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#someone you loved
stardustemotions · 3 days
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You don’t love people in hopes of a reward, you love them unconditionally.
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sadgrillsonly · 1 year
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In an alternate universe I hope I am loved.
unconditionally,
irrevocably,
eternally,
and endlessly.
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tellherium · 10 months
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It was Never about You //
3 of 3: Poems From the First Evening I've Spent Alone in Over a Month
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one-time-i-dreamt · 3 months
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I was at a Lewis Capaldi concert, except it seemed that it was in a mall parking lot. He was performing his song “Someone You Loved” in like this ballroom setting when he saw the dancer playing his girlfriend dance with another man. Then he turned to the audience and grew this huge glowing 3D wolf head (it looked like VR) and started a song called Alpha where the first words were a low metal growl of “I'm the alpha” then some intense EDM started playing as he howled at the sky.
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shok0in · 3 months
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I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved
Ma bby boi ;^;♡♡
(click on picture for better quality)
☆ idolverse by @zucchiyeni
☆ idolvcross by @astr00-b0yy
☆ cross by jakei95
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kaigarax · 5 months
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Everything I Could Never Say
Porco Galliard x Reader
Quote: "Fall in love with someone you knew." & "Fall in love with someone that inspires you."
Someone You Loved: Featuring the Soldier
Porco Galliard had been acquainted with death all his life.
He’d never personally gotten very close to death but many of the most important people in his life had been taken away. Death was like a friend of a friend that you’ve never quite liked but never been able to leave behind. Though, Porco supposes that choosing a life in the military wasn’t the smartest choice if he hoped to avoid death.
From his brother Marcel who died when he was twelve during an accident to his best friend Pieck who died when he was twenty one during their first deployment. The countless soldiers he’s fought side by side with seemingly nothing but nameless faces in the wind.
And now, it seems, you.
Porco can’t help but feel awkward as he stands at the entrance. There’s a light drizzle in the sky yet it does nothing to cool the weather. It’s humid and Porco’s suit sticks to him. It also doesn't help that his arms and legs ache from the long flight. He’d been working out in hopes of getting the stress out but it seems as though his stress has come back full force in the shape of both mental and physical anguish.
Your parents had invited him to the service the day before but he hadn’t been able to get the time off. At least he’d be able to attend with everyone else. Actually, it’s quite fitting because while Porco had been close with you growing up he feels as though you’re almost a stranger now.
It’s a horrible thing to realize and even more devastating to think about yet seems almost fitting.
The woman standing at the counter greets him with a slight nod of her head as she asks for his name.
She hands Porco a badge and name tag.
It’s not his name that’s been written down.
Of course it was something like this. Something you would have loved. Not just would Porco not know anyone there but he wouldn’t be able to pretend to know them either. You always did seem to find amusement over stupid little things like this. But it was one of the things he loved about you.
The room’s larger than it looks. It’s white and round, with photos lined up across the walls. It looks more like an art exhibit than what it really is. But you would have liked it that way. In fact, Porco wouldn’t be all too surprised to hear that you planned this all out yourself.
The horrible ache in his arms and leg suddenly doesn't seem to bother him as much. The pain suddenly seems so little. So little compared to the aching in his chest.
He never realised how much he missed you.
It’s as though all those feelings he’d pushed down suddenly came rushing back and crashing down. The world around him is spinning and he can’t seem to catch his breath. He wants to run out but his feet don’t move. It’s hard to focus his eyes and he has to squint to look at the photo in front of him.
The man in the frame looks deeply concentrated on something in front of him. The camera’s capture him from his profile and highlights the ginamours background behind him. The spotlights seemed to have all turned to point at him, as if saying that ‘here is the main character. Watch him succeed’. Porco thinks that he can almost hear the cheers and feel the anticipation of the crowd as they wait for something incredible to happen.
You chose not the moment before or after but right then, before the world comes crashing down. Like the deep breath right before a storm. The words ‘with baited breath we await the storm’ are engraved at the bottom.
It’s… a nice photo.
Porco wonders if there’s one of him too.
What you might have written down for him.
His erratic heart seems to find some calm in the photos you’ve left behind. No, he thinks, they aren’t photos but rather art. The blood, sweat and tears that you gave in hopes of leaving something greater than you behind. The pieces of you that would forever stay here in the world of the living. Did you regret leaving something as amazing as this behind? Did you regret leaving-
The photo of him surprises him. Porco remembers the day you took that very one. He remembers how you pestered him for the entirety of the day in hopes that he would go with you to see the fireworks. How excited you were because your parents had finally gotten you the camera you had been begging for.
You had wanted to take a photo of the starry sky and light show.
And Porco had been in such a bad mood that day.
He’d been upset about something stupid his brother had done and wouldn’t do anything productive until Marcel apologised. Of course Marcel never apologised and you had done almost everything you could to make him smile.
Actually, now that Porco thinks about it, he doesn't think you ever did see the fireworks that day. After taking that photo you had left, your cheeks flushed red.
Truthfully, Porco thinks he looks a little… cute. Of course he looks every bit of the snot-nosed brat but even brats can be adorable children.
The words ‘Take 574’ are plastered beneath its portrait.
He once told you that he believed there were exactly 574 stars in the sky. Of course, being an adult, Porco now knows that there are millions (if not billions) of stars in the sky but that number had been so large. One of the largest numbers he had been able to count up to back then. It’s funny to think how small the world seemed to the two of you.
Back when Porco thought that it would only always just be the two of you.
He used to think that that was how the world would always be. Him, you and everyone else.
It’s a shame that life did not allow it to progress the way he had hoped it would. Though, that’s likely mostly to the fault of him. He’s almost certain both yours and his lives would have been different if Porco had…
“You’re that boy from the earlier photos, the Soldier, aren’t you?”
Porco turns to see the Mentalist. A man with dual coloured hair split straight down the middle. You talked about him quite a bit in your letters. About his brilliant mind and how thrilled you were when he had chosen to take you under his wing.
Looking at him now, Porco isn’t all too sure why you were so enamoured with him. Sure, he has a flashy appearance but he doesn't seem to exude the same brilliance you spoke of. Perhaps it’s just perspective? Though Porco has always been rather biased when it comes to the Mentalist. Afterall, why would you need to be tutored by someone in a different profession?
“Yeah.” Porco gives the Mentalist a slight nod, “how’d you know? Most people are surprised when they learn it’s me in those photos.”
The Mentalist smiles, “you have the same eyes.”
Porco raises a brow.
“And the same expressions.” Adds a newcomer.
The pair turn to see a white haired man. Porco instantly recognizes him as the Athlete. He’s shorter than Porco would have expected. Average height for an average person but definitely short for a professional athlete. He has startling eyes, something akin to a bird, and a very loud voice.
Porco recognizes him, not because of his exotic features or fame but because of you. He was, afterall, your latest muse. Or rather… last muse.
The Mentalist turns to look at the newcomer, a curious look in his eyes, “the Athlete?”
The Athlete flushes, “I was never really a fan of that title.”
“Why so?’ Asks the Mentalist.
“Because it always felt so…” the Athlete trails off, looking into the distance towards a photo of you.
“Different from who you felt you were?” Suggest Porco.
“Yeah.” says the Athlete, his gaze still glued to your photo.
Porco eyes follow the Athlete’s. He’s surprised that they managed to find such a recent photo of you. Actually, he’s surprised they managed to find one of you at all. You always did prefer to be behind the lens. It captures that youthful glow Porco remembers you having. You don’t have dirt in your hair or the baby fat that lingered into your early teens, but you have all the same warmth and excitement.
“You know, those are the titles she picked for you,” the Mentalist smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes, “I think she would have wanted you to look a little deeper into it.”
Porco snorts, “and what’s yours supposed to mean, Mentalist?”
“Well, I’m a magician, aren’t I? She was always very impressed by my extraordinary mental prowess.” The Mentalist smirks though Porco can see the sadness in his eyes, “though when she said it, she always meant eccentric. Considered calling it ‘the Mad Man’ at some point.”
Perhaps he had been too quick to judge him. Afterall, this man had chosen to go to your funeral and final exhibition. This man clearly, at one point, cared about you. This man, despite seeming to be everything Porco stands against, stands here trying to smile because he knows it’s what you would have wanted.
Porco tries his best to muster up a smile, “she wanted to call mine ‘the Brat.’”
The eyes of his two companions seem to fill up with laughter.
The Athlete eventually clears his throat, “did you two know her well?”
“Not as well as I’d like to.” Says the Mentalist.
“At one point,” Porco shrugs, “did you?”
“I’m not sure.” Answers the Athlete.
“Well you’re here so you must have meant something to her.” says Porco.
“And she must have meant something to you.” Adds the Mentalist.
Porco has always wondered what kind of person you turned out to be. The you he remembers is one who always chased after him. A clumsy girl that was scared of almost everything. Did you fall in love easily? Did you stand up for what you believed in? Until now, Porco never really realised how much uncertainty there was surrounding you.
Though, what he does know for certain is that you must have been brilliant. Why else would all these people have come for you?
“So, what’s ‘the Athlete’ supposed to mean?” Asks the Mentalist.
“Oh,” the Athlete flushes, “well it’s actually a bit of an inside joke, I think.”
The Mentalist turns his head to the side, “you think?”
“Well, she always talked about how she admired athletes. Talked about how she loved the way they ‘sparked’. Honestly, I’m surprised she chose me in the end.” There's a small smile that forms in the corner of the Athlete’s mouth, “I guess she couldn’t help but be impressed when she watched me play.”
Porco fights the urge to roll his eyes.
Not at the Athlete’s expense but yours.
Of course you have a type.
“Have any of you talked to the others?” Asks Porco.
“The others?” Questions the Athlete.
The Mentalist turns to look around the room, “the other Muses?”
“Oh,” says the Athlete, “no. Honestly I’m not really familiar with anyone else here. She never really spoke about the other… muses.” The word muse both sounds foreign from the Athlete’s mouth and feels foreign in Porco’s ears. “I’m basically a stranger to everyone else here. What about the two of you?”
“I’m in the same boat as you.” says Porco.
Then they both turn towards the Mentalist.
The Mentalist shrugs, “she always did like her distance.”
And Porco hates how true that statement seems to be and how deep it really sinks.
While the two of you had spent your developmental years together the other half of your life had been spent with you exploring the rest of the world while Porco slaved away in the army. Sure, the two of you exchanged letters but those could never be compared to the raw expressions and emotions that someone had whe face to face with another. A perfectly crafted collage of words and sentences that you’ve chosen to construct in order to create the perfect image that you know he would like to see.
Did he ever really know you at all?
Did either of these two?
Did any of these countless people?
Your distance had always been Porco’s least favourite thing about you. But distance seemed like such a little thing when compared to the vastness of everything else that made you, you. The distance was what made you, you.
The distance between you and Porco was one he could never quite bridge. So he could only ever love you from afar and wonder what it might be like to hear you call out his name. In the middle of a night after a nightmare; in the middle of the day for something mundane; in anger after the midst of an argument; and after the argument with remorse.
Fall in love with someone you knew.
---
Everything I Could Never Say
‘Stay.’
The first painting Porco has ever completed took three years from start to end. He’d always been interested in painting when he was young and dabbled in the art when he entered high school but wouldn’t truly indulge in the art until you left. All the time he’d spent with you would eventually become all the time he’d have to devote to his new hobbies.
For the longest time, the finished painting lay collecting dust in the back of his closet. He was never really pleased with the finished product but never truly found the heart to throw it away.
Eventually, the painting managed to make its way into the hands of an art collector. Porco’s mother had been having a yard sale and he had convinced his mother to throw the piece in with the other items. Someone clearly must have been impressed with the work because he’d soon find himself swept up in a whirlwind.
Now, the painting hangs up against a large white wall.
You’re standing at the edge of the doorframe, in the painting, a warm smile on your face. Your foot is out the door but your head is turned back as if waiting to hear one last message. As if waiting for one last thing. Your eyes are soft as you take everything in for the last time.
It’s Porco’s childhood home that he’s painted you in, recognizable with the ugly stain on the side of the door and messy rack of shoes that’s been pushed up against the wall.
Back then, Porco wanderers if you might have stayed in there just a moment longer if you had known it would be your last time ever seeing the place. And, if you had stayed a moment longer would those words at the tip of his tongue ever be said?
Would he have been able to utter that single word that lay at the tip of his tongue?
No.
Even if you had stayed just a moment longer he knows he would have never said those words. He couldn’t. Not because he was afraid of the rejection but because he knew you would stay if he asked. That a single word from him was all that it would have taken to change the very course of your lives.
But you were never meant for such mundane things.
You were meant to see the world - and how could he be the reason why you’d never get to experience that? The world was meant to see you - and how could he deny the world someone as amazing as you?
---
‘I missed you.’
The second painting was made years after the first. Years after Porco had already mastered and perfected his craft.
He’d been going through a slump when he bumped into you. The both of you happened to be visiting your childhood homes at the same time when you stumbled into one another. Porco had been going for a morning run while you (as usual) were out with your camera. It was almost nostalgic.
You’d been so happy that you practically strong armed him into going to a breakfast joint with you.
So much more grown up then you had been before, yet still with that spark in your eyes. The same bright expression yet your smile seemed to hold so much more wisdom behind it. Ideas and phrases that he’d never imagined you’d say before.
So familiar, yet different.
And that’s where he paints you.
Somewhere in between the state of familiarity and unknown.
There, in the breakfast diner, with a tired smile. You’re resting your head on your arms as you tell stories about the life you’ve managed to live without him. And it feels so different from words on a page. It feels real yet imaginary at the same time.
The slump he’d been going through had seemingly evaporated as he got to work on that painting of you that very afternoon.
Seeing how much you’ve changed back them seemed to set something off in him. It was a good kind of change. One that shows you've grown a lot from the immature and young person you had been before. That life has changed you for the better. It’s the kind of change that everyone goes through at one point but something you never notice until the change has occurred beneath your noses and now you’re a different person.
You’re a different person. Changed. And that thought made Porco happy yet sad at the same time.
And those words lingering in the back of his mind stay. Not because he can’t bring himself to say them but because they only stand to make all the change that has happened seem more real. Seem so… less imaginary. He’s scared that sadness will become the forefront of his mind if he allows himself to utter those words. So he doesn't. So he didn’t.
---
‘Why not?’
Barely a week after Porco’s finished the second painting does he come up with the idea for this one. Refamiliarizing yourselves with one another is an easier process than Porco would have thought. You fit like puzzle pieces. At first he’d been scared that you’d be much too different but he supposes that he had always been quite the pessimist. It’s not as if distance could have changed someone so much. Or at least not someone like you.
Porco’s decided to invite you to the bar, seeing as how you seemed to be experiencing a slump similar to one that he had just the week before.
A fresh environment is always a good way to spark some inspiration - and there’s no harm in a few drinks here and there. Or at least that was what Porco thought before he actually brought you there.
You’re five drinks in with two hours of complaining.
Love has never come easily to most and you had certainly not been an expectation. And that difficulty had brought Porco a long list of complaints and woes about the various troubles you’ve found yourself with.
And it’s this tired and troubled expression that Porco decides to paint you with. It’s so different from the other wistful expressions Porco has made and so different from anything that he’s ever seen you with. It’s refreshing and reminds him that, like him, you’re still young and learning. That there’s also so much life that you have yet to live as well. Of course, there’s still a softness in your eyes.
There always will be, he thinks.
The bar in the background is buzzing with action and Porco tries his best to capture everything. The people dancing in the background, despite no music playing. The bartender swiftly attends to everyone there while the waitress seamlessly moves through the crowd.
And Porco, who has grown weary from listening to your complaints can only think about you. About how he still feels so strongly about you despite knowing that you’ve changed from the innocent and naive girl he knew before. He thinks about how your hand would feel if you were to just reach out and grab it.
He thinks you’d blush bashfully but wouldn’t pull away. Porco has always known of his affect on you and is happy to see that that hasn’t changed.
But he can’t bring himself to ask you to give him a chance. Like before the words just don’t seem to leave his mouth. He can’t see the benefits of risking what you already have for something uncertain. Especially if it doesn't work out.
---
‘You’re my inspiration.’
The fourth painting is created two weeks after the second and third.
Porco’s mother had heard you were in town and basically forced Porco to invite you to dinner before you head out for some other foreign country. You’d been commissioned by some famous singer to take photos of them for their next concert and you were never one to turn down such an exciting job.
You’d leave as early as next Monday but before that you would attend dinner with Porco and his parents.
The dinner was short and mostly filled with subtle hints from his mother that the two of you should get together. Parents always did that, didn’t they? Put their heads into a situation when they think that two individuals would fit together instead of trying to read the room and see why they aren’t. But Porco can blame his mother, not when she looks so happy talking to you.
Eventually, you head into this room (though it’s more like a studio) and see the first three paintings he’s made.
Porco would have thought you’d been weirded out if not a little uncomfortable but you were ecstatic. He daresay inspired. Thinking back on it he supposes that you, being an artist yourself, saw it more as a mutual and professional relationship rather than something romantic and personal.
You told him that he’d be able to make it professional. That his work would go on to be more popular than your own.
Then, for the first time in years, you ask him to take a photo.
Porco paints you with a bright smile. An excited one that resembles the ones you used to always have when you were young. You can’t see the top half of your face as you hold a camera up towards the viewers but anyone looking can tell that looking at him (or the viewer) with a warmth that’s reserved only for those that you hold in the highest regard.
Back then, Porco wondered if you thought about those paintings of his when you left. If you wondered about the other people he might have painted or the other things that might have inspired him.
If you knew that you inspired him.
He never found himself able to tell you that himself. It was simply… too embarrassing. Or at least back then it had been too embarrassing. Now he wonders how you might have reacted if you knew in the first place.
---
‘Would you like to dance?’
A year after your brief meeting in your hometown Porco receives an invitation to your latest showcase. It’s a traditional sort of galla in commemoration of your latest Muse, ‘The Dancer’. Porco doesn't know much about the dancer - just that you happened to meet them while photographing the wedding and were taken aback.
Porco had only decided to attend because the gala was being held close to where he happened to be staying.
And here is where he takes the inspiration for the fifth painting.
Everyone, including you, is wearing masks and beautiful flowing clothes. The women are in bright dresses and the men in warmly coloured tuxedos. The dress code had been formal but Porco hadn’t been expecting something like this. Porco had gone to the gala wearing a dark green suit, his military uniform.
He’s given strange looks but the only gaze that really matters is the one from you.
He paints you from the side as you stare off into the crowd. Your clothing is breezier and lighter than what the others around you are wearing and it matches the green Porco has decided to wear. You’re staring out onto the dance floor but all Porco can see is you.
Your hands are behind you back in the painting. As if you’re peacefully staring out at something scarene.
And here, Porco wonders if you want to head out onto the floor. He wonders if you’d take his hand and dance with him. Everyone here seems to be watching you with baited breath but they don’t seem to come any closer. A distance between you and everyone else.
Would you want to dance with him?
He wonders if you even know he’s there.
But you have always been like this. The kind of person to get so swept up into a single moment. Unaware of everything else around you.
Or course, Porco never does manage to ask you to dance. But how could he? Not while you were looking at someone else the way he looked at you.
---
‘I love you.’
The last painting of you is the last moment Porco had spent with you before everything had come crashing down. But it isn’t painted after that moment. It isn’t painted for years and years. It isn’t painted until then.
The canvas is a mixture of blacks and dark blues with a brilliant array of colourful stars.
You’re standing waist deep in water with you back to the audience staring up at the dark sky being filled with splashes and blurs of colour. Bright pinks, blues, yellows and greens. Momentary flashes of colour that have come to be known as fireworks. Porco tried his best to capture the awe and amazement despite not being able to see your face.
You dragged Porco to the late night carnevil to see the fireworks. The two of you had agreed to meet up a year before but Porco hadn’t been expecting to stay here this late into the night.
The two of you had somehow ended up falling into the water when the fireworks had begun.
It was a brilliant moment.
You loved the flash of colour in the sky.
Porco loved the flash of life he saw in your eyes.
And after that night Porco had planned on painting this picture of you immediately. But then… he got sick. And then life got in the way. One major mission and then another life event. And another day of rest would push it onto the next agenda and so fourth.
And it isn’t until he hears the horrible news that the world around him seems to slow.
No, his world had halted.
In all the pain and misery, Porco finally emerges with this piece of you. A cumulation of his blood, sweat and tears. A cumulation of everything he never managed to say. The three words that he wishes he could have at least told you once.
And it’s strange.
Back then, he’d never been able to say those words - and he doesn't think he ever would have even if things had been different. He’d have never been able to say those words because he knew that you never felt the same way that he had.
---
“Who is she?” Asks a young girl.
Porco thinks that she reminds him of you. Sure her appearance and clothing is different but she has that same wonderfilled and innocent smile you did when you were in the springtime of your youth. So bold and excited for the world that you’ve yet to meet.
And Porco smiles, “someone I loved.”
Fall in love with someone that inspires you.
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synergysilhouette · 19 days
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Pop songs I wish "Wish" had taken inspiration from for their soundtrack
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For context:
"Bigger" for "Welcome to Rosas." Kind of a cheat since "Bigger" is from a soundtrack (one affiliated with Disney, too), but it's an impactful opening track written and performed by a pop icon. The message of being part of something amazing and bigger than yourself is a wonderful message that WTR could've done well with, rather than a simple welcome song. Plus it could also show the desperation to have your wish granted, a selfishness beneath the surface, Disney-level altruism.
"Someone You Loved" for "At All Costs." Granted, AAC is the strongest song from the soundtrack. However, it was a missed opportunity to dive into Magnifco and Asha's pasts and motivations more. A bittersweet song like SYL (which was about losing someone close to you) would've been good inspiration to make this song just as wistful as it was beautiful.
"Sine From Above" for "This Wish." TW is...it's just so basic. If the rumors about Julia Michaels having three weeks to make the soundtrack and no changes is true, then I can't blame her. But the song is still terrible and lacks the awe and majesty that the marketing song should have. SFA is the better version of this song, basically.
"Just Like Magic" for "I'm a Star." Hot take: I wanted IAS to be a powerful ballad rather than a flat, cute-sy song, which may not be a popular idea since it'd come right after a powerful ballad. But anything was better than the educational tv-vibes it gave off. JLM is about the Laws of Attraction, about putting out good energy into the world and getting it back into yourself. Asha would need something like that after the "devastating" realization she discovered about her kingdom.
"This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things" for "This is the Thanks I Get?!" Honestly, this is self-explanatory when you listen to both songs. It's like Taylor wrote a Magnifico song herself. And it's not even about being a villain! It's about being taken advantage of and dealing with ungrateful people. And on a darker note: Magnifico could be losing his sanity and hallucinating himself back in his village and saying how they wouldn't be ungrateful--or having to remind himself that he has to deal with ungrateful people, as that's the price for keeping their lives safe.
"Wide Awake" for "Knowing What I Know Now." Seeing how WA is about having a crushing realization hit you and feeling the freedom to move on from it is a powerful feeling, something that would've been better than KWIKN--though I do blame part of the song's failure on the fact that Asha's friends aren't fleshed out enough for the song not to be sung by random people.
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transsexualpriest · 2 months
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Leaving; Left
someone you loved • lewis capaldi | you’ll come back to yourself • michaela angemeer | absence • rio romeo | the arctic balloonists talk to the ones they left behind • j.p. white | you’re somebody else • flora cash | on being left • @espoetry | losing face • wilbur soot | spotify playlist | happiest years • jaymes young | waiting for this story to end before i begin another • jan heller levi
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m-a-salter · 9 months
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Thinking about this moment for no reason.
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Lewis at Glastonbury while the crowd sings
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anakinisvaderisanakin · 11 months
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To let my guard down
Then you pulled the rug
I was getting kind of used to being someone you loved
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always-and-evermore · 6 months
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I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.
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tellherium · 6 months
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my angel numbers have moved from 111 to 222 and I am doing my best to think more than ever
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sadgrillsonly · 1 year
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The worst part is my heart will never heal from you, it just has to learn to continue beating without you…
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itslilahhere · 24 days
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Wesley and Lilah
“Someone You Loved”
I’ve just created a picture of my favorite couple with the lyrics of one of my favorite songs. [I’m not sure it came out very well, sorry, I’m a bit rusty with Photoshop haha].
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Wes and Lilah’s relationship has always been one of my favorites on the show. It’s so complex and beautiful at the same time. I think they both needed each other at that point, and I love how they show sides of them that they've never shown before... it may be controversial but I’m sure there’s love from both sides at the end, and I think “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi is a perfect song for them. Every time I hear the lyrics I just think of them and I’m obsessed especially with these two lines that I see as something Wesley would think of Lilah:
I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain
I guess I kinda liked the way you helped me escape
Also, I was inspired by @mercer-queen 's video of Wes and Lilah -that I absolutely love- with this song.
Hope you like it! :)
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kaigarax · 1 month
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Exactly As You Saw
Sero Hanta x Reader
Quote: "Fall in love with someone gentle." & "Fall in love with someone you can love."
Someone You Loved Featuring: The Hero
Sero Hanta wasn’t quite sure how he got here.
Well, that wasn’t entirely correct.
He remembers receiving your text. Asking him if he was free and if he was in town; and Sero, of course, could never turn you down. All you ever had to do was call his name and he’d come running.
But how he ended up at the wedding of perhaps one of the wealthiest men on earth Sero wasn’t too sure. Well, it was like he always said - best to live life as it comes to you instead of questioning why things aren’t the way you want.
Sero had thrown on whatever suit he’d found, though if he’d known just exactly who’s wedding he’d attend he likely would have dressed better. Or at least attempted to get his suit cleaned a week prior. But too little too late. Sure he may have looked a little on the shabbier side but he had what many other people didn’t.
He had you.
You chose a pretty outfit. Something light both in colour and style - likely both in an attempt to keep cool and blend into the background as you take photos. You said something, practically gushing, about how you thought the bride was just the most absolutely beautiful girl here earlier but Sero disagreed. Personally, he thought it had to have been you.
On another personal matter, Sero also thought that it was a little weird that he’d been invited to a wedding as plus one where you were working but he supposed you could always count on rich people to be abnormal.
You spent most of the wedding reception taking photos but Sero was sure you would eventually find your way back to the small table Sero and you shared in the back of the room. Unlike the other tables there were no nametags but there still were several chairs if people wanted to join them. So far, Sero had spent most of the night alone.
At least the music was good.
And the staff were nice.
Eventually, a short dirty blonde haired male ended up taking a seat next to Sero. They talked briefly before Sero finally realised that the man standing in front of him was The Chef. He looked different from the photos but Sero supposed that was normal. Without the lens of a camera most people looked different. Overall Sero thought he seemed like a good person. Soft spoken, thoughtful and polite. Not much more one could really ask for when speaking to strangers.
Finally, when you made your way back to your small corner of the room, a tall purple haired man trailing you like a puppy with a pout on his face. He acted as though you were the one dragging him alone despite the fact that he was the one clinging onto your sleeve. It was almost cute. Sero would’ve laughed if hadn’t recognized the man as the Pilot. Your most recent must and apparently admirer.
People like you always had admirers.
Sero would know.
“Ah, unrequited love,” you smiled wistfully, as you took a seat down at the table.
Sero’s heart did a little flutter. The same kind of flutter it always did when he was with you. The same kind of flutter he hated the most. Not because it was a bad thing, no something like this could never be bad, but because it was exactly as you said. Unrequited.
He wonders if you can hear his heart beating through his chest.
If your eyes are resting on him as the tips of his ears are tinted red.
The Pilot takes a seat beside you, frowning slightly, “who?”
You pointed over to the far side of the room where a group of young folk sat. All three men follow your gaze. Sero’s pretty sure they’re mostly teenagers; not just from the youthful look on their faces but the playful expressions as they throw teases and insults at one another. It’s enough to make his own heart ache for his days of youth.
Specifically, Sero notes, you point out a pink haired boy
“Who’s he in love with?” The Chef asks.
You smile playfully, “guess.”
Sero’s the first to ask, his voice coming out both smooth and curious, “the brown haired girl?”
Your eyes flash from Sero’s face to the group on the other side of the room before shaking your head. Sero finds he’s more disappointed than he thought he’d be. At first he thinks it might be because he got something wrong but that can’t be right. He used to answer questions wrong at school all the time.
Then maybe it has something to do with the fact of his pride. He has always considered himself a people person. Someone that notices the little things. He supposes that’s not so much the case now.
“The blonde girl?” The Chef suggested.
The Chef, like Sero, is met with a disappointing shake of the head.
“The girl,” the Pilot pauses for a brief moment, “with the golden eyes?”
Your own eyes seem to light up, “what makes you say that?”
The Pilot shrugs, “a gut feeling, I guess.”
You shake your head like a parent scolding a child, “I expected better of you, Mr. Airplane.”
Sero notes how you smile fondly when you say it. As if it’s an inside joke between the two of you. Makes him feel worlds away despite sitting beside you. He supposes you always did have a knack for being so… far away. If not the distance of a country away then at least a breadth. Forever so close yet so far.
The Chef clears his throat, “Mr. Airplane?”
The Pilot, unamused, rolls his eyes in response, “just a silly nickname.”
“It suits you~” Sero teases, “being the Pilot and all.”
“Ah yes,” you smile as if hearing it for the first time despite coming up with the nickname yourself, “the Pilot.”
“You’re such a brat, (Y/n).” The Pilot mumbles, hiding his face in his hands.
“At least I don’t rely on gut feelings to know when someone’s in love.” You tease back.
The Chef, sitting every so politely, swallows quietly, seeming to take your words deeply into consideration, “how do you know when someone’s in love, (Y/n)?”
“Well,” you begin, “I would recommend years of observation - as experience is the most sure way of figuring this kind of thing out - but I’ll give you guys the sparknotes.” Your calm expression turns into something more befitting to amusement, “to know if someone’s in love you just have to follow their gaze.”
“Why?” Sero asks.
“Because the gaze never lies.” You finished.
The gaze never lies?
Sero supposes he’s never thought about that much before - but it makes sense. People, when they’re in love (at least from Sero’s experience) like being around the person they love. Care about the opinions, wants and needs of that person they happen to be in love with so it only makes sense that that’s where their gaze would fall.
Sero’s eyes make their way over to you.
You’re fiddling around with the glass of water that had been set out for you earlier in the day looking almost like a petulant child. Sero has half a mind to poke your side playfully but refrains as you suddenly perk up, “do any of you plan on getting married?”
The Pilot is the first one to speak up, muttering a simple, “eventually.”
“Eventually?” You ask.
“Well, obviously whoever I get married to is going to have to be okay with being in the public light. Constantly being harassed by the paparazzi whether they’re famous or not just because they’re associated with me. I don’t plan on getting married until I’m ready to settle down in my acting career.” The Pilot declared.
Your eyes sparkle in amusement, “very mature of you.”
“Besides,” the Pilot continues, “actors and models are more popular when they’re single anyways.”
You laugh playfully, “and he drops the ball.”
Sero would’ve laughed alongside you if he either weren’t so polite or better acquainted with the Pilot. The Pilot’s expression is a funny one with his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed in on you. What really finishes the look though is the softness behind his glare. It’s a kind of look that you don’t often see in other individuals. Well, at least it’s the kind of look that Sero doesn't see very often.
“What about you, Viking Boy?” You ask, “you are the oldest of us four. You plan on getting hitched anytime soon?”
The Chef scratches the back of his neck sheepishly as his eyes linger on you, “I guess I never thought much about it.”
Sero wonders if that’s a lie though he isn’t quite too sure why. Perhaps it has something to do with that brief pause before answering? Or maybe it’s a gut feeling in his chest? Who knows? All that Sero can really think about at the moment is how pretty you look right now as you smile at the Chef. It’s a pretty kinda smile that Sero hasn’t seen on your face before. It sends his own heart throb pathetically.
“Any girl would be lucky to have you,” you smirk, “or guy, if that’s what you’re into.”
The chef blushes, “well I-”
Sero abruptly cuts the Chef off with a gentle pat on the back, “come on, Sweets, don’t tease him.”
Your playful gaze falls to him next, “and what about you, Cellophane?”
Cellophane. It’s been ages since you’ve last called him that. Ages since anyone’s called him that. His nickname back when he thought he was too cool for school. Well he was already out of school at that point but the statement still stands.
He swallows, attempting to play coy, despite already knowing the meaning behind your words, “what about me?”
“Any special someone in your life?”
“Na,” Sero smiles, “it’s a bachelor’s life for me.” The smile doesn't reach his eyes and Sero finds himself wondering if anyone notices. Finds himself wondering if you notice.
No.
You definitely notice if that sappy look you have on your face means anything. Which it usually does. It’s that look where your eyes narrow in on something and the corners of your lips tilt downwards. It’s something so subtle that most people wouldn’t notice it. Something so simple that most people disregard it.
“Well no shame,” you clear your throat, “not everyone in this world gets married.”
“What about you, Sweets?” Sero asks.
“Marriage,” you say the word as if tentatively tasting it for the first time, “what do you think?”
Yes, Sero thinks, you most definitely will get married. You’re too bright, too brilliant, too sweet to not get married. In fact, he’s surprised you haven’t already been swept off your feet by now but he supposes you have always prioritized your career over love. He feels as though he’s done the same. Sero thinks you’d probably be good at being married. That you’d be the kind of person to indulge in your spouse’s wants and needs. Bets you’d be such a pretty bride; sees you taking photos of you wedding guests rather than stopping to take photos of yourself. The idea would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so you.
Sero follows your gaze back to the group sequestered at the other side of the room. They’re laughing about one thing or another. Sero finds himself wondering if you’re thinking about asking one of them to be your next muse. Sero can’t really find anything in common between the different muses - he supposes that none of them are from the same industry? Oh, but didn’t you take photos of two different athletes?
He doesn't ponder on it for too long as the pink haired boy catches his attention.
There’s a soft look in the eyes of the pink haired boy. That despite him being the one telling a story to the rest of the group (evident through the way he moves his hands dramatically) he keeps his gaze pointed directly on the girl with the golden eyes.
The golden eyed girl sits politely and smiles softly, leaning back in her chair. She kind of reminds Sero of a girl he knew back when he was young.
Out of everyone else at the table the only other person that manages to catch Sero’s attention is an orange haired boy. He reminds Sero of himself with an aloof and playful personality. Has that playful look in his eyes.
“What makes you think he has an unrequited love, (Y/n)?” The Pilot asks.
“Don’t think, Mr. Airplane.” You say, “I know.”
Sero raises a brow, “oh, do you now?”
“Of course. I know people’s hearts.” You smile in a way that makes people’s hearts flutter, “why else would my works be so popular?”
Sero has to look away from you in an attempt to calm the erratic fluttering of his heart. To think, after all these years, you still manage to get his heart to act in such a dramatic way.
“Because you’re good at taking photos?” Suggest the Chef.
Anyone else would have said the suggestion teasingly - because of course it was the obvious answer. The candidness in the Chef’s voice though would suggest otherwise which is probably what prompts Sero to laugh, patting the Chef on the back, “I like you! You’re so straightforward! Not like this little missy here!”
The Chef blushes, “thanks I guess.”
“Hey!” You exclaimed.
Sero notes that the Pilot smiles softly at your reaction but his voice is teasing, “people like your photos because you pick such good looking muses.”
You take the tease in stride, smiling fondly with your eyes closed, “very true! The muses I pick have excellent hearts.”
Sero ignores the loud beating of his heart as he pulls your attention back to himself, “hey, you never answered the question, Sweets.”
“I haven’t, have I?”
“This is what you mean, ain’t it?” The Pilot says, nudging Sero playfully, “she hates answering questions directly.”
“Hey, you’re ganging up on me!”
Sero chuckles, “that’s because you make it too easy.”
“It’s okay, (Y/n),” the Chef says softly, “you don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to,” effectively directing the playful teasing towards himself.
Sero sighs playfully and dramatically, “you’re too easy on her.”
“A total simp.” The Pilot adds.
You roll your eyes in an attempt of feigning annoyance but Sero’s notices the hint of a smile, “the two of you could learn a thing or two from him.”
Sero laughs, patting your head, “doubt it, Sweets.”
You grab his hand, bringing it down into your own as you smile, “love is such a mysterious thing.”
Sero feels his face heat up dramatically.
Your hands are softer than he remembers.
Warm.
He clears his throat slightly, seeing that your gaze has moved from the group across the room to the centerpiece of the reception; the bride and groom.
They’re a handsome couple, the groom's eyes never wavering from his wife’s form as he drags her over to the centre of the room for their first dance of the night. Well it wasn’t their first dance but it’s the first dance they’re going to take now that everyone has finished their meals. Sero wonders if he’ll ever love someone as much as the groom seems to love his wife.
No, that’s a lie.
He doesn’t wonder.
The Chef pokes your side gently, “I thought you said that love was a well understood thing?”
Your frown ever so slightly, “I did?”
The Pilot nods, “yes.”
“You sure?”
Sero hums playfully, “very~”
“When?”
“During my exhibit.” Explained the Pilot.
“Oh, I guess I have.”
The Pilot leans in towards you, giving you a gentle flick on the head. Something reminiscent a parent would do when gently scolding their child. It’s an action as intimate as it is surprising. No, what's really surprising is the sappy look that the Pilot gets as he watches you reel back, feigning annoyance. Sero personally finds your reaction rather cute - though he supposes he finds most of the things you do cute.
“Perhaps,” you begin, “I should say fate is such a mysterious thing.”
Fate.
Sero doesn’t believe in Fate. Doesn’t believe in most things that he couldn’t see, touch or feel. It was the, for lack of better words, pragmatic way of living. And that in itself is usually surprising for strangers. It’s almost contradictory for Sero to be such a carefree person yet look at things in the most pragmatic way possible.
“Do you think they’re each other’s first love?” Sero asks, watching as the groom spins the bride around.
He’s met with both a “yes” and “no” from the Chef and Pilot respectively.
Sero isn’t all too sure, more distracted with the fact that you’re still holding onto his hand instead of the dancing couple on their floor. Sero wonders if you want to dance. If you’d dance with him or one of your other muses.
“She’s his first love.” You say.
Sero raises an eyebrow, “hm?”
“It’s the way he looks at her,” you smile, “you always look at your first love differently from everyone else. There’s a certain kind of softness in his eyes.”
“It’s too bad his best man doesn’t seem to like her very much.” Adds the Chef.
“What makes you say that?” You asked.
The Chef points to the best man who is sitting alone at the table, his gaze stuck on the dancing newly weds, “because he’s sitting so stiffly.”
Sero nods, “he does seem rather annoyed.”
“I get that impression too.” The Pilot said.
Your eyes get this curious look in them, “elaborate.”
“I guess it has something to do with the way he acts around her,” the Pilot pauses for a brief moment but continues quickly after, “it’s like he’s stepping on eggshells.”
“He could just be shy.” The Chef suggests, despite being the one to bring up dislike of the best man in the first place. Ever the optimist, Sero thinks.
Sero chuckles, playfully suggesting, “or maybe doesn’t like her and is upset the groom is marrying someone he doesn’t like?”
“He’s in love with her.” You say it as if it’s the most obvious thing.
“And what makes you think that?” The Pilot asks, his voice shaking ever so slightly.
“Follow his gaze.”
Fall in love with someone gentle.
---
Exactly As You Saw
My Dearest,
I think I dream of you, sometimes. And sure, maybe now I can barely recall your face or the sound of your voice but I know for certain it’s you. I know it’s you because I love you.
Yours Truly
---
Sero Hanta was, in the words of everyone else, a good person. A friendly dude. A talkative and charismatic fellow. He wasn’t ever much of a thinker. Didn’t ponder very long when it came to the harder hitting topics of life - but he did, as Sero likes to point out, think about you.
Thought about you when he was alone in his room, staring up at the ceiling in the middle of the night.
Thought about you as he looked over at the photos you sent him.
And, he thought about you as you walked beside him. The back of your hand brushing up against his own every so often. You’re smiling warmly at him as he rambles off about one thing or another. Finds his heart warming as you listen so intently to his words. Most girls usually tune him out after an hour or two of his rambling but he can’t fault them too much. He’s not even listening to his own words, much too distracted by you.
You look so pretty today. Your hair pushed back in a baseball cap that Sero managed to win for you earlier today. He had been pretty disappointed that he hadn’t been able to win you a stuffed bear but thought that this, if anything, was a good consolation prize. Seeing you wear something that he had managed to get for you.
It makes his heart skip a beat in that dramatic way it does when he’s with a girl he likes.
The baseball cap looks good on you despite it not going very well with your outfit. You had decided to wear a yukata so the entire look is thrown off but you manage to pull it off. Moderately. Sero himself had been torn between the new yukata his mother had gotten him for his birthday and the hoodie you’d bought for him during one of his photo shoots with you. He’s happy though that he ultimately decided to wear his yukata because he thinks he matches pretty nicely with you. That the two of you almost look like a-
He can’t bring himself to finish that thought aloud. So instead he’ll leave it there. Unfinished. Waiting for his subconscious to scoop it up instead and convert it into a dream of the prettiest of sorts. But Sero thinks that that is where you always manage to look your best. Captured within the loving memory of another.
You’re the kind of girl that he used to think wasn’t real. The kind of girl that people wrote sonnets for and sang ballads of. The kind of girl that never noticed guys like him. Or at least not the kind of girl that would settle for a guy like him - as pathetic as that sounds.
“Are you okay?” You ask, your shoulder nudging against his gently.
Sero smiles fondly as he looks at you, “mhm.”
If you don’t believe him you do a good job of hiding it as you lead him further through the festival grounds.
        I know a girl         Who likes to drink her coffee black         ‘Cause sugar, no, she don’t got time for that         Leaves her desires at the welcome mat         When she walks in
The festival is beautiful. The warm light from the sunset quickly being replaced by the orange lighting of candles and lanterns set up over the festival grounds.
Sero had always been a big fan of lanterns. He loves all the different designs and colours that they came in. Mostly though he loved that they all came together for a singular purpose. To light up the world for the people that had so lovingly created them.
Sakura trees hang over the festival grounds, their bright pink flowers tinted purple and blue in the quickly fading light of day. Sero notes that the trees are placed meticulously apart from one another. So even and orderly - reminding him of the military. Personally, Sero has always been more fond of a more chaotic look to things but can appreciate all the love and effort that must have gone into cultivating and upkeep this forest of Sakura trees in the first place.
Bright red tables are set up beneath most of the Sakura trees, either selling products or conducting games for people to play. Children run between the stalls with bright smiles on their faces, pushing past the crowds with reckless abandon because they can.
He wonders if he was just as rambunctious as a kid.
No, he must have been just as rambunctious if all the white hair on his mother’s head said anything. Oh, his poor mother.
But Sero likes to think he turned out well.
That his parents are proud of the person he’s become.
‘SNAP’
Sero’s head jerks over to you, smiling slightly when he sees you holding a camera up to your face.
“What ya got there, Sweets?” Sero asks, a mischievous smile playing on the edge of his lips.
You smile playfully in response, “wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I, in fact, would.”
“Well, I don’t want to show you.”
Sero pouts, “why not?”
“Hm,” you let your camera fall from your hands and hang loosely around your neck as you hold the picture in your hands, inspecting it as the photo seemingly begins to slowly appear. Most of the time, if Sero’s recalling is correct, you prefer to use a digital camera or your phone.
He’s pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that you lost a bunch of the photos you took last year in a tragic accident when your briefcase filled with photos was misplaced causing you to have to call a bunch of your muses together for an impromptu photoshoot. It had been your most successful year yet despite the mishap but your manager was quick to make sure something like that would never happen again.
It seemed that you weren’t as nervous.
“Well?” Sero asks expectantly.
“Some things are better left as a secret, don’t you think?” You asked.
Sero swallowed, “I guess so.”
His response makes you smile as you pull out a silver compact from your pocket. Most girls carry compacts in their pockets right? To touch up their makeup or something? Truthfully, Sero isn’t too sure. He’s never paid all that much attention.
Instead of looking at yourself in the mirror of the compact you put the photo inside before closing it. It looks like there were quite a few photos inside the compact but Sero can’t find it in himself to ask. Either choosing to agree with your earlier statement or too nervous to hear what your answer would be. Likely a little bit of both.
        And I know a boy         Who likes to keep his burner on         He’s always running with no one to keep warm         It’s like he’s flirting with the smoke alarm         His fire’s fading
“So, where are you from again, Sweets?” Sero asks, as he takes a seat on the bench beside you.
You smile, in that way that usually do, and it sends Sero’s heart into a tizzy of a flutter, “guess.”
He imagines you’re originally from a coastal town. Somewhere where you’re familiar with the foreign and exotic. Somewhere romantic. Something so different from where he had gone when he was young. Somewhere that authors write stories and explorers seek to find. Somewhere it’s so distinctly you that Sero would know the moment he first landed.
But then again, you do seem rather at home in the city.
And you wouldn’t be very familiar with city life if you lived in a coastal town now would you.
He can see that. You, having a fast and bright childhood. Born in a place where everything is always moving and the people never stop. And that’s romantic in its own sense. A brilliant place where brilliant people gather together to live. Something where people like you come together to meet and compare notes. A kind of city that could cultivate someone as brilliant and amazing as you.
Yeah, that sounds realistic.
Sounds like you.
But, ultimately, Sero says, “a coastal town near the edge of the city?”
The answer feels more of a cop out than something substantial but it’s the only thing that Sero can think of to explain someone as amazing as you existing at all. The only place he can see someone like you being able to grow up in.
Ah, but that’s where he messes up.
“Na,” you smile softly, “I grew up in the suburbs. Nothing too small or anything too big either.”
“Oh.”
“Pretty regular, huh?”
“I…” Sero smiles apologetically, “I guess so.”
“I don’t think I’d ever be able to leave if I grew up somewhere like what you said,” you begin, “honestly I had a pretty hard time leaving my home town at all.”
“Really?”
“I would’ve been happy to have lived a boring and mundane life. To never be someone special.”
You, living a mundane life? It feels almost blasphemous to imagine such a thing. To live in a world where you aren’t someone that draws in the attention of everyone else. That there might be a timeline or universe out there where people all around don’t know your name or are familiar with the works you’ve given to this world.
Would you have been a mom?
A housewife?
Or would you have worked. Maybe you could have been a nurse or doctor. Someone that’s so attuned to the needs of others. Or maybe you would have been another office worker. Someone working a 9 to 5 to support their family.
It feels almost like Sero’s thinking of a different person.
No, that’s not exactly right. It does feel like something you could’ve done. Something you could’ve been if you had gone down a different path in life. He’s been thinking about this all the wrong way. Just because you live a mundane life doesn't mean you would be a mundane person.
Finally, Sero smiles fondly at you, “you could never not be someone special.”
        But still we laugh, we cry         We fall, we get high         Just like we were kids, just like we were kids         And when I am feeling small, you get me through it all         Just like we were kids, just like we were kids again
“Sweets,” Sero props his head on your shoulder as he watches you type a message into your phone to your manager. He feels a smile pull at the corner of your lips as he reads the message ‘K’. Nothing more or less than a simple letter in response to the long paragraph that your manager must have taken the time to painstakingly write. It’s something so very you that it can’t help but bring a smile to Sero’s face.
You tilt your head towards Sero, “hm?”
“What do you have my name saved on your phone?”
You hold your phone out to him, “Cellophane.”
“Why?” Sero asks.
“Why Cellophane?”
Sero nods.
“Because it’s your hero name.”
Sero’s cheeks flush at that. Of course that’s what you saved his name as. The two of you had been indulging in drinks at the bar the other day when Sero had gotten off work when the topic of Hero names had come up. Specifically, what his hero name would’ve been if there ever was a world with superpowers and hero names. You’d said something along the lines of ‘Fifteen’ (or maybe it was ‘Sixteen’) for one reason or another that Sero can’t remember off the top of his head. Sero was kind of bad for that - not remembering the reasoning behind things.
He, on the other hand, had been too embarrassed to say his own at first. It was a name he had thought about since he was young. Something so near and dear to his heart. Something he wasn’t so keen on sharing with the pretty girl he met at the bar, no matter how pretty you were. You had, of course, managed to wrangle the name from him by the end of the night but the two of you were wasted by then. Needing to be brought home by your friends.
It warms his heart to think that you not only remembered but that you had kept it like that all this time. There were many things you could have changed his contact name to and the fact that you kept it as something so near and dear to his heart was enough to make his heart flutter. Well, you always did things to make his heart flutter but this was different. This was you.
“And that’s what you are to me,” You say, “a hero. So of course I’d have you saved as your hero name.”
“Sweets!” Sero nuzzles his face into your neck, his cheeks flushed a bright shade of red.
He’d always known you were a sweetheart but he hadn’t realised that you were such a sentimentalist.
“Oh,” you stand up abruptly, “it’s almost time!”
“Almost time for what?”
Your eyes sparkle, “the firework show.”
Sero smiles. Quite the sentimentalist.
“Come on,” you say, as you begin making your way towards an empty part of the field. Let’s go watch the fireworks out in the open grass.
And what can he say but, “okay” in response.
There’s no way that Sero could ever say no to something when you look at him like that. Sero has always had a weakness for pretty girls but you seem to take the take. It probably has something to do with the way that you manage to make his heart skip a beat and the butterflies in his stomach flutter.
“So,” Sero hums, “you look pretty excited.”
“Yeah, I love fireworks,” you say softly, “they remind me of my youth.”
“And who doesn’t love getting a glimpse back into their youth?”
“Exactly.”
You don’t talk much about your past unless Sero brings it up first so he always finds himself indulging in moments like this. Wants to know as much as he can about you but can never seem to find the right words.
So he stands silently, the back of his hand brushing against your own.
“Have you ever been in love before?” You asked.
Sero nods, “just once.”
        I know a girl         Who’s never tried to settle down         She wears her loneliness just like a crown         But when she smiles, all the kinds will bow down, down, down
Fireworks.
Sero had never considered himself the biggest fan of fireworks but he wouldn’t go as far as to say that he disliked them either.
He liked fireworks as much as the next person.
He’d gone to see a few firework shows when he was young. There were firework festivals held in the summer of every year near where he lived but they never seemed to spark the same wonder in him as it did the people around him. Sure, they were pretty but there was nothing about them that inspired brilliance. Or at least nothing of the level of brilliance that other people seemed to give it.
He remembers the day when he first came to this realization like how one might remember the back of their hand.
Around the age of eight, when Sero’s parents had finally decided he was old enough to attend the summer festival himself, he and a few of his friends had decided to meet up and hang out. Play a couple of the festival games (and lose miserably because they’re all rigged), catch some goldfish (because he absolutely wanted a pet) and eat some sweet treats with the pocket money his parents had given him. And it was at the height of the festival when the fireworks had first begun that Sero had turned and looked at the faces of his friends instead of up at the sky. It was here that he realized that he didn’t look at the fireworks the same way.
In retrospect, Sero supposes that maybe he didn’t like fireworks because they didn’t hold the same level of importance in his life as it did for others. Didn’t have a nostalgic bond that other people seemed to have.
“Are you still in there?” You ask, waving a hand in front of Sero’s face playfully.
“Hm,” Sero perks his head up, his eyes meeting your own.
You always did have such pretty eyes. They have that sparkle in them that makes someone’s heart skip a beat. A certain brilliance that encourages even the most hesitant of people to charge forward in just the hopes of being noticed by someone as brilliant as you. Sero certainly knows. Better than most.
“Sorry,” you say softly, “you looked pretty deep in thought. I know I hate it when people interrupt me while I’m in the middle of thinking.”
Sero laughs, “then why’d you disturb me?”
“Because I wanted your attention.”
Sero’s cheeks flush red in embarrassment and the candidness of your words. Or maybe it was because of the brazenness of your words.
“What’re you thinking about?” You ask.
“One thing or another,” Sero hums, trying his best to feign indifference, “you know. Things that I want to do but don’t have the courage to.”
“You should do it if it’ll make you happy.”
“Hm?”
“Good times come and go so take advantage of the things that make you happy while you still can.”
        And I know a boy         Who’s broken every vow he’s made         Who’s spoken every cowards phrase         But he can listen like a rainy day         And drown it out
“If you could be anything, what would you be?” Sero asked.
“Everything.” You said, your answer coming out quick and easy - as if you’ve thought about something like this hundreds of times before. And because you’re you, and not anyone else, Sero thinks that maybe that might just be the case.
“Everything?” Sero raises an eyebrow, “isn’t that kind of an intense answer?”
“Well,” you hum, “it’s not a usual answer.”
“You never did like usual things, though.”
“Exactly! Who wants to live life being ‘usual?’ It’s boring and mundane.” You leaned back, looking up at the sky, “there’s so much I wish I could’ve done and so much more that I would change. There’s still so much that I want to do. I mean, I like where I am at this point in my life but I can’t help but constantly be caught between wanting everything else that I chose to not take. I sound like a total glutton, huh?”
“You do.”
You pout.
“But I don’t mind.”
“I imagine everyone has something in life they regret, either doing or not doing,” you begin, “a moment where they wish that they’d chosen to take a different path in life.”
“I don’t,” Sero smiles, “I’m quite happy with the way my life turned out.”
“Boring~”
Sero pouts, “well excuse me for being someone that doesn’t regret the way their life ended up.”
“Well you’re not boring but it seems like a pretty cliche answer.”
“You just said that most people have at least one in their life that they’d like to change. So how can my answer be cliche if it’s not something that everyone answers?” Sero challenges, “can’t be cliche unless it’s overused, Sweets.”
You frown, “then I guess I just don’t like your answer.”
Sero nods approvingly, “see, doesn’t it feel nice to just admit your feelings?”
“Don’t be a jerk about it.”
Sero laughs heartily in response, affectionately rubbing the top of your head, “don’t like it so much now that the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?”
You huff in response.
Sero’s heart flutters dramatically as he rests his head atop your shoulder, “come on, Sweets. It’s not that serious.”
“Brat.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the one being a brat right now, Sweets.” Sero moves his head so that his chin is propped up on your shoulder as he gets a side view of your face. You really are such a pretty girl. Even when you’re upset and pouting. It’s nice. Refreshing almost when you’re usually the one doing all the teasing.
Sero supposes that even you can have trouble admitting your feelings.
Eventually, when the muscles in your face relax, Sero gives your cheek a playful poke, “so, Sweets, why don’t you like my answer?”
“I guess it makes me feel inadequate. Makes me feel a little greedy for wanting so much and life and feel stupid for not being able to make the choices that I wanted. Though,” you smile softly, “I suppose you can never make the choice in life that you really want to make when you want to make both choices in the first place.”
“Mhm,” Sero nods, “quite the predicament.”
“Does it make me a bad person?”
“It might.”
“I figured as much.”
“But it’s okay.”
“And why is it okay?”
“Because I’ll still like you, whether you’re a bad person or not.”
Before you can give Sero a response you're cut off by a loud blast sounding off from the field in front of the two of you.
        But still we laugh, we cry         We fall, we get high         Just like we were kids, just like we were kids         And when I am feeling small, you get me through it all         Just like we were kids, just like we were kids again
The fireworks, like they always do (and always will), begin dramatically. Dashing up to the sky like mad men.
Rising up passionately.
Loudly.
Dramatically.
Soaring to heights that seemingly no one else ever has before. So bright and brilliant as they reach their peak. They are hopes, dreams and wishes turned into passions, ambitions and desires. Everything that someone hopes to be when they look up to the sky. Everything they will ever be.
And then they slowly fall.
Ever so gently and softly.
Down.
Down.
And down.
Until they’re gone.
And the moment when everything is done and gone Sero feels both a moment of reprieve and disappointment. Relief that such a passionate moment is only but a moment. Disappointment that such a passionate moment is only but a moment.
But that moment of reprieve and disappointment is only but a moment as the next firework makes its way up in the sky hoping to be just as brilliant and bright as the last. Wishing to burn for just as long and dreaming to be what it was made to be.
“Have you ever been in love before?” Sero asks, finally mustering up the courage to take your hand in his own.
Your hand feels so nice in comparison to his own. Not as rough as his own are from years of working as a firefighter. He supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised. Your hands are, afterall, ones of a photographer. Ones that recently so lovingly maneuvered his own into the right position for the perfect picture. Ones that slowly traced over the edges of the camera, gently pressing over the different buttons as you adjust for the lighting and placement. And currently the ones he happened to be holding on his own.
You smile, “of course.”
Your answer makes Sero happy yet sad at the same time.
In all honesty, Sero isn’t certain what he was expecting. He imagines someone like you would have fallen in love before. Knows for certain that there must be tons of people that have already fallen in love with you. You’re the kind of person that is meant to be loved by others. But, just maybe, a small part of him wanted to be the first person to be loved by you. And it’s a selfish thought. The both of you are adults but he allows himself to indulge in his selfish thoughts for just a moment longer. Afterall, while the two of you are adults you also happen to be adults attending a children’s festival.
He wonders if he should lean over and plant a kiss on your lips.
Wonders if you’d smile in response and kiss him back.
Confess your love to him in the midst of the fireworks. Love him because he’s the one here right now standing beside you.
He doesn’t.
Can’t bring himself to. Not while his heart is beating erratically like he’s once again a green kid out with a girl for the first time.
You’re not even his first love.
But you are presently the girl he loves.
Maybe you won’t always be the one he loves. Won’t always be the one who makes his heart skip a beat and the butterflies in his stomach flutter but you are that girl now. And that’s all that matters. Right now, it feels as if that’s all that will ever matter.
It’s enough.
You’re enough.
This is enough.
        Just like we were kids         Just like we were kids again         Just like we were kids         Just like we were kids         Just like we were kids again
“What’re you thinking about, Sweets?” Sero asks, his hand still holding your own.
You smile in that way that always makes his heart race, “you.”
Sero blushes, “Sweets!”
“Is that what you have me saved as in your phone?” You asked.
“No.”
“Oh.”
You watch him curiously, as if you’re waiting for him to say something more. He doesn’t. Not that he doesn’t want to, Sero loves talking, but he’s finding the current topic increasingly harder and harder to avoid.
“So are you going to tell me?” You ask.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell you.
Sero feigns indifference “tell you what?”
It’s just that he hadn’t had a chance to change it. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change it. Honestly it was more embarrassing for him that it was you.
“What you have me saved as in your phone.” You explain, “you already know I have you saved as Cellophane.”
It’s not his fault that he misheard what you said back when the two of you first met. Well maybe it was a little bit of his fault but it was loud in the bar where the two of you first met and he was distracted by your pretty face.
Sero blushes, “Cam - Era - Girl.”
“Cam - Era - Girl?” You repeated, “camera girl.”
Sero nods slowly.
Then you. Brilliant and amazing you, laugh. As if it’s the funniest joke he’s heard in a long while. Sero’s cheeks are flushed red hot again - but he’s gotten rather used to that sensation. At least while he’s around you.
“That’s funny!’ You smile, “way more creative than some of the names that other people have me saved as.”
“I suppose so.”
“You think I could be a cam girl?” You do a dramatic pose of some sort and give a playful wink, “think my reputation could uphold going into a business like this?”
“Oh, (Y/n)! I didn’t mean it that way!”
You turn to him and smile fondly, “you used my name.”
“I suppose I did.”
“I like how it sounds when you say it.”
“You do?”
“I also like it when you call me ‘Sweets’ but the way you say my name makes it sound prettier.” You tilt your head to the side cutely, “do you know what I mean?”
Sero nods.
He doesn’t but you don’t need to know that.
“(Y/n) is the precious name that someone who loved me dearly gifted to me. It seems only fitting that someone I love would use it as well.”
You love him.
That very idea itself makes his heart soar.
Sero knows for certain that he loves you.
Fall in love with someone you can love.
---
Song: Kids Again Artist: Artist vs Poet
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Her: Do you love me?
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