#what am I saying this has been a thing for decades

[trombonechurchill]

Cutting Out the Middleman

Taylor Kelly/Lucy Donato, 1,154 words, rated T

Deep down, she thinks both she and Buck knew they were fighting against the current, that their broken edges were causing more cracks the tighter they tried to hold things together. And she's relieved, in a way. Taylor's never been good at lying to herself and she has to admit that's what she'd been doing for a long time now.

Probably since the second Buck kissed Lucy, really.

For the @9-1-1-kinkmeme prompt: What it says on the tin. After she and Buck break up, Taylor decides she wants to find out what was so great about kissing that hot flight medic. Lucy's happy to demonstrate.

Read here or on AO3

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Taylor should be out celebrating. She just broke the story of the decade about a serial killer amongst some of the city's finest and yet she's here; haunting the same old badge and ladder doing a postmortem of yet another relationship crash and burn. Taylor Kelly, coming to you live from the smoldering wreckage of the last several months of her life. And she can't even really be all that mad about it.

Deep down, she thinks both she and Buck knew they were fighting against the current, that their broken edges were causing more cracks the tighter they tried to hold things together. And she's relieved, in a way. Taylor's never been good at lying to herself and she has to admit that's what she'd been doing for a long time now.

Probably since the second Buck kissed Lucy, really.

"What was it you said to me? 'I'd hate for things to get messy again'? I think you might have jinxed us with that one." As if summoned by some sort of karmic retribution, Lucy Donato swings herself into open seat next to Taylor at the bar.

Taylor fixes her with a tight smile, holding up her glass in a mock toast.

"If you're here to warn me off the 118, you can save your breath, I've learnt my lesson."

"The 118 can look after themselves, I am here to drink," Lucy says, enforcing the casual words with an easy sprawl of her legs. Out of the usual straight laced LAFD uniform or bulky bunker pants, Taylor supposes she shouldn't be surprised at the tight play of muscle under Lucy's jeans as she knocks her knee against where Taylor's are tucked up by the bar. Buck had insane thighs too, it must be a firefighter thing, she muses, taking another sip of her whiskey and polishing off the glass.

Lucy orders herself one of the beers on tap as Taylor considers her over the rim of her lowball glass, watching the smooth line of her throat as Lucy takes a long pull.

"Look, I'm not your enemy, I may have not liked how you did it, but I guess if the story had to come out, I'm glad it was you," Lucy says, apparently catching how Taylor had been eyeing her. She needed to work on her covert surveillance if she was being that obvious. Or maybe cut back on the drinking.

Taylor orders another lowball.

"I didn't say that you were," Taylor says simply, tilting her head and watching as Lucy's eyes follow the fall of her hair as it shifts over her shoulder. Time was, Taylor wasn't so sure if that was true. She didn't like it, playing the jealous girlfriend; feeling small and trapped and found wanting. Wondering what it was about her that pulled Buck across that line.

"You don't need to, your face is doing a lot of the talking for you," Lucy says back with a shrug, taking another long drink but punctuating the comment with a smile. Taylor does her best to school herself back into a neutral expression but she thinks maybe she's starting to get an inkling of what that thing may have been now.

"And what, exactly, do you think my face is saying?" Taylor raises a single polished eyebrow, an expression she's well perfected over the years, and feels a coil of satisfaction as Lucy turns fully to face her, giving her her full attention. Her eyes feel like a heavy weight on Taylor's skin as they trace across her face, down her cheek, her lips, back to Taylor's eyes. Taylor holds her stare.

"I think it's saying that there's something you want to ask me," Lucy says after a moment.

"That's presuming a lot." "Hey, I'm just calling it how I see it." Lucy's grin is charming, Taylor reluctantly admits, she can see the appeal. And Taylor's not blind, she could tell Lucy was attractive even sweaty and covered in soot, but it's different now, having those dark eyes turned on her, the full weight of Lucy's easy confidence and attention.

"So. What is it?" Taylor blinks, caught out staring for a second time tonight. "That you want to ask me," Lucy prompts again.

"I want to know why he kissed you," Taylor says, pleased to see that seems to have stumped Lucy at least for a moment.

"You know, I didn't expect you to actually come out and say it." Lucy scrubs at her chin, abashed but apparently not entirely ashamed for being called out about kissing someone else's boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.

"I've found it's always better to be direct about things."

"Yeah, I'm getting that. For the record, I didn't know he had a girlfriend until after we kissed. It was all in good fun," Lucy says, still watching Taylor closely.

"No, I figured, which means something about you was worth it," Taylor surmises, leaning in closer. "If I could just figure out what…" Lucy's eyes land on her lips again and Taylor smirks in triumph.

"I'd be happy to demonstrate, you know, for science or whatever," Lucy says slowly, setting her glass aside.

Taylor's barely moved her own before she's stepping forward, high-heeled shoe placed firmly between the v of Lucy's legs as she shifts into her space. With Lucy sitting down, Taylor's just tall enough to be able to tilt Lucy's face up, nails carding and catching in the hair behind her ear as she pulls her to face her.

Lucy's mouth is warm and Taylor feels heat bloom in her stomach as she wraps a strong arm around her waist and pulls her closer, her other hand coming to rest with surprising gentleness to tilt Taylor's face and deepen the kiss.

Taylor chases the taste of hops and saliva as she presses in closer, her own lips already whiskey warm and tingling as Lucy's tongue brushes over the seam of her lips as Taylor opens her mouth for more.

For a breathless moment, it's all Taylor feels, the slick slide of Lucy's mouth, the hot brand of her arm across her back and gentle fingers against her cheek. She sees a flash of dark eyes watching her under long lashes before Taylor finally pulls back, wiping at the corner of her mouth where she's sure her lipstick's smudged and clearing her throat.

"Well, I suppose I can see what all the fuss was about," Taylor says belatedly, forcing herself back and out of the loose loop of Lucy's arm as she drops back into her seat.

They're both quiet for a moment, drinking in easy comradery even as Taylor can see Lucy watching her from the corner of her eye.

"You know," Lucy starts after a beat, "I'm happy to try it again, you know. If you needed to collect more data or something."

Taylor grins.

"I do like to be thorough," she agrees, leaning back in.

[nezukoo-channn]

— sinta ko (Zayne x F! Reader)

Tags: Non-MC F!Reader x Zayne, Reader isn’t MC, Reader is addressed w female pronouns (she/her), Spanish colonial AU! Not historically accurate , romance, pinning, domestic moments, possibly OOC Zayne and Caleb , there are translations (not exactly word by word but I translated it based on what's the most accurate thought behind it, it's italicized beside or after the dialogue) , fluff, so much pinning and longing, teasing and banter, different social classes, they haven't seen each other in years let them fall in love again, childhood friends to people who havent seen each other in years to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship at the end, courtship, theyre falling in love awwwww, zayne sings for youuuu and you sing back and and *sniffles*

TW: slight blood and injuries (in one scene), cussing (just once), and discrimination between social classes

A/N: part 2 of giliw ko! Thank you so much for waiting for part 2 (i know that i said ill post it soon but i didnt expect soon will be THIS long, had to settle some personal things in my life, deal with grief and stuff) but i hope youll like part 2 and that it wont disappoint you guys thank you so much for supporting giliw ko and sinta ko, i hope to be more comfortable in writing and publishing more fics one day.

Taglist: @sapphic-daze, @deusfoundry, @roseapov, @knorreine

Divider: @saradika-graphics

You don't remember the last time you saw Zayne.

Well, you could remember seeing him, but you don't remember when exactly was the last time you saw him. Was it months? Years? Decades?

Everyday felt ordinary. You wake up before dawn to tend to your mother and her weakening health. You and your father helped her up, allowing her to sit down to watch the sunrise.  

You prepared breakfast next, making sure your parents had something to eat before you left for work today,  which was selling products you and your father grew in your own garden at the back of the house at the marketplace. You dusted up your skirts, tied your hair up and grabbed the basket before saying goodbye to your parents and walking out of the door.  

You headed up to your usual area, amongst the other women, young and old , selling the same produce as you. You raised your voice,  loud and clear to call out to potential customers. People passed your way, some dropping by to purchase a vegetable or two , others tried to bargain with you about prices established, and the rest passed along. You didn't mind. Customers were customers; they were yours sometimes, and other times, they weren't. 

During the midday, You found a spot for yourself to have lunch before returning back to work. You did the same thing , trying to get your stock sold out and yet, like every other day, it wasn't. You sigh, glancing at the last few bits of onions and garlic.

As the day ends, you return home, clutching your basket close. When you open the door, your mother greets you. She was a slim woman, her bones seemed to poke through her thin skin and dull eyes. You set the basket aside and hugged her.

“Magandang gabi, ma.” You greeted, “Kumusta po tayo?”  Goodevening, mom. How are you?

Your mother, despite her illness , gave a sweet smile.  “Maayos naman, ija. Sabi ko sa iyo na wag na magtrabaho. Kaya pa man namin ng ama mo.” I am well, my child but didn't I tell you to stop working? Your father and I can still do it.

She gently chimed. You smiled, shaking your head as you placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“Nay,” You say softly, “May sakit ka po, diba? Hayaan mo na kami ni tatay mag-alaga sa iyo…” Mom, you're sick, remember? Let dad and I take care of you...

Your mother sighs. “Parehas talaga kayo ng tatay mo, no?” She laughs before shaking her head, “Kain na tayo? Hinihintay ka na ng tatay mo…”  You're really like your father, no? Oh come on now, let's eat dinner. I'm sure your father has been waiting for you.

You held your mother's hand, heading to the small dining room to eat together as a family.

Dinner was quiet, say for the occasional coughs from your mother and the mumbles of your father as he tries to make her drink water. And just like that, dinner was complete and then fell into a comfortable silence as you prepared to sleep. 

It was a life, yes, but a mundane everyday one.

A life you memorized and lived through autopilot countless times.

With the season getting colder, your mother's illness worsens to the point of her being unable to stand or leave the bed.

That gave you a reason to work even harder.

You found a bunch of other jobs — laundry maid, cooking maid, babysitting children of the elite, etc. Just to earn enough money to help your mother find a doctor or anyone willing to heal her.

“May kilala ka bang doktor, Señora?” Do you know a doctor, madame? You asked your mistress. She was a newer one to town, having married some impressionable bachelor.

She scoffs, “At bakit ka ba nagtatanong? Hindi naman parte ng trabaho mo magkasakit.” And why are you asking? It isn't part of your job to get sick.

You grit your teeth. There were really people like them, no? Just because they had more privilege or paler skin meant that they could look down upon others. You shook your head, “Para po sa ina ko, señora.” Its for my mother, madame. You reasoned. 

“Ano ba ang pakialam ko sa ina mo? ”And why should I care about your mother? She scoffs. 

You nearly dropped whatever you were holding, planning to aim at her, but that said, if she gets hurt, you'd be imprisoned and it will be more difficult for your family. You remained quiet, finishing up instead before leaving for the day. 

As you walk the path back home, a familiar silhouette stands beside you. You looked to your side and raised your hand to defend yourself, but it was caught between theirs. You glance up, knowing that cheeky smile wherever You go. 

It was Caleb.

“Gago ka!” Fuck! You say in shock, your hand fishing it's way out of his hold your hit his shoulder playfully. “Ikaw ha! Bakit mo iyan ginawa?” What was that for? 

He laughs. “At bakit ka naman galit? Di lang tayo nagkita ng ilang buwan at tapos, magpapa-sungti ka?" And why are you angry? We haven't seen each other for a few months and now you're acting all mean?

He teases, ruffling your hair. You hit him again playfully. 

“At bakit ka dito?” Why are you here? You asked. 

“Bakit? Bawal ba?” Why? Am I not allowed here? He retorts.

You sighed. 

“Hindi naman…” Not really You answered, dusting your skirt. “Uuwi na ako kinana Nanay At Tatay. Malubha ang sakit ni Nanay… Naghahanap ako ng doktor, O baka naman mangagagmot— kahit sino na lang.” I'm heading back home. Mom isn't feeling well and I'm trying to find a doctor, or maybe a healer--or just anyone who can help, really. You confined to him as you walked back home together.

Caleb wasn't present around the barrio nowadays, having gone to Manila to serve for the Guardia Civil , the Spanish police that her empire placed over her constituents to keep them in place.

“Alam mo, may kilala akong doktor.”I know a doctor. Caleb says , moments before reaching home. You glanced at his direction, eyes brimming with possible hope that it'll be a good doctor,  one that can save your mother's health and wouldn't dismiss her like others. 

“Saan?”Where? You ask immediately,  “Sino?” Who?

He smiles, getting a piece of paper inside his trousers and hands it to you , pressing his hands against yours. You stared in confusion,  tilting your head as you mumbled quickly before stepping inside. 

Dinner was the usual, but with the added bonus of Caleb being there and entertaining your parents with his various experiences .  You nod along, listening to him talk on and on as you can't help but wonder what a life beyond the comforts of a province would be like. What Maynila was truly like for yourself. 

As the night comes to an end, you escorted Caleb out of the house, a complete opposite from what a woman would do. He pouts playfully, trying to object to your behavior but you laugh along, dragging him out of the house as he says a goodbye to your parents.

And life continued on. 

It took a while to convince your mother that she should see a doctor, and not either a manggagamot or an albularyo. You practically dragged her to the place, making sure to hold her hand tightly so that she wouldn't get lost.

You paused, stopping at the gates of the familiar building.

It was Zayne’s old home. The same old home you met him with. The same old home where your mother and father and grandparents all worked. The same old home that held so many memories— it feels too good to be true to stand face to face with it.

But here you are. Standing in front of the familiar gates.

Getting inside was fairly simple, but the lines and amount of people were so many you probably wondered if the thing Caleb mentioned has any semblance of truth at all. You made sure your mother was seated and weaved yourself through the small crowd of people like the sea that washes upon the shore of everyday life— you memorized this place, but felt alien towards it. You walked over to the woman sitting down with piles of papers, perhaps that's the secretary of the Doctor. She glances up and smiles,

“Bago ka ba dito?” Are you new here? She asks. You nod. She gets a piece of paper and a pen and begins asking for information about you.

You immediately shake your head,

“Parang hindi tayo nagkakaintindihan. Hindi po ako yung may sakit, yung ina ko po.” I think there's a misunderstanding. Im not the one who's ill, but my mother.

You explained. She laughs and corrects herself before proceeding with the same thing all over again, this time with your mother's information instead of yours.

Waiting took even longer. There were plenty of people, young and old, men and women, the rich and the poor waiting patiently for their names to be called by the secretary. It was something new for you. You haven't been to the doctor's before, having trusted and used local medicines and believed to rid you of your illnesses as a child and teenager, the same thing your parents had used to because it was cheaper than a doctor and was more known in the barrio.

You glanced around. The familiar wooden walls had stood tall, photos of the family lined their walls as generations of men and women watched people come in and out of their home, hoping for a better solution to their ailments. Time ticks slowly as the sun rises higher into the sky And begins its descent . Your eyes were starting to get heavy, your mother leaning against you for a moment's rest.

Hearing your mother's name get called was like a bell that breaks the silence of night. You nudge her awake. “Nay,” Mom, You say softly, trying to wake her, “Tayo na. Tinawag na tayo.” Let's go. Your name was being called.

She mutters something in response before you help her up and lead her towards the room.

You had been inside this room before. The old smell of books and wood was replaced with ammonia and sterile supplies. You take a step, your mother following behind you as you face the presumed doctor.

Zayne.

He glanced down for a moment, reviewing the patient information given to him by the secretary beforehand. You couldn't help but stare at realizing you knew each other before. He was still handsome, yes, with soft and cold eyes, his hair short and kept nicely.

“Nay, si Zayne po ito.” Mom, its me, Zayne.

He says to your mother, his voice soft and modulated. Your mother's eyes lit up. “Ijo? Ikaw ba ‘yan , ijo ko?” My dear? Is that you, my dear?

He nods. “Opo, ang ijo inaalagaan mo noong una po," Yes, I'm the boy you took care of before.

He grabs his stethoscope, “At ngayon po, Nay, ako naman po ang maaalaga sa iyo.” And now, mom, I'll be the one who'll be taking care of you.

You watched as Zayne proceeded with his routine, A new sight from the boy you once knew. His hands were gentle, his voice firm and clear as he ran through several tests and asked your mother questions related to her health.

Minutes passed by as Zayne explained what was happening to you and your mother. He was direct, telling her she was ill but didn't crush the hopes of her making a recovery. He gets a piece of paper, scribbling down a few words before handing them to you. He gives a few more reminders, making sure your mother can take her medicines, not overwork herself , make sure she's rested well, and to return next week to get an update on her health.

You smiled, saying your thanks to Zayne before looking away, your eyes darting around as you tapped your feet. Zayne and your mother continued to talk, catching up with the years that passed.

“Ang laki laki mo na , ijo.” You're so big now, my dear. Your mother coos, squishing his cheek with her wrinkled fingers, “Naalala ko noong una—” I remember when —

Zayne chuckled nervously , looking away as he places her hand far from his cheeks. “Alam ko po.” I know, He says softly, “Hindi mo na kailangan sabihin.” You don't need to say.

Your mother scoffs playfully, making you groan from annoyance. The last thing you wanted to hear is an embarrassing story from your childhood or Zayne’s. She laughs, recalling how you'd always play together or how when Zayne was a little baby, he would always follow her or his own mother around like a little puppy. You laugh, imagining him just as your mother described in her story. Zayne stands there, covering his reddening face with his white coat, his eyes glancing elsewhere. He silently hopes that this will all end soon.

“Nay,” Mom, You say, placing a hand on her shoulder. You glance at Zayne, seemingly saying that you had this under your control. “Sa susunod na naman tayo mag-usap kay Doktor Zayne, Nay. Baka may gagawin pa siya.” We can talk to Doctor Zayne next time. Maybe he still has things to do.

“Bibisita ka ba sa amin ba, ijo?” Will you visit us , dear? She asks Zayne with hopeful eyes.

“Hindi pa ko maka-siguro po, Nay.” I'm not so sure, Mom. He answers, “Pero kung may oras ako, bibisita ako. Sa parehas lugar kung saan kayo nakatira noong una po?” But if I have the time, I'll visit. Its in the same place as before, no?

Your mother nods. “Aba, naalala mo pa, ijo? Kung hindi kayo sa bahay, diyan kayo palagi nina Caleb at Y/N. Palagi kayo naglalaro noong una. Naalala ko-” Ah, so you do remember, dear? If you weren't at home, you would always be at ours with Caleb and Y/N. You three always played together and I remember—

“At naalala ko na nag-aalala na si Tatay sa bahay.” And I remember that Dad is worried at home. You chimed in softly, grabbing her hand as you thanked Zayne once more and left the office. Zayne smiles to himself, waving goodbye as the door closes and leaves him alone with his thoughts.

You were always at Zayne’s more often as your mother recovers from her illness.

It was a slow and gradual process, yes, but you couldn't help but be proud, seeing your mother slowly feel better and get back on her feet. True to his words, Zayne visits more often. He brings his medical equipment in a bag and walks up to your door and like clockwork, you’d open the door to greet him hello before bringing him to your mother.

Your mother’s eyes always lit up when she hears his footsteps and his familiar voice. She loved him like he was her child, having raised him all those years ago.

“May kasintahan ka na ba, ijo?” Do you have a partner, dear? She asked one time, catching him off-guard. He looked away for a moment, his face turning red as he shook his head.

“May babae bang nagpapatibok ng puso mo?” Is there a woman who makes your heart race? She asked next.

His ears turned red as he continued to look away.

“Parang wala pa po, Nay. Hindi ko rin alam kung pareho ang nararamdaman niya sa akin…” There seems to be no one yet, Mom.I'm not sure if the person feels the same.

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. This was Doctor Zayne, and you were sure that so many women had already swooned over his feet and had tried to melt away at his cold and aloof expression, but you digressed.

“Hay nako, Zayne. Ikaw pa? Walang kasintahan? At akala ko sa Maynila o sa Europa ka pa makakahanap ng babae na magmamahal sa iyo?” Really, Zayne? You? Without a partner? And I thought you would find someone from Manila or Europe who will love you. You teased, nudging his side, “O bake plano mo maging isang matandang binata?" Or do you plan on being an umarried bachelor?

Zayne laughs, turning his attention towards you.

“Hindi naman.”Not really, He says, “May taong nagpapatibok ng puso ko pero…” There is someone who makes my heart race however...

“Pero?” However?

“Pabayaan mo na.” Nevermind. He waves his hand dismissively. You pouted at his words, playfully hitting his shoulder, and sticking your tongue out in his direction. Zayne sighs, seeing your petulant expression.

“Tumahimik ka nga?” Can you keep quiet? He says, “Nagtatrabaho ako.” I'm working.

Your heart skipped a small beat. Was it the way he talked? The way his hands handled taking care of your mother? Or was it because it was Zayne? Zayne, the childhood friend you grew up with throughout all those years, whose face and expression never changed, his voice still modulated and poised just like how you’d always remember it. You shake your head. Now that kind of nonsense is something you don’t agree on, especially about you.

His checkup continues as he does an assessment of your mother’s current condition. Every answer she gave, he had written down and documented properly. Before he left, he presented them with fruits in a basket and money he had stuffed in his pockets.

“Alam ko na hindi ito magrabo pero sana po makatuklong diin sa iyo ito.”I know this isn't extravagant but I hope it will help. He offers.

“Ang sobra naman mo, Zayne. Hindi mo naman kailangan ito gawin .” Oh Zayne, you're too much. You don't need to do this. You say, your face red and eyes widen from the action he had done. He presses the basket of fruits closer to you.

“Tanggapin mo na.” Accept it. He insists. After another back and forth between you both, you resigned your fate and nodded in thanks, taking the basket into your arms. Zayne flashes a subtle smile before packing his materials and leaving out of the door.

This continues on for weeks more, even spanning months–close to a year even as your mother’s recovery was a slow and gradual process. She can move around more often and for longer without the need to catch her breath. She can clean up around the house, much to your father’s insistence of helping.

Whenever you visited Zayne in his clinic with your mother, you would bring a fresh basket of fruits and vegetables that you sell as a thank you to him. He would gladly accept it, claiming that you and your mother were planning to stuff him with food. You both laugh and shake your heads at his words.

When Zayne visits the marketplace to find goods, he’d look around, seeing the same things and products sold. The only difference was the person selling. He would look around, trying to spot you from amongst the crowd of voices. He would buy the vegetables he needed before paying and leaving to go to a different stall. There were times that you two bantered over prices of your products, as Zayne would explain the concepts of business to you. In response, you would shake your head and grumble about how he doesn’t really know a thing about how to really sell stuff to individuals.

He followed every rule of the book and conduct of society, and yet, here you are, holding a basket of fresh produce from the garden your family has, your face kissed by the sun with your hair tied up with your smile gracing your lips.

The same smile that had slowly melted through his exteriors once more and will continue to do so until the very end perhaps. The same smile that had caused his heart to skip a beat when he saw her again. The smile that got him going through medical school, the only thing he imagined him to greet her. Sometimes, he wonders if he should’ve stayed behind as a child to see her smile even more, but he didn’t regret leaving for Manila to study medicine, he didn’t regret going to Europe to learn even more. At least, not completely.

The only thing he ever regretted about leaving home was that he didn’t bring her and her smile with him.

Now that he is back, he only hopes to see it even more.

You missed him. That wasn’t a lie.

Of course you did, he was still your childhood friend and companion until he left to study. You had spent your whole teenage years wondering when he’ll be back and whether things will be the same when he returns–would he even remember who you were?

But seeing his face, his bright eyes that seemed to shift colors when the sunlight hit in different angles, his large and strong hands holding onto the basket of produce he bought from you, you realized that he hasn’t forgotten you, not one single bit at all.

Your mother noticed the way your face turned red at the mention of Zayne's name, your father noticed the small smile that graced your lips when you tried to hide your blushing face beneath your hand. Caleb had teased you both relentlessly about it, nudging Zayne by the shoulder everytime you three were together once more. It was as if you were kids once again, just much older than the ages you were before. And instead of playing together, you did errands together, with them being your most frequent customers. Your other friends had teased you as well, nudging and making noises you’d glare at them for.

And the worst of all, you noticed the way Zayne acted around you.

It was a subtle change, but one you noticed and took attention too. He was at your home more often, even staying for dinner with your parents. He’d laugh at old stories your father recalls about you that you wished he’d quiet about. He looked at you more often, his head resting against his chin as he watched you go on and on about today, or yesterday, or any other day. And once dinner was done and everything slowed down, he seemed hesitant to leave but always kissed your hand and said his goodbye. You kept a straight-face most of the time, but there was no denying of the red gracing your cheeks.

There was a time he was talking to your parents. You were in the kitchen, washing the dishes as their hushed voices talked. There was a gut feeling inside your chest, telling you to listen in. Holding a wet plate in your hand, you pressed your ear closer to the wall, curious on what he’s about to say next.

“Magtatanong ako kung bibigayan niyo ba ako ng pahintulot para ligawin si Y/N.” I want to ask your permission to court Y/N. Zayne says, his voice muffled by the barrier se separating the kitchen and living room.

There was a brief silence before he continued, “Hindi ako makakasabi na ako ay isang perpektong tao pero pinapangako ko na mamahalin ko siya ng buong puso.” I can't say that I'm perfect, but I promise to love her with my whole heart.

“Ang anak ba namin ang dahilan bakit tumitibok ang puso mo, ijo?” Is our child the reason why your heart races, dear? Your mother asks.

Another brief silence passes before he nods. “Opo, pero maliban po sa ganyan. Siya ang dahilan na bakit ako nabubuhay, kung bakit ako gumigising sa umaga at natutulog sa gabi. Sa totoo, parang hindi ko na kayang itago ang aking nararamdaman sa kanya. Kung pwede po sa inyo, gusto ko siya ligawin.” Yes, but she's more than that. She's the reason why I'm alive, why I wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night. In honesty, I don't think I can hide my feelings for her any longer, so please, give me the permission to court her.

Your heart freezes in your chest, skipping a beat. Your hand slips, causing the plate to fall down with a loud crash. You quickly knelt over, gathering the larger pieces, and accidentally drawing blood. Your eyes widened in a panic as you scrambled up and got cleaning supplies to fix the mess your nosiness made.

As you clean up, a silhouette looms over you, his hand touching your shoulder as he peers beyond and sees your bloody hand and broken shards.

“Ano ba nangyari rito?” What happened here? Zayne’s voice breaks the silence in the room. “Patingin nga.” Let me see.

You let out your bloody hand to him. He glances around it, careful and precise in his touch to ensure that there will be no further injuries. He helps you sit down, finding clean cloths and water.

“Wag kang gagalaw.” Don't move. He instructs. You nodded and tried your best to stay still. He begins to clean the wound with water and soap before leaving for a moment to get his first aid kit that he brought everywhere with him, especially during visiting patients. He cleans your hands with antiseptic, his hands firm and kind. Perhaps this was why he was a well-sought out doctor. The way he treated and helped nursed his patients back to health, his firm and unwavering dedication didn’t stem from ethics alone, but was grounded in a genuine love and care for the people he spends his whole life serving and taking care of.

You wince, trying to take your hand away but he holds on.

“Diba sinabi ko wag kang gagalaw?" Didn't I tell you not to move? He repeats himself. You nodded once more, murmuring an apology to him. He pauses for a moment before continuing.

In the silence of the kitchen table, your mind raced.

Ligaw. Courtship.

Zayne wanted to court you, he was asking your parents permission for him to court you. Honestly, if tradition never mattered, you would step out from where you’re hiding and give him the permission yourself, but for now, you kept quiet and listened on. You wondered if he knew you were swooping, or was he keeping that information to himself?

What surprised you more was his reasoning behind the reason why he wanted to do it.

You were the reason why he survived Manila, why he survived Europe and other parts of Asia he traveled to study.

You were the reason why he continued on with medicine.

You were the reason why he returned back to the province he was born and raised in.

In the coldest hours of morning, before the sun rises over the horizon and the small town bounces with life, you were the comfort he was looking for. That warm and never ceasing comfort he has been searching and longing for his whole life.

You were all of these things and more, and Zayne had kept that inside his chest for so long that he can feel his heart explode if it was kept in for longer.

“Ano bang nangyari?” What happened even?He asks, wrapping your hand in gauze.

“Nalaglag ko ang plato hinahawakan ko.” I dropped my plate. You admitted.

He hums, nodding his head at your answer. He made sure it was secure before letting go and reminding you to be more careful with the things you hold and your surroundings. His voice silences as the quiet sounds of your parents’ footsteps get farther and farther away as they rested for the night.

You said your goodbyes, watching him leave the house and the door closes behind him. Your hand lingers for longer against the wood, as if hoping Zayne would show up and remind you one more time to take care of yourself before going, but that wouldn’t be happening tonight.

The next time you saw Zayne was months later.

You were so busy taking care of your parents, and he was away for a while. You tried to ask the people who worked at his clinic, or Caleb, or your own parents about where he is and neither had a proper answer to your question.

You were worried,to say the least. Had he run away from his own feelings? Had he run away from you? No, that wouldn’t make sense for Zayne to do. You tried to think of other possible reasons to console your pacing mind. Perhaps he went to Manila to work, or perhaps visited his parents, maybe had other patients beyond their small town.

It was the middle of the night when you found yourself awake once more, your mind lingers on with the possible reasons why he hasn’t shown up, and about what you had overheard from the talk with your parents months ago. The windows were closed, but allowed some air inside to keep you cool and comfortable. You tossed and turned in bed when you heard a faint sound of a guitar being strummed.

You paused, glancing at the window. Another strum of the guitar and a cough. Slowly, you got up from the bed and approached the window, your hands lingering around, thinking about whether to push it open or keep it close.

That's when you heard singing.

That's when you heard Zayne singing.

His voice was crisp and clear, emotions pouring out of his mouth as he sang to the sound of a guitar. There were some snickers here and there, perhaps from his friends but nonetheless, he continued on. You smiled to yourself, allowing his voice to soothe your own troubles and worries. It goes on for several more minutes, but the idea was the same: please open your window and let me catch a glimpse of your face.

As the last song finishes up, you open the windows to your room and look down, your hands covering your blushing face.

Zayne was there, his hands outstretched with a smile on his face. When he sees your face,he lowers his hands and looks up. There was a hint of red plastered on his face too, making you crack a smile. His friends were there as well, supporting him in his endeavors to woo you over. Caleb nudges Zayne before saying something you didn’t hear. You went outside of your room, surprised to see your parents awake too.

“Oh? Papasukin mo ba sila?”Oh? Will you let him in then? Was all the confirmation you needed from your parents before opening the door to them. Zayne sighs in relief, he has passed the first test. He greeted your parents and you as they settled down for a while. You sat beside your parents, watching them prepare the next songs.

As Zayne sings throughout the night, he compliments various things about you. How you smiled, carrying yourself with grace , how your eyes shone under the sun and your hair forming a halo around you like an angel. How you treated others with love, how hard you worked for your family, how you loved so tenderly and freely that it felt like a crime if he were to let go of such a chance of loving you.

He continues to sing alongside the guitar being played, the words seemingly fly out of his mouth as he says sweet everythings to you. You smile throughout, unable to hide it any further as you lean in forward, eager to listen to him sing.

In a response to his efforts, you sing back to him. You came up with a response to his efforts, and mentioned the things you liked about him. His handsome face, his steady and strong hands, his dedication to his work, the way he cared about others around him and prioritized their safety first and foremost. You sing about accepting his love, comparing it to the home you lived in; stable and worth returning to time and time again.

His face turns to a brighter shade of red as you continue on. He tried to bury his face, but his smile was so big that his hands couldn’t seem to hide it. But just like you , he listened to every word said about him.

You sang a duet together, your voices mixing with the guitar’s melody. Singing a duet together means that you had accepted his effort into wooing you over.

In honesty, you have accepted it for a long time already. You know that he loved you, in any way a man like he could. He loved you in his reminders, he loved you in his touch and longing stares, and most of all, he loved you since and had only taken the leap of faith to sing his feelings about you and you were there to catch him.

You sang a few more songs together before he finally wraps it up with a goodbye song. He thanked your parents one more time before he and his friends left, closing the door behind them. The silence of memory and song fills the living room but you were shifting around, glancing at the door. You bounced your leg, tapping your fingers against your bouncing knee.

“Pupuntahan mo siya?” Will you go to him? Your mother asked, as if she was able to read your mind. She knew you weren't the most traditional following girl especially when it was getting in the way of what you truly wanted. You glanced up before nodding.

“Puntahan mo na, ija. Sino ba ako para pigilan ka?” Go to him, my dear. Who am I to stop you?

You hugged your mother before rushing out the door, then heading back inside to get a shawl and change your slippers. As much as your mother allowed you to be more independent as you got older, cleanliness was a rule you followed.

You rushed outside, the cold wind blowing through your thin shawl and clothes. The full moon brightens up the way before you as the lamps slowly get dimmer and farther away.

“Zayne!” You yelled out, causing him to stop in his tracks and run back to you. He sets the lamp down on the ground and cups your cheek, inspecting to make sure you weren’t hurt.

“Ano po iyon, magandang binibini?” What's the matter, Miss beautiful? He asks, “Na-istrobo ko ba kayo? Pasensya na po, Binibini pero gusto ko lang makita yung iyong mga ngiti.” Did I disturb you? I'm sorry, Miss but all I want is to see your smile.

You huffed, and looked away for a moment. He chuckled, and tilted your face towards him. His eyes lingered on your lips, but he kept his restraint. It was far too early or quick for him to do that. He was supposed to take his time when he courts her and she in turn, wouldn’t give in so easily.

“At ngayon, nakita ko na ang pinakamagandang ngiti sa balat ng lupa.” And now, I have seen the most beautiful smile in the world. He smiles, his hands lingering on her lips, “Kaya makakatulong ako ngayong gabi ng mabuti.” Which means I can sleep well at night.

“Pero kung ikaw makakatulong ng mabuti ngayong gabi, paano naman ba ako?” But if you get to sleep well at night, how about me? You asked, your eyes glancing at his face. You cupped his cheeks in turn and pulled him close to you, making him hunch down.

“Pwede ba kitang halikan?" May I kiss you? You whisper, leaning in close.

“Pwede.” You may. He answers.

You leaned in close, holding his cheeks against yours as your lips met together. A soft yet bright flame burned through you both. You closed your eyes, your hands wrapped around his neck as you stood on your toes. Pulling away, you take a deep breath, your face turning even redder than ever. Zayne smiles, tracing your lips with his finger before kissing you once more.

Once the act was done, you both stood there , wrapped in each other’s arms. The comfortable silence filling the quiet night as the moon and stars served as witnesses to a love that took years, decades, in the making. You took your hands away from him, reminding him to head home safely. He picks up his lamp, waves goodbye and begins to walk away while you return to the steps of your home.

Your love continued to blossom and developed, increasing in passion and devotion as time continued. You and Zayne exchanged love letters, all of which you kept in a box hidden beneath your clothes. There were times you’d find him outside your window, courting you with sweet songs that you’d reply to. You would bring fresh produce to Zayne, making sure he had a sufficient supply and in turn, Zayne made sure to use them up, creating simple and warm meals for his patients and himself. He would buy his produce from you alone, carrying them in his arms with pride and satisfaction, knowing he had gotten it from the woman he loved and who loved him back.

As time continues to pass, he brings you around him, keeping you close as he was invited to event after event. He would hold your hand and proudly introduce you as the woman he loved, causing the others to stare in disbelief, awe, or envy, but neither of it truly mattered to him.

You were with him and that was more than enough for the both of you.

In the midst of dancing crowds and conversations, you both would slip away from the crowd to spend time together and danced to the beat of your rhythms.

You also became a more frequent face in the clinic he worked at, your presence bringing relief to Zayne especially. When he went to other places, you were with him as you travelled to even more far-fetched communities to provide them with the healthcare they needed and deserved. You watched Zayne work and take care of patients from various walks of life, age, and class, treating them all as individuals needing help. You watched him explain diagnosis to patients and possible solutions around it. You helped him clean around, making sure that the place was spotless and disinfected from any contaminants.

As the day comes to a close, you helped him lock the clinic for the day, changing the sign to indicate that clinic hours were done. You accompanied Zayne, visited patients under his care and checked on their current statuses. Luckily for you both, there weren’t many people he had to see so you two headed back.

When you both arrive back at Zayne’s , you find yourselves standing in front of the same place you both stood on years ago when he left for Manila for the first time.

Gone were the days that you were carefree children, gone were the days you played and read together, and most of all, gone were the days you admired Zayne from afar because you were in his arms. You grabbed something from your pocket, revealing a small cloth. You began to unwrap it, revealing to Zayne an old flower, its colors pressed away and its petals fragile.

“Naalala mo ba ito?” Do remember this? You ask, “Ito yung binigay mo sa aking pag-alis mo papuntang Manila noon. Tinago at protektahan ko ito.” This is what you gave me before you left for Manila before. I hid and protected it with my whole heart.

Zayne smiles, stepping closer to inspect the old and dried flower. He nods, “Oo, naalala ko.” Yes, I remember. He answers, “At pareho sa bulaklak na ito, aalagaan kita at ilalagay ka sa puso ko. Hindi na ko aalis kasi,” And like this flower, I will take care of you and place you in my heart. I don't need to leave because, He brushes gently against the petals and places it aside, “Kasi nakauwi na ako.” Because, I'm home.

As the years pass, both families had met and given approval should you and Zayne finally decide to settle down. There wasn’t a date as to when or where, but that's alright for the both of you. You were still enjoying your time as a couple before settling down for good.

You were both sleeping on a hammock, the wind swinging you and Zayne gently. You were resting on his chest,hearing the sound of his heart beating. A steady rhythm brings you comfort as you rest from the afternoon sun.

In your dreams, you and Zayne finally settled down. You called each other wife and husband, which turned into nanay at tatay when the dream children joined the picture. You’d like to imagine there are two of them, one boy and one girl that you and he would love endlessly. Perhaps both would act and look like him and you would smile and remark how they acted similar to him.

Yes, that sounds nice.

You continue to dream about the lives you would have one day, seeing glimpses of your routine being modified, seeing the children’s smiles and hearing their laughs, and the love you shared with them came from the love you and Zayne have and will continue to have.

“Gising ka na ba? Naririnig kita magsalita.” Are you awake? I heard you talking in your sleep.

Zayne’s voice breaks through the dreams and pulls you back to reality. You glance up at him, seeing his messy hair and his glasses perched on his nose.

You shake your head, “Ah hindi, hindi. Hindi ako nagsasalita." Oh no, no, no. I wasn't talking.

Zayne nods, “Pero nguniniti ka. Ano ba panaginip mo?” But you were smiling. What were you dreaming about?

“Tayo.” Us.

“Tayo?” Us?

You nodded.

He smiles and shakes his head, before placing a kiss on your forehead, “Parang hindi ko na kailangan panagimpan iyan dahil naging totoo siya.” I don't need it to dream about it because it is real.

[akpaley]

Oh Sensation Sharp and snapping Long companion Hold me close Tell me I am bleeding slowly Torn to pieces Broken bones For all of that is just Sensation To hold, to love To live, to know

So the above artwork is a visualization of the above poem, but this whole thing is also... more than that?

Kaijja as a character in her current form draws a lot from my experiences with pain therapy and managing a chronic pain disorder. Half the prompt for her magic was this set of gifs and the other half was my experience of the psychological element of pain. Which is to say that pain is a response to a certain kind of nervous system activation and how manageable it is often depends on whether your brain thinks there's actually something wrong that needs fixing. Pain in erotic circumstances (not a thing I'm into, but) is often converted to pleasure because brain perceiving strong sensation as pleasurable and pain is strong sensation. I have dealt on and off with a chronic pain disorder for years now, and it is never so bad as when my nervous system is highly activated and I am afraid.

When you are thinking about pain all the time and experiencing sometimes very severe pain all the time and you are aware of that psychological piece but your thinking self still can't quite internalize that nothing is actually physically wrong with you, the concept of erotic pain becomes something of a power fantasy. Imagine you could feel this way, register all the sensations, and be able to treat the whole thing with the kind of joyous curiosity or even pleasure that would make this experience empowering instead of scary. Imagine that instead of making your world smaller this kind of sensation could expand it.

Kaijja was always going to be some kind of flesh paladin, but a lot of what is very core to her comes from that power fantasy, the pain that makes me visualize things moving under my skin or my flesh peeling away being both true and also beautiful. Kaijja isn't someone who doesn't experience pain, but the type of neutrality I have spent the last couple years learning and still don't have all the way down is her default. The bodily warning systems are sometimes informative, the texture of the sensations is interesting, and through the last decade or so she has been conditioned to find the extremes of both erotic. When Kaijja is in too much pain to function well it's because the experience is overwhelming and distracting, not excruciating.

Which presents a problem when the cause of that kind of overwhelm is suddenly actual bodily harm instead of being safely taken apart and reassembled by someone who loves you, and all of your instincts still say this is interesting and lovely and you should settle in and ride it out. When you are aware that there is a difference between your body signals and actual reality and on an emotional lizard brain level you can't tell the difference.

This poem is about not being able to tell the difference.

It is also about me. Not being able to tell the difference.

I don't think it would be so gentle as it is if it weren't also a kind of soft, self-soothing reflection. For her, it's the quiet acknowledgement that this is real. For me, it is the gentle reminder that it is not. A statement that I am in love with the wondrous thing of living, even when the hard parts speak to me from underneath my skin.

[tariah23]

His videos are always so…

[lululeighsworld]

Lorah: Lilac Knight's Love

Artist: @littledashdraws

Wanted to share this commission by Dash, who so lovingly illustrated my vision for Gunter's first wife!! Although Lorah's lived in my head since 2017, this is the first time I've had her drawn. Because I'm so thrilled over this art, I put together a little introduction for her!! you can read more about her below~

Residence: Duet Mountains Occupation: Farmer •❀• Bedside Nurse •❀• Homemaker Birthday: July 11 Gender: Female Relatives: Gunter (Husband) Katerina (Daughter)* Personality: Shy •❀• Bubbly •❀• Optimistic Hobbies: Crafting •❀• Gardening •❀• Baking Age: 21 (when she first meets Gunter) •❀• 36 (at death)

A Nohrian commoner whose known the kingdom's southern mountain range and neighbouring valleys her entire life, Lorah was a recognizable resident of her town even though she kept to herself. Learning the basics of herbal remedies from a young age, she would split her time between tending to the fields and easing the woes of the sick. In adulthood, she would chance upon meeting a Nohrian Great Knight during her town's annual spring festival. The couple's engagement, after seven years of courting, had become one of the most highly anticipated moments amongst the townsfolk.

*NOT the Nohrian Queen. I named their kid before I realized what Xander's mom's name was and by that point I was already ATTACHED (tell me Caterpillar is not the cutest nickname). So now the reason they share a name is lore relevant (which is a part of this fic!).

divider by saradika

[atopvisenyashill]

i love when people are like “oh i definitely think bloodraven’s methods are evil but i do think his goals are noble” no i’m saying i think his goal is evil he just doesn’t realize exactly how evil or he just doesn’t care. i think he’s bran’s evil mentor and the turning point in both of their stories will be whether bran ~accepts the pomegranate seeds~ or whether he rejects them. bran is fleeing that cave no matter what he chooses, but he will choose and brynden is gonna have an opinion on that choice!!

[jasontoddstherapist]

PSA |

Yes this is a Jason Peter Todd centric blog, but it's also 100% supportive of Talia al Ghul. There will be no slander here. No perpetuating of the racist, misogynistic bullshit that drove the narrative divebomb of her character.

[doux-amer]

One thing that has deeply annoyed me about the response from Americans/Westerners about this week's events in Korea is that a lot of them, including people I like and respect, are like, "The protesting civilians and lawmakers who barged into the National Assembly would've been shot if this were the U.S./this would've never happened in the U.S. because people are too afraid of being shot." There's some truth to that, at least with regard to state violence, but I'm fed up because it doesn't account for how frightening this could have turned out to be had it not been for how much of an inept flop dunce Yoon Sukyeol is. It minimizes the courage of those who showed up.

Sure, it was likely that the military and riot police wouldn't have done much (again, YSY's self-coup wasn't thought out well, and there's more evidence of that as military officials and soldiers are speaking up about the lack of information they received, but I'll refrain from talking about that to avoid making this even longer than it inevitably will be, knowing myself), but let's not pretend there haven't been issues with them in recent years. They pepper sprayed and used water cannons during an anniversary rally for the Sewol ferry victims (x) (x) (if you don't understand how unbelievably cruel that is, look into the horrific Sewol ferry sinking). They tear gassed crowds (Korea has a gruesome history of this) and sprayed water cannons, and citizens have been injured and killed during the 2015 protests and 2016-17 Park Geunhye impeachment protests, notably Baek Namgi, an elderly activist whose death caused global outrage (x) (x). Park Geunhye was going to enforce martial law during those protests according to a leaked document, with hundreds of tanks, thousands of soldiers and special force troops! (x)

Not to mention, there are decades of extreme state violence that have scarred an entire country and are still super fresh for a huge percentage of the population. Again, check out that tear gas history piece. Look up the April Revolution, Gwangju massacre, and June uprising and see just how bloody they were. Thousands of civilians were tortured and killed. Look at how many protests were going on year after year during the 1980s. That isn't that long ago! All those older people who ran to the National Assembly to stop the coup? You bet a lot of them were college students who protested during that time or knew people who did. All the younger people? They may not have experienced what it was like living under martial law, but as I said, state violence still occurs, however much it's dwindled over the years, and you have to account for generational trauma. I don't think I'll ever forget the way I felt when I saw the breaking news alert about the martial law declaration on December 3. I've never experienced that, at least to that degree.

Instead of viewing the response from civilians and elected officials through the framework of police brutality in the U.S., it should be contextualized using Korea's own history. Thankfully most of the serious discussions are doing this, but like I said, even people who are smart about reading up on things have reflected on how this wouldn't fly in the U.S., not because of the difference in protest history, civil movements, and public engagement with both in the two countries but because of the military/police response. There's an insinuation there that Koreans would be more reluctant to do what they did if they knew what it's like to live in fear of violence instead of living in such a safe country like Korea...and I want to yell.

It was monumentally brave of everyone to do what they did to stop the coup. We're all laughing at how stupid the coup was and there's a reason why people were more furious than scared because of the political history of Korea and the laws set in place to protect the democracy and neutralize coup attempts, but this could have easily become a disaster. It's not alarmist of me to say so because there was no way for anyone to be 100% sure of how the military would react—especially when no one knew what the hell was going on.

[worldwake]

I'm gonna be really honest I think most of the people who keep harassing me to get a "real" job are just pissed that I actually enjoy my job and that my job actually fulfills me in many ways. Sorry you're miserable I guess, but just because I enjoy what I do does not mean that it's not "real" work!

[milflewis]

.

[goblin-enjoyer]

I swear why are half the things i like/fandoms im in made of mostly younger people while the other half are mostly older people? what are the zoggin odds with that?

How it feels being 20 in a fandom with a bunch of 30-40 somethings.

VS how it feels being 20 in a fandom with a bunch of 14-17 somethings.

like am do i just have extremely odd luck with things i like or is this just what being 20 is like?

[keeps-ache]

lemon is good on everything, lime is good on the things that are not everything, and so the world remains in balance

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

.

[harrowharkwife]

x

[gayjaytodd]

the tragedy of bruce wayne is that no matter how much time passes, he is still a child in an alleyway, standing over his dead parents

[euclydya]

every now and then when we say something in-sys we DO still hear Allan's voice but barely so

and sometimes. they're like "QUIT TELLING EVERYONE I'M DEAD??" when,

We never DID explicitly tell anyone that, and

He is dead? He's literally a ghost. He honest to god legit for realsies died in 2019.

and he's like..,,,, "oh right! lmao sorry I forgot, carry on" JDJSMSKDMFCN??