against yours, soft and slow as a dance.

Your hands reached out as though of their own accord, circling her waist and gripping at the slippery silk of her shirt. She pressed in close, crowding you against the bookshelf; you could feel her chest pressing against you, her hips on yours, the line of her body against yours making your head spin. And when Ellie’s tongue pressed against your lips, a gentle request for access, you felt like you’d faint altogether.

Her tongue slipped between your teeth and you couldn’t stop the breathy sound it pulled from your throat. You could feel that infuriating smile against your lips and suddenly wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. You balled her ridiculously expensive shirt in your hands and pulled her impossibly closer, nipping at her bottom lip, and you wanted to swallow her gasp.

Ellie pulled away, chuckling, but she didn’t go far. She pressed a kiss to your cheek, her lips trailing down to your jaw, and she could probably feel your pulse jump beneath her tongue. You could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “Do you do this often?”

Her teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear, and it took you a few moments before you could respond. “Do what?” Despite yourself - despite the way your fingers gripped her shirt, your head swimming and an unexplainable want burning in your veins - you couldn’t help but laugh. “Go on a date with somebody I met on an app for sugar babies and go back to their ridiculously old mansion on the first date and-“

You cut yourself off. You weren’t sure exactly what was happening, and you were afraid that voicing it would break whatever spell you were under - whatever spell made this impossible woman’s touch feel like lightning.

But Ellie only laughed, biting at the spot where your neck met your shoulder. “Yeah, that.”

You shivered against her touch. “No, I’ve never really done this.”

“Guess I’m just lucky.”

Ellie kissed you again, only briefly, before she finally pulled away. She was grinning, her eyes sparkling with those same constellations; her face wasn’t even flushed, making you feel embarrassed about your burning cheeks. You were panting, intoxicated from the night and wine and Ellie. Her absence felt like an ache, your body craving the feeling of her lips, her teeth, her hands. You were close to tugging her back in, your hands still gripping her shirt, but she gently untangled herself from you with a laugh.

“I want to keep going.” She paused, and then emphasized, “I really want to keep going. But you drank an entire bottle of wine, and I’d be kind of a shitty host if I didn’t offer you something to drink at least. Or are you hungry?”

You were hungry, but it was the kind of hunger that food wouldn’t satiate. Still, you let your hands drop back to your sides, feeling your senses return to you now that they weren’t so tuned into Ellie - how she smelled, tasted, felt. When you laughed, it sounded breathy even to your own ears. “Some water would be nice.”

“I can do that,” she said with a smile. “Stay here.” She kissed you again, lingering for a few moments longer than needed, before she turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone in this ridiculously old mansion.

With nothing else to keep yourself entertained, you did a slow lap around the room, eyeing the ironic blend of elegant antiques and silly trinkets that were so obviously Ellie. A cracked ivory trinket box sat on a shelf, intricate flowers engraved into the lid, set right next to a small figurine of an astronaut. Beautiful paintings lined the walls, signatures dating back to 1830 in elaborate script at the bottom, but there were also a few posters littered here and there - bands and video games.

You walked over to the mantle, your fingers grazing over the marble top. The logs inside were untouched, and you briefly wondered if she’d light a fire soon to chase out the chill of autumn. A small jar filled with guitar picks sat at the corner, and you wondered if she really did have an electric guitar collection hidden around here somewhere. Your foot kicked an empty dog bowl, and yet Riley was nowhere to be found. Maybe Ellie took her to daycare when she knew she’d bring a girl home. You nearly laughed at the idea.

Atop the mantle, hidden behind pictures of what must have been friends or family - hiking or traveling or laughing in somebody’s backyard - there was another picture frame. It must have fallen, face down so that the picture inside was covered. You reached out, careful to not disturb any of the other frames, and picked it up. You were just going to fix it, set it up next to the others, but something in the image caught your eye. You plucked it from its home, bringing it closer, holding it up to the light to get a better look. For a long time, you couldn’t figure out what you were looking at. Your heart hammered against your chest, your ears ringing, as though your body had figured it out before your brain did.

It was an old photograph, grainy and sepia, faded and frayed around the edges with age. It was the house, looking just like it did today - the huge windows shining in the sunlight, the intricate eaves and wrap-around porch perfectly polished and new. A family stood on the lawn in front of the house, looking awkward and stiff. Back then, cameras took several minutes to actually capture a photo, so people tended to look a little awkward from trying to hold the same expression for so long. But that’s not what had caught your eye.

It was a small family - a weary looking dad and his two daughters, looking just a few years younger than you.

She looked a little different. Her hair was longer, falling in waves around her shoulders. She was definitely a few years younger, and she wore a sweet, full-length gown instead of a worn leather jacket.

You checked the date in the bottom corner at least five times, but there was no mistaking it. The person in the photo was undeniably Ellie, standing in front of this house in 1816.

tag list: @macaroni676 @ellstronaut @elliewilliamsmiller0 @elliescoolerwife @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @peejayurple @liliflowers-blog @filtered-sunlight @hobbybound

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie willams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x you #tlou smut #tlou 2 x reader #i hope y'all like this one cause i got a lot of plans for it

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sunlit-mess · 3 months ago

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Hey! I’m a super big fan of all your work. All your art is super expressive and real - I get so excited when I’ve seen you posted. So, I’ve been wondering, what initially got you into drawing? It looks like you’ve been doing it a super long time.

Sorry, I’m realizing this looks like a bot posted it lmao, but I do love your work & it’s so awesome you got into Hazbin because seeing how you interpret the characters is so fun.

Cheers from Ireland!!!

I hardly remember jackshit about my younger years but all I can say is- It's five nights at Freddy's for sure. 😭😭😭😭

drawing had been my coping mechanism and outlet ever since, so behind any work are vent arts lol

#messyr #thank u anon! ::]#idk i cant really recall what i did as a lil kid if i was keen on arts- but judging from how i think of it now. probably was #i found passion in art. in any and all of its form. even if it means embracing its chaos/destructive side #pic only has my digital works- i had started as trad and still can draw in traditional mediums #art process

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palajae · 4 months ago

Text

episode three. | park sunghoon

PAIRING ▸ host!sunghoon x reader

GENRE ▸ ouran high school host club!au, high school! au, romance, fluff, angst, humor

WC ▸ 3.1k

SUMMARY ▸ host park sunghoon: the strong and silent type. with his cold, tsundere personality and killer good looks, it’s hard not to fall for sunghoon. his connection to sunoo is of utmost importance; however, you could be the one to change that. (but be warned, he’s a man of few words.)

AKA episode three of the kiss, kiss, fall in love! series

AN/NOTES ▸ social awkwardness, not proofread

sorry okay it’s been a fat minute since i posted but FINALLY JAE has gotten the next part out ‼️ i really channeled the engene in me for this one lmao.

EPISODE THREE. Beware the Ice Prince!

seriously, you only started attending the en-host club because your friends did and you really had nothing else to do.

you had heard several of the boys in your grade were in the infamous club, but besides that, you had no interest in “club” affairs.

natty and lily wouldn’t stop talking about how “chivalry wasn’t dead” and how “god had favorites.” you figured by going, you could kill some time and meet some new people.

mainly due to the fact that you were attached to the hip to your… well, sketchbook. what better to utilize the people around you for your passion?

and the most pretty ones were—obviously—found at the en-host club!

by going there, you could observe and hopefully see some good art.

while your friends had their favorite designated hosts and activities, your first entrance to the club involved a lot of awkward silence and muttering.

“you mean, you don’t want to hang out with any of us?” sunoo—you think—frowns.

you shake your head, stammering. “n-no! i just, prefer to be alone. i can just-like-sit in the corner or something.”

he brightens up and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“i see. you just like the company?”

you nod and the host smiles again. “that’s fine. you don’t have to be entertained by one of us. you’re welcome as much as you like! you could even sit by sunghoon!”

your eyebrows furrow as you follow sunoo’s line of sight to-

oh dear.

probably the finest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

a true work of art.

your heart pounds uncomfortably in your chest as you glance back at sunoo.

“he doesn’t like to talk much either, so i think you two will get along well!”

you look uncertainly at the controlled chaos happening all around the room, before back at sunoo.

he nods encouragingly at you. “don’t worry. even though sunghoon looks like it, he doesn’t bite. in fact, it’s probably the opposite.”

holding your breath, you clutch your sketchbook tighter in your hands before approaching the table sunghoon was quietly sitting at.

he didn’t even do anything, yet you felt so intimidated.

wow, it was really stifling to be in his presence. awkwardly, you take a seat. and although he doesn’t move, you feel his eyes land on you.

biting your lip, you hesitantly wave.

that was it. no words exchanged.

after a while, you finally began to relax. still, neither of you said anything. you even felt alright enough to open your sketchbook.

your eyes would travel across the room, although they always landed on the same person. the one sitting in front of you, silently sipping his tea.

so you sketched. and you enjoyed it. so much to the point you returned the day after, and the day after.

eventually, the hosts came to know you as a regular. they knew your exact order and your routine. the same every time you came—even without your friends.

they understood that you simply appreciated sitting and observing. with all the things going on at the club, you enjoyed staying off to the side the most.

like sunghoon.

after the first day, you couldn’t work up the courage to approach and sit next to him when he wasn’t with sunoo hosting.

that was fine. you had eyes. you could sketch him as long as you could see him. pages, filled with a variety of sketches, began to fill up your notebook.

and most of them were of sunghoon.

who were you kidding—all of them were of him. every outfit in every season, every expression of his (and he rarely showed emotion). you basically memorized sunghoon’s face.

and in your time observing at the en-host club, you realized you had only heard him speak a total of six phrases: welcome, goodbye, yes, no, and thank you.

he more than piqued your interest, but you were far too shy and unmotivated to do something about it.

checking the clock, you sigh wistfully while putting your sketchbook back into your bag. as always, this was your time to leave. occasionally, one of the hosts would notice you leaving and wave goodbye.

this time, you’re almost to the door when a tall figure suddenly appears in your line of vision.

you falter, swallowing abruptly when you realize it’s sunghoon. he looks dashing in his pink hoodie and light jeans—someone mentioned the boys had a boyfriend concept today.

you stare up at him curiously until he steps closer to you. your mouth dries up at the close proximity. you feel like you can hear your blood rushing in your ears.

sunghoon doesn’t say anything, as per usual. instead, he walks over and holds open the door for you.

for a second, you don’t move. and then it hits you.

what the what the what the, he opened the door for you!

you quickly squeak out a thank you before practically dashing out of the club room. you’re not sure if you heard or imagined the soft “get home safe,” coming from his voice.

was he watching you? is that how he knew to open the door? why did he go all the way to help you? did he know what time you usually left?

you fall onto your bed with a sigh. you were overthinking, and you were delusional. just a little bit.

perhaps, you would work up the courage to talk to him next time.

you swear you’re not that delusional. most of the time it was you who was staring at sunghoon, sneaking glances at him when he wasn’t looking. whenever he was busy hosting. honestly, your best works were of his stunning side profile.

but something feels different from that day forward.

like…like sunghoon was the one staring at you. at first, you were sure you felt eyes on you.

you would glance up from your sketchbook with a frown, glancing around the room. it was at that moment you would catch sunghoon turning away from you.

but in what world would he be looking at you?

he didn’t say a single word.

it happened so often to the point where you would actually meet his eyes before looking away. you always broke eye contact first.

this back-and-forth occurred four times before you decided to do something. yes, you counted.

you decided to remind yourself that you only live once, and you took the chance. you finally stopped being a coward and sat next to sunghoon, one lovely afternoon.

he seems almost shocked when you approach him, like your very first day at the host club.

once again, no words were spoken. you simply smiled before taking the seat. unlike the other girls who usually fawned and squealed over him, all you did was sit and enjoy his company. honestly, he was so familiar to you at this point, you actually felt comfortable.

and when you thought he wasn’t looking, you liked to sneak peeks at him as well. he was even more breathtaking up close.

that became your daily routine whenever sunghoon was free. although it was absurd, you once thought that maybe he looked forward to sitting and watching with you.

“what’s up with you and sunghoon?”

“h-huh?”

natty leans over from her desk to shoot you a look. “i mean, what are you two doing in the corner all day?”

you look down at your desk bashfully, “it’s not all day…i just enjoy his company.”

lily laughs, “sure. i bet you have a lot fun staring at him.”

you feel your face get hot as natty elbows her. “i think the two of you are cute. even if you have nothing to say to each other.”

“yeah, i don’t know how you managed to get so close to him. sunghoon is pretty detached from the other girls. he’s just there half the time with sunoo.”

your heart quickens. was that true?

lily sighs, almost face planting into the table. “what up with all the boys recently? heeseung has been so obsessed with that one student who i don’t even know the name of since they’re so busy studying all the time. and then the top two people of our class are constantly preoccupied with each other. at this rate, i’m gonna move to jake…”

you nodded in contemplation. she was right, you’ve seen heeseung following around your classmate like a baby duck following their mom. even weirder, the two smartest people in your grade started to sit together at the club.

you were there for it all.

“sim jaeyun? um, I’m not sure about him. he and riki have a lot of crazy fan girls,” natty wrinkles her nose. “hey, i did hear there was a new host! his name is jung…jung-something.”

“jungwon,” you finish for her. she nods, “i think he’s pretty handsome.”

“not as much as sunghoon though,” you unconsciously mutter.

sunghoon can easily remember the first day you walked in, eyes wide like you were a kid on their first day of school. the corners of his mouth tilt up slightly. you looked like a baby kitten.

he catches himself, focusing back on sipping tea while sunoo devoured his sweet treats.

“do you want a bite, hoon?”

he shakes his head amusedly at sunoo’s bright expression.

“you should stop eating so many sweets. you already had two slices of cake today.”

while sunoo pouts and gets up to put his plate away, sunghoon refocuses his attention on you. he didn’t mean to—his gaze was just drawn to your presence.

he watches wordlessly as sunoo approaches you. you looked so intimidated, sunghoon already felt bad and he didn’t know the reason.

he catches himself again, internally chiding his own behavior. get a grip, you’re a host.

suddenly, you’re approaching him. you look like a kitten again in front of him, just like when you first walked in. his whole body tenses.

sunghoon waits, yet you don’t say anything. only a simple wave and that’s enough to light a fire in his heart.

he’s surprised to see you sit down and pull out a sketchbook. he observes as you flip through the pages, trying to sneak a peek. but then he realizes he’s being kinda, really creepy.

so sunghoon purposely turns away to focus. look anywhere but at the person sitting across from you, he repeats to himself over and over.

after that day, he noticed you didn’t sit next to him. for quite a while.

so, he chose to watch you. he watched you walk in every afternoon with a hesitant smile. he watched as you took the same seat near the window and pulled out your scuffed up notebook to draw.

he watched how your lips pursed when you weren’t happy with a sketch, or how you would stop to think while looking around you.

sunghoon liked the way your eyes lit up when you turned to a blank, fresh page. and when you would smile and greet the other hosts, gratefully accepting a cup of tea. even the look of concern you had on your face as you watched jake and riki do something stupidly dangerous again.

the thing he liked the most, however, was when he felt your eyes on him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

sunghoon’s not sure why, but he likes it. after all, he couldn’t say anything. he did the same thing to you.

he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

that’s why, when you sit across from him one day with that stunning smile of yours, his breath hitched.

sunghoon… wanted to say something. he tried, really tried, but no words would come out. he couldn’t think of anything to say.

apparently, that was fine with you. you relaxed in the silence, so he did too.

it’s not like he meant to, but he snuck a glance. he was so curious as to what you had been working on in that sketchbook of yours. he knew it had to be your prized possession, the way you carried it around everywhere.

sunghoon certainly wasn’t expecting to see his own face, beautifully drawn. it was him from a few weeks ago, last week, and yesterday. he remembers the detective concept and outfits they adorned.

you… you sketched it all. all this time, you sketched him?

he’s truly speechless, and everyone knew it was hard to make the stoic sunghoon react.

“…are you friends with y/n?” he randomly asks one day after the club had closed for the day, completely out of the blue.

sunoo tilts his head, “we’ve talked. why?”

heeseung pops by, “did i hear hoon’s got a crush? who could have warmed the cold tsundere sunghoon’s heart?”

although he wants to roll his eyes, he simply looks away.

“y/n?” riki calls from where he’s playing catch with jake, “the one who doesn’t say anything and draws all day?”

“they could if they wanted to,” sunghoon remarks quietly. riki shrugs.

sunoo watches sunghoon with an inquisitive expression.

he’s never seen his friend act like that with the other guests before…

“it’s his birthday soon?” the words spill out of your mouth without even realizing it. you stopped, overhearing some girls sitting near you.

they eye you, and it registers in your head that they know you’re the one whom sunghoon often sits next to. you seem oh so close to him, and yet you don’t know his birthday? you feel embarrassed, making your way to your normal seat.

“hoon? yeah, his birthday is in three days,” sunoo nods. “why? are you planning something?”

you’re quick to shake your head, flustered. “nono, i was simply curious… thanks for letting me know.”

alright. you officially have three days to find sunghoon a gift.

it’s only then it hits you. you know close to nothing about sunghoon. other than the fact that he was a host, you barely knew his likes or dislikes. heck, you barely even spoke to him.

you’re doomed. all the other guests were probably going to get him extravagant gifts that were exactly to his liking.

you? you scrambled to find something that would come in three days. and you weren’t even sure if he would like it. at the least, he could regift it to someone else if he really hated it.

you clutch the small gift bag nervously behind you as you enter the host club.

usually, decorations would be set up for the members’ birthdays. however, sunghoon never wanted a big celebration so they would get him a simple birthday cake every year. at least, that’s what sunoo told you.

sunghoon wanted his birthday day to feel like any other ordinary day. you hoped you could stay true to that.

or…not.

the sight of said host rejecting someone’s gift to him is the first thing that greets you. your smile immediately falters.

he didn’t like gifts? your heart begins to race. crap, crap. what were you going to do? you couldn’t hide the gift—someone would find it. it was obviously who it was for, with the big fat words happy birthday printed all over the bag. plus your names written on it, addressed to sunghoon.

your eyes follow him to his usual seat, only for your heart to drop.

sunghoon looks around expectantly. almost like, he was… looking for someone (you). he does. almost immediately.

if you move, he’ll see the bag behind you. heart racing, you decide to charge ahead and approach him. you couldn’t face a rejection of the gift you spent hours trying to find, but you also didn’t want to leave him hanging.

you walk over nervously, doing your absolute best to hide the bag and appear unaffected. maybe he wouldn’t notice, right?

wrong. sunghoon was probably the most observant person on the earth. his eyes immediately fall to your suspicious hands.

it was over. his eyes flick back up to you with a questioning look in them.

you close your eyes briefly, internally falling to your knees. well, there was nothing else to do.

you nervously thrust out the bag towards him, hiding your face as you softly say,

“happy birthday, sunghoon.”

you hold your breath and wait embarrassingly for the painful rejection.

spoiler: it never comes.

“thank you.”

hearing his voice causes shivers to run down your spine. your eyes fly open. did he just…accept your gift? and more importantly, he spoke to you?!

he takes the bag and puts it aside on the table.

“are you not going to open it?”

he looks at your expectant expression before beginning to unwrap the gift.

“i thought maybe we could share,” you mumble.

sunghoon carefully opens the intricate wrapping to unveil the gift you ultimately decided on: a smooth, leather sketchbook with pencils.

“now we’re matching,” you whisper before pulling out your own.

“i… don’t know what to do with it.”

hearing his voice again still makes goosebumps appear on your arm. you stifle a laugh as you reach over to demonstrate.

the real sunghoon watches in awe as you begin roughly drawing something in his new sketchbook. when you retract your arm, he’s finally able to see what you did. it’s a beautiful drawing of a cake and the words, happy sunghoon day!

he glances up at you with wide eyes. you shrug and only look away. to your surprise, sunghoon determinedly picks up a pen and begins doodling as well.

soon enough, the first page is filled with random drawings, doodles, and most importantly, meaningful connections.

you both smile and silently laugh at each other’s drawings. sunghoon’s favorite is your drawing of a baby sunoo and his cake while your favorite is of sunghoon’s (rather awful, yet still recognizable) drawing of the seven hosts.

this is the first time you’ve felt like you truly communicated with sunghoon, even if it was through a paper and pen instead of words.

when the page is filled completely, you admire your collaboration work proudly.

“thank you, y/n.”

your heart warms. “o-of course,” you stammer. maybe you were slightly very internally freaking out that he addressed you by your name.

sunghoon must’ve seen your bashful expression because he reaches over to pat your head. nothing else had to be said, because in that moment, you felt all your feelings were conveyed.

park sunghoon was supposed to be the cold and tsundere type of host. yet around you, he felt vulnerable, like you brought out a different side of him.

as you sit across from him, sharing smiles, you wish this moment could last forever.

all you can think is that sunghoon’s soul is so pure and needs to be preserved, protected. you really hope you can be the one to forever do that.

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