#* ' the queens of westerburg ' heather squad. )

[queencopy-blog]

and

[shalebridge-cradle]

Crash, Bang

(Happy Holiday Season. Are you ready to s u f f e r ?)

Veronica doesn’t remember much. A crash. A bang. Black.

She wakes to a blurry red. Heather Chandler, standing over her. She’s not surprised, at this point – Heather had proven many times that even death won’t stop her from bitching. There’s something unfamiliar in her eyes, though, Veronica notes as she scrambles to her feet (and wonders how she got on the floor in the first place).

“Look at me,” Heather commands. Veronica pulls a face – she is looking at her. Examining her is looking. Jaw clenched, lips pursed, Veronica would think that it’s anger on Chandler’s face, if she hadn’t seen anger so many times to know it isn’t.

“Your diary. Get your diary.”

Heather steps to one side, giving Veronica room to move. From her position in her closet (there’s a metaphor there, but Veronica had never been one for acting things out), she looks over her ruined room.

“What happened?” Veronica asks. Heather looks like she’s about to answer, but decides against it at the last second.

“I’ll tell you later. Your diary is on your desk still. Turn to October 12th, and I’ll explain.”

Veronica wanders over to her desk, and she can feel Chandler’s eyes following her. The diary is open, today’s entry unfinished. She can’t remember why, and it’s really starting to bug her.

“October 12th,” Heather repeats, and Veronica rolls her eyes as she turns the pages. Slowly but surely, she winds the clock back to the middle of October. What happened that day that was so important, anyway…?

Oh.

That was the day of Kurt and Ram’s funeral.

That was the entry where she revealed JD had killed three people, and that the guilt was – is – eating away at her.

This is the entry Chandler wanted to see.

Why?

“Good,” Heather hums from behind her, “it’s important for the cops to see that.”

“Cops?” there’s a pang of dread, creeping up her throat like vines.

Heather sighs, and takes Veronica’s hand.

She shouldn’t be able to do that. Shit, she hasn’t been able to do that, all of her slaps and caresses passing through Veronica with the chill of a winter wind. The fact that Heather is touching her, and the fact that she doesn’t feel ice cold against Veronica’s skin means…

It hits her. Crash. Bang.

Dead.

Veronica sinks to the floor, drained, and Heather’s voice fades into the background.

  The Westerburg gym doesn’t end up exploding.

Everyone’s out of the football field, and the reality seemingly hasn’t set in for most of the students. The cops and the bomb squad have come and gone, and Heather snarks about how they actually did their job, this time.

“How are you so calm about this?” Veronica asks. Heather scoffs.

“Nothing I can do about it. Might as well make the most of it. Simple as that.”

Veronica scans the crowd, bereft of a witty response. She sees a few familiar faces – Peter Dawson animatedly talking to Dennis from the school newspaper. Courtney looking like she’s seen a ghost (and Veronica briefly wonders if she has).

The most important thing is that Martha is there, alive. Leaning over one side of the motorized wheelchair is Heather McNamara, egged on by Betty Finn (Veronica remembers this girl, she gives good answers in the lunchtime poll), and whatever McNamara’s saying is bringing a smile to Martha’s face. Maybe they’re bonding over their suicide attempts, Veronica muses, and she hates herself for thinking it. On the other side was the ghost of Ram Sweeney, looking oddly contemplative. Veronica wouldn’t have thought him capable.

Her focus returns to herself. She feels empty. Hollow. Maybe if everyone had blown up, maybe at least she’d be overwhelmed with anguish and anger and guilt instead of this suffocating nothing.

Seemingly in response to this, Heather gently takes her hand.

“Put it this way,” it’s almost a whisper, and yet Veronica can hear her clear as day over the ocean of voices, “there’s no expectations anymore. No obligations. Five million dollars and a world that’s ending. What do you want to do?”

I want to feel.

Veronica grabs Heather Chandler by the waist and pulls her in for a kiss.

Heather kisses back.

  Veronica attends her own funeral.

There’s an unexpectedly large turnout – the pews at the front were reserved for people who actually knew Veronica, instead of just immediate family members. There are distant relatives, classmates from years past, people from around town and at least two cameramen in the back row.

Heather is scowling.

“There’s at least seventy more people here than there were at my funeral,” she grumbles, and Veronica chuckles darkly.

Father Ripper gives his speech, and Veronica has to admire his ability to turn anyone into a martyr. He speaks of guilt and absolution in the eyes of God, and how Veronica’s dedication to recording everything led police to save hundreds of lives.

He says nothing about her being an accessory to murder. It hangs in the air like a bad stench.

When the coffin is brought to the cemetery and Veronica Sawyer is put in the ground, there’s a finality to it all that breaks her. She hugs herself, trying desperately to hold herself together, to keep all her memories and quirks and her identity from falling into the grave.

Heather tries to help her, but all Veronica can do is babble about how everything’s like a dream and she’s forgotten how to breathe and I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead plays over and over in her head.

“I know,” Heather murmurs, her voice like rain on a raging fire, “I know. I know.”

There’s no point in lying to Veronica, now.

  She visits her murderer in prison.

It’s like a thread, Veronica decides. Something tying them together, tugging at her when she thinks of him, but nothing so strong that she can’t ignore it.

Jason Dean gazes up at her from the floor of his solitary confinement cell with a look of awe, not fear.

“I was fixing it,” he tells her, and even he seems a little unconvinced at the statement, “Everyone gets along in heaven. You wouldn’t have to be stuck with Queen Bitch and her lackeys for eternity if everyone’s with you.”

“You killed me.” There’s an unnatural echo to Veronica’s voice. JD shies away, just slightly.

“I was winning you over with my petition, I know it. It was such a great plan. Still, I…” he pauses, and emotion reaches his eyes for what may be the first time, “I got a little, ah, heated, and my finger was on the trigger when I opened the door. A slip of the hand.”

There’s a distinct lack of apology in the statement.

Veronica leans over him. Studying him closely for a moment.

Then, without warning, she shoves her hand through his skull, and JD yells at what Veronica is sure is a very familiar sensation.

“You had a choice, Dean,” she growls, and there’s a flash of unbridled rage in JD’s eyes at the mention of that name, “You could have been more. More than just a copy of your dad with a messiah complex. But you’ve made your decision.”

Veronica pulls away, and gives JD, the lost, lonely boy once last glance.

“Now you’re left alone with your thoughts. I hope they eat you alive.”

Veronica vanishes, and the cell melts away before her eyes, replaced by the somber greys and greens of the Sherwood Cemetery.

Heather is waiting for her.

  Heather McNamara contacts her a few months later.

Veronica never really pictured the head cheerleader as an occult nut. Then again, there’s a lot of things people didn’t know about her, Veronica muses as McNamara, Martha and Betty set up the Ouija board. And candles. Like that will help the process, somehow.

The first question is from Martha.

“Why?”

Veronica feels the cold sting of regret as Chandler scoffs from the corner of the room. There’s a lot of things that word could mean – Why did you cover up the deaths of Heather, and Kurt, and Ram? Why did you stay with Jason Dean?

Why did you lie to me? Why were you so cruel?

It’s a good thing the answer is always the same. Veronica grabs the marker and moves it around the board.

A.F.R.A.I.D.

Weren’t they all?

  By turning the pages of her diary, and moving the wooden marker, Veronica deduces she can interact with some things, but not others.

She says as much to Heather. Chandler nods, understanding, and then that same something Veronica saw on the day she died creeps onto Heather’s face.

It comes out like a confession. “I tried to pull the pen out of your hands, when you were writing my suicide note. That did nothing, obviously. I tried talking to my parents, to Heather, to get someone to notice me, but the only person who heard was you.” Heather pauses. “Sorry. For what I said.”

“No big deal. I deserved it.” Veronica pushes on when Heather opens her mouth to interrupt, “What can you touch? Or, y’know, interact with? Anything?”

Heather thinks for a moment.

“Mirrors,” she says slowly, “All the ones in my house broke after my funeral, when I was yelling at my mom to listen. I think Heather Duke saw me once in the girls’ bathroom, too.”

Veronica nods, connecting the dots in her head.

  Veronica experimentally picks up Martha���s pen. Hypothesis confirmed. Objects connected to her in life.

She knows Martha won’t come up to her bedroom anytime soon – there’s too much animated discussion from downstairs, excited voices floating through Veronica’s ears as she writes. McNamara and Betty have come over for an evening of swashbuckling and true love. Veronica knows at least McNamara hasn’t seen The Princess Bride, since every accidental reference Veronica made flew straight over her head.

She has to make a conscious effort not to go downstairs and join them. It’s not her place anymore, she tells herself. Back to the task at hand.

She’s always been good with words. Even Chandler had grudgingly thanked her for the suicide note (god, that was fucked up), but Martha had been there for Veronica as long as she could remember. She deserved art.

Veronica writes in Martha’s history book. She says she’s sorry for everything she unwittingly put Martha through, for being self-centered and murderous and awful. She says she doesn’t know if life is different after high school, and that she never will, but for Martha’s sake she hopes that life outside Sherwood is better for her, and for her new friends. She tells Martha to keep them close, but to let Veronica go.

There’s a voice from behind her.

“Can you tell her that I’m sorry?” Ram Sweeney asks meekly. Veronica had almost forgotten about him. “I was shitty to her, and I get that now.”

“I’ll consider it.”

She does. Maybe it’ll give him closure, she rationalizes. Maybe then he and Kurt could move on. Maybe they can do all the things Ram’s father said he would.

Maybe she could move on, too.

 (She doesn’t.)

  It gets easier.

Veronica figures some things out. Heather makes a game of scaring the shit out of Country Club Courtney (“I’m trying to make her a better person. I’m scaring her straight.” Veronica doesn’t believe her, but plays along anyway.) Veronica spends most of her time reading books over Heather Duke’s shoulder or drawing on Ms. Fleming’s blackboard. Heather gives her a backhanded compliment on her artistic talent, and Veronica giggles as she wipes the pictures away.

Sometimes Heather holds her, or she holds Heather, because one or the other just remembered what it’s like to die. They keep each other grounded.

The Class of 1990 graduates, short five members. Then the Class of ’91, ’92, and so on. Fleming retires. Gowan resigns.

The world moves on around them, and they stay the same.

It never gets better. Just easier.

[hamilton-shittyteenau]

THE STORY OF TONIGHT

Angie's log of thoughts from her brothers hockey game: I CANT HEAR ANYTHING OVER THIS DUBSTEP THERES 3 GIRLS AND 2 FOOTBALL PLAYERS SHARING SOME FRIES IT FEELS LIKE A HEATHERS AU ok I seriously preferred the annoying dubstep over the random rock songs you play in between face-offs Hah everyone probably thinks I'm listening to normal teen music nope I'm listening to someone rap about New York traffic conditions OK ONE #8 JUST TRIED TO HOLD BACK THE OTHER #8 AND IT LOOKED LIKE A HUG THE SENTIMENTAL 8'S THEY WILL BECOME A MIGHTY 16 unless they are squared in which instance a MIGHTY 64 This food looks like some gourmet shit. I might have to make a snack run Ok my iPod started playing Wait for It right after that last entry Burr I will wait for it People probably think I'm texting friends hahah I don't have those I'm making a list of my thoughts Stevens fried: hey wanna French fry Burr: WAIT FOR IT WAIT FOR IT WAIT FOR IT WAIT FOR IT I AM THE ONE THING IN LIFE I CAN CONTROL I have made a snack run and it looks like a frikking restaurant what is this sorcery They literally have a menu with like 3-course meals I think that small 6th grader is checking me out I feel uncomfortable binch you ain't even up to my elbows Some kid tryna get a free smoothie it didn't work I was right, this is gourmet shit 7 in the penalty box. Some dude from other team goes up and bangs on the plastic to be annoying some kid on our team yells at him to sit down. Other kid from other team yells back. Other kid 2 from other team gets Other kid to sit down. Another penalty. A dude with a sweatshirt that has ''meatball sr 00"on the back of it is has gone to stand behind our penalized player to tick our team off. Meatball sr now arguing with another. Mom and Dad are trying to stop a fight. Meatball Sr is putting up his hands. Mom and Dad have broken up a possible fight. Meatball looks calmer. The other teams Heathers squad is egging it on. Dad has gotten help. They are yelling 'SHE SNITCHED' at Mom. Stevens friend Megan yelled 'KNOCK IT OFF' at them. They stopped yelling. The rink officials are asking meatball to leave. Meatball is angry. Meatball has left because of rowdy behavior. The Some Kid on our team from earlier is congratulating Mom. The heathers kids are in character. The main girl is dragging Kurt around the rink The rink feels calmer now that Meatball is gone and Megan yelled at the Heathers Squad. I like Megan. A powerful prom queen she is. Now I'm imagining all them skating to Y!oi music 21 on other team has bowled over 3 on our team. Heathers squad is happy about this. Ram has shouted A MINI SLAP FIGHT WITH THE STICKS THIS IS GREAT Turns out Stick Slap Fighter 1 was Pat. Stick Slap Fighter 2 is penalized. I approve. You could cut the tension with a knife GOAL FOR US The 20's on the other team are the most violent 20 and 21 of other team have crashed. 20 went flying. [insert science joke here] 21 is in timeout. He is frustrated like a 4 year old without his gushers FLYING PUCK ALMOST HIT A FEW TEENS AND WENT UNDER A LADYS LEGS Other team goal. The entirety of Westerburg High is screaming 21 is out of penalty box. 5 bucks says he'll be in it again OUR TEAM GOAL. Sarcastic comments from Westerburg. Succ it. ITS A TIE. SUCK IT WESTERBURG. Other Kid yells 'WAY TO GO BAGELS' it's a nickname for one of our players but still. Weird. Westerburg is antsy. WE SCORED. HELL YEAH. Shouting fight between Westerburg, other kid and a 7th grader. Other Kid is yelling 'SCOREBOARD' and Westerburg is yelling 'SNITCHES'. How dare my mother be a good citizen. Penalty for us. Oh well. They're playing Sweet Caroline over the speakers. Oh how I love basketball. Everyone's singing now, Westerburg and our team. I guess this is bonding. WE WON WE WON WE WON WE WON THE WORLD TURNED UPSIIIIIIDE DOWN! Now Mom and dad are talking to a lady with a striking resemblance to Ms.Fleming ON THE WAY HOME AND PART OF A WALMART SIGN IS OUT SO WALNART

[canasimagines]

Popular (Bruce Banner imagine)

Summary: Reader was the most popular girl at her high school. Cheer captain, kind hearted and spirited, prom queen, top of her class right under the not as well known Bruce Banner. A decade later their paths cross again. Loosely based off 17 from The Heathers Musical. Once seeing her again without a ponytail and large bow and uniform Bruce almost couldn't recognize her. Her eyes were still kind towards him and not because his popularity, or lack there of, but for the beast within him now. Either way he didn't care.   You looked as beautiful as ever to him. He recognized you on spot as Nick introduced you to the team to work with them on their next mission.   "Um do you two know each other?" Natasha asked Bruce quietly as the two still watched each other shyly.  "She's (F/N) (L/N)..Head cheerleader. Prom Queen. Hottest girl at school." Bruce described monotonously still watching as you sat at the table listening to the mission.   "You're not in high school anymore, big boy." Nat smirked patting his shoulder, "But she's still pretty, I'll give her that."  "No offense, Director. But what does she have to put on the table for us in this mission." Tony asked winking at the girl across from him at the table.   Before Bruce could open his mouth to defend her honor she shrugged her jacket off and stood beside the table, "Well come at me then, Mr Cocky Stark. See for yourself."  Tony rolled his eyes with a smirk, "Are you sure about this, babe?" Her nostrils flared as she heard the words 'babe' so she just hid it by a nod as Tony lunged at her.  She jumped high above his head and flipped across the room with deer like agility and silence. Bruce smirked proudly. She still had it.   "Wow, how?" Tony asked incredulously as he sat back down.  "I was a flyer for Westerburg. Not to mention Texas Cowgirls, also not to mention trained 10 years in agility and gymnastics training. Not to toot my own horn buuuut," she made a tooting motion as the team joined her in chanting 'tooot'.   Nick rolled his eyes, well eye, and left the team to get to know their new recruit.  "Welcome to the team." Cap smiled shaking her hand. "Thank you captain, it's an honor, really. I think my grandma had a poster of you in her room literally her whole life." You laughed at him as he blushed, "I'm (F/N)."   "Hi (F/N), I'm Clint." Hawkeye shook your hand with a grin, "So have you been given a name yet? Like ya know, Hawkeye or Black Widow? Something bad ass and cool??"  "Not that I'm aware of." You chuckled with a shrug, "I don't want it to be cliche. Maybe by my second mission I can have my crap together."  "Well you may not know what your name should be but how about 'mine'." Tony asked with a smirk kissing your knuckles.   "I was thinking more something along the lines of Not A Chance." At that the team laughed as you grinned thumping his head.  "I do not think that would be a Clever name but I suppose neither is Man of Iron so I'm not one to judge. I am Thor. God of -" "Thunder, yeah I read about you in college. I did a PowerPoint about your life for my Mythology class." You chuckled shaking his large hand in your small one.  "Ooh did you discuss how devilishly handsome I am?" He asked flexing making you laugh, "Actually I still have the PowerPoint on a flash drive somewhere you can judge it for yourself." Natasha met you with crossed arms and a raised brow, "You were the kind of person I would've hated in high school. You know that?"  You chuckled tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "What kind of person exactly, am I?"  "Popular, stuck up, thinks the world revolves around you? Ring a bell?" Nat asked. "First of all, popularity means nothing. Captain here is popular but still saved a whole freaking army. Second off, I came from a modest middle class family that consisted of just my mom and I and a cat. Third, I knew the world didn't revolve around me so I gave back to it as much as I could. Here is my card for my PETA membership volunteer card along with my certified Red Cross member and Military Nurse sheet. Anymore questions on my character?" You asked pulling out your papers and crossing your arms back at her. Her bitch face slowly slid into a smirk as she looked back to Bruce.   "I like her." "Whoa. If she passed the Natasha test she must be pretty good." Tony said amazed. You tugged your papers back in your bag walking towards Bruce with a grin, "Well? No hug, Brainy Banner?" Bruce rolled his eyes at the nickname the jocks would throw at him as he stood up and hugged the girl in front of him. He gasped as the flashbacks came back.   ((flashback~))

 Bruce gasped at being thrown down his books around him scattered across the hall.  "Ha haaaaa, Brainy Banner, have our science project done yet?" Jett asked leaning down to him plucking his glasses off his face.  "Jett stop, it's done and you'll see it in Mr Woodard's class." Bruce pleaded standing up again reaching for his glasses which caused Jett to shove him against the locker.   "Jett Rachel Thomas!" Jett groaned as a young (Y/N) in her uniform came stomping towards him. The hall went quiet besides a few giggles, "Um..." Bruce began, "you're middle name is Rachel?"   "You little-" he drew his arm back to punch Bruce but was stopped by you wrapping your arms around his. "Jett. Punch him and your ass is not starting next week and I'll make it my personal job to see to it. Pick on someone your own damn size." You glared darkly. Jett just rolled his eyes dropping the glasses with a 'whatever' as he walked away. "You really didn't have to do that, (F/N)..." Bruce said quietly shoving his books in his bag as you helped. You tugged his glasses back on his face with a cute grin.  "I know but how else will I make people think I'm a good person." You said sarcastically making him chuckle and blush, "Tell me if he messes with you again. Or anyone for that matter. The football coach and the cheer coach are married so we have connections to make sure the goons don't play a game."  "Thanks (F/N)." "No problem, Bruce." ((End of Flashback))

"Do you two know each other?" Steve asked as Bruce still ogled at you.  "We went to high school together actually. It was great. He played a mean trumpet in the marching band." You teased ruffling his curls. He groaned knowing Tony would use it against him later.   "She stopped many-a-football players from breaking my glasses." He blushed. "And he stopped many-a-preps from grabbing my ass." You smiled blushing along with him.  "It was no way to treat a lady." He said shaking his head remembering.

--Later that night-- "Oh they're in love. This was a match made in heaven. I mean think about it, the marching geek, the prom queen. It's straight out of a Cult Classic." Clint gushed to Natasha who sat on her bed unamused.   "And how do we get them to figure that out. You know how he feels about himself now." Nat said irritated. "Yeah well by the sounds of it she's always been able to protect him from others, maybe she can protect him from himself. God that sounded cheesy." He groaned rubbing his face.   "Very Cheddar. Maybe a bit of Swiss. Okay here's the plan, get them in a room together, lock the door, see what happens?"

"How come no one else is here at this emergency meeting?" Bruce asked yawning "They're coming, you're just the first one I woke." Natasha said sitting with him at the Conference table. "Oh look here they come." Clint shoved your half awake form in the room before grabbing Nat and running having Jarvis lock the doors. "Hey! What the hell is this about?" Bruce yelled banging on the door. Their voices came over the intercom briefly, "Okay so we ship you guys and have a theory so we're testing it. Just act natural. Be you. And Action." Clint smirked eating the popcorn as the duo watched from another room. You crossed your arms over your robe self consciously, "Are they always like this?"  "Unfortunately." Bruce sighed sitting down shrugging, "Might as well make yourself at home." You shrugged sitting across from him. There were minutes of comfortable silence before Bruce smiled speaking up, "You know what this reminds me of?" "What?" You asked smiling back at him. "Senior year. Yearbook Committee." He smirked leaning against his palm, "That was the only class you would actually wear your much needed glasses in. They were cute but-" "I didn't think so." You chimed in smiling with him, "So one day after a comment someone made I broke them in there and threw them away." "And the next day?" He asked with a knowing smirk. "They were back on my desk good as new with a note from anonym-Bruce!" You finally pieced it with a gasp.  "I loved those things on you and they didn't look cheap." Bruce said picking at the table, "I had a huge crush on you back then too so that didn't help."  "You had a crush on me?" You asked holding a hand on your heart. "Yeah me and every other guy in school. You were just so likable. Lovable even that I thought it was just a natural feeling. I thought they went away from my head when the other guy moved in but seeing you again proved me wrong." Bruce chuckled without humor  "I thought I was stupid compared to you. I thought you felt the same but to be honest when the squad would go get snacks during halftime....you were the reason I stayed to watch the halftime show.." You smiled shyly looking at your lap.  "Really?" He asked shocked, "It's a god awful shame. We would've been amazing together. If the stupid social classes hadn't been so strict back then."  "It's horrible. That the guy I loved and who loved me back, we didn't have the guts to admit it until more than a decade later." You said laughing dryly before looking up, "That doesn't mean we still can't be amazing together."  Bruce stood walking towards you but sighed walking back to the window, "We can't (F/N). Not anymore. I can't risk it now that I have someone else in me. Someone with so much rage. I can't risk hurting the one person who fought to keep me safe."   "You can't stop something that's meant to happen from happening though either. Not even the big guy can do that." You said walking behind him wrapping your arms around his waist. He held your arms in his sighing with his head down. "I refuse to hurt you." "Then don't." "It's not that simple." "We can make it simple." You said tugging his arms around so he faced you, "We take it back. All the way back. Back to seventeen. Let's be seventeen again, Bruce."   He smiled softly down at you. That wouldn't have made sense to anyone else but Bruce knew. He knew not to question you and to just live in the moment like he wish he had the balls to at seventeen. He gathered you into his arms. "Let's just be normal and seventeen. Watch Pretty in Pink, drink beer, take off our clothes, dance and shit. Hell I don't know. Don't you want a life with me-" he cut off your rambling with his lips as he spun you around gently like he wished he would have at Prom that one night years ago. For a second.  A split second. He opened his eyes and you were back in the uniform and he was back in his marching outfit. The both of you, young, reckless, and pimply. And not caring.   And so it stayed that way.