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[strawbiekimbop]

Die Your Daughter

Dennis Whitaker x Michael “Robby” Robinavitch

🏷️ Tags: Dennis Whitaker/Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, Good Friend Dennis Whitaker, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Robby & Samira’s Toxic Father-Daughter Dynamic

Summary:

What if Dennis saw how Robby treated Samira while she was having a panic attack?

Author’s Note:

I wrote this in less than 5 hours, while munching on Cheetos and Pringles. There will be typos (I tried to fix them but there I might’ve missed some. I’m sorry.). Also, this is barely proofread. I’ll fix it in the morning, I hope.

This will be crossposted to ao3! Stay tuned!

This is a friendly reminder that complex characters exist. Robby being a kind person who stands up for what is right can co-exist with Robby being an asshole because he’s projecting his PTSD onto Samira.

His complexity is what makes him a great character overall. I’m tired of TV show characters being one-dimensional, perfect goody-two-shoes. Give me angst, give me heartbreak, give me hurt, give me pain.

Okay enough of this, enjoy the fic!

xo, strawbiekimbop <33

The hub gets more crowded as more patients from Westbridge are diverted to their Emergency Department. Combined with a cyberattack and a collapsed waterpark slide, the Pitt is packed full of patients, doctors, nurses, and runners.

Robby is in the middle of a conversation with Dana. Their borders need to get rooms upstairs or else the next influx of patients will be seen by their doctors in the ambulance bay. Also, they need more runners, as their grand total of three volunteer runners from the giftshop all have senior citizen status. They need volunteers with stronger knees and lower fall risks.

He hears a familiar fake cough behind him, and a shoulder tap to get his attention

“Hey, Dr. Robby. Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Robby turns around from his conversation with Dana.

“Dr. Whitaker, you’ll have to wait for a minute. Dana and I need to-”

“Now, Robby.” Dennis says, his face blank, which is not a good sign.

He looks at Dana’s tired, yet visibly amused face.

“Dana, I’ll be right back,” Robby says, his sight following Dennis’s retreating figure. She nods her head before answering the call from their red phone.

Dennis walks outside towards the ambulance bay, Robby closely behind him. They continue to walk until they are partially hidden from the EMTs that just dropped off another patient. They see Dr. Mohan back on her feet, actively listening to the EMT as she lists the patient’s vitals.

Robby turns to look at Dennis. His arms are crossed in the middle of his chest, regardless of his bloodied gown. His lips are pressed into a line, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

“What was that back there, Robby?” Dennis asks, his voice flat.

”What was what?” He questions back, wiping the sweat forming on the back of his neck.

What did happen back there? In the past hour, they worked in an amputated leg trauma together, he witnesses Al-Hashimi’s cowboy execution on the major pediatric neck trauma, and they gave Duke a minor work-up.

The heat is starting to get to Robby. He feels beads of sweat rolling down his back, his already wet inside shirt doing nothing to absorb it.

He scrunches his face, trying to think of other cases they worked on together this morning. He puts his hand to his beard, an anxious habit.

A beat of silence passes by before Dennis sighs.

”With Samira, Robby.” Dennis says, evidently trying hard not to roll his eyes.

Robby closes his eyes, trying to remember the cases she did with Dr. Mohan. Dennis’s foot rapidly taps on the ground, impatiently waiting for his answer.

”I don’t know what you want me to say, Den,” he says. “Dr. Mohan and I barely have cases together today. I can’t even remember the last time I saw her.”

Dennis grunts, unable to stop his urge to roll his eyes. Sweat starts to form on Robby’s forehead.

”You screamed at her, Robby, for having a freaking panic attack.” Dennis sputters, trying to keep his voice down not to attract attention, but loud enough to get his point across. His hands wave around, as if trying to make Robby understand the weight of his actions.

Robby laughs exasperatedly, clearly annoyed at the direction their conversation is going. He looks up, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Unbelievable.” Robby looks back at Dennis, frustrated. “You pulled me aside, despite the many patients we have, just to lecture me on what? On disciplining my residents?” He says, sarcastically. A sly, yet annoyed smirk visible on his face.

”She’s not a child, Robby. She does not need discipline. What she needed was support from someone who supposedly understands her, but instead you belittled her for being human in front of her coworkers.” Dennis answers, his voice growing louder than a whisper.

Robby shakes his head, a smirk still plastered on his face. ”I did not belittle-“

”Yes, you did! You have constantly belittled her and undermined her work. You give her less leeway than you gave me, and I’m only an R1. We’re together, Robby, and I love you. But that does not excuse your borderline sexist and misogynistic behavior-“

”Oh, ho.” Robby cuts him off. His hands sillily wave in front of him as he continues, “Little mister I-don’t-know-how-to-handle-my-privilege-so-instead-I’ll-berate-my-senior-for giving-me-privilege over here.”

Robby starts actively laughing. He shakes his head at the absurdity of the situation. His sweat drips from his face to his scrubs.

Dennis looks at him blankly again, unfazed, unamused, or worse, tired of Robby’s reaction.

Robby’s laugh echoes, some of the EMTs start looking at them. He can hear whispers of his and Robby’s name.

Dennis closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath. He looks back at Robby. He steps closer to him, his eyes never leaving his.

Dennis places his pointer finger directly on Robby’s chest. ”You know what, maybe you do need to leave for your Sabbatical.” He digs his finger to his chest unkindly.

He looks Robby in the eyes one last time before leaving him alone in the ambulance bay, as the echoes of an incoming ambulance grow louder.

Robby’s smirk starts to fade, the gravity of their conversation dawning upon him. His gaze was vacant as an ambulance stopped in front of him, an EMT immediately pulling out the patient.

He inhales before asking, ”What’s the status?” He tries to forget whatever conversation he just had with Dennis, and focus on the work.

Like a good doctor does.

Divider Credits: @thecutestgrotto, @strangergraphics

[strawbiekimbop]

Sumandal sa Haligi

Maria Clara "Klay" Infantes x Fidel de los Reyes y Maglipol

🏷️ Tags: Maria Clara "Klay" Infantes/Fidel de los Reyes y Maglipol, Maria Clara "Klay" Infantes & Crisostomo Ibarra, Pre-Relationship, Protective Crisostomo Ibarra, Harana

Summary:

As the eldest daughter with an absent father and a deadbeat step-father, Klay never expected anything from men. However, her newfound kuya might be able to shift her perspective.

Author's Note:

this fic is crossposted from my ao3 acc (strawbiekimbop)!

this fic is also unedited hehe i kinda feel like immortalizing younger me's work

enjoy the fic!

xo, strawbiekimbop <3

Klay never learned to lean onto someone. 

She was born as a mistake. Her father, a married man with multiple children, decided it would be wise to lure her mother into a night filled with pleasure. Nine months later, as the consequences of their actions come to life, her mother found herself alone with no one to call home.

Her step-father, even though she never thought of him as a father-figure, was all bark, no bite. Bottles of alcohol scattered around his seat in front of the TV as he drank until the wee hours of the night. He beats her mom, Klay knows that. A first-aid kit became a staple in their household even before she decided to pursue nursing.

All men did was disappoint her. Instead of being strong pillars to support her and her dream, they became liabilities and hindrances. 

So, when she came across Crisostomo Ibarra during her first day inside the novel, she was shocked to her core.

Even with a hint of hesitation, he accepted her. He let her sleep in his house, he fed her nourishing food, and treated her as an equal. She then thought that maybe, maybe men aren’t so bad after all.

However, due to the conservative nature of the old times, whenever they were to step foot outside of Ibarra’s not-so-humble abode, whispers ensued. An atmosphere of judgment replaced the supposed jolly feel of their surroundings.

“Ay, ayan na yung bruja!”

“Hindi ba nahihiya ang Ginoo? Nag-uuwi sa bahay ng babae kahit siya’y may kasintahang naghihintay sa kaniya! Ay, Dios mio!”

“Kaawaan sana ng Diyos ang ating Clarita. Kawawang dalaga.”

Let it be known that Klay never wanted to be with Crisostomo. Yes, she was infatuated with him. Ibarra with his strong frame and his good moral compass. Ibarra with his strong desire for equality. Ibarra with his sincere and genuine love for Maria Clara de los Santos y Alba. 

But then, after a few days of thinking, it dawned upon her that Crisostomo is the older brother she was looking for. He’s that kuya she has been manifesting for whenever her tito threatens to beat her mother for the nth time. He’s that strong pillar she’s been praying for God knows how long.

It took Fidel’s unbelievably disastrous attempt to harana her for Crisostomo to admit that he sees her as a younger sister.

However, that admission wasn’t made to Klay herself, but to Fidel.

He invited his dearest amigo inside his house for a glass of wine. But even before Klay got to meet Fidel, Crisostomo sent her to her room.

Klay, as a strong-willed woman, hid behind one of the dividers that separates the living room and the dining area. 

Crisostomo invited Fidel to take a seat on the couch. Her position only allowed her to see Fidel’s back.

Silence spread throughout the property. Only the soft night breeze and the wine being poured into glasses were heard.

“Didiretsuhin na kita, amigo.” Crisostomo started. He placed his arms on his thighs, an intimidation tactic he often used whenever he’s dealing with hard-headed friars. “Alam mo namang wala rito ang ama ni Binibining Klay, tama?”

Fidel took a sip before answering. “Oo, amigo.”

“At dahil sa aking pamamahay naninirahan ang binibini, sa akin ka makakatikim sa oras na siya’y iyong saktan.”

“Hindi naman hahantong sa ganyan, mi amigo. Makakaasa kang tunay ang aking pag-ibig sa kani-”

Crisostomo raised his hand, silencing Fidel. “Ayan din ang sinabi mo sa mga kababaihang iyong ‘inibig’ sa Europa.”

Fidel let out a small chuckle, albeit showing his nervous habits. 

“Hindi laruan si Binibining Klay na maaari mong itapon sa gilid matapos mo siya gamitin. Huwag mo siya ihalintulad sa mga babaeng nakilala mo sa Espanya na madaling maloko at malinlang, Fidel.”

Fidel shook his head, setting down the wine glass he’s been holding for the past minute. 

“Amigo, maaasahan mong hindi ko siya sasaktan. Mauuna pa akong bawian ng buhay bago ko siya masaktan o hayaang masaktan ng mga taong nakapaligid sa kaniya. Taos-puso kong iniibig si Binibining Klay.” Klay felt her heart beat out of her chest. She reached out to her chest, trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart. 

Crisostomo relaxed from his position. He leaned back and gave his dearest friend a smile.

“Paumanhin kung ika’y natakot ko, Fidel. Sadyang napamahal na sa akin si Klay. Kahit na sa magkaibang sinapupunan kami nanggaling, siya’y tinatrato ko bilang aking nakababatang kapatid. Kung buhay lang ang aking ina, malamang ay inampon na niya si Klay.”

It was at that moment that Klay decided to retreat to her room.

She flopped down to her bed, eyes unfocused. With shaky hands, she grabbed a pillow and screamed her heart out. 

Klay hadn’t known that her feelings of trust and respect was returned by Crisostomo– 

No.

Kuya Crisostomo.

For the first time in her life, Klay slept contentedly, knowing that just across the hall, there’s her kuya that will protect her from all the evil in the world and potential suitors.

She’ll deal with her conflicting feelings for Fidel in the morning. 

Translations:

“Ay, ayan na yung bruja!” = There's the witch!

“Hindi ba nahihiya ang Ginoo? Nag-uuwi sa bahay ng babae kahit siya’y may kasintahang naghihintay sa kaniya! Ay, Dios mio!” = Does he have no shame? He has another woman in his house even if he has a girlfriend! Jesus Christ!

“Kaawaan sana ng Diyos ang ating Clarita. Kawawang dalaga.” = May the Lord have mercy on our Clarita. Such a pity.

Kuya = older brother

Tito = uncle

Amigo = friend

“Didiretsuhin na kita, amigo.” = I'll be direct with you, my friend.

“Alam mo namang wala rito ang ama ni Binibining Klay, tama?” = You do know that Klay's father is not here, correct?

“Oo, amigo." = Yes, my friend

“At dahil sa aking pamamahay naninirahan ang binibini, sa akin ka makakatikim sa oras na siya’y iyong saktan.” = And you know that you'll answer to me once you hurt her."

“Hindi naman hahantong sa ganyan, mi amigo. Makakaasa kang tunay ang aking pag-ibig sa kani-” = That won't happen, my friend. I can assure you that my love for her is true-

“Ayan din ang sinabi mo sa mga kababaihang iyong ‘inibig’ sa Europa.” = That's exactly what you've said about those women you "love" back in Europe.

“Hindi laruan si Binibining Klay na maaari mong itapon sa gilid matapos mo siya gamitin. Huwag mo siya ihalintulad sa mga babaeng nakilala mo sa Espanya na madaling maloko at malinlang, Fidel.” = Klay isn't a toy you can easily discard once you're done with her. She's not the same as those women back in Spain that are easily fooled and deceived.

“Amigo, maaasahan mong hindi ko siya sasaktan. Mauuna pa akong bawian ng buhay bago ko siya masaktan o hayaang masaktan ng mga taong nakapaligid sa kaniya. Taos-puso kong iniibig si Binibining Klay.” = My friend, I can assure you that I won't hurt her. I'd rather die than hurt her or let her be hurt by the people around her.

“Paumanhin kung ika’y natakot ko, Fidel. Sadyang napamahal na sa akin si Klay. Kahit na sa magkaibang sinapupunan kami nanggaling, siya’y tinatrato ko bilang aking nakababatang kapatid. Kung buhay lang ang aking ina, malamang ay inampon na niya si Klay.” = I'm sorry if I sacred you, FIdel. Klay is very dear to me. Even if we were born from different mothers, I still treat her like a sister. If my mother was still alive, she'll have her adopted immediately.

Divider credits: @thecutestgrotto, @angeliicide

[strawbiekimbop]

Crawling Back To You

Inej Ghafa x Kaz Brekker

🏷️ Tags: Inej Ghafa/Kaz Brekker, Open/Ambiguous Ending, Hurt/No Comfort, Kaz Brekker is Kaz Rietveld is Dirtyhands

Summary:

Kaz Rietveld longs for Inej. Dirtyhands considers this as a weakness.

A longer version of the “I would come for you” scene.

Author's Note:

this fic is crossposted from my ao3 acc (strawbiekimbop)!

this fic is also unedited hehe i kinda feel like immortalizing younger me's work

enjoy the fic!

xo, strawbiekimbop <3

“He was going to break my legs, Kaz.” She looks at him, her eyes overflowing with anger. It is hypnotizing. She is so, so beautiful. She starts to cry, unable to compose herself. Kaz’s gloved hand reaches out as an attempt to comfort her, to wipe away her tears. Dirtyhands winces and clenches his hand before placing it back on top of his cane. He wonders, both as Kaz and as Dirtyhands. If her tears touch his skin, would he shrivel in disgust or bask in the thought of her trusting him so much that she allows him to witness her at her lowest?

“Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When I couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” 

She continues to cry, not waiting for him to answer. Only the sound of her deep breaths fill the quiet night sky. This is the loudest he has ever heard her. Her ability to keep silent and work best in the shadows is why he invested in her. 

He thinks of an answer to her question. He can’t lie to her, never. Even if it is to comfort her. He sighs.

”I would come for you.”

Inej wipes her tears before looking at him, confused.

”I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together— knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

He looks at her, wishing that his honest words would comfort her as much as physical contact would. 

Inej scoots nearer to him. Near, but not touching. Her gaze never pointing towards him

In this moment suspended in time, Kaz allows himself to put down his guard. His shoulder falls a fraction, before taking another deep breath. His eyes never leave Inej.

He studies her like he always did. He watches as the wind makes her hair dance. He watches as she smiles upon feeling the cold breeze on her skin. He watches her eyes close as she anticipates another blow of wind.

She’s the picture of grace and elegance. Somehow, even with everything that has happened to her, she looks so young and innocent now.

It only sinks into him that they are only teenagers. People their age haven’t even experienced a fraction of what they have gone through. Heck, people outside the barrel will never learn what it means to eat or be eaten. 

Inej would never have experienced this if she wasn’t forcefully taken. She would live her life with her family, performing happily with them. She wouldn’t be hiding in a cemetery, sleeping over slowly rotting bodies, whose souls would never stop calling for justice and revenge. She wouldn’t have been kidnapped by Van Eck.

But alas, she’s here. She is with them, at the bottom of the barrel’s food chain. They are lower than rats, especially with a bounty on their heads.

He is brought back to the present as deep space black eyes look into his. Her brows quirk, questioning his deep gaze at her.

He immediately broke the contact. His skin starts to crawl as if someone has grazed his arm. He looks forward.

He can see her still looking at him through his peripheral. Her lips settle on a small, soft smile. “I didn’t know you care about me that much, Dirtyhands.”

”You don’t know a lot about me, Wraith.” He says.

”I know,” she says sadly. “You never let me in.”

Kaz closes his eyes as Inej’s presence vanishes beside him. 

Dirtyhands may despise the feeling of skin-to-skin contact, but Kaz Rietveld craves it.

Rietveld, bless his young soul, longs to be held. He longs for the comfort of falling asleep in someone’s arms. He longs for Inej.

Rietveld has accepted his feelings for Inej. He knows the love he has for her. 

But until Dirtyhands lets him out of his rotten, twisted heart, Rietveld will remain hidden from everyone, especially Inej.

divider credits: @uzmacchiato, @thecutestgrotto

[strawbiekimbop]

Get Rid of My Wrackspurts for Me

Luna Lovegood x Blaise Zabini

🏷️ Tags: Luna Lovegood/Blaise Zabini, Established Relationship, Battle of Hogwarts, Hurt/No Comfort

Summary:

War is especially difficult if your lover fights on the opposite side. 

Blaise knows this first hand. If could just abandon his friends, would’ve. He knows that if Luna were to ask him to leave them for her, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. 

But Luna, his darling Luna, is exceptionally kind. She’d never do that to him. 

And he hates it.

Author's Note:

hello, everyone! this is strawbiekimbop from ao3!

i'm in the process of crossposting my fics from ao3 to tumblr so if you have read some of my other fics there, expect to see them here ^^

i'm so excited to share these fics to you guys! stay tuned!

p.s. everything will be unedited unless stated otherwise (smth abt posting the actual unedited fics here feels like paying an homage to my teenage self lol live laugh love younger me <3)

no, go and enjoy the fic!

xo, strawbiekimbop <3

In the midst of the ongoing war against Voldemort, Luna found herself in the middle of the seventh-year students scrambling towards the death eaters. She looked around finding a certain Slytherin when someone yanked her arm, leading her towards an abandoned corridor. 

The person who pulled her away from the battle suddenly stopped and turned to face her. Strong arms stopped Luna from bumping into the person. 

She was met with familiar eyes before it clicked. 

“Blaise!”

Blaise immediately shushed her, afraid that someone might see them. He checked the corridor twice before he turned his attention to her. 

“Hi, my love. I’m sorry I pulled you without asking. Are you alright?”

Blaise shifted his gaze towards her face, narrowing down on the dried blood coming from her hair that he didn’t notice before. 

He reached out to wipe some of the still wet spots of blood out of her face. Luna leaned into his touch. 

Blaise remembered every single second of the Carrows’ punishment to Luna earlier that day. 

As per his mother’s ‘request’, he stuck to the Carrows’ side “to be protected against the Dark Lord’s wrath.” He was surprised that Luna was brought into a classroom rearranged to be a punishment room by a smirking sixth-year Slytherin trying to win the favor of the Carrows. 

“I found this one loitering outside during class hours,” the jerk said. Blaise wanted to knock the mother fucker out so bad. 

Because Luna was a well-known supporter of Harry Potter, the Carrows did not hold back. He counted five casts of Crucio towards Luna. He had to physically stop himself from strangling the wicked twins as Luna’s head hit the ground.

No one has told him how hard it was to see someone you love in pain. 

He just stood there. He just stood there like an idiot, and he couldn’t be more guilty as he is at that moment. 

“I’m sorry the Carrows did this to you, my love.” He said, his tears threatening to fall. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry.”

He continued his litany of apologies until Luna removed his hand from her face and held them gently in front of her. 

“Darling, you have nothing to apologize for.”

At that moment, Blaise realized that no matter what he has done and will do in the future, Luna will always love him. And he hates it. 

He hates that she makes it so easy for him to love her. He doesn’t deserve someone like her, whose love is unwavering and unconditional. He does not deserve her. He does not-

A loud crash echoed around the walls of the corridor, interrupting his train of thought. He was brought back to the reality of the war currently happening.

“I see another infestation of wrackspurts in your hair, my darling.” Luna suddenly said, as if nothing was happening around them. 

Blaise chuckled at her, grasping at the normalcy of the situation. 

He wanted to stay within the corridor, to forget about the battle currently taking place. He wanted to stay with her. 

But alas, he must face reality. He remembered Draco asking him to come down to the dungeons. 

Once more, he reached out to Luna. He gently placed a strand of her snow white hair behind her ear. He guided her gaze to his. 

“When all of this is over, I’ll come back to you. You can get rid of the wrackspurts for me, my love.”

Luna nodded slightly and gave him a smile. 

Blaise pressed their heads together, displaying their final act of intimacy before they ran and fought for different sides of the war. 

He closed his eyes as he listened for her breathing, a last reminder for him that she was alive in his arms.

“Go, my darling. I’ll wait for you at our spot.”

With that, he let go of her and ran towards the dungeons. 

He didn’t bother turning back because he knew that if he did, he'd pick Luna and escape this war with her. 

But if he did, he would’ve seen Luna crying for the first time since her mother died.

divider credits: @thecutestgrotto, @sweetmelodygraphics