#i'll try to work on something with a happier note but idk man

[reborrowing]

a strange appearance, part seven

i was going to get farther with this chapter but fuck it I want to put something on the dash today that isn't. that.

Stranger Swap Masterpost | ao3 First | Prev | Next

word count: ~2100 cws: fear, angst, hunger

Phoebe

Magic was real and Phoebe hated it.

It shouldn’t be real. By its own definition, it couldn’t be real. If something existed in the natural world, then it was a part of the natural world, so it couldn’t supernatural. It might not be something she understood, but that was no reason to brush it off as some vague, inexplicable magic. It didn’t mean that there weren’t rules. It didn’t mean it couldn’t be studied.

And yet.

In the last week and a half, she couldn't come up with any explanation better than magic.

There was, of course, the first and extremely unlikely morning when she and Val had met. But she could nearly dismiss that away as some kind of hallucination or dream, like she’d initially thought. It was almost definitely what anyone else would suggest if she brought it up—if she could bring it up.

The only lasting evidence of her strange morning with Val was a tiny, delicately sewn bag filled with crumbs and lavender petals. There was a shirt too, but it looked like it could have been hand sewn for a doll. Too easy to explain away. Her bruises were fading. The articles she’d accumulated mentioned diminutive peoples, but never any shrinking. She couldn’t find Val themself or whatever other tools or modifications they had made to be able to get around her apartment. There was no sign of them coming back so she couldn’t figure out where they went to hide. They were gone.

What really killed her was that she couldn’t talk about it. That was what made her so certain that there was something exceptional and actually magical going on here. She’d agreed to keep Val’s secret, yes, but no one trusted Phoebe to keep a secret, at least not more than once. Her mouth had such a bad habit of running ahead without her thoughts and unfortunately, her mouth never remembered what was and wasn’t supposed to be private. But this time, she couldn’t say a single word to anyone about what had happened.

She tried. Not out of malice or any desire to hurt Val (…or any one else, assuming there were others. She wondered how many there were.) Every time she tried to bring up the topic with someone, she’d start choking or her conversation partner would get an urgent phone call or someone would just start speaking over her no matter how loud she got. Any text she tried to send about Val or the articles she’d found would fail to send. She tried to email the authors of the most recent articles she had found on sprites and got back error messages about invalid addresses. She even could email them about their other work without any problems. Begrudgingly, she had to admit that it was either the strangest string of unlikely coincidences she’d ever seen or actual magic.

So she kept their secret, against her will, along with a journal detailing what had happened as precisely as she could. She had her actual measurements and estimates of her temporary ones, rough guesses to Val’s sizes, an approximate duration, and the repeatedly annotated conclusion that none of it should have happened at all. She did her best to sketch them. She still wanted answers.

She tried more research, this time working with borrower as a keyword. She didn’t find much more than she had the first time, aside from another genre of irrelevant junk and fantasy worldbuilding discussions. She did find a server set up as if it were a whole network of borrowers that she thought might be real but it seemed just as likely it was just a bunch of really dedicated role-players. None of them broke character and when Phoebe had asked about basically anything, they banned her. No answers from them either. No answers anywhere. She hated it.

And it scared her.

If it had happened once, it could happen again, and she still had no idea why or how. What if it happened when she wasn’t home? When she had something important she needed to do? What would she do then? She was almost as afraid that it might not happen again, so she might never see Val again, and never get any answers. It would drive her insane, not being able to talk about it or learn anything more, but knowing beyond a doubt that it had been real. That she’d experienced something so rare and extraordinary and had hardly anything to preserve the memory, never mind share it.

She realized that the novel she’d loaded onto her phone had mysteriously changed into one of the half dozen articles she’d downloaded. Phoebe had them practically memorized at this point. She tossed her phone aside with a sigh. She didn’t remember what the story was even supposed to be about. She may as well grab her notes and get back to obsessing.

-

Val

Val waited by their kitchen exit until they were sure Phoebe was elsewhere. It was a torturous exercise in self-control, listening to her clean up the kitchen and seal away a warm, fresh meal while their stomach moaned and rolled. There was that one voice in the back of their head, the one they’d had nurtured for so long, begging them to just ask for mercy and play pet in exchange for good food. It had long since drowned out their natural instincts.

They thought about the pitying looks they’d been given during their brief stay with the colony. The disgust. Val hadn’t been wanted there but they could be better. They tightened their grip on their string ladder and waited. Phoebe kept her cupboards stocked well enough, they could find what they needed there without venturing back out into the greater apartment. They just had to be sure that she wouldn’t open a cupboard and find them sifting through her dry goods. Val had borrowed safely from her apartment for months. They could do this.

The sink drained loudly and within a few moments, the front of the apartment went silent as Phoebe left the kitchen. They descended the last few inches down their ladder and squeezed themself into a gap in the drywall that would drop them right onto the top shelf in the rightmost cupboard.

Their skin crawled as they surveyed the bounty below. Everything had been moved since they had last been here, including the tall storage bin they usually dropped onto. They considered the very real possibility that she had found this access point while she’d been looking for them. She could have had it sealed off. She could have left out traps. Would she go that far? Was that something Val needed to look out for? They hoped not.

They slipped off the ladder and started weaving their way through the walls of food packaging looking for something already open and easy to get into. They should’ve made a list of what they needed, but at this point they were out of just about everything, so they’d take what they could find.

Sealed, too unwieldy to open, sealed, too awkward to close…spices, cans… How cruel it was to starve in a world filled with excess food because the rest of the world was determined to keep it from creatures like you. Val wasn’t sure if they blamed humans for the packaging or the rodents for the disease—they didn’t like mouse shit in their own pantry either.

Eventually they reached a box of Ritz with one sleeve already open. They broke apart a cracker, stuffing most of the pieces into their bag and eating the rest. When that settled, they’d see about prying their way into the rice, since it was easy enough to carry more than a meal’s worth of grain back home.

Or, they could take a bigger risk and look for something fresh left out on the counter.

They were starting to feel better about everything now that they had something in their stomach. Bread or fruit or unnoticed scraps or maybe a rogue dish left uncleaned with gummy sauce or cooked something-or-other. They were pretty sure that she was in the bedroom, which meant they should have time to hide if even if she did get up and decide to come this way. They could go unnoticed even if she was awake.

They shoved the cupboard door open and peered down, relieved to see that her counter held as much clutter as usual (though it had all been wiped down and there were no spilled leftovers to be found) so they could hide if it turned out they needed to. Val anchored their earring hook around the cabinet's door-stopper and dropped a line of floss to slide down. They left it hanging in case they wanted to make a quick escape later.

They barely managed to search at all before they got distracted. In the distance, sitting on the desk in the dining cove nearby, Val’s own belongings caught their eye. The shirt they’d been wearing on that morning along with their best borrowing bag were sitting out in plain sight beside a stack of her schoolwork. They bit their lip. That might be a more worthwhile prize than stale food.

By the time they reached the desk, they were sure they’d had enough and needed to get back home to rest. They’d been out long enough that the open air was enough to fray their nerves and make them sick, even if they had had a full meal at some point in the last few days. They would quickly grab their things and slink back home again but of course, nothing could ever be easy.

Their heart sank when they grabbed their shirt; the stitches had been stretched out and deformed. They held the garment out in front of them to examine, to decide if it could be repaired, and that was enough time for their eyes to catch the words they were standing on. They stiffened and froze as if they’d felt a pair of eyes behind them. They were being watched. Observed anyway, even if indirectly.

The handwritten page they were standing on was about them.

They stepped down and carefully flipped through several more pages. The handwriting was hard to read and some of the lines were obscured by math formulas or more fancy academic words Val didn’t know, but they got the gist of it. The scratch pad was a record of their encounter with Phoebe along with notes from those awful articles. Drawings. Literal walls of text announcing Val’s existence and speculating on whatever details she didn’t know.

Fear and anger clenched their jaw. Had they really been stupid enough to think she wouldn’t give them up? That she wouldn’t try to hunt them down? They wanted to tear apart each word and haul it back into the between-spaces where humans couldn’t fit. They wanted to scream.

They started to tear apart the pages, but even that noise set their teeth on edge. She was just in the other room. They bit their lip and changed tactics, carefully pulling a pen from the holder nearby. It was longer than them, awkward and unwieldy, but so was everything. They dragged the ink cartridge to the notepad and tore it apart. It was messy, they probably stained themself as much as the paper, but it was effective enough. The paper curled as splatters of ink soaked through the damning words.

They couldn’t erase everything, not with just the one pen at least, but it felt so good to do something, to make their fate their own. The wrenching in their chest could breathe. They sighed and in an instant, the terror returned. The bedroom door creaked open. The hall light flicked on and flooded the area with electric light, silhouetting Phoebe at the other end. She took a step and froze as she caught them in their indulgent act of vandalism.

“Wh—Val?” she whispered, still processing what she was looking at. Her eyes widened and her voice raised in pitch and volume. “Oh my god, no!”

Val shook a rogue blob of ink off their hand and ran. They barely had a chance to make it to the edge of the desk in the time it took for Phoebe to cross the hall and reach them. Her shadow swallowed them whole as they squeezed themself through the crack between the wall and the desktop. Papers shuffled. She kept shouting.

They pressed themself as flat as they could and wormed their way down into a drawer to hide. Both of their bags fell to the floor behind them. Val landed in what felt like a bin of paperclips and sounded like something loud enough to drawer the host’s attention. They cringed and slid deeper into the drawer, knocking away another clinking cascade of office supplies. The cheap desk shuddered around them as her steps came faster and closer and Val backed themself into a corner.

-

taglist: @da3dm @whumpsday @gt-daboss @whumpinthepot (To be added/removed from the taglist please comment, ask, or message, I’ll forget if it’s just in the tags of a reblog!)

[chrissv4mp]

¡ YOU MADE ME HATE THIS CITY ! — CHRIS S.

chris masterlist & taglist // main masterlist

summary: you're not happy with chris. all he does is make you sad, and you're done with it.

pairing: chris sturniolo × fem!reader

warnings + topics: cursing, arguments, crying, chris is an asshole, driving under the influence, drinking, chris can drive in this one🗣, etc.

authors note: idk, basically how i feel when i'm with my bf anyway i'd listen to this album for a lifetime if i had to🗣🗣 I DIDNT KNOW HOW END THIS SOO sorry if the endinh is shit💔💔

word count: 4.9k

"when i'm away from you,

i'm happier than ever."

a laugh came from your throat as you grabbed taras arm, leaning on her for support as you both laughed your asses off at a joke told by nick.

he only smiled softly, trying to contain his own laughter as he watched his two friends. the taller boys eyes land on a guy across the room, and then he speaks, "hey, i'll be back. stay safe, and please don't go with any guys that look like creeps?"

you nod, and tara just smiles at him, "we won't, we're just here to have a good time. go get that man, nick!"

nick smiles, shaking his head as he looks away, turning his back to the both of you as he begins to walk to the other side of the building. tara turns to you again, tilling her head at the... sad look on your face?

"hey, what's wrong, babe?" her tone is soft, and she frowns slightly when you shake your head with a weak smile. your eyes meet hers, and she can tell somethings not right.

"there's clearly something wrong, y/n. come on, you know you can tell me anything. did someone do something to you? cause i swear on my life i'll beat their—" your eyes widen and you quickly cut her off with a nervous laugh.

"no, no, there's absolutely no need for that, tar," you give her a reassuring smile as you reach for her hand, running your thumb over her soft skin as you continue, "this is just the happiest i've been probably... all year?"

the shorter girl smiles, but then as your words hit, she feels another rush of sympathy for you, "well... i'm glad that you're having fun, but, you gotta let yourself be free some more, y'know?"

you nod, and then she continues, "go out with your friends, i'm free most of the time. and if you wanna be alone, then go do something for yourself, girl. i'm sure chris would also love to hang out with you."

he wouldn't, though. he didn't even come around most of the time, only texting you when he needed something and coming home just to sleep. hell, most of the time, he just slept over at some persons house who neither of you knew. he made you feel like you weren't lovable, always complaining about little things and then blowing up when you tried to defend yourself.

that's why you dreaded coming home after every hangout. you hated coming home to chris, just for him to yell at you and make you feel shitty. you really wish you could explain it better, the feeling he gives you. fuck, you even wished it was fake, the feeling of pure happiness whenever you weren't around the boy.

but everybody else's relationships are like this, right? it's normal, you tell yourself. everything chris has done to you is completely normal. you think. he hates when you think because he always say that your mind works in interesting ways. he always say that you have a terrible mindset, undermining your way of thinking.

"yeah. chris." you mutter, flashing tara a smile before you go to stare at your intertwined fingers, you don't even realize how hard your gripping her hand until she winces, "shit. i'm sorry."

she just shrugs, a reassuring smile on her face as she squeezes your hand. as she looks up at your face again, she frowns, "y/n..."

her mind wanders back to your last words, the mention of chris' name the one thing that set you off and made you act out, "it's him, isn't it? what's he doing to you? is he treating you badly?"

you want to tell her yes, you want to fall into her arms and just cry. all you want is to spill all your feelings out right now, to scream and scream over and over again, but you can't. you didn't want chris' reputation to go down the gutter, you really didn't want anything bad to happen to him, even if he did treat you like garbage. even if he treated you like actual shit, you still wanted a happy life for him, he was the one person who showed you love. the first person who actually cared for you.

but, as the years went by, he just... chris just drifted away, he got too caught up into fame, money, and girls especially. girls who weren't you and girls that looked completely different, it was like you weren't even alive most of the time. he treated you like you weren't his girlfriend.

"no, it's not him," another sad smile, and your voice almost cracks as more bad thoughts come to mind, "it's never chris."

tara notices the subtle change of tone, and only then does she reach her free hand out to rest on your shoulder. the bar stools were close enough together that your knees touched, and tara only pulled you closer to her. when you were finally in her arms, you let out a shaky sigh.

then, she hears you whimper. and now you're full-on sobbing into her shoulder, tears streaking down your face as you cry quietly. your body trembles, and you feel as if you let your of your best friend, you'll fall and never be able to get back up.

her hand comes up behind your back, rubbing it in a comforting way as she coos gentle things into your ear, her other hand coming up to your hair and stroking your h/c locks softly, "i know, i know, babe. just let it out, i'm here, okay?"

tara can't help but frown at your saddened state, eyes shutting closed as she continues to comfort you. her lips part again, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you as the words leave her mouth, "you can stay with me for tonight, and for however long you need."

"give me a day or two to think of something clever,

to write myself a letter

to tell me what to do..."

the only sounds in the room are your gentle breathing, and the loud screaming of chris on the other end of the phone. your index finger is wedged between your teeth as you bite down on your nail nervously, your eyes darted around, not knowing where to stay as you listened in to your boyfriend.

"where the fuck were you last night, y/n?" chris tries to contain himself, and you can hear his footsteps pacing back and forth on the hardwood floors of your shared bedroom, "why didn't you come home, i—y/n, what were you doing and where are you right now?"

a shaky breath leaves your lips, and you finally let your hand swing back to the side of your body, gripping the phone tighter, "i'm at taras house, chris. i just—i'm gonna be honest, and please don't get mad—i just need a few days away from... you."

you hear chris scoff on the other end, and you begin to speak again before he starts to blow up, "well, not you, specifically," yes, it was indeed him specifically, "i just wanted to get out of the house for a little... maybe a day or two, and then i'll be back, okay?"

"i knew when i asked you to

be cool about what i was telling you,

you'd do the opposite of what you said you'd do..."

you both knew chris wouldn't care, he didn't give a single fuck if you weren't around, but for more than 24 hours? that's where he drew the line because he knew that when you were around your sensible, smart friends, you would make bad good decisions. you would make decisions that would effect yours and his relationship, and he didn't want that because he needed to have somebody under his control.

he hated the idea of having no control. even if it was only one person her could control, he still had it, he still had somebody wrapped around his finger that he could get to do whatever he pleased.

"wha—y/n, what?" chris sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, "the fuck do you mean? you're coming home tonight, and if you don't i—"

"and i'd end up more afraid..."

chris cut himself off as he began to think. he shouldn't worry about you. fuck your friends, he would always find a way to get you back, so why was he begging you to get home?

a sigh was heard from behind the phone, and you raised an eyebrow in confusion, "nevermind, whatever, go fuck around. see you. bye."

then, the three beeps sounded in your ear. you scoffed, your heart aching at the fact that he didn't even he loved you. he always told you he loved you before he hung up... until a few months ago. you didn't know what went wrong, or where along the line something broke your bond. nothing happened that you could really remember.

"bye." you whispered, shutting your phone off and throwing it on the guest bed before you fell onto your back and landed on the silk sheets. a loud, exaggerated sigh left your lips as you dragged your hands down your face in frustration.

what was this boy doing to you? and why were you letting him do it? you didn't know how to answer the first question, but you had an idea for the second. maybe you liked the thrill.. or maybe you were just hanging on so tight you could never let go. if you let him go, the indentation of that metaphorical rope would still be there... and you'd have to live with the memory of chris. you could never live with yourself knowing you possibly hurt him.

"you clearly weren't aware that you made me miserable..."

but then again, if you let it go, the marks would fade soon, and then you wouldn't have anything to remember. it wouldn't be a constant reminder of chris and how he treated you. so, maybe you just had to let go and take your time to heal, hang around the right people or maybe even just take time for yourself.

a knock, and then two. you opened your eyes, sitting up and being met with the sight of tara leaning against the doorframe, "hey, can i come in?" you nod quickly, needing the distraction to get your mind off of chris.

you didn't even realize her moving closer until you felt the bed dip beside you, your head turning to meet taras eyes as you smiled softly. she returned the same smile, and then began to speak, "how are you feeling?"

no words came out of your mouth for a few moments as you tried to gather up all your emotions and try to put them into one word. but how could you if you were feeling almost all of them?

"i don't know." your voice was quiet, shy almost as you looked down at your lap. tara stayed quiet, letting you think for a moment as she stared at the side of your face, "i feel... angry, sad. gosh, i feel everything and i can't even fucking explain it, it's just so—"

a hand on your shoulder made you relax, and you stopped mid-sentence as tara rubbed your shoulder softly. your mouth shut, and you turned your head to look at her again, "you don't have to feel anything yet, y/n. i'm not gonna tell you to calm down because i would be livid if somebody said that to me, so, i'll just tell you this..."

"close your eyes and take deep breaths. take a moment to gather your thoughts, and then talk to me, okay?" her voice was gentle, quiet, and comforting. the mix of her touch made your entire body relax, and you smiled at her.

you nodded, turning your head back to face in front of you and then closing your eyes. inhale through your nose, count to 3, then exhale through your mouth. inhale, count to 3, exhale. over and over again until you were finally put back together, mostly. one final deep breath, and your eyes were open again. you turned back to your best friend, and she just smiled at you.

"i feel like shit, tar," your voice threatens to crack, but you don't let it, taking another deep breath before you begin to speak again, "this entire thing with chris... fuck, it's just so exhausting and it makes me feel horrible. i'm just chasing after him constantly, seeking his approval only to get disappointment and anger from him. it's like he doesn't even care about me, tara.."

you finally crack, and tears begin to well up in your eyes as you sniffle. tara frowns, squeezing your shoulder softly as she sees your state, "he doesn't deserve you, hon, seriously. i see the way you look at him, and he just gives you nothing in return. he treats you so horribly, i can't even—fuck. you just need to let him go, babe. and i know, it's gonna be so fucking hard at first, but you just have to push through that,"

"i'll be here the entire way through. you know i always have your back, even when you're in the wrong sometimes," you both chuckle at her small joke, "you deserve so much better than that dick, and i'm not just gonna sit here and watch from afar as he continues to break you down. you're gonna get through this, and i'm gonna make you forget he was even born."

you giggle at her choice of words, but you know what she's saying is right and that you need to listen to her, "okay."

tara smiles at you again, "okay. well, tomorrow we plan, and in the upcoming days we bring this fucker down."

your eyes widen and you put your palms up, shaking them in a protest, "woah, okay, we're not bringing anybody down, we're just getting me out of this hell-hole he put me in. is that clear?"

the shorter girl shrugs, a mischievous smile on her face, "same thing."

the phone buzzes on your nightstand, and you lean over to see who it is. chris' name pops up in bold letters at the top, his contact picture smiling brightly at you as he gives a thumbs up.

you came home just this morning, deciding that you would be fine to stay with chris for a little longer. you didn't want tara to deal with your shit. she didn't deserve to be wrapped up in this whole thing, and you didn't want to be seen a bad friend.

"hello?" you mutter, sitting back against the headboard as you cross your legs, preparing yourself for whatever stupid shit your boyfriend would say this time.

you didn't even know why he was calling. it was late at night, and he never called you. well, unless it was for a favor or something stupid. wasn't he supposed to be at a party with his "friends?"

chris giggles behind the phone, a dumb smile on his face as he stares at your through the screen. his hair is messy and his eyes are insanely red. was he seriously high right now? "hi—hey, y/n/n,"

"you call me again, drunk in your benz,

driving home under the influence..."

you gave him a smile, your eyebrow raising in confusion as you start to speak, but he cuts you off, "okay, i know what you're gonna ask, and don't worry, i'm calling you for—uh.. a good reason, mm'kay?"

"chris you're fucking high, don't lie to me." you sigh, squinting your eyes to see where he's at. it was dark, but you could make out that he was in his car. there was an open beer can in his cup holder, and only then did the realization hit you, "chris, what—christopher! what is that?"

the brunette looks down beside him, and he takes one hand off the wheel to grab the half-empty can, "it's beer, duh." he giggles, and you watch as he takes a sip of it before putting both hands back onto the steering wheel, "don't worry 'bout it, mamas."

"you scared me to death, but i'm wasting my breath,

'cause you only listen to your fucking friends..."

your eyes widen, and you furrow your eyebrows as a wave of—god knows what—washes over you, "chris, what the fuck do you mean 'don't worry about it?' you're driving drunk, you idiot!"

chris giggles at your outburst, eyes trained on the dark, empty streets of los angeles. he turns the wheel back and forth, driving a little over the speed limit just to get you on your toes. it works, and you swear you feel your heart stop. you don't even know what to say. you want to curse him out, gosh, you want to scream at the top of your fucking lungs but you know that'll only give him the satisfaction he wants.

how could you stay calm, though? he was pushing you so hard, you were bound to fall and break, "CHRIS! what the fuck—stop driving like you're fucking stupid, get off the road."

he doesn't listen, though, and you watch as he ponders his choices. he could either do what you say, continue to mess with you, or really test your patience. he smiles deviously and goes with the third option, "hm, there's a lot of mud over here, y'know?"

you don't even know how but your eyes widen more, breath catching as you squeeze your phone in your hands. your mouth is agape, and you feel tears prick in your eyes as his phone starts to shake. the car is moving faster now, and chris is grunting softly as he makes a wildly sharp turn, "chris!"

the phone falls to the passenger seat with a quiet thud, and chris screams loudly. you can't see him anymore. all you're met with is a black screen. a quiet sobs leaves your throat, and your eyes dart around the empty to screen for something, anything. did you just lose your boyfriend?

another cry, and now you're sobbing your heart out as you try to breathe properly. your free hand comes up to clutch the fabric of your shirt, trying to ground yourself as you make an effort to speak, "wha—no, no, no... chris?"

nothing but silence and the quiet hum of the car engine, not that you can hear it over the volume of your breathing. you can't even speak anymore, so shocked to the point that you freeze in fear. how were you gonna explain this to matt and chris? how were you gonna tell them that you could've stopped this from happening? how could you?

your heart aches, and your mind runs wild with all the questions that you'll have to answer. where is he? what happened? why did he do it? why weren't you there? why couldn't you help him? what the fuck is wrong with you? so many questions that you didn't have any answers for, "chris, please—i can't... fuck, i can't—"

laughing. he's laughing. wait, he's laughing? your eyes widen again, and you gasp, "oh my gosh, chris. chris oh my fucking—are you okay?"

he still laughs even as he grabs the phone, and as you finally see him, there's nothing wrong with the boy at all. there's no cuts, no broken glass or skin, no blood. you're grateful, but also confused. your mind wanders to endless possibilities, and you land on one you pray isn't true.

"oh my gosh, you should see your face right now!" he smiles, throwing his head back against the seat as he holds his stomach, "i got you so fucking good, hah! look at you, you're even crying."

and you were right. anger and disgust are clearly shown on your face now, and more tears begin to run down your cheeks, "what?"

why was this funny to him? was he seriously that fucked up to joke about literal death? chris just continues to cackle, "it's a prank, baby. now, calm down, don't start throwing a fit."

"i don't relate to you,

i don't relate to you, no."

you can't even describe how betrayed and angry you feel right now. maybe you were keen to the idea of bringing him down. no other girl should have to deal with his bullshit. you scoff, a bewildered smile on your face as you begin to speak.

"calm down? you're telling me to calm down, chris?" your smile fades as you continue, eyes darting all around his face through the phone screen, "you are so fucked up. you're brain is so fucked up, chris! what the hell is wrong with you?!"

chris just rolls his eyes, huffing quietly as he steps on the gas again. he tries shutting you out, but with how loud you're being, he really can't, "it's not even that big of a deal. not my fault you're always so sensitive, grow up!" he raises his voice, eyes on yours through the phone.

you couldn't believe this was the boy you once loved, screaming at you and telling you that you're the sensitive one, "i'm sensitive? you're getting mad at me for something you did, you asshole!" you yell, voice cracking at the end of your sentence.

chris groans, eyes squeezing shut as he slams on the breaks and punches the steering wheel several times. the horn beeps loudly, startling you for a quick second before you get used to it, "would you shut you're god damn mouth?! all you do is fucking cry and whine about everything!"

"yeah, i wonder why?" you scoff, not even giving him a chance to speak before you hang up the phone and let your hand fall to the side. you just want to throw the device at the wall, let all your anger out on something. on someone.

"'cause i'd never treat me this shitty.

you made me hate this city!"

"gosh, you are so insufferable!" chris yells, hands running through his hair before he tugs on it harshly. he turns his back to you, walking away a few steps before turning back, "what is your problem with me, y/n?"

your cross your arms over one another, letting your head tilt to the side as you take a step forward, "my problem is that you don't do shit for us, chris. you don't even try to keep our relationship running. i'm the only one who does, and you don't even care, do you?"

"you can't even look me in the eyes anymore. you aren't the boy i once knew, and i don't think you'll ever go back to him. you make me feel like shit every single day, chris!" you sigh, tears threatening to spill from your eyes again, "i can't do this anymore if you're not gonna love me like i love you. i'm not gonna deal with your problems anymore!"

chris stays silent, head pounding from all the stress and the alcohol he had earlier, "you'll come back."

you let your arms flail to the sides before coming up to rub at your temples, eyes fluttering shut as you sigh, "that. that's what makes me feel so... angry."

"you never listen! and you always think the odds will turn out in your favor, but they won't. that's not how life works, and we both know that. you just make it seem like you hate—" chris groans at your words, opening his mouth to speak, no, yell.

"like, i hate you? yeah, well, maybe i do, y/n!" chris' eyes are wide, and he looks like a rabid animal as he steps closer to you, "have you ever thought of that, or are you too in love to see it? god, i despise you!" it's not true, and he knows that. you know that.

"then why do you still call me baby and mamas? why do you even bother coming home each week and lying in bed next to me, huh?" a sigh leaves your trembling lips, and you finally look up at him, "you can act like you hate me, but you don't. you just want that power. you want me to come crawling back to you tomorrow."

"never told anyone anything bad.

'cause that shit's embarrassing, you were my everything

and all that you did was make me fucking sad!"

"don't waste my time, chris, i don't need you to come at me for something that isn't my fault. i'm over it!" you yell, and then you feel the rain.

it beats down on both you and chris as you stand in silence for a few moments, taking in the tense atmosphere as you stare chris down and he stares at the ground. he really was the pathetic one, and he had the audacity to call you that?

you can't even tell if the droplets running down your face are tears or just water from the rain, but you don't care about that, all you care about is getting an explanation from chris as to why he was doing all this to you.

he huffs, and then you begin to yell over the hard rainfall again, "so, why? why are you doing this to me, chris?! why even waste your own time on me when you could be fucking other girls?"

"you don't even need me, so why?" you cry out, clutching your now soaked t-shirt, "what's the point, huh?"

chris finally looks into your eyes, and now you can see his lower lip tremble and tears in his blue eyes, "because you're the only one who actually cares about me." it's fake. he's done this before, and now you're actually aware of how many times he's guilt-tripped you like this.

you shake your head, running a hand through your wet hair to get it out of your face. you weren't a kid anymore, and he should know better than not to try this stupid again, but he still does. the first time he did this, it resulted in shutting out both your mom and boy best friend, and then it continued. every other time this happened it always resulted in throwing someone out of your life, but not this time.

"don't try to make me feel sorry for you, chris!" you scream, and now you don't even care if the neighborhood hears. you needed to let these screams out or they would build up until you broke, resulting in you lashing out on someone, "gosh, i fucking hate you for doing this to me! you ruined me, christopher!"

chris looks down again, and now he feels the shame coming down on him, "fucking look at me!" but he doesn't, he keeps his head down and kicks a nearby rock.

you don't feel bad anymore because you know he deserves it. he lets you scream at him because he knows he deserves it. neither of you was in the right headspace in that moment, but you both didn't care. chris would forget in a few days, and you wouldn't. how could you forget after 4 years of this?

the brunette takes a few steps forward, hands reaching out to cup your face, and you huff angrily. your hands are on his chest the moment he's in your face, and you shove him back harshly.

"you ruined everything good,

always said you were misunderstood,

made all my moments your own..."

"just fucking leave me alone!" you scream louder than before, and chris takes a step back with wide eyes. his eyes are finally making contact with yours, and he sees all of the emotions in them now.

the rain seems harder now, and chris wipes his face with the back of his hand as he steps back to his spot, staring at you from afar as he watches you breathe heavily and cry. you've been waiting to get those screams out, chris knew that well. he knew that he treated you poorly, but he... didn't care, actually. he had the world in his hands and he could replace you in an instant, so why did it hurt just that little bit?

tears are now running down his cheeks, and he sniffles as he looks away. he wasn't gonna let you see him when he was the most vulnerable. he couldn't. chris just sighed shakily as he looked back down at the ground again, tucking his hands into his soaked pockets.

you're still staring at him, and when you hear him chuckle quietly, you furrow your eyebrows. he walks away.

"yeah, go try to find someone better than me, bitch!" he yells over the rain and then jumps into his car, quickly backing out of the driveway and sleeping down the road.

you feel like you're suffocating as you watch him leave, and you swear your knees will give out if you don't move or do something. how could he leave after that? how could he leave after he told you that you were the only person who cared about him? if it was true, he wouldn't have left. if anything he said was true, he would've stayed and comforted you, he would've tried to bring this relationship back into the light. but he didn't because it was never true.

your lips parted, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you screamed again. your throat would definitely be sore in the morning, but who cared right now? you needed this, and you weren't gonna let it boil over until you took your anger out on someone who hadn't done anything. you didn't want to turn out like chris did.

@livialifesblog

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Okay I’m dying for this, but it’s totally optional and you don’t have to write it.

I need our Riddle Man to have a daughter (maybe 12ish age wise?) that is similar to him right? (They just won’t shut up—like getting excited about certain things won’t shut up—and other Eddie characteristics—such as sass master 3000). I want to know how other rouges would react to meeting and spending time with a child such as this. I need them to be annoyed but think it endearing at the same time. Maybe a little fic idk.

On a completely different note—your writing is amazing and I die every time I read something of yours. The way you write Riddler is top notch. Keep up the fantastic work 🥳

Okay so I took this as a scenario since you want multiple reactions. Loving this already hehehe. Also thank you so much, I will CRY 😭❤️

The Riddler was tough work to even breathe around. Therefore the thought of him reproducing and now as a twelve year old daughter was frightening. Although they'll try to shape her into a more tolerable person rather than tolerant since that's a lost cause. The Riddler's daughter was certainly a challenge but deep down, they couldn't help but feel blessed.

Scarecrow: He's always fixing their hair or picking at their clothes. It makes the Riddler feel like he's judging his parenting. "What do you say?" "Now." She remarked. Jonathan stares her down. "Dad says that manners are to be used for him and that no one else has earned them." "Your father is a narcissist and you know fine well that what your father says only fits his perception- not reality. You also know, I do not care if my phone rings or he comes to my home, he won't change my mind. He'll instead have fear toxin to the face. So I'll ask you again, what do you say?" "...Thank you." "You're welcome, you've proven yourself better than your father already." Jonathan replied. "Can I tell him you said that?" You asked. "Why else would I compliment you than knowing you'll tell him when you're home. Its one of the very few delights in my life, dear." It was true. Nothing made Jonathan happier than knowing every compliment he gave would be passed to the Riddler.

Two-Face: "Oh wow. I can't wait to give you back to your father." Harvey grumbled after another one of your uncalled for remarks. "We could slip something in a drink or give the kid a drink. She'll never know. " Two-Face offered. Harvey cannot believe he was capable of such a thought. "Your solution is to either drug the kid or get them drunk?" He deadpanned. "Oh suddenly morals are on the table?" Two-Face shot back. "Harv', I know what alcohol smells like." The girl spoke. Harvey hummed, acknowledging her input. "Dad says he doesn't want me touching the stuff until I'm thirty and that it ruins a quick intellect." She continued. "Your dad's up his own ass." Two-Face retorted. "Hey!" Harvey snapped at Two-Face.

Mad Hatter: The Riddler was very apprehensive about leaving you with Jervis given his mental state. Plus he thought you were a munchkin once upon a time. He claims its just a pet name but Edward isn't too sure. That wasn't even a wonderland themed reference? "Tea, my dear?" Jervis grinned. "Dad says you've to stop giving me so much sugar in my tea. That three is too much and just sickening." Jervis raised an eyebrow. "So can I have four sugars?" You asked hopefully and Jervis wasted no time in giggling with glee and complying. There were no rules with Jervis and all of Edward's rules were out the window the moment you crossed the threshold. Neither of you even tried to hide it and Jervis often had you back to the Riddler, bouncing off the walls with hyperactivity.

Penguin: Undisputed, he is Uncle Oz or Uncle Penguin. He and the Riddler have history and do consider each other some form of a friend. However the Riddler refers to him as Uncle Oswald. Oswald gives her money 9 times out of 10. Usually a ten or twenty and it never really goes acknowledged between the two rogues after the Riddler taught you manners...who are we kidding- it was Jonathan who did that. The Riddler hoped that seeing the Iceberg Lounge would satisfy her curious mind whilst and show her what not to be. "Dad, there's more chance that I'll be a redhead than grow up to be an old small man who resembles a penguin. Did you know red heads take one one to two percent of a population? That's the least common." "Yes, I did. I was the one who told you that and that's not what I meant! I'm referring to the women Oswald hires." Edward replied with frustration. "Oh...I liked the high heels of one of them. I reckon it'd make me the same height as you." He sighed. "No, never in your life. Over my dead body will I ever allow you to wear those." "Aunt Harley would." She retorted. "She isn't your aunt and I don't suggest following her footsteps. I won't take kindly to anyone treating my daughter like dirt and there are only so many places I can discreetly hide bodies." She paused. "I could put myself up for adoption? Seems fairly easy. I have your signature perfected." "Keep talking like that and I'll put you up for adoption myself." The Riddler huffed. "And stop forging my signatures! Who knows what nonsense you'd put my name to."

Mister Freeze: The Riddler made a mental note to keep Victor to a very last alternative. Not because he didn't trust Victor. He could believe you'd be very safe with Mister Freeze but you came back rather...well, depressed. Has had to call Jonathan a few times to make sure there isn't permanent damage. "Life is meaningless and we all die alone in the end." You deadpanned. "Did you know the average age for widowhood is fifty-nine? A females life expectancy is eight-two years old. Therefore, chances are high that I'll die alone." "Sweet girl, Nora isn't dead and her husband keeps her frozen until he creates a cure for her. Believe it or not, my dear, that isn't normal. Now go read your encyclopedia whilst I call Jonathan."

Joker: Has never met you and if the Riddler has anything to say about it, which he always does, the Joker will never meet his daughter.

Harley: Gets her to recite all she's learned about the mind. All the while she's doing the daughters hair. She always gives the girl back with a completely different hairstyle. The Riddler always notices and he points it out all the time. Harley insists, to Nygma's dismay, that his daughter calls her 'Aunt Harley'. "Aww! We gotta show puddin' how smart you are!" "Dad said i can't talk to him." Harley sighed in disappointment. "I know...can't it be our little secret?" "Dad said I've to call Uncle Jonathan if I'm in the same building as him." She said and Harley cursed under her breath. Harley is also the one that she goes to if she feels she needs a females advice. Which he secretly appreciates. Hormones are a bitch and sometimes he isn't the most equipped to deal with it.