#They remind of Jd and Veronica from Heathers honestly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sprnklersplashes · 4 months ago

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time won't fly (11/?)

and I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky) ao3

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The drive back to Sherwood is quiet and twice as long as the drive here. Veronica spends most of it staring straight ahead, the pamphlet for the clinic flat in her lap. Gradually, the pamphlet becomes small pieces, which turn into even smaller pieces, which turn into even smaller, smaller pieces. Veronica’s skirt is littered with them, fluffy white pieces spread across her knees like snowflakes.

She wraps her fist around them, feels them in the lines of her hand. When she breathes out it’s short, shaking, a harsh reminder that she is still here. They fall from her hand when she opens it and she almost laughs.

Heather glances briefly at the mess she’s made. Her eyebrows pinch, but she doesn’t say anything.

“How much longer til we’re back in Sherwood?” she asks.

“About another twenty minutes. Why, you in a rush?”

Veronica sinks into her chair, traces patterns in the torn paper. There was a moment, just after they left Oakwood, where the town’s buildings petered out and residential roads opened up to stretches of highway. There was nothing on the horizon, not that they could see anyway. They could just keep driving, on and on and on, until the road ran out and the car fell out into empty air.

The thought wasn’t unappealing. Until she remembered Heather was in the car too.

“Honestly?” She pushes the pieces into a small pile between her knees, a dry grin on her lips. “You can slow down if you want.”

Heather doesn’t reply. Out of sheer curiosity, Veronica dares a glance sideways. Previously, Veronica would have assumed that Heather’s social calendar was packed over a weekend. Then she got to know her, saw the shine wear away once she got close enough. Heather Duke didn’t float around Sherwood as she thought. She was dragged around from party to party, Chandler’s hand making imprints on her collar. As weeks went on, Veronica started to get the impression that Duke was doing what she did; kill time until graduation and then get the first bus out of here. And maybe she didn’t pick the best ways to kill time but who is Veronica to judge? Duke purged, Veronica got high on JD.

With her eyes trained on the road, Heathers eases up on the gas and the car slows down.

It isn’t the driving off the road moment she wanted. But it keeps her in this middle-space for a little longer, so she’ll take it for now.

They arrive in Sherwood just as parents are bundling their kids into cars for soccer practice and strapping babies into car seats for the morning grocery run. It’s so normal, so familiar, that she shudders at the sight.

Heather drums her fingers on the wheel. She’s clearly aware of her discomfort, but she doesn’t press it. Her scowl is saved for the road in front of them and honestly, it’s kind of nice. For once, the mask she’s been carrying since the pep rally can be tossed to the backseat and Veronica can sit there in all her fucked-up glory. Maybe it’s the fact Heather just drove her to an abortion clinic and back. Maybe it started before then, when they slipped into a bathroom stall so Veronica could help her purge. Whatever started it, they leave shame at the door when it comes to each other and Veronica can breathe.

Which is not something she’d ever feel with Heather Duke.

Gradually, the car slows down, lifting up and down as they hit speed bumps and stopping so families can cross roads. Veronica leans back, lifts her eyes to where the window meets the ceiling, almost content to let her eyes drift shut, until Heather taps her bare knee.

“Hey.” She points her chin eastwards. “Wasn’t that your boyfriend’s place.”

With a small scowl, Veronica looks down, just enough for her to see the street view. Sure enough, two houses from the corner is JD’s house. At this angle, she can see the window she climbed through. She’s too far to see the state of the window lock though, but she assumes Mr Dean didn’t bother getting it fixed.

She exhales shortly and averts her eyes before she can think any more.

“Yeah. So?” Heather clicks her tongue and tosses her ponytail over her shoulder.

“Just thought you’d care,” she says. “Looks like his dad’s moving on.”

“What?”

She looks again, this time forcing herself to focus on the front of the house rather than JD’s window. Sure enough, sat at the end of the drive is a bright white TO LET sign, so obnoxiously big that Veronica wonders how she missed it the first time.

JD’s words come back to her, slamming like a tidal wave. “It’s only a matter of when”. Despite knowing about his dad, it somehow never occurred to her that one day JD could have just left her. That instead of watching him explode she would have watched him drive out of town and lived with the fact that he was out there, doing whatever and her not knowing. For them to go through everything they did, for him to take her higher than she ever was and throw her down to earth, then leave so mundanely. It feels too soft for him.

Her hands move before she realises it, and in seconds she’s undoing her seatbelt, unlocking the door and jumping down from the Jeep. Heather is swearing behind her, and before she crosses the road Veronica sees her hastily pull the car into park. A couple of angry drivers honk horns, but she is already tearing across the pavement until she’s outside the house, standing beneath the sign and looking right at him.

True to character, it takes him a second to see her. Dark glasses obscure his eyes and when he does notice her, he blows a cloud of cigarette smoke so thick it makes her eyes water. She turns her head and coughs, her hand already reaching for her stomach. She drops it instantly. He doesn’t need to know about that.

“What are you looking at, sweetheart?”

“You’re leaving,” she says. He looks at the sign and back at her, then takes another drag of his cigarette. Veronica’s fingers curl. She wants to rip those glasses off his face and make him look at her, but now she just asks, “Why are you leaving?”

“Business,” he tells her. “Finished the job in Sherwood. Normally I’d stick around for a few weeks, but I already got a call from someone down in Florida. Bunch of condos need flattened.”

“Florida,” she repeats. JD would hate Florida; he doesn’t like heat and he always scoffed at the idea of going to the beach. When she asked him what would change his mind, he kissed her shoulder and whispered ‘you in a bikini’. She had blushed and giggled and looked in the catalogue that night.

“You need something from me, missy?”

She snaps back to the present. Mr Dean looks her up and down, his mouth twisted in what she can only describe as contempt. Anger fizzes her veins, from her shoulders down to her trembling hands. After all he’s done, he has the nerve to look at her with contempt?

“You can’t just leave.” Her voice sounds hollow. “You-you can’t just….” She shakes her head, her breath hitches. Her heart careens in her ribs, like an acrobat doing somersaults. “What about Jason?”

Time slows down, a second becomes an hour. She watches him straighten up, his mouth fall slack, the cigarette dangle between his fingers. For one impossible, manic magic moment, she thinks she’s got him. With one word, she pushed away the damage and found the human inside it.

Then he drags and puffs again.

“What about him?” he asks gruffly. “Boy decided he was better off blowing himself to pieces. Nothing I could’ve done. So what’s it to do with me?”

The glass breaks. What began as a gust in her chest leaves a small, strained squeak. She may well not be breathing at all. He turns his back to her, tinkers with whatever is wrong with his car, like she doesn’t even exist.

“You son of a bitch.” A shiver runs down her spine, chills her to her core. Then she looks up, and from a well deep inside her she screams, “You son of a bitch!”

Hovering outside her body, she watches as she throws herself at Bud Dean, digging her nails into his jacket as she screams. She knows he’s saying something-he’s probably yelling-but she can’t hear it. Even when he tries to pry her hands off him, she doesn’t feel it. What is her goal here? To tear him apart? To beg him to care? Or maybe she’ll drag the two of them into the road and a car will flatten them together.

As someone grabs beneath her shoulders, the thoughts melt away. All she is looking for is the satisfaction of seeing him brought low and even as she’s dragged away, the look on his face is more than enough. His eyes are wide, his stupid glasses knocked to the side. There, she thinks to herself. Turns out you’re human after all.

“Jesus Christ, Sawyer,” Duke sighs. She looks from Bud to Veronica, silently asking for some sort of explanation. When she doesn’t get one, Heather shakes her head, tosses her hair over her shoulder and straightens her blazer. Mr Dean stands taller, fixes his glasses. Neighbours stand at the ends of their paths, gawking at the sight before them.

They don’t know, Veronica realises. They don’t know what he is. All they saw was a teenage girl beating the crap out of a man whose son just killed himself. For weeks, grocery store aisles and book clubs and the sidelines at soccer practise will be buzzing about this.

Veronica almost tells them to take a picture, it’ll last longer. Almost, because Heather has her hands on her shoulders and is steering her back to the Jeep and with Heather’s hands on her, the rage is forced to simmer beneath the surface.

They climb into the car. Heather slams the door shut and touches up her lip-gloss in the mirror. Veronica sinks into her chair. The scraps of paper litter the ground at her feet.

“You think I’m insane,” Veronica sighs.

“I think you’re more than that,” she says. “I think you are in the running for most fucked-up person in this town.” Veronica rolls her eyes. “And that’s saying something. Considering.”

“Considering what?”

Heather shifts the gear and pulls away from the kerb.

“Considering I thought that was me.”

Heather takes the long way back to her house. Veronica spends the drive there with her knees pulled to her chest, teeth chattering despite the warm air in the car. The walls close in tighter and tighter, scraping against her skin until she can’t take it. Heather hasn’t even parked the car before she stumbles out like a feral animal, all dignity gone. It’s not until Heather taps her shoulder, so perfect she is almost plastic, that the ringing in her ears fades.

“Look alive,” Duke says curtly. “People are watching.”

Sure enough, when she turns around, there are already a few heads looking in her direction. She can only wonder what she looks like to them, gasping for air against her not-friend’s Jeep. She pushes her hair away from her clammy face, then slips the scrunchie from her wrist and ties it back. Heather’s eyes linger on it, her expression unreadable. Veronica thinks a tremor moves through her small body, but she could have easily imagined it. These days, it’s hard to trust her own eyes.

Hair tied back, Veronica shakes herself out to force feeling back into her limbs.

“You going to be okay?” Duke asks. She’s crossed her arms over herself, turned her face so she appears more interested in the shubbery than Veronica. It would be so much easier if she had no real interest in Veronica’s life. Sadly, Veronica knows that’s a lie.

Heather just drove for an hour to help her. Even if she didn’t know it was for. Even if she had nothing else going on. She dragged her away when she was borderline hysterical. Contrary to what Veronica would like, you don’t do that for someone you don’t care about.

She holds back for a second, wondering if it would be easier to say goodbye and leave. Then, she reaches out and places her cold hand over Heather’s. She watches her eyes wide, her whole body jump at the contact.

“Thanks for today,” she says. “I owe you one.”

Duke stiffens, every muscle pulling in on herself like she was trying to disappear. This time she does pull away, her hand hanging loosely and uselessly by her side. Heather looks down, lets her hair fall over her face. She shuffles back a bit, takes a breath, then gives a minute nod.

“If you need… anything,” she says. “Help or something, I don’t know. You know where to find me.” Veronica nods. Heather darts around her and climbs into the driver’s seat. She doesn’t even acknowledge Veronica until the engine is already rumbling, when she gives another nod and then pulls away from the curb.

She watches Heather disappear down the road, the car getting smaller until it turns the corner and she’s gone; back to her nice house in the nice part of town. Veronica imagines running after her, climbing into the seat just and keeping her close just because. She huffs a laugh at the idea, probably looking even crazier than she did before.

“How would you respond if I did that then?” she asks JD. He doesn’t answer her. Not that she expected him to. She can almost feel him, a shade of something, glaring daggers in the back of her mind. But other than that, he subjects her to the silent treatment and she rolls her eyes.

“Asshole,” she scoffs and she heads inside.

After another sleepless night, Veronica heads to school before her parents wake up. She doesn’t realise how relieved she is to be out until she’s standing on the sidewalk and can breath for the first time in hours. She inhales once, then again, tilts her face upwards to look at the greyish clouds above her. After spending all of Sunday staring at her bedroom ceiling, they make a pleasant change. If she climbed into them, she wouldn’t find her way out again.

On the other hand, her house seems to become smaller and smaller by the second, the inevitable weighing down on it. She’s got a ninth-month time tomb inside her and at some point, she’ll have to face it.

For now though, she has other plans.

The front gate is open when she reaches the school, a small scattering of cars in the parking lot. Thankfully all the staff are inside, so Veronica drifts through the parking lot as if she’s the last person on Earth. She might look aimless from the outside-hell, a part of her feels like she is. But she knows where she’s going. She could probably get there blindfolded.

It’s been almost two weeks and the field is still cordoned off. Practise has been called off for the foreseeable future, leaving the team irate and Principal Gowan dealing with some very angry phone calls. Which…. It’s not like they have a winning streak they’re in danger of losing. Or any athletic ability for that matter. Most of the football team are there because their parents paid for it.

But at the same time… it’s normal. Practise after school, running laps during gym, hiding beneath the bleachers during lunch. It was normal, all of it. Veronica hadn’t realised how normal it was until now.

“Bet you never found that normal,” she tells JD. She can almost hear him tell her how pretentious it all is, or some shit about how it’s all just a distraction, a ruse to keep the hierarchies in place and how next year it’ll be the same shit with a new Queen Bee and a new Quarterback to keep it up. She laughs bitterly. “Well maybe you’d be right. But what would you know about normal anyway?”

They’ve scrubbed him away; the blood and skin is all cleared and headed to who-knows-where, but the site is still marked by the gaping hole in the grass. It’s only a matter of time before forensics inevitably test it and realise who it is. God, she doesn’t want to be here when it breaks.

She leans forwards, chin resting on her hands. Loneliness settles on her like winter snow. She tells herself she isn’t alone, that JD is just steps away from her but she knows how stupid she sounds. Like a child and their imaginary friend.

“Not that anyone could have imagined you,” she mumbles. With a sigh, she leans forward and rubs her bare legs, the lump in her throat hard as a stone. She’s under no illusions about why she came here. Heather Chandler tried all night to get it out of her, asked and asked until the words didn’t sound real.

“Bet you’re wondering why I didn’t do it,” she says. She laughs, a small and bitter huff that makes smoke dance in front of her. Pressure builds in her chest and the lump cracks, sending two small tears running down her cheeks. “I didn’t know either. And then I…” She looks down at her stomach. “I couldn’t do one more thing I’d regret.”

The admission chokes her as she speaks, like it was unwilling to leave her mind. Veronica feels the shame of it like coalfire, but there’s freedom in it too, heart-pounding, delirious freedom. She looks about wildly, waiting on the edge of her seat for everything to change. Wind billows across the field, tossing stray trash, rolling through the burnt patch of grass.

There’s no answer. She’s not sure what she is expecting; an epiphany, a moment of clarity, JD rising like a phoenix to tell her what to do. At this point, she would even take him appearing from beneath the bleachers to tell her he faked the whole thing.

She’d kill him for it,of course. After she got what she needed from him. Instead, she only gets silence, and gnawing realisation that she’s confessing to a dead man and hating him for being dead. Tears are running down her hot cheeks, burning like acid, and she can’t blame anyone but herself. The FOR LET sign flashes in her vision, stronger and brighter than it was before, and she digs her nails into her temples.

“Jason, be honest with me,” she says. “How much would you have fought it? If you were still here, what-what would you have done? Begged him to let you stay? Run away from him?” A shudder runs up her back as an answer forms in her mind. “Would you have tried to kill him?” She looks down at her stomach. “Would this have changed anything? Or would you have left anyway?”

A minute passes. The question echoes around her, each one more broken than the last. Shame rattles in her bones and she buries her face in her hands, throat tight with the scream she can’t let out.

Heather brought it up last night after the abortion teasing got boring. Wouldn’t it have been better if JD had left? Kurt and Ram might have lived. Her conscience might be cleaner and she wouldn’t hide bruises beneath her shirts. All she would have had is a broken heart and a string of what-ifs. And a dead Heather Chandler.

Veronica had just scowled and pretended to sleep, but she knew. She knows why the idea of JD leaving her like that cuts worse than the bomb did, why her hand searches for his. Why she can’t for the life of her stop talking to him. JD was the first person who looked at her and saw through her. He saw through the make-up and the blazer and the goofy laugh. He saw the messiness and the imperfections, the cracks and the black marks on her soul, and he liked it. He made the new look feel worthless. No-one, not even Martha, saw under her skin the way he did. And just the possibility that he could have understood her so deeply and then left , regardless of whether it was his choice, it just tears her apart.

He was terrible and he was hers. It’s why she keeps asking him what to do, even if she knows she’d do the opposite. When it comes down to it, no-one knows her better than he did. Walking away felt freeing but every day since he’s been gone, she’s felt more alone than she ever has.

“Did you feel like that too?” she asks. “With me?”

Worst of all, she doesn’t need him to answer. She knows it’s a yes. And it sickens her how much she loves it.

#heathers the musical #heathers fanfiction #jdronica #veronica sawyer #jason dean #dukesaw #heather duke #heathers ff #fic: time won't fly

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weepingwitchkingdom · 9 months ago

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TNC spoilers (Kinda) and me ranting about Yasha.

I am re-reading TNC and I'm gonna just say it, I don't like Yasha. I don't hate him. But I don't like or love him. He honestly just seems like a power-hungry brat. And if Barsha became canon, with the way he is acting it would be a toxic and probably abusive relationship. Honestly, he reminds me of JD from the Heathers musical. And the relationship JD had with Veronica was very toxic.

#wilderlore #don't get me wrong #I love Yasha #but at this point in TNC #I dont like him #I might be because I've only just now gotten to the part where #Yasha talks about how much better Audrian is and stuff #and it's also probably also because it's midnight

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libraryfag · 1 year ago

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Heathers (1889)

my heathers obsession i think was what first got me into horror which quickly transformed into my gothic horror obsession so im honestly shocked i haven't made this earlier in the past 3 years.

Despite it being set in the 1980s, heathers literally has all of the gothic tropes and themes etc its so insane

Like!! The way the underlining theme is how young people's agency is repressed and how they aren't taken seriously and instead expected to obey their elders is literally the basis of Queen Victoria's beliefs. She and Reagan had SO MUCH IN COMMON. those facists are probaly fucking raw in the bottom layer of hell somewhere

ANYWAY the whole of the show/film really hits different if you think about it in the victorian era

I forgot to say: This version is absolutely set in England. Western society in America back then was more about themes of progress and such- although white people back their were just maintaining the same genocidal colonialist principals as the british (cuz they were), they thought they were being soooo cool and progressive which is thematically irrelevant to heathers

BACK TO THE TOPIC: in the musical most of the teen's emphasis in wanting to grow up. ie have autonomy vs Martha being accociated with childlike imagery- really emphasises the division between 'adults' and 'children' Victoria was so fond of

I don't actually know what age ppl were considered adults but i think Martha would wear more childish clothes like this- exept she would absolutely wear white representing her innocence

In contrast, the other girls would wear women's clothes

Jason Dean's black trenchcoat translates really well to Victorian era fashion

Veronica's heatherified outfit would have a prominant bustle- a newer style

In contrast Heather Chandler would wear a more traditional longer gown- like how she represents the older more bougeoise regime of Queen Victoria according to JD which needs to be destroyed

Speaking of which there are SO MANY parallels to heathers and picnic at hanging rock- (which is set 11 years later but whatever) JD is the rock

I do think Chandler's general vibe of the 'blonde popular girl who's doomed by the narrative' whose idolised after her death is 100% from Miranda btw

but also her position in the narritive reminds me of Mrs Appleyard

I think to make Heathers more gothic there has to be more of a clock motif than there already is

Also i can't belive i forgot to say this but the ideas of Madness and depression and shit. i can't spend all day writing these but they're There.

The one problem i have here is that schools in Victorian england were ABSOLUTELY not as diverse as schools in 80s america ie. ppl of different genders/class would never go to the same place

#my posts #history #heathers #heathers the musical #theatre tag #horror #gothic horror #picnic at hanging rock

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clonehigh-takes · 1 year ago

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joan x harriet reminds me of jd and veronica from heathers and i love it

honestly

#clone high #clone high takes #clone high joan #ch joan #clone high harriet #ch harriet #pink yuri #joarriet

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septic-selfships · 1 month ago

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yippeeee 38 57 and 70

38. Need to Know by Doja Cat

I associate it with Marvin! Mostly because it reminds me of fanon Marvin (affectionate) and the line "Oh wait, you a fan of the magic? Poof! Pussy like an Alakazam!" because it feels like it's something he'd say while drunk flirting (fanon Marvin that is). It doesn't really fit canon Marvin but I can see him nodding along to it lol.

57. Our Love is God from Heathers the Musical

I associate this one with Anti! It's initially about JD comforting Veronica and making all of these romantic gestures and planning to play a "prank" on the guys who assaulted her... Which turns into JD killing the guys and holding Veronica close, making her echo back his words. "I'd do anything for you" vibes (which is a skewing of his original character but shh).

70. Paparazzi by Lady Gaga

I initially had this on my Anti playlist but honestly it gives Marvin vibes to me between 1) the iconic VMAs performance and 2) him being a canonically famous magician now. Like I can see Val being seen with Marvin and people beginning to speculate on who they are. Or of course the Travelling Show AU where they and Marvin get to be backstage together and them living the showman life. OUGH man thoughts.

#jasper answers #dtaegis #selfship #magic man 💚🩵#🪄 travelling show 💚🩵#glitch bitch 🖤💚#jasper screams

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bateiapdf · 4 years ago

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reasons i need therapy pt. 1

i just said to myself “awe i want a boyfriend like J.D.” i was listening to ‘meant to be yours’

#i need therapy #i literally just asked for a toxic boyfriend #heathers #jd from heathers #you can't tell me im wrong #meant to be yours #he reminded me of my best friend #why do i consistently like boys who like bombs #he is literally the same person as my fwb #maybe i can convince him to make a bomb with me #honestly J.D. had a point #heathers musical #heathers the musical #being veronica wouldnt be that bad #I would have opened the door #my mother also said the same thing last time we watched heathers and her boyfriend looked so fucking worried

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broadwayloserstuff · 3 years ago

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Chansaw Smut

So I got a request for smut prompt 28 for Chansaw. I haven’t really read Chansaw so I was looking for some one shots on Wattpad and I realized there really isn’t a lot of Chansaw smut. And ironically, I saw @mcdonaldstm in the comments section. I haven’t written g x g smut in a long time so I apologize in advance. I’m sorry it’s so long lmao. WARNINGS: I honestly don’t think there’s a lot but uh swearing, smut, mentions of a gun and blanks, and I guess not a very good Jdonica relationship. MINORS DON’T INTERACT! “He doesn’t love you, Sawyer!” The red-clad blonde yelled. Two feet away stood a tall girl with short brown hair. The girl wore blue and her eyes were filled with tears. “He does love me, Heather! You haven’t had a steady boyfriend in your life! How the hell would you know?” yelled the girl in blue. “Because, if you haven’t been able to tell by now, he’s not a good person, Veronica,” argued Heather, “He pulled a gun on the first day of school!” Veronica’s face flushed and she stuttered, “It was filled with blanks! No real harm was done!” Heather rolled her eyes. Veronica refused to believe that her shady boyfriend really loved her. After all, they had almost nothing in common. Yet, Veronica still thought he was a good person, even after every red flag there had been. Veronica pulled her coat on hastily and shot back, “He pulled the gun on Kurt and Ram because they were harassing him!” Heather let out a mocking laugh. “Is that what it was? Or do you just not want to know that he’s a sick psychopath? If he’s such a good boyfriend, where is he? It’s a Friday night and you’re here with me. Shouldn’t you be out on a date?” Veronica stopped her movement and sat on the loveseat in Heather’s room. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face between her legs. Heather could hear her soft sobs. Maybe she had gone too far. After all, Heather was also quite jealous of how much Veronica cared for JD. Veronica was sweet and smart but also a major dork yet, Heather had fallen in love with her anyways. Veronica felt the chair dip beside her and looked up. Heather sat next to her, staring straight ahead. Veronica went back to crying as Heather gingerly laid a hand on Veronica’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “I went too far with that. But I stand by the fact that he’s not good for you, Veronica. He’s sketchy and someone else loves you more than he does.” Veronica picked her head up, looking dead into Heather’s aquamarine eyes. “Who?” she croaked. Heather hesitated. What if Veronica didn’t like her back? Would Veronica tell everyone that the most popular girl in school is a lesbian? In a moment of pure love, Heather leaned over and pressed a small kiss to Veronica’s lips. Heather quickly pulled back. The pair sat in silence. “You like me,” stated Veronica. Heather stood up and walked to the window. “No shit, sherlock.” Heather heard no response from Veronica, so she sighed. “Listen, just give me a chance to prove I’m better than Jesse James. Just one night.” Veronica got up and pressed her lips against Heather’s. “One night, Heather.” Heather grinned and their lips met in a more heated kiss. Heather kept pushing Veronica backwards until they fell on the bed, Heather on top. Heather demanded entrance and Veronica gave it to her. Their tongues fought for dominance, Veronica deciding to let Heather win. Suddenly, Heather’s hands went to Veronica’s jacket, practically ripping it off in eagerness. Veronica got her message and unbuttoned her blazer and shimmied out of it, tossing her blue blazer to the side. Heather quickly buried her head in the crook of Veronica’s neck, sucking hickeys into her seemingly perfect skin. Veronica let out soft sighs of pleasure, her hand going into Heather’s strawberry-blonde locks. Heather’s fingers fumbled as she attempted to unbutton the white shirt Veronica had worn underneath her Heathers blazer. Eventually, she got the shirt unbuttoned and quickly moved kisses down Veronica’s chest, over the lacy black bra she had worn, and down her stomach. Veronica was in heaven. Heather had already gotten her so wet and she needed her so bad. Heather seemed to sense Veronica’s need and she quickly pulled off the tiny skirt Veronica wore. How that skirt had tortured Heather. It was so short, almost revealing her ass, but was just long enough that it didn’t. “Be a good girl and spread your legs,” ordered Heather. Veronica quickly obeyed, being turned on even further by the commanding tone in Heather’s voice. It reminded her of how Heather spoke to everyone at school yet it was somehow softer. Heather pressed Veronica’s panties into her core. “So wet,” she purred, “And all for me.” Veronica whimpered, “Heather, please, no teasing.” Heather gave her one last smirk before quickly pulling off her panties and diving in between her thighs. Immediately, Veronica gripped Heather’s hair. A loud moan sounded from Veronica and Heather moaned in response, sending vibrations through her core. Heather inserted two fingers, pumping them at a fast pace as her mouth worked over Veronica’s clit. As Veronica clenched around her fingers, Heather pulled her mouth back and used her thumb to rub Veronica’s clit. Veronica came with a loud moan as she rode out her high. Heather pulled her fingers out, licking them clean. Veronica tasted surprisingly good.

As Veronica regained her composure, Heather placed her clothes in her lap and gave her time to get dressed again. “I’m done,” said a tired voice. Heather looked back at Veronica, who was now back in her clothes, and laid next to her. “Get some rest,” said Heather, “I’ll see you in the morning.” Veronica nodded and rested her head on Heather’s chest, closing her eyes and immediately beginning to snore. Heather pressed on last kiss to the top of her head before turning off her bedside lamp and falling asleep.

#heathers #heather chandler #veronica sawyer #chansaw #chansawsmut #lesbians #smut

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devinescribe · 3 years ago

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[ Heathers ]

Niragi Suguru × Reader

It's mainly Niragi, but there's a lot going on, so for some background: You are a theater kid. But, you have to be intimidating in the games.

This is funny? But also kind of cringe😆

You hummed, walking towards your favorite room at the Beach after your patrol. It was late at night, and most people were sleeping, partying, or militants on patrol. No one else except Hatter really went there, so you assumed tonight would be no different.

You opened the side door softly, entering the room, and flicking on the lights. It echoed in the room, and you smiled. It was the last bit of normalcy left in your life.

A few days ago, Hatter had taken you here, and shown you the theater inside the hotel. It reminded you of when you were in your theater program back in high school, so you found yourself constantly going back.

"I wonder what I should do this time? Be More Chill? Hamilton? Dear Eva- Heathers!" You thought outloud, reading through sheet music. You smiled, remembering the musical, and laughed at the thought of when you guys did it back in high school. You had played Heather Duke, and honestly enjoyed it. Although, the girl who played Veronica was incredibly rude, and actually got sick the day before the performance. Karma, the greatest and baddest bitch of all.

You hummed to yourself, cleaning up the backstage area. It hadn't been in usage, so it was dusty, and it needed some cleaning. You picked up a broom, and began to sweep.

Niragi hadn't been planning on doing anything after his patrols. He thought he would just head back to his room. But something was urging him to head to the place he found. It was a theater area at the back of the Beach. It seemed no one else had found it, so he was pretty ecstatic about it. He didn't do theater, but he knew a few kids who did. They found it fun. All he liked doing was games. Although a couple kids had invited him to try it out once, as they caught him singing. Apparently, they thought he sounded good. Embarrassed, and not looking for anymore reasons for anyone to target him, he refused. The theater was quiet, far away from everyone. Soundproof. Although, he will never reveal how he found that out. Plus, the way he found out was gone now, so he didn't have to worry about anything.

When he walked in, he noticed the lights were on. 'I must've left the lights on last time,' he thought as he sat behind the second curtain that hid the backstage passage. He folded his knees up to his chest, kind of hard because of his long legs, but that was a him problem. He'd figure it out later.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the wall. Although he never did theater, he did like a couple musicals. He knew about 3 all the way through. Other than that, if he had been a theater kid, he'd be a disappointing one. One musical he did like, however, was Heathers. The soundtrack was pretty nice, and he thought JD and Veronica's relationship was interesting. No one would hear if he just sang quietly. Even if he was singing loudly, the room was sound proof and no one knew about it, so what does it matter?

He questioned himself too much. Every thought, every move he made, he had to second guess it. But he was so tired, he just quietly sang a song to himself.

"I am damaged... far too damaged...

But you’re not beyond repair. Stick around here, make things better... ‘Cause you beat me fair and square. Please stand back now,"

"Little further. Don’t know what this thing will do. Hope you’ll miss me... Wish you’d kiss me... Then you’d know I worship you... I’ll trade my life for yours,"

"Oh my God -" you sang. He jumped, grabbing his gun. "It's me, (Y/N). Can I sit besides you? Can you keep singing? Please?" You asked. He was so shocked, all he did was nod. "Go on. Please," you said.

"And once I disappear,"

"Wait, hold on-"

"Clean up the mess down here,"

"Not this way!"

"Our love is God. Our love is God.Our love is God. Our love is God..."

"Say hi to God..."

"You're a theater kid?!" You shouted, shaking his shoulders. "No! No, I'm not!" He shouted, pushing you away. You crawled over to him. "How do you know the song?" You asked. "I just know it... gods your annoying," he muttered, crawling backwards and away from you. You grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. "I- I'm sorry... I shouldn't have scared you... Um... Niragi..." you apologized, still holding his hand. "What?" He spat. "Can you... can you sing more songs with me? Please?" You begged. "No way," he said, trying to pull away. "Please? I've never met someone else at the beach who's even shown interest in them. Pleaseee?" You repeated. He thought for a second. You weren't someone like Chishiya, and you were a milital. Someone he's had his eyes on for a while, actually. You were always so intimidating, but here you were excited over him knowing a song from a musical.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pleaseee?"

"Goddammit woman, I said no. You are a stubborn ass bitch."

"Pwease? Pweaseeee!"

"No!"

"Dead Girl Walking. Full scene, from the top, every action. After that, if you need help I'll give it to you."

...

....

.....

"Deal."

You laughed, seeing as that's all he needed to be convinced. "So... all I have to do to get you to do something... is offer my body?" You questioned. "Only for you would I say yes...

"Awww, so you do like me~ Kuina was right!" You cooed, grabbing his hands.

He blushed, and you smiled. "Maybe one day.... you could be the JD to my Veronica, yeah?"

#alice in borderland #niragi #×reader #fluff #this is cute #but short #for now im proud of myself #:)

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statticscribbles · 4 years ago

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Abandoned 7

Summary: Sweet Pea/reader Soulmate AU- the first sentence say about your soulmate is tattooed on their body

This is the seventh piece in the Abandoned Series and this imagines continuation can be provided by: two or more requests for it in the askbox

You turn your alarm off tugging on your running shoes and workout gear as you make your way to school and to track practice. You’re just finishing up your last lap when you spot Kevin waiting by the bleachers after wrestling.

“Hey Kevin, what’s up?”

“So you know the musical we’re working on?” You nod stretching as he talks. “Do you think you can help with costuming?” You stare at him for a moment.

“You don’t have to I just-“

“Kevin, of course. It’s no trouble. When do you need everything by? Any idea what I should bring costume wise or-“ Kevin doesn’t respond, hugging you.

“Kevin get off you’re sweaty from wrestling!” you struggle in his grip as he sighs relieved.

You were relieved he had asked you to help with the costumes, instead of asking for you to audition; you preferred to work behind the scenes, letting anyone else funnel the praise and attention away from you. You know there’s no popularity contest, either way Cheryl would win it, no one can resist her; it’s just you much preferred the ease and anonymity of the background. Blending into the crowd and doing small favors when needed. Let everyone else handle the big events; you were just happy to stock extra papers and work on the musical’s behind the scenes. Still what you knew to be your first words from your soulmate brought you comfort. Definitely understand why you’re considered Northside royalty. You wouldn’t consider yourself anything close to royalty from the Northside; your family was only slightly above the financial line in need of moving to the Southside; in addition to living just off the bridge towards it. Still you enjoyed the thought that your soulmate was hopefully going to appreciate you from the start, something you usually had to earn or at least remind other people of.

Kevin was insistent that you help him with the script and set-up for Heathers, after Cheryl had changed it, you knew he’d been dreading announcing the change, apparently Evelyn hadn’t taken it well and refused to help him produce a “musical with such violent and un-farm like ideals” Which is how you found yourself awake at five am, hauling a box filled with potential costumes into the theatre.

“Thanks, you’re an angel.” You laugh at Kevin shaking your head.

“Honestly it’s no problem Kev; I was awake anyways and never miss an opportunity to go thrifting and digging through old clothes.” He beams and pulls another box from the stack you’ve left outside the door, you turn back pulling the last box in.

“You think you can help with the sound check?” He starts to pout at you and you snort.

“If you don’t mind listening to my off key singing.” He rolls his eyes shoving a microphone into your hand.

“We have most people already cast, so we just need to fine tune it and make sure everyone can be heard, which is where you come in, I’ll just cue the track and-“

“I sing; I got the gist Kev.” He offers you a thumbs up and you smile as you hear the track to Dead Girl Walking start playing. You hum before starting you sing, half dancing across the stage laughing as you finish.

“How was that?” You turn startled to see more of Kevin’s friends lounging in the chairs, you wave to Reggie before jumping from the stage.

“So who’s cast?”

“Well we have Cheryl as Heather C, myself as Heather D, Josie as Veronica, Veronica as Heather M, and Sweet Pea as JD so far, you want to audition?” You nod smiling at Betty who lists off everyone. Kevin nods turning to talk to Betty and you busy yourself unpacking some of the boxes, until Kevin see’s you and starts to scold you.

“Seriously Y/N you’ve done more than enough, go get some coffee or a muffin please, watching you work is just making me feel more indebted to you.”

“Kevin it’s my pleasure, anyway I can help. It’s what I love to do, trust me.” You smile nodding as you point him towards the snack table you helped set up earlier.

“I made the blueberry ones by the way.” His eyes light up as he looks at them.

“With the crumble topping?”

“Of course.” You nod and pull another shirt out grabbing a hanger to put it on the current costume rack.

“Definitely understand why you’re considered Northside royalty.” You can hear Kevin and Betty gasp, they know your words, you turn unsure how you’re going to respond, the words falling from your lips as you take in the Southside Serpent standing in front of you, holding one of the muffins you made, bite taken out of it.

“Wow I guess what they say about the devil is true then, he does come dressed as everything you want.” You laugh a little and you can see Fangs cheering. Sweet Pea just stares at you.

“Because you’re playing the dick guy in Heathers.” You state and he nods.

“Sorry I just.” He shrugs and you tilt your head.

“Not how you were expecting that to be said then?” He laughs nodding.

“Yeah, I’m sure the same goes for you?”

“To be fair I spent half my childhood expecting to end up like the princess diaries.” You shrug and Sweet Pea laughs.

“I must be a disappointment then.” You shake your head smiling.

“From where I’m standing an improvement so far.” He smiles peeling the wrapper from the muffin he grabbed.

“These are heavenly by the way.” He smirks and you laugh.

“Well you officially have an unlimited supply of them.” He beams.

‘And my family?” You arch an eyebrow.

“You mean the serpents?” He ducks his head nodding.

“I don’t know if I can make that many every week.”

“Wait I get these every week??” He bounces on his heels.

“If you want, it was just a suggestion. I have other recipes as well and- Sweet Pea!” You squeak as he picks you up hugging you.

“Dude chill.” Fangs speaks through his laughter.

“Sorry, I just got excited.”

“About the muffins? Or your soulmate?” Kevin snorts and you watch Sweet Pea’s face seem to soften, he glances to you almost shyly blush suddenly on his face and his eyes filling with amazement. He smiles at you before jerking and turning away.

“So rehearsal?” He nods to Kevin and Kevin rolls his eyes.

“Will be after school today, please don’t method act Dead Girl Walking. I need you both in one piece, we still need to figure out costumes as well.”

Support My Writing?

#sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea reader insert #jordan connor #jordan connor imagine #jordon connor reader insert #riverdale request #riverdale reader insert #riverdale imagine #riverdale #stattic

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manunkinda · 5 years ago

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So, I’m watching the Heathers 2018 reboot to take notes. I plan to do a video essay after I finish the series.

I regret starting this.

Anyway, here are a few my notes so far.

Heathers (2018) Notes:

⁃ I can’t believe I’m paying for this shit.

⁃ Wait, why is the pilot TV-14 when everything else is TV-MA?

⁃ Also, every single title of each episode is a quote from the movie. I don’t think “Hot probs” was though? Unless I’m missing something? I’ll have to watch the movie AND the musical after this to cleanse my brain.

⁃ Also why is the second episode $20 for HD?

⁃ THE RED SCRUNCHIE. SHANNON DORHERTY (who played Heather Duke in the original) IS IN THIS.

⁃ Yup, Shannon plays his mom. She’s waving and he’s waving back.

⁃ What the hell is this intro?

⁃ [ethereal electronic music]

⁃ Okay, so this is Veronica... Who should really be a Heather.

⁃ I can’t stop laughing at the Khloe Kardashian quote.

⁃ [moody electronic music]

⁃ See, the thing is, is that Veronica had sturdy morals from the beginning. She had a sense of who she was, just not what she wanted. J.D. manipulated her into briefly losing her morals. So, it doesn’t make sense for Veronica to not know who she is.

⁃ I’m pretty sure you can’t ask a student if they’re a hermaphodite. Most colleges don’t care about that anyway.

⁃ Jason Dean’s in the background staring her down during the locker scene and they haven’t actually introduced him.

⁃ Betty’s in this apparently, but not Martha? Because since Chandler is plus-sized, that whole thing wouldn’t work anyway, right?

⁃ [moody finger snaps]

⁃ I can’t believe there’s a song where the lyrics are: “Picture this, I’m a bag of dicks.” “I will punch a baby bear in his shit.”

⁃ Okay, while I clearly appreciate LGBT+ and minority representation in the media, Heathers is the wrong story to use it. In this, the representation is villainized while two white people try to kill them off. That’s complete missing the mark and the lesson of the original, and hell, even the musical.

⁃ Chandler would get dress coded for that outfit. Middle finger choker AND those fishnets, yup.

⁃ “How Banana Republic.” whAT DOES THAT MEAN

⁃ KURT SEEING THE HEATHERS WITH RAM AND NOPING THE FUCK OUT OF THERE IS ME.

⁃ “Remington Squaws.” Look, Ram would also get dress coded for this.

⁃ Also, the reason why “mean girls” like the Heathers and the Plastics were popular is because they were nice to your face, and then would talk shit about you behind your back.

⁃ the finger snaps are rotting my brain already.

⁃ “I’m gonna get a soda.” Proceeds to get a bag of chips.

⁃ oh god JD approached Veronica. What the fuck are they saying by the way? “Meet the new boss?” WTF?

⁃ “I’m not a rebel, Veronica.” The original JD would disagree with that.

⁃ He ends up calling Veronica “my dear” within the first two minutes.

⁃ Heather Duke would be an interesting character if he wasn’t named Heather Duke.

⁃ snappy snack shack looks like a discount Snappy Snack Shack.

⁃ Heather McNamera with their teacher? In public? In the car? No one would be so obvious like that about banging their teacher.

⁃ “Great hummus, but I gotta Tesla.”

⁃ “Such an UGG boot latte sometimes.”

⁃ Did she and Jacob hook up in his car? Idk, all I see is leg and Veronica is checking Chandler’s insta. She did end up posting the pic of Ram in the Remington shirt, but I don’t think he was smiling.

⁃ “What is your father wound, Heather?”

⁃ Veronica just shoulder checked her, which honestly isn’t the same as throwing up on someone’s shoes.

⁃ Chandler got fake drain cleaner from an art thing all over her dress.

⁃ “Lick it up, fatty. Lick. It. Up.” Is nothing compared to the original line. Also, fat-phobic much?

⁃ “My dear” again. That’s twice now and it’s already getting old. The thing is, in the original, JD and Veronica never called each other pet names, except for one time. For JD, it was right before Veronica broke up with him. “Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling.” And for Veronica, it was right before she shot JD in the boiler room. “You know what I want, babe? Cool guys like you out of my life.”

⁃ “Let’s snort Adderall, make out, and get slushies.”

⁃ So is Kurt actually gay in this or?

⁃ This JD and Veronica has no chemistry whatsoever.

⁃ I dare JD to throw a better party at the discount Snappy Snack Shack where the cashier won’t yell at you.

⁃ Also, this JD reminds me of Riverdale’s Jughead, but if his personality was the weirdo monologue.

⁃ Those are some weak ass slushies. They’re so watery.

⁃ I was not expecting the fucking bubble gun.

⁃ His dad collects Nazi stuff apparently. Big yikes.

⁃ What are the dolls in Chandler’s room? Why are they on her shelf like that and organized by skin color?

⁃ “Prince Harry me as revenge.”

⁃ Where was that table she fell into in the other shots?

⁃ He gave her the suicide pills by mistake, Big oops.

⁃ “I’m going to be experimenting with lesbianism in San Quentin instead of Sarah Lawrence.”

⁃ “That’s my girl.”

Director: Do a proud smile!

⁃ Duke posted the photo of McNamara with the teacher because they were arguing who would give the eulogy.

⁃ “Isn’t hating on someone for being a murderer equally as rude?” No, it’s not.

⁃ Why is JD wearing sunglasses inside? That just makes him even more guilty.

⁃ Betty is trying to stake her claim on Chandler’s position.

⁃ I honestly wouldn’t mind if the Heathers were Betty and these two girls originally.

⁃ “Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw.” THEY USED THE LINE and not in a great context.

⁃ And we meet JD’s dad.

⁃ Also, he’s using the Shake Weight and I can’t stop laughing. I’m so distracted by it.

⁃ “Well, son, your presence here has been lovely as usual, but if you don’t mind, my girlfriend and I would like to start having sexual intercourse now.” Right in front of my salad?

⁃ [somber bell music]

⁃ Heather Chandler’s still alive?! Holy shit! She’s been laying there the whole day. She would’ve been dead by now!

⁃ Oh gross, vomit.

⁃ And her phone’s blowing up. Pun intended.

#its so bad #tw: suicide #tw: vomit #heathers #heathers reboot #heathers 2018 #paramount heathers

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lgbtkendricks · 5 years ago

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snowed in [veronica sawyer x heather chandler]

Veronica Sawyer x Heather Chandler

“God, this is some serious bullshit.” Duke groaned collapsing onto Veronica’s locker with a deep frown etched into her features.

“Heather. Off.” Heather snapped bitingly, glaring as Duke immediately stood up straighter and moved.

“Sorry, Heather.”

Veronica shrugged in a nonchalant manner, a small attempt to show Duke that she didn’t mind, looking between the Heathers as she opened her locker slowly and carefully picked up a striped scarf she usually wore whilst walking to and from school.

“Veronica.” Heather scoffed. “I don’t think JDreamy is going to take much notice of you if you’re dressed like a frumpy elf in a stupid blue suit.”

Veronica eyed her as carefully as she had pried her locker open and made a small face. She couldn’t care less about what JD thought, but regardless, she spoke calculatingly “I’m pretty cold. The school’s heating isn’t working.”

“As cold as his dick will be if he sees you in that.” Heather huffed, rolling her eyes as she snatched the scarf out of Veronica’s hands and threw it back into her locker.

“How very.” Veronica sighed, visibly shivering. “Aren’t you guys cold?”

“I’m used to it.” McNamara shrugged. “What I’m not used to is having to spend all night in this dump with a bunch of low-lives.”

“It won’t be that bad. Like a slumber party.” Veronica said lightly, wrapping her arms around herself.

Duke scoffed. “A slumber party for rats.”

“Where are we supposed to sleep? Do they expect us to starve??”

“Ms Fleming said-“

“Ms Fleming doesn’t know left to right.” Heather clenched her jaw.

“Well, she said we have to sleep in our homerooms.” Veronica shrugged. “At least we’re not stuck out there.”

“Are you kidding me?” Duke’s head turned sharply to the other brunette. “I’d rather freeze than share a room with Kurt and Ram all night. In fact, I’d rather be poor than share a room with Kurt and Ram all night.”

Veronica narrowed one eye slightly. “You should think about your priorities.”

“Freezing, poor – same difference.” McNamara waved Veronica’s point off.

“Everybody shut the fuck up.”

Hands on hips, Heather’s eyes practically burned a hole into the lockers in front of her as she thought. The other Heathers waited patiently with their eyes cast down at the grubby floor below. Veronica, however, took the rare moment of Heather being unaware of her surroundings to study this fairly new expression. She followed the gentle crease in between her perfectly manicured brows to her remarkably concentrated emerald orbs and the complete lack of blemishes underneath. Her cheeks were ever so slightly rosy, and it made Veronica smirk as she knew this was going to be the first and last time she’d ever see Heather Chandler look as genuinely cute as she did right now. Grumpy but just as affected by the situation as everyone else, she was adorable. Veronica travelled down to Heather’s pursed lips, red as ever. Her smirk fell as she inwardly sighed and reminded herself to get a fucking grip. This crush was getting far too out of hand, now. Ridiculously so.

Veronica started as Heather suddenly strutted off, enforcing a parting not dissimilar to that of the red sea down the hall. The other three girls gaped at her retreating figure for a moment, until Heather screamed without pausing in her tracks:

“What are you three fucktarts doing?? Hurry. Up.”

Duke and McNamara scurried after her immediately, spewing apologies. Chuckling to herself, Veronica too stalked off to follow the Heathers. They walked until they reached the gym doors leading to the football field.

“Heather?” Duke asked, confused. “What are we doing here?”

“Christ, Heather. I told you to shut the fuck up, did I not?” Heather huffed. “Wait here.”

Veronica and the other Heathers stood near the bleachers as they watched Heather go through to the changing areas. She disappeared behind bright red doors.

“I had a date tonight, you know.” Duke sighed, throwing her head back once more.

“Yeah, well…”

Duke eyed Veronica. “Well what?”

“It’s snowing.”

“Yeah. No shit, Veronica.”

“I had a game to cheer at tomorrow.” McNamara said, looking longingly out at the white abyss.

“Attention, Westerburg High. Dinner will be served at six pm.” The intercom sounded, making all three of them look up.

“That’s hours away.” Whined McNamara.

“Good.” Duke mumbled under her breath.

Before Veronica and McNamara could remind Duke about seeing a doctor for the third time that day, they heard a loud bang. Immediately, the three of them turned to see Heather smirking, strutting over to the doors and twirling a set of keys in her fingers.

“What are you doing with that?” Duke asked, taking a few steps closer.

“We’re slumming in luxury.”

“Sort of defeats the purpose of the word ‘slum’, but okay.” Veronica said, half-smiling at the blonde. Heather only smirked at her, unlocking the doors. She opened them up, letting the harsh winds into the gym.

“I’m shivering now, Jesus.” McNamara said, stepping away from the coldness.

“We’re not going far, Heather, man up.”

“Where are we going?” Veronica asked.

Heather only looked at her for a moment, before smirking slightly once more and stepping outside. “It’ll be…merry.”

The other two Heathers shared a knowing look. Veronica raised a single brow at them, following Heather out into the cold. “Colour me stoked.” Veronica said softly, squinting through the heavy snowfall and carefully following the taller girl.

Heather walked along the pitch, until she reached a door leading into the guys’ changing rooms. She unlocked it and stepped in, lightly dumping the snow off her heels. Veronica did the same, as did the Heathers who had reluctantly followed them, and she walked over to a little trap door amongst the floorboards and unlocked it with a small iron key.

“After you.” Heather told Veronica clearly.

Veronica looks at her for a long moment. “Heather.”

“Veronica.”

“What’s down there?”

“Why now, telling would only ruin the surprise.” Heather spoke with a glint in her eyes. Whilst Veronica couldn’t decipher what that glint honestly meant, it didn’t exactly pronounce a feeling of excitement within her – dread was more like it.

“Of course it would.” Veronica muttered, taking one last look at the Heathers before taking a deep breath and carefully treading down the steps.

It was pitch black when she reached touchdown, and she was standing on what felt like carpet. More intrigued now than anything else, Veronica stepped aside as she heard the Heathers walking down the steps too. One of them – Veronica couldn’t make out which – felt along the wall before audibly flicking a switch. Veronica blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light, before looking around at the room. It was a lair of sorts – a cabin-style living area with red sofas and armchairs, with a white coffee table in the middle and dark wooden walls. There were poker chips and cards atop the table (‘typical’ Veronica rolled her eyes) and a sizeable mini fridge.

“How do you even know about this place?” Veronica asked, walking over to a loveseat and carefully sitting down. Her eyes bulged as she leant back into the immediate comfort “Holy shit. This is nice.”

“The boys usually hang out in here after a game.” Heather said vaguely, stalking over to the fridge and pulling out a few bottles of soda.

“Sometimes they invite the cheerleaders too,” McNamara explained. “But, you know. I’m head cheerleader so…all three of us go.”

“This is what the school spend their salary on? Isn’t that…completely ridiculous?” Veronica scoffed.

Heather groaned and rolled her eyes, slamming the sodas onto the table and picking up a deck of cards. “Be grateful or get out, Veronica, it’s not that hard.”

“Right.”

Across the next couple of hours, Veronica sat and played card games and poker with the Heathers. It was an odd way of passing time during a snowstorm to say the least, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. The funny thing was, with absolutely nobody around to impress or scare, the Heathers evolved into being fairly normal. Well, perhaps normal was still a stretch, but nobody was particularly horrid or bitingly annoying for the most part. In all honesty, Veronica found it pretty entertaining. Fun, in fact. The Heathers were fun. Heather Duke was – unsurprisingly – incredibly competitive, and it left the other three of them laughing at her serious attempts to justify her losing and rolling their eyes at her gloating whenever she did end up winning. Heather McNamara was the one who, after snooping around the room for a while, turned on the heating and found a cassette player alongside a fairly large stash of cassettes; watching her fairly interpretive dances once she was out in poker was hilarious. And, of course, then there was Heather Chandler. She seemed a little more relaxed, just as controlling but certainly happier. She cheated at as many card games as possible and would half-jokingly sneer at the others when she was found out. She even literally let her hair down, leaving her scrunchie on the coffee table as she and Duke competed to be the reigning champion of poker. With McNamara on Duke’s team and Veronica on Heather’s, she was able to sit right next to her and look over her shoulder at her cards, sharing victorious and cunning glances every now and then. The entire time, Veronica hid her shortness of breath surprisingly well. She didn’t usually get like this, in fact, no: she never got like this. It was just…Heather Chandler was absolutely beautiful. Especially when she let her hair down and smirked and laughed and sighed and bit the corner of her bottom lip in concentration and fluttered her lashes as she counted her chips and glared daringly at Duke from across the table. Especially then.

Eventually, 6pm rolled around, and Heather stacked her chip winnings up neatly on the table and tied her hair back up.

“Heather and Heather, go to the cafeteria and get dinner.” She told her friends, watching as they both stood up and moved to climb the stairs. “And if it’s shit, don’t let me starve!”

Veronica chuckled lightly and sat back against the sofa. She was surprised that she hadn’t been sent to go with the other Heathers but she didn’t dwell on it, too content to care.

“You know, Veronica, you’re not awful company.” Heather said in an almost sultry tone, angling her body to face the brunette’s.

Veronica blushed, looking at her and attempting to hide the beginnings of an admiring smile on her face. “Yeah?”

“You’re actually a lot more tolerable than the Heathers.”

“That sounds almost like a compliment, Heather,” Veronica sighed happily, raising a brow.

Heather merely smiled at her – a genuine, sweet smile Veronica had never truly seen but still felt as though it’s reserved for her – and nudged her softly with her shoulder.

“Try not to get used to it.” She whispered gently, a stark contrast to her usual snappy tone.

“I’ll try.”

Part 2 soon??

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distrustedace · 5 years ago

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“Apparently Virgil is a better actor than Roman. Who knew?”

AN: I want to make this into a series but its is going to be shorter then the Janus series. Also it might be a little messy since I am improvising the storyline. I hope this isn't a complete and utter disaster.

“Apparently, Virgil is a better actor than Roman. Who knew?”

Roman found out that his newest lead is going to be a boy. And honestly, he was so excited! Finally, some gay representation in musicals. And this time, Roman knew it was going to be a totally new experience. Yes, the heathers will be girls as always, mostly because the heathers are too iconic to have a gender change. But, the newbie is going to play “Veronica” who’s name change is going to be Verona. Roman, on the other hand, is going to play JD. He wasn’t thrilled about playing a sociopathic kid with daddy issues but he got used to the fact that he had to play the villain. Besides, what's a story without the main antagonist?

Roman strode into the theatre to attend the rehearsals. He didn’t know who got casted for Verona since he missed the auditions for the other character , and completely forgot to check the list of people who got in. So on top of that, Roman was ready to be pleasantly surprised upon seeing his Co star. He suddenly heard a low tone speaking a line out of the musical , “and there is Heather Chandler, head cheerleader and main leader in the trio. And she is a mythic bitch.” Roman, upon hearing that line, immediately knew that his co-star is the greatest fit for Verona, he was instantly thrilled to be working with him. He looked up and saw.. Virgil?

“Wow, I never knew Virgil was the theatre kid.” Roman muttered. He was more than pleasantly surprised at Virgil’s acting skills. His tone of voice was authentic, he stayed on point, saying the words verbatim without the script and…. He looked the part. Especially the emotional aspect, Roman was excited to see that Virgil was better at conveying emotions then he is. It gives him some competition and a fresh new perspective in the world of acting. Roman smiled to himself, “Well, this is going to be a new experience.” He thought.

Virgil, actually felt like a human while playing the part of a fictional character. He wasn’t really antiquated with his emotions. Heck he doesn’t know how anger , fear, happiness or sadness felt like since he barely felt them. The only reason he got into theatre in the first place was because he seemed to only feel them, while playing a fictional character. He hoped to gain a full understanding of his emotions. Sure, he stopped acting by 7th grade in middle school, but he picked it up so he can have a “fun past time.” as his father put it. It was pleasantly enjoyable for him. But his main concern was if Roman would be willing to work with him. He knew that some of the rumors paint Roman to be a massive diva. Of course Virgil wasn’t sold on most of the rumors he heard of in his school, but it gives him small suspicion about Roman. He heard the door open and close and looked up to see Roman. Who was neatly dressed. He had his signature haircut which was combed to the right and gelled. He was always wearing a red jacket with a royal emblem on his chest. It indicated to him that Roman has already committed to pursue a degree in acting in the Chamberlin university, all the way in London , England.

“Ay, it's my greatest star, Roman. How was your day, busy?” the director said.

“Eh, not too busy. You know me, I always get my work done on time.” Roman responded. Virgil noticed the easy tone of his voice. He wondered if someday he can be as calm as Roman. But he was relieved that Roman might be open to working with Virgil. Virgil wanted to make sure he avoids any type of confrontation with his crew members. Infighting within a group can only lead to disaster.

I stepped up to the stage to finally talk to Virgil. “Hello, my name is Roman, and I will be playing the part of JD. Nice to meet you, Virgil, I have heard of you around school.” I said as I headed out.

Virgil gave me an firm hand shake before saying, “

It is nice to meet you too, Roman. I am relieved to have a kind person to be the lead of the show. I wonder, how did you hear of me?” Virgil asked.

“Well, I guess you’re well known for your literary skills. Especially your narrative writing. I am quite impressed by your newest story.” I admitted.

“Oh, I didn’t peg you as the type to read stories like mine. Sometimes they can be too dark for a lot of people. Thank you for reading my stories.” He replied.

Virgil seemed monotonous, but I knew he meant well. I felt excited to work with him.

“Alright, so I assume that you already know the whole script. So, let's skip to rehearsing the “meant to be” number. I want to see how well you can convey Verona’s emotions.” I said

“All is forgiven baby! Come on get dressed. You’re my date to the pep rally tonight!” I recited, with a low but slightly manic tone. As to establish JD’s mental state in the beginning of the song. I needed to convey that JD feels manic, and morbidly happy, but also had to mask his depressed and angry state.

“What! Why?” Virgil recited with a seemingly calm but anxious tone. That was really

Good considering his first line.

“Our classmates thought they were signing a petition! You gotta come out and see what

they really signed.” I recited, making sure to convey madness in the last part of the quote.

“You chucked me out like I was trash. For that you should be dead!” I sang, pausing a little before saying, “ but,but ,but!”

“Then it hit me like a flash. What if high school went away instead!”

I sang, making sure to enunciate the last sentence to seem like JD is slowly spiraling down to insanity. I remind myself to convey the song in a rebellious tone but to have undertones of morbidity.

“Those assholes are the key,” I belted out, before saying, “They’re keeping you away

from me.”

i announciated since the key words needed to be known to the audience. I wanted to show an obsessive side to JD. Since that is his main character trait.

“They made you blind, messed up your mind, but I can set you free!”

I sang out, I growled when I said “messed” to show a small snippet of JD’s rage. As I did that, I made sure to build up the tone of the quote, starting from a normal tone, to an angry tone and then ending off with an easy, calm emotion. I also swiped my hand out while saying messed, to show how mad JD gets when he mentions what happened in the highschool .

“You left me and I fell apart for that you should be dead,”I said, while trying to convey a mix of sadness and anger. I hope I executed that correctly.

“I punched the wall instead, BAM BAM BAM!” I bellowed, wanting to show the pure anger dripping from JD’s quote.

“Then I found you fell apart, and set lose all that truthful shit instead!”I sang out, while chuckling during the truthful part of the quote. I was taking a little artistic liberty with that. I wanted to show how JD is trying to put apart his anger with some humor.

“And so I built a bomb. Tonight,are school is vietnam.Lets guarantee they never see their senior prom.” I finally sang, I loved this quote since it gives me so many creative freedoms. I growled and sang a light but firm tone. After ending with a joyous high note. I noticed that virgil dropped at his knees, shakenly holding his torso with his right hand and covering his mouth with his left hand. Like he was stifling his sobs. I can hear his quiet whimpers. I almost faltered, I was convinced for a moment that Virgil was actually crying. I actually saw slight tears flowing from his eyes. That was an intense add on to the song.And it is magnificent.

“I was meant to be yours, We were meant to be one, Don’t give up on me now,Finish what we’ve begun, I was meant to be yours”

I sang the whole verse, doing the same thing as I did before but trying to improve the emotional appeal bit by bit to build up to the climax.

“We the students of westerburg high, will die!” *gasp!* “Our burnt bodies may finally get through, to you.” *oh-oh god!* “Your society churns out slaves and blanks, no thanks.” *whimper* “Signed the students of westerburg high. GOODBYE!” I ended with a manic tone. Virgil’s head snapped up while I said goodbye. His eyes were wide, his mouth was tightly frowning and tears were still flowing down his face. I instantly felt horrible after saying that. I know full well that this is just a simple rehearsal but, I am honestly worried for virgil. And if he gets me, worried for him. Then I know that I am dealing with serious competition.

After singing the next few verses I got ready to sing the climax to the song. I hope to god I get this right. One flaw of mine was expressing grief and anxiety. Something that can be Virgil’s biggest strength.

“Verona, open the, open the door please, Verona open the door!” I cautiously but anxiously said. I actually felt like trying to get Virgil to look at me.

“Verona can we not fight any more please, can we not fight any more!” I sang, making sure my voice wavered a little bit. I’m actually feeling apologetic. This is the first time I ever felt the way I am acting. I am both confused but excited to use this to my advantage.

“Verona sure you’re scared I’ve been there, I can set you free! Verona Don't make me come in there. I’m gonna count to three!

“One.”

“Two.”

“DAMMIT!”

I sang as I strided to virgil, getting desperate to see him.The music swelled and completely stopped. The bass played a hopeless tune, to convey the pure, raw emotion of my reaction to Verona’s dead body.

“Oh-Oh-” I immediately covered my mouth, vomiting almost lurching up my throat. Virgil’s body lay lifelessly against the wall. His arms were hanging out, his legs were strewn apart and his eyes… Oh god his eyes… It was blank, it looked lifeless. He didn’t even close them! How- is he fucking ok?!

“P-please don’t leave me alone,” I whimpered out, somewhat crying at Virgil’s parasuicide, “You were all I could trust,”I desperately and depressingly sang out. I feel like my soulmate died. Holy shit.

“I can’t do this alone,” I sang out, building my tone up to the eventual climax.

“STILL I’LL WILL IF I MUST!” I belted out. I was beyond furious. Emotions were spewing out as my expression morphed into someone that is wordlessly screaming. But thank god I still kept the volume at a normal tone.

The music stopped and my heart was still beating. My chest was puffing in and out as I struggled to come down from my newly found emotions. Virgil stood up and I heard his footsteps stride to me.

“R-Roman, are you ok? You were more intense than usual. Is there anything I can-” Virigil worried before I tackled him into a crushing hug. He staggered back for a bit. His arms falling limply. I took a deep breath, smelling the hood of his jacket. I was desperately making sure that Virgil was actually ok. That he was living. That he was breathing.

“Vi-virgil. Are you unharmed?” I meekly asked.

“R-roman I am completely alright. Did I trigger you?” Virgil assured me.

“N-no, it's just that… you were too believable. I just- for some reason I can’t stand the

sight of you dead.” I breathed out.

Virgil lifted his right arm and awkwardly patted my back. But it gave me comfort.

“It's alright Roman, the song was intense and I bet you were tired for today.Lets just get you to the seat and I will get you something to snack on. You did an exemplary job.” Virgil assured me.

While I was making my way to the seat I realized that my emotions are not a product of stress or burnout.

I think I fell for Virgil.

#prinxiety #thomas sanders #sander side #sander sides fanfiction #sander sides fandom #roman sanders #virgil sanders

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sprnklersplashes · 5 years ago

Text

not beyond repair (12/?)

AO3

November steadily fades into December; the thick cloud of schoolwork and stress slowly but surely breaks and makes way for sparkling lights wrapped around sweet smelling trees that Veronica is nearly as tall as now.

“Oh, where did the time go?” her mom sighs as Veronica stands next to it Monday morning, head cocked to one side as she admires their weekend’s handiwork. She and her dad had dragged it through the front door on Friday night and left it to dry for most of Saturday morning. Saturday night was dedicated to her dad painstakingly untangling lights while insisting to both Veronica and her mother that he ‘had it under control’ and they spent the Sunday decorating it and the rest of the house, which included all the handmade ornaments Veronica had made in her girl scout and middle school days. “I remember when you could only reach the ones at the bottom and you needed your dad to lift you up to put the star on it. You put all your decorations on the low-down branches.” Her mom squeezes her arms tightly and rests her chin on Veronica’s shoulder. She might not be taller than their Christmas tree yet, but she’s certainly a head taller than her mom and as much as she tries not to let it, it makes her feel old.

“Don’t get sappy,” she sighs, stepping out of her mom’s embrace and picking up what’s left her oatmeal. Her mom even took the liberty of sprinkling cinnamon on top. She’s going to have to stop that before Veronica finds it sweet and starts getting used to it. “Also, I’m going out on Saturday.”

“Are you?” Her mom leans on the counter, raising an eyebrow in an expression that makes Veronica have to fight not to roll her eyes, even if she does know she has a point. Maybe there’s still a little Heather Chandler clinging to her.

“Can I go out on Saturday?” she asks. She bats her eyes for good measure. “Please?”

“Of course, honey,” her mom replies, smiling easily, letting her know there’s no trouble. “With Martha?”

“Yeah. Christmas shopping.” She takes her seat at the table, squirting some honey on top of her breakfast.

“Won’t that be hard with Martha around?”

“Mom, I got Martha’s present weeks ago,” she reminds her. “All I need to get is you and Dad. And Heather and JD.”

“Just one Heather?” she asks. “I thought there was three of them.”

“There was,” she says delicately, turning her spoon around and over in her fingers and biting her lip, choosing her words with as much care and caution as she did when she chose her outfits and make up in the morning. Back when that meant something to her. Her mom still isn’t aware of the Homecoming party disaster, or what she endured for those weeks at school. “I don’t really talk to those two anymore. We kind of fell out. I really only talk to one of them. Heather MacNamara.”

“That was the little one, right?” her mom asks. “The one in the yellow?”

“Yeah that’s her,” she says, letting out a tiny, private sigh of relief. “Yeah we’ve started hanging out more. She’s cool.”

“Pity about the other three. They seemed lovely.” Veronica huffs a laugh, raising her eyebrows while her back is turned. Yeah it might be Christmas, season for love and peace and forgiveness and all that crap, but that won’t apply to her high school relationships. Besides, her mom’s tone is as fake as Ms Fleming’s holiday assembly. “And then… that JD boy?”

“Yeah.”

“You hang out with him quite a lot,” she says and Veronica groans at the suggestiveness in her tone and the proud, knowing grin on her face.

“He’s my friend,” she reminds her. In her mind, she’s crossing two fingers behind her back. “And I do not like the direction you’re taking that sentence.”

“I wasn’t taking it anywhere.”

Of course you weren’t she thinks, as if her mom isn’t a) constantly finding excuses to bring JD into the conversation and b) eager to get every detail she can of their relationship out of her. Part of her thinks it’ll be better when (or if) she actually tells her parents they’re dating, then they can stop dancing around ‘maybe’s and she’ll finally cross the between girlhood and adulthood in their eyes.

It’s almost enough to make her want to tell them. And then she remembers who she lives with.

She’s not embarrassed by her parents. Not completely. Not in front of Martha (the girl literally calls her mom Aunt Becky). Maybe a little in front of the Heathers. In front of JD… she doesn’t know. She tells herself he might understand her better than other people would, still remembering when he almost threw her out of his own house when his dad came in. As much as she likes JD and being with him now, and as much as she liked him then, she tries not to think about that one day too much. His dad is gone now and most of the time it’s like he never existed; the only reminder of his presence in his life is his name and the appointments he goes to every Friday. But other than that, Big Bud Dean is-as far as she can tell-absent in every way possible from JD’s life. And he’s all but said that he’s better for it.

“You said he lives with a foster parent now?” her mom asks. Honestly, Veronica wasn’t even sure her mom was still there.

“Yeah, Claire. She’s pretty awesome.”

“Mm. And where’s his parents?”

“His mom died when he was a kid,” she says, her throat tightening as she does so. He may not talk about his mom much to her, but there’s still a photo of her in his bedroom, and she’d be a fool to think he doesn’t miss her. “She died before I met him. The first time, I mean. In seventh grade.”

“Oh, poor kid,” her own mom replies, hand on heart and everything. “And what about his dad?”

Veronica winces. She’d bet all her money on the fact that she’s the only one in their group that knows about JD’s dad. All Martha and Heather knows is that he used to live with his dad and now he doesn’t. They don’t know and don’t ask about the ins and outs of it and rightly so. It’s his thing to tell and maybe he won’t ever tell it. And she won’t either.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about him much.” It’s at least half true. She gets up, drops her empty bowl in the dishwasher and heads for the stairs, running a hand through her hair. “Anyway, I have to motor if I’m going to be ready for school.”

“Okay, hun. See you tonight.”

She sits on her bed, lacing up her shoes while mentally going through her bag with the other, double checking on the schedule put up on her wall, when something outside the window catches her eye. Something small and white and that makes her bounce and brings up excitement she only ever feels this time of year, even if she would deny it to most people.

It’s snowing. Little white flakes are falling from the grey sky and landing on her windowsill. When she rushes over, she sees the grass on her front lawn speckled with white and grins despite the chilly air snaking through her window and causing goosebumps on her arms. It has to have been at least two or three years since it snowed properly and heavily enough to stick to the ground and stay around. In their freshman year it got so bad that no one could make it into school, even though Westerberg, stubborn as ever, refused to close, so she and Martha got to spend the day reading and playing paper games in the corner of the library. She crosses her fingers and hopes it can stay for a little while now.

She kicks her pumps off and runs over to her wardrobe. Thankfully, she hasn’t tossed out her boots yet.

When she gets to school its falling hard enough to stay, but not so hard that she can’t see her way. Her dad had stopped her at the door and offered a ride but she said no thanks, not entirely sure his car could make it out of the drive. And maybe she wanted to talk a little stroll in the snow. Sue her.

The feeling of the crunch underneath her boots is more than enough to being a smile to her face, as is the cold breeze cutting through her just enough to leave goosebumps on her arms and the snow matting down the bits of her hair that don’t fit underneath her hat. The front yard is far from empty; almost the minute she steps through the gate she’s greeted with a snowball to the arm courtesy freshmen boys pelting each other.

“Sorry!” one calls out to her, but they’re running so quickly, engaged passionately in their furious, frosty fight she can barely see which one it was. Not that she minds.

“It’s fine!” she calls back, wisps of white dancing in front of her eyes. There’s a laugh in her chest as she watches them chasing each other, curse words filling the air and mixing amongst the snowflakes. She’s not sure if she cursed that much at fifteen but she supposes she’s not a boy. She shakes her head as she watches them, still half in middle school and both feet in childhood, shocked at the sudden nostalgia for her own mid-teen years. That time was hardly anything special; new schools and new friends and new horizons, 7pm curfew and regular movie nights and bowling alley birthday parties. Rolling her eyes at her parents and swearing everything will be different when she’s older. That when she was 18, she’d have real party in a real club, and she wouldn’t have to be home at 7.

The realisation hits her unexpectedly with more force than the snowball; she spent most of her younger years waiting for… well, waiting for right now, she guesses. She frowns at the thought, thinking back over how much her 15 year old self was proud of being viewed as ‘mature for her age’, the number of things she just knew she’d have and would have done when she was 18.

Would that Veronica be happy with how her life turned out now?

A tug on her hand tells her yes.

“Morning,” a soft voice whispers in her ear, warming her up more than her coat does. JD’s arms wrap around her body and pull it against hers so that the fabric of his trench coat pressed against hers and his scarf falls over his shoulder.

“Nice scarf,” she comments, noting the red and green colour scheme. She reaches up and toys with the tassels on the end. “Festive.”

“Don’t even,” he says lightly, pulling a face. “Claire was losing her shit worrying if I was going to get sick, so she went out and got me this monstrosity since I didn’t have one.” He presses his lips to her hat and nuzzles against her cold cheek, making heat rise in them. “Why don’t we take this inside before your feet freeze to the ground?”

“Sure,” she says, albeit it sounds flat. She turns to leave, only for him to spin her back around, nearly making her slip. They laugh as he helps her stand straight and he swings their joined hands playfully, a knowing gleam she’s become intimately familiar with in the past months.

“You want to stay out here?” he asks. Says.

“I… wouldn’t mind,” she says, her blush from embarrassment and a bout of self-consciousness, rather than the good kind. “I know it’s stupid.”

“Nope.”

“But,” she interrupts. “I don’t know… it hasn’t snowed properly here in forever, I guess.” She looks over at the freshmen boys, still tossing their crudely made snowballs at each other and shrugs. “Guess I just wanted to appreciate it.”

“That’s not stupid, Nica,” he tells her. “Come on.” She lets him lead her to the stone wall on the other side of the yard and they pull themselves up on it. She rests her cheek on his shoulder (after brushing some stray snow off of it) and their joined, gloved hands sit in his lap as they watch the snow steadily fall in front of their eyes. Her other hand traces in the snow, absent mindedly carving a VS and a JD. She tries for a heart but there’s not enough room, so the top is cut off. “What are you doing over there?”

“Nothing.”

“You shouldn’t lie. Santa’s watching.”

“Oh, bite me,” she laughs as he leans over her shoulder. He notices what she wrote, of course, it’s the only imperfection on that white expanse. His face softens and he presses a kiss to her shoulder. She bites her lip in response, giggling at what probably looks like nothing to anyone outside of them. An image flickers up in her mind, the same thing written into something different, the two of them again, but warmer and younger. “Remember back in seventh grade?”

“Seventh grade?” he repeats. “Um… you might have to specify. Seventh grade was a lot.”

“I mean back in Geography class,” she begins.

“When we vandalised a desk,” he interrupts, laughter lining the edge of his voice. “Mr Matthews geography class. Of course I remember.” His eyes move over to her heart again. “Did he ever bust you for that? After I was gone?”

“If he noticed he never said anything.” That day is clearer in her mind than it has any right to be, right down to his shirt that was a size too big and his nails chewed to the wick as he carved their initials into the wood. A permanent mark that says that they were there. Whatever she felt back then for him, and she did, it was a childhood crush, butterflies in her stomach and blushing and nearly having a heart attack when he called her pretty.

She’s still amazed that in the chaos of everything, they went from that to this, from awkward conversations with racing hearts to entwined fingers and regular kisses. But like the snow and the cold and the Christmas spirit that December brought, she can’t complain.

“Come on,” he says, jumping off the wall and taking her with him. “Much as I love snow, I don’t really love being late for homeroom.”

“Since when?” she chuckles as she follows him. “You’ve been late more times than you’ve been early.”

“And whose fault is that?” he reminds her teasingly. She pokes him with her elbow, laughing. He’s not wrong, obviously. Sometimes it’s her keeping him in her own homeroom for a few minutes longer, other times it’s them getting lost in each other in a private corner somewhere. “Besides, at least inside you don’t need to worry about getting frostbite.”

“You were saying?” she asks when they step through the doors and make their way through the halls. Inside the school is hardly any better than outside is, and somehow the too bright white lights and stained walls manage to make it feel worse. She takes the opportunity to nuzzle into his chest and he revels in it. She feels the smile on his face without even looking up. “Oh hey…. Is there anything in particular you want for Christmas?”

“Come again?” he says.

“Christmas,” she states, pulling her head off his chest and looking up at him, pushing her damp hair away from her face. “Presents. I’m going shopping on Saturday, so if you want anything specific you should probably tell me now. Otherwise I might just get you socks.”

“Don’t knock socks,” he tells her, tapping her nose with his finger. “I got one of my old foster dads socks and he said he loved them.”

“Maybe, but you traditionally don’t get your boyfriend socks,” she tells him with a raised eyebrow. “So…”

“Ronnie, you don’t need to get me presents,” he says nonchalantly, wrinkling his nose and waving his hand like he was trying to prove exactly how much he didn’t care. On the other hand, she cares very, very much and has every intention of proving to her apparent Grinch of a boyfriend exactly how much.

“Yes I do,” she corrects him, stepping in front of his path and stopping them in the hallway. She pokes him in the chest, just enough force to make him frown and step back. “Because I am your girlfriend, and girlfriends buy gifts.”

“Nica,” he says softly, cupping her cold cheek with his gloved hand. “You are my-”

“Nope.” She presses her finger to his lips and he raises his eyebrows, impressed. “If you say I am your gift, I will throw a snowball at you when you least expect it.”

“That’s quite a threat,” he laughs. He takes her hand in his and links their fingers between them.

“Yep. So come on. Give me something.” He sighs deeply, discomfort crossing his features no matter how hard he tries to disguise it. His attempts at disguise are futile and he should know that by now; she has an open window into his brain now. She presses her thumb into the corner of his mouth, turning it up into a smile. “Please? I just don’t want to get you something bad. And I already know you got me something-”

“Wait. How?”

“Shit,” she mutters. “Martha… may or may not have spilled the beans.”

“Seriously?” he asks, slightly deflated.

“She didn’t tell me what it was,” she promises. “We were just talking about Christmas presents. And she said that you asked her what stores I like. Nothing else. And trust me, I pried. I pried her so hard.”

“That’s bad form,” he tells her, but he’s calmer now. His thumb traces patterns on the back of her hand with a soft caress and there’s a proud gleam in his eyes. “You can’t guess what I got you?”

“Nope,” she says, shaking her head.

“Good.”

“But,” she interrupts. “I know you got me something. And I won’t be that person who doesn’t get you anything. Or gets you something crap. Like coupons or an ugly sweater.”

“Look, Ronnie,” he begins. “I… I don’t know. I wouldn’t know what to ask for.” His hand comes up to her face and his finger traces her cheekbone before tangling in her hair. “But I know I trust your judgement. And that I’d love anything because it comes from you.”

“Aww,” she says, biting her lip. “J, that’s sweet. And completely unhelpful you asshole.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” he laughs. He sighs, straightening his back and thinking seriously for a few moments. “Okay… I guess I could really use a new sweater. Or something.”

“God you are the vaguest person to ever exist,” she sighs, pulling him along down the hall. “You’re worse than my mother!”

“Ooft, that was cold,” he says, putting his hand to his chest in mock pain. “Honestly it’s probably warmer out there in the snow than it is in here.”

“Jerk,” she chuckles, slapping his chest lightly with the back of her hand.

“Hey,” he begins, his voice too high to be casual. “Speaking of… do you happen to have any plans for Christmas Eve?” His hand curls around hers and he swings them lightly.

“Not really,” she confesses. “Pyjamas, watching dumb movies I’ve seen a hundred times, eating my body weight in my mom’s cookies. Why?”

“Well I was just wondering.” He scratches the back of his ear, his eyes looking anywhere but her. “If maybe you wanted to come over for a few hours.” You can bring your pyjamas if you want. And I promise we can provide cookies.” He shrugs casually and rubs the back of his neck. He still won’t look at her. “If you want.”

“Aw, J.” She takes his chin and tilts it upwards, pressing her thumb gently until his eyes meet hers. She sees the ice melt almost as soon as he looks at her, the smile she can’t get enough of, soft and small and oh-so-open, creeping onto his face. “I would love that.”

“Seriously?” he asks, nothing short of elated.

“Very, very much,” she says firmly, her fingertips running along the dark hair at his temple and behind his ear. “Besides, it beats spending it inside with my mom pretending to get excited about Santa Claus.”

“Don’t smack talk Santa Claus,” he warns in a hushed tone, poking her chest for the full effect. “He’s watching you.”

“Come on,” she laughs just as the bell rings for homeroom. “That’s our cue to leave.”

“See you later, darling,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead and squeezing her shoulder gently before he heads up the stairs and she heads the other way, down the hall, just about slipping through the door before the second bell is over. There she can lean her cold legs against the heater beside her desk, the snow still falling outside the window and-with a little luck-not going anywhere.

*****

Her luck seems to be shining through, because the snow keeps falling, not heavy enough to cause a blockade, but enough to cover the streets and front yards and rooftops in white, almost matching the scenes on her parents’ Christmas cards. Veronica feels like every morning she looks out her window, she just regresses more and more to a child, and frankly, her friends aren’t helping much. Not when, after they were leaving on their last day, JD decided to lob a snowball at her face, narrowly missing MacNamara’s carefully done hair. The other girl had spluttered indignantly, taking the opportunity to bury herself in Martha’s arms before launching a surprise retaliation on JD, one that probably would have sent him to the ground if Veronica hadn’t caught him in time, his eyes wide in shock and the three of them not even trying to disguise their laughter.

It’s two days later and she still giggles. Although she did make it up to JD that same night.

“You’re taking a scarf when you go out, aren’t you?” her mom asks while she’s busying herself with making her breakfast, eyeing the window worryingly.

“Yes, Mom,” Veronica sighs, more interested in the peanut butter on the top shelf than anything her mom was saying.

“Make sure you take a hat too. It’s meant to be really cold out there.”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s snowing.”

“Don’t sass your mother,” her dad says from behind is newspaper, little to no force behind his words. “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

“We can take the bus,” Veronica tells him through a mouthful of toast. “Thanks, Dad.”

“No problem kiddo,” he tells her, a smile twitching on the corner of his mouth. “And just so you know… that little bookshop next to the pharmacy does some really great spy novels.”

“I thought you said you were done with those,” her mom scoffs.

“I am,” he begins, winking slyly in Veronica’s direction. “Just not yet.”

If her mother’s planning on retaliating, she’s interrupted by the familiar knock on the door.

“There’s Martha,” Veronica says, grabbing her bag from the counter and swinging it over her shoulder. “See you guys later.”

The town centre has more festive cheer shoved into it than anywhere else; twinkling lights twisted around every lamppost, each and every doorframe ringed with red and gold tinsel and silver bells hanging over them, emerald green holly leaves sprouting from bushes and sitting on windowsills, surviving despite the frosty wind. Despite it being late morning, the sun is nowhere in sight, hidden behind grey clouds, and the street lights let out a soft golden glow.

Veronica doesn’t think she remembers the town feeling so… beautiful. She and Martha sip gingerbread-sprinkled hot chocolates in white to-go cups, the heat nearly burning their gloved hands, as they sit in one of three available cafes and start planning their day out to the last minute. If she wasn’t so caught up in the moment, she’d probably dwell on what she’d be like if she was with the Heathers instead; would she roll her eyes at the same decorations that are warming her heart now? Who knows, and she also thinks, who cares.

“I definitely know what I’m getting my parents,” Veronica starts. “My dad dropped quite the hint this morning. And I know my mom needs a new shirt. So we can go to that boutique she loves for that.”

“Okay,” Martha agrees, breaking a gingerbread man in half and handing Veronica one half. She puts her own half in her mug and Veronica tries not to wrinkle her nose. She loves every part of Martha, but this one thing weirds her out. “I know I’m getting my mom these really cute throw pillows we saw in Harper’s. And maybe I’ll find something for Heather in there.”

“Ooh, getting her something from Harper’s?” Veronica says, raising a teasing eyebrow. Martha’s cheeks flush even redder but this time it’s not from the cold. “That’s a big deal.”

“Well… I want to get her something nice,” she explains, her voice a full octave higher. “You know? Something special.”

“You really like her don’t you?” Veronica can’t ignore the soft warmth in her chest that blossoms when Martha talks about Heather, or even when she looks at her. It might be completely irrational, but that doesn’t stop her.

“Maybe,” she says. “I just really want to get this right with her. Speaking of which… what are you getting JD?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs, her shoulders drooping. She breaks her half of the gingerbread man in half again. “He’s painfully cryptic about it. He even told me not to get him anything.”

“So did Heather,” Martha tells her. “She kept insisting she didn’t need anything and-sorry this is about you.”

“It’s fine,” she says firmly. “But yeah. I have no clue what to get him. Other than a sweater and I’m not getting him a sweater.”

“What’s wrong with sweaters?”

“Nothing’s… wrong with them. It’s just… it’s like you said. I want to get this right, you know?” The gentle understanding in Martha’s eyes and the open smile tell her yes. Of course she knows. Whatever she feels about JD, she’s comfortable betting Martha feels the same for Heather. “And it’s our first Christmas together. I want to… I don’t know, set a good tone for it.”

There’s something in those words that she didn’t even realise until they rolled off her tongue. She’s not thought past going to college before now, but now she sees a stream of Christmases stretching out before her, and pictures JD in all of them. And that is absolutely terrifying, even if it’s also one of the best things she could ask for.

“Maybe you’ll know it when you see it,” Martha suggests, pulling her back into the moment. She wouldn’t need to think about it; Martha’s going to be in every Christmas from now until they’re in joint nursing homes.

“Hopefully,” she says, picking up her cup. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Shopping for their parents took less than an hour, thankfully. The book Veronica got her dad and the shirt she got her mother sit together in a white plastic bag as she and Martha stroll around Harper’s department store, Veronica taking in the holiday-themed stock and the (fake) snow-covered trees and Martha chewing on a nail and frowning at almost everything they saw, while the rest made her look sadly at her own wallet.

“You know, I can loan you some-”

“No,” Martha interrupts hastily, shaking her head. Veronica isn’t at all surprised; they’ve been having these conversations for years now and they’ve become so similar she could write a script for them if she felt like it. That doesn’t stop her from offering though. “Thank you, Ronnie, but I can’t take your money. I can’t.”

She wants to say, ‘yes you can’. She wants to tell her that nothing’s too big of an ask for her, but she only knows how that sounds, especially in light of what happened in September. So she just bumps her arm against hers and rests her cheek on her shoulder, rubbing against the fabric of her coat until she sees Martha smile.

“Come on,” she says with a surprising amount of optimism, taking Veronica’s hand. “There’s got to be something I can find for her.”

As it turns out, there is, and it shows up in the most unexpected of places; the home department. They end up there by accident, the clothes and jewellery departments both showing up empty and if nothing else, they could have fun getting lost in there for a while. Until Martha lets out a squeak (that is reminiscent of Heather herself) and grabs Veronica so suddenly her heart nearly gives out with the shock. But when she sees what Martha’s looking at, she understands completely.

A throw pillow sits on a couch display, probably flying under the radar of serious shoppers looking for kitchen appliances for the budding chefs or the last-minute buyers searching for some festive crockery, but to them it’s the pride of the store, standing out against the black couch it sits on. Large enough to hug and soft enough to melt into, white with yellow flowers carefully stitched onto it and ringed with delicate lace the colour of buttercups, all Veronica can do is hold her breath as Martha checks the price tag. She knows it would look perfect in Heather’s bedroom, and the look on Martha’s face tells her that she know that too, and she hopes the stars align for them this once.

And then they do, and they can breathe a sigh of relief.

“Must be nice,” Veronica says dryly as they slip into the line. “Having a gift for your significant other.”

“Come on, we’ll find something,” Martha says. “After I pay for this we can check the clothes department again?” Veronica hums in agreement despite not feeling any confidence. Nothing in the clothes department screamed ‘JD’ to her, and the last thing she wants to do is turn up on his doorstep with a generic girlfriend present. Not even the dark colours he always favours appeal to her. Maybe she’s overthinking this, one gift, one year, but sue her for being picky. First impressions and all that.

She masks her concern in the line, turning scented candles and checking the labels, the idea to get him one crossing her mind briefly before she puts it away again. She’s not that desperate yet. They move on in the line, passing packets of candy and fuzzy socks before coming to a halt again. Sweat trickles down Veronica’s back as she realises the sheer volume of people around her, the unpleasant aspect of holiday shopping she always seems to forget about coming back to bite her on the ass.

She leans against the shelf for a moment, just to take some of the pressure off of her pained legs, only for something to stroke the side of her face, gentle against her warm skin. She turns and lets out a snort when she sees what her newfound companion is; a plush kitten, soft white fur and large dark eyes, a little pink tongue sticking out of its mouth and a bow tied around its neck with a baby blue ribbon. It’s impossibly cute in every way, she thinks as she lifts it off the shelf and squeezes it. The little body nearly caves completely before springing back as though nothing had happened.

“That’s cute,” Martha pipes up beside her. “Are you going to get it for JD?”

“For JD?” Veronica echoes, a laugh ready on her lips. “No, I mean…” Her voice trails off when she looks at it again, its little head cocked slightly to the side, and maybe it’s the fatigue of walking around all day and surviving solely on hot chocolate, free candy samples and gingerbread cookies, but she swears she can see something of him in this little stuffed cat. Something in the cocked head and tiny smile reminds her of the expression he saves for her and only her. Besides, it’s cute as hell. “Um… is it wrong if I kind of want to.”

“Of course not!” Martha replies, resting her chin on Veronica’s shoulder. “It’s cute.”

“Yeah,” she says to herself, moving the little paws up and down. Despite the tug in her gut telling her ‘this is it’, there’s the niggling voice in the back of her mid telling her no, no it isn’t. That getting a stuffed animal for her 17 year old boyfriend in their senior year of college is one of the most ridiculous things she could do.

That voice doesn’t stop her from buying it, though.

*****

She shows up on JD’s doorstep on Christmas Eve with snow in her hair, a gift in her hand and a box of homemade mince pies under her arm.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, kissing her gently as she steps inside. She wraps her around his waist (easier said than done when both hands are full) and tilts her head just a little to deepen it, her back hitting the wall as he gently guides their bodies backwards. She only pouts a little when he pulls away from her to shut the door. “Come on.”

He takes her by the hand and leads her into the living room. Claire balances rather precariously on the arm of the couch, her arms and legs stretching as far as they can go to try to put a star on the top of the half-decorated tree, but she still manages to smile at Veronica, with an honest, if exhausted, warmth.

“Hi, honey,” she says, the strain even evident in her voice. JD’s fingers drum on Veronica’s arms for less than a second before he leaves her side, not before squeezing her shoulder softly, so little thought she wondered if it was a subconscious gesture.

“You’re going to fall off that,” he tells her, holding out his hand. Veronica smiles to herself at her boyfriend’s fond tone. “Give me the star, I’ll put it on.”

“It’s fine, Jason, I’ve got it,” she says, the tightness in her voice suggesting otherwise.

“Claire, if you fall off that and break your arm, I am not driving you to the ER,” he tells her, raising an eyebrow. Claire pauses for a second, looking between the star, the top of the tree that was still out of her reach, and him.

“Okay,” she relents, jumping off the chair and handing him the star. “Just be careful, kid.”

“I’m always careful,” he tells her. Claire gives Veronica a look that says ‘I beg to differ’ and she can’t disagree with her.

JD jumps onto the arm of the chair, one hand clutching the wall for balance and the other putting the star on top of the tree with relative ease, shooting a triumphant look at Claire before jumping down.

“Thanks, kid,” she tells him, looking up at the tree and adjusting her glasses. “Okay… I think we’re about done here.”

“We left a lot to the last minute,” he explains to Veronica.

“Because someone was insistent on coming with me when I bought the tree.”

“Claire!” JD hisses, his cheeks turning red as he scratches behind his ear, trying to push the blush away. “I… I didn’t-”

“Don’t worry, J,” she tells him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I think it’s cute.”

“She exaggerated,” he insists.

“Of course she did,” she says, mindful of Claire still in the room, despite her making a show of busying herself with hanging a wreath on the wall.

“You two kids can go hang out,” she tells them, casting a glance over her shoulder. “I’ve got this.”

“You sure?” he asks, coughing and trying to make his voice sound lower, to sound cool and unaffected. Veronica rests her chin on his shoulder, mainly so she can look at him and take in the disappointment that he manages to mask everywhere except his eyes. That’s the one feature he can’t mask with the usual cool indifference.

“I mean, I don’t mind decorating,” she says, her hand running down his arm and holding his. He gives a grateful squeeze.

“Really?” he asks. She presses a kiss to the dimple in his cheek.

“Really.” They turn to look at Claire, who is met with two pairs of expectant brown eyes, and she couldn’t say no if she wanted to. And somehow Veronica knows she doesn’t.

“Okay. Then here.” She hands them a plastic box of assorted sparkly balls and lights with a smile. “That tree’s only halfway done.”

As they make a start on the tree, Claire whacks on the cassette player, filling the room with the sweet sounds of Merry Christmas Everyone as snow continues to fall on the other side of the window. On their side of the glass, Veronica hands JD the other end of a string of lights and she positions herself on top of a chair and him on the other side of the tree, down on his knees, attempting to wrap them around the tree. They toss it back and forth between them as they weave it in and out through the pine covered branches until the tree is wrapped in three sets of (still turned off) lights; green, red and yellow coming together in a combination that no longer exists at school and Veronica can definitely appreciate. JD shows off by hanging at least 15 baubles from his fingers, leaning as far across the tree as he can until their fingertips touch in a planned accident. With their hands free, he links their fingers and takes her to the middle of the room, twirling her in time to the music just as Fairytale Of New York starts to play. He mimes along to the song with all the dramatics of their school drama club, and she tries her best, despite her laughter getting in the way of it. He pulls her close and places her hand in his back pocket, the gesture so intimate it seems scandalous in front of the woman who has him under her wing. His eyes never once leave hers, searching for a protest she’ll never give.

Claire leaves with a pat on JD’s back, her eyes giving a silent promise to give them all the time they need.

She can see why JD likes her. Despite his adamant refusal to admit it.

He spins her around just as the music swells. This song confuses Veronica every time she hears it, having grown up on her parents’ adoration of it. How can a song about broken dreams and empty promises have such a bright melody, or be associated with a season that embodies cheer and goodwill? The anti-Christmas song that became a Christmas staple. As much as she likes it (and of course she does, who wouldn’t?) she finds it more foreign than ever this year.

“C’mere,” JD says, taking her hands and leading her over to the couch. “I um… here.” He reaches behind the couch and pulls out a box small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, wrapped in silver paper and he had even gone to the trouble of placing a red bow on the top. She runs her finger along the side, finding a slight dip that gives away the shape of a box. Her eyes meet JD’s, in all their excited anxiety.

“I got you something too,” she tells him, placing the wrapped stuffed kitten (and candy she knew he liked) in his lap. He grasps it immediately, his fingers squeezing and prodding at it like she used to do at age six. He calms down slowly but surely, but the smile doesn’t leave his face for a second.

“Thank you, Ronnie,” he tells her softly, running his fingers over hers. He eyes the box in her hand, his tongue darting out of the corner of his mouth as his leg begins to bounce up and down. His fingers tense against her hand. “You know… you can open yours now if you want.”

“Now?” she echoes. “JD… it’s the 24th.”

“Yeah.”

“And we’re meant to open gifts on the 25th.”

“Yeah…” he repeats. “But… maybe we can open one tiny little gift now.” She raises a bemused eyebrow at him and he relents. “And… maybe I kind of want to see what you think of it.” He looks at her again, puppy dog eyes in full swing. She swears she can feel herself melting into him, into those anxious eyes that can’t leave the box in her hands.

“Okay,” she relents. “But on one condition… you open yours from me.”

“Sounds like a fair deal.” She hopes so. She bites the inside of her cheek and wills herself to focus only on tearing away the wrapping paper around her gift, not on the six hundred doubts that are louder than they ever were before.

“Oh my god.”

A silver butterfly hangs off a thin chain, the blue stones in the wings shining underneath the overhead light. She runs her finger along the side of the butterfly with a featherlight touch, afraid she might break the delicate silver, expertly weaved into complex patterns in the small space and supporting the blue gemstones, which are no doubt the centrepiece. Small silver diamonds are stacked on the body, sparkling just enough to catch her eye. It’s quite literally taken her breath away, leaving her gaping on the couch, so transfixed she can barely find the words to say.

“J… it’s beautiful.”

“So you like it?”

“Like it?” She turns to look at him, the box secure in the palm of her hand. “I absolutely love it! Thank you!” She almost goes to throw her arms around him, but her eyes catch the stuffed kitten in his lap first and she fights back a cringe. Next to what he gave her, a toy cat and a few bags of candy pale in comparison. He follows her gaze to the toy and breaks out into a smile, one of honest it’s hard to deny it.

“She’s amazing, Ronnie,” he tells her.

“She?”

“She’s a she,” he says firmly. “And I have decided that her name is Matilda.” He shrugs casually. “After the Roald Dahl book.”

“J… you’re sure you like it?”

“Of course I do.” He positions himself towards her, one hand running through the cat’s fur and the other taking hers. “I told you. I’d love anything you got me. But this… she’s wonderful.”

“So is this.” She holds up the necklace for him to see. “I couldn’t love it more.”

“Shall we see what it looks like on you?” he asks. She nods and lets him lead her to the mirror, the two of them standing on their toes and Veronica grasping the mantlepiece for balance. He sweeps her hair away from her neck and over her shoulder before slipping the chain around her neck and fastening it at the back. Heat rises in her cheeks as his fingertips trail down her neck and along her shoulders, a puff of air ruffling her hair as he exhales. She touches the butterfly sitting at the base of her throat, letting out a tiny laugh. It’s perfect. This is perfect.

He takes her hand and turns her around, slowly taking in the sight of that necklace on her.

“I knew it would look beautiful on you,” he tells her.

“Thank you, J,” she says. She pulls him into a kiss, running her fingers through his hair, catching on knots, and his hands digging into her waist and his lips warm and gentle against hers. She grins against him and pulls him closer against her, so lost in him she doesn’t eve notice the mantlepiece digging into her shoulders until he pulls away.

“How about…” he begins, playing with her hands. “I go make us some hot chocolate. And we can heat up those mince pies you brought and switch on those lights?”

“Sounds like a plan,” she replies, murmuring against his lips and kissing him swiftly again before following him into the kitchen, her arms wrapped around him and their bodies pressed together.

*****

He holds back ‘I love you’. He’s always holding back ‘I love you’, when he kisses her in the morning, when he tells her goodbye at the end of a school day, when she takes his hand, when they’re sitting on a wall in the park with a paper bag of candy between them. And now, when she’s tucked up on his couch, head on his shoulder, half asleep thanks to the whiskey they poured into their hot chocolates catching up with her. It’s amazing how painful not saying three little words is. Three simple words.

But ‘I love you’ is something different. ‘I love you’ is more than candy and movies, more than Christmas presents and hiding in secret gardens. ‘I love you’ is something real, something big and earth-shattering. ‘I love you’ means ‘please never leave, I want you forever, you’re my world’. ‘I love you’ means ‘let’s try to build something real that just might last’. And the thought of all those implications scare the living shit out of him.

It’s not that he doesn’t mean it, he does. He doesn’t know a lot, but there are things he does know and he holds those things close to himself. One of them is that he’s in love with Veronica Sawyer, and maybe he has been since 1984, he’s not completely sure about that. All he knows is that damn it, he loves this girl.

And sometimes, in the early hours of the morning when he’s just awake, in the silence of his barely-lit bedroom, he lets himself believe she might love him too.

But he doesn’t know for sure. So he keeps those words to himself, hidden in an invisible locket for his eyes only. That way he can't scare her off, show all his cards too soon, take a jump and drop her hand at the same time.

Instead he holds her tighter, relishing in the feeling of her body against his, and presses kisses to the top of her head, whispering “Merry Christmas” into her hair. The lights on the tree flash on and off in seconds, crumbs on napkins the only evidence of their demolished mince pies. Veronica kisses his jaw and murmurs “Merry Christmas, J” against his skin, her Christmas gift to him pressed warmly into his side. He moves it into his lap so that its soft fur tickles both his and Veronica’s hand, and his thumb strokes against it, creating easy patterns in the white fabric.

An official ‘I love you’ can wait, he decides. But he has a million and one other ways to say it, even if she’ll never hear them.

#heathers the musical #jdronica #jdronica ff #veronica sawyer #jason dean #yeah this is a repost bc i feel like my last post was swept underneath the xmas tide #does this make me look desperate?

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rorykillmore · 6 years ago

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so today is @spearitsandmonsters‘ birthday and they wanted a fic -- and after tossing around a few ideas i decided not to do a bigger continuous thing and instead actually write a series of little fic drabbles based on some of the rp dynamics we’ve had over the years!

spear... i honestly had so much fun writing this and revisiting some of our old characters; i have SO many fond memories of our rps and dynamics that all still really mean a lot to me, so i hope it’s nostalgic for you to revisit them too. thank you in general for just... being such a caring, supportive friend. i know your birthday isn’t your Favorite time of year and i also know that this year has been a bit of a roller coaster for you in general but i’m so proud of you for pushing forward and doing the things that are important to your wellbeing in spite of how hard i know it’s been!!! that takes a lot of strength and you should be proud to have survived the TRIUMPHS and defeats, the epic HIGHS and LOWS of 2018-2019.

okay seriously here are some drabbles for 5 of our old dynamics + 1 newer one

Lucille makes a point of learning contemporary music. Something new every couple of weeks or so, her way of making sure the dust doesn’t settle, that she is no longer playing the same tune over and over and over.

She often practices in the hottest part of the afternoon, when she doesn’t much prefer to be outside anyway. The summers here are a bit too warm and humid for her liking, still, but it seems a small price to pay for living by the sea. For freedom.

“What is that? It’s pretty.”

Lucille stops playing and turns toward where Maria is leaning in the doorway. “It’s called Cristofori’s Dream. Just something I’m learning by ear.”

Maria smiles, but something about it seems the slightest bit strained. “You’ve never told me where you learned to play like that.”

“Yes, well.” Most of the finer details of her childhood are better left untold, though sometimes she feels the strangest kind of guilt, keeping things close to her chest around Maria -- who has so few real memories of her own. “It was a long time ago. Do you play?”

There’s a pause which Lucille more certainly reads as strained, this time. A familiar flicker of something across Maria’s expression. Lucille, by now, has learned to understand what it means.

“...Perhaps you’d like to learn another instrument, then.”

That seems to catch Maria off guard. She raises her eyebrows. “...I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” Her tone is cautious, but curious, the way it is when a part of her wants to reach out towards something new. Something that is uniquely her’s.

Lucille plays it off, not indifferent, but not too insistent either. “I learned the cello as a child, as well, and I’ve been teaching myself a little of the guitar here. I could teach you either of those, if you’d like -- really, there are all sorts of ways of learning an instrument now. One of the luxuries of the time period.”

Maria watches her, mystified. Or hesitant. Lucille can’t quite tell which. “...You’d really want to teach me? I wouldn’t want to take up so much of your time.”

Lucille splays her fingers across the ivory piano keys, examining them, saying nothing for a moment. It’s not that she has to think it over -- she’s not one to offer things out of obligation. It’s just that she always finds herself choosing her words carefully with sentimental matters, even with Maria, even after all this time. “I can’t think of a better way to spend it, at the moment,” is what she simply settles for.

Maria’s careful expression breaks into a soft smile.

“Do you ever think about dating someone else?”

Veronica doesn’t know where her best friend’s head has been lately. It’s been a couple of weeks since Heather had told her she’d broken up with Ratchet, and Veronica... Veronica had tried to put most of her complicated feelings about that aside and just focus on concern.

Except, Heather doesn’t seem very interested in concern. Or interested in anything, really. She’s been distant, and thoughtful, and quiet, and So Very Not Heather Chandler that it’s honestly a little frightening. Or more than a little. The gnawing feeling in Veronica’s stomach is a dull undertone on a good day and an all-consuming ache on a bad one. Every time she catches herself focusing on it, she has to brush aside the feeling that everything is falling apart. (Again.)

“What?” she asks, utterly nonplussed, because all things considered it makes no sense for Heather to be asking her this question now.

“Like, after JD,” Heather clarifies bluntly, and Veronica supposes it says something about how far she’s come that she doesn’t flinch at the very mention of his name. “Do you think... you’d ever want to be with anyone again, after everything.”

Heather picks idly at her leggings. Veronica feels anxiety twist in her chest, instinctive, and stuffs it down to try and rationalize the question. Because she’s getting better. She is.

Still, no solid answer comes to her.

“I hope so,” she offers after a pained moment, soft and honest. “I have to hope, right? That things will keep getting better. I mean, they have so far.”

But when she tries to picture herself with someone else, well -- it’s only lately that she’s even been able to will herself to do that. And the problem is, the pictures are always a little too specific for her liking.

Heather doesn’t say anything, and it’s partially out of concern and partially out of an unwillingness to be alone with her own thoughts any longer that Veronica presses, “Is that how you feel? After... Ratchet?”

It’s been hard to gauge how torn up Heather really is over it, honestly. Veronica finds she doesn’t like not being able to read her.

“Not really,” Heather surprises her by answering, giving a one shouldered shrug. “We’re still friends, and everything.”

This is actually news to Veronica. She raises her eyebrows.

Heather pauses, and then continues, “We talked about a lot of stuff.” And then she lifts her gaze to meet Veronica’s, finally, and Veronica forgets to breathe for a heartbeat -- because the look in Heather’s eyes is different. Open. A little too intense. Veronica can’t get a read, can’t decide what’s projecting and what isn’t.

She swallows. “Do you... wanna talk about it?”

Heather seems to consider that. And then she shakes her head. “Not right now.”

Veronica grapples with a strange mixture of relief and disappointment, until Heather adds a little more softly, “Or not... yet. I guess. I think we both need time.”

Heather and Ratchet? Or...

“Okay,” Veronica answers, her voice closer to a murmur now. Heather’s expression is still achingly open, softer than Veronica’s seen it in weeks, and Veronica can’t help it -- she softens too. “You know I’m here when you decide you want to, right?”

In lieu of an immediate response, Heather gets up from the living room armchair and moves to sit on the couch with Veronica. She doesn’t stretch out and lounge, catlike, like she usually does, but curls into Veronica’s side instead, resting her head on her shoulder. Close enough that Veronica can feel the reassuring beating of her heart.

“I know. Thanks, Ronnie.”

Veronica reminds herself that neither of them are alone anymore. And for the first time in a few weeks, she actually believes it.

It was the same nightmare most nights, at first. Maive doesn’t really remember being dead, per se, so she doesn’t dream of that – but always of something primal and nameless. Teeth splitting flesh, clouded vision, feeling like she’s floating somewhere high above herself. The bloodlust, and everything she’s afraid she might do.

It starts to happen less as time passes and she learns control, but every so often – like tonight – the dreams come back.

She tells her team they stopped a long time ago anyway. And when she wakes up tonight, hackles raised and heart plummeting, she feels shame trickle into her sense of clarity.

“Bad dream?”

Maive’s ears swivel as she realizes she was too preoccupied to hear anyone approach. Sara watches her from where she leans in the doorway, her posture as casual as Maive knows it only gets when Sara is being deliberate.

“I’ll get over it.” She forces a wry shrug and smile. “Don’t tell me I woke you up?” Sara’s a lighter sleeper than most people aboard the Waverider, but Maive cringes inwardly anyway at the idea that she was making any kind of noise.

Sara shakes her head. “I was up anyway. Couldn’t sleep. You know how it is, some nights.”

And Maive reminds herself that they both do.

“Well,” she says, an awkward feeling settled in her chest where her heart still hasn’t fully slowed. “I’ll be okay. Really.”

She guesses Sara must already know how long it takes Maive to fall back asleep after one of those dreams. How the dark always feels like its closing in on her, how her thoughts just feel too loud. Maybe that’s why she shuts the door behind her, moves into Maive’s room, and settles down at the other end of her bed without saying anything.

“Seriously, Sara, you don’t have to, like… talk me down, or whatever. I’m used to it,” Maive insists a little more somberly, watching her. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Sara replies easily, pulling her knees loosely up to her chest. “We don’t have to get into it. I’m just… here to hang out. Until you’re ready to fall back asleep.”

Maive tries to blink away her shock as something warm spreads in her chest. Even if a part of her also feels like that taking so much comfort in Sara’s presence – the way she used to do – is something too juvenile for her to continue to cling to. “I’m not a kid anymore, y’know,” she points out, but the protest doesn’t have any bite to it.

“Awww,” Sara teases, stretching out a leg to nudge her, playful and deliberately overly sentimental. “You’ll always be my kid.”

“Shut up,” Maive laughs, kicking her back legs to shove her away. She doesn’t tell Sara that it makes her feel a little better. Sara already knows.

“I just realized,” Dolores says one day, pausing mid-brushstroke to gaze over at Laurel. “It’s been over a year now since we met, hasn’t it?”

Laurel stares back at her, processing that. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “I guess you’re right. It was last spring, wasn’t it?”

Dolores hums in agreement, turning back to her painting. A smile flits dryly across her lips. “You stopped me from killing that man in Gotham.”

“Right. …How romantic.” Laurel shifts a little, then rises to her feet from where she’d been sitting in the shade of a tree nearby. Dolores hears her tone soften as she adds, “It doesn’t really feel like it’s been that long, does it?”

“Well, I think my perception of time might be a little more skewed than yours,” Dolores points out goodnaturedly. “…For me, sometimes, it’s the opposite. Sometimes I feel like I’ve loved you my whole life.”

In a sense, she supposes she has for much of it, at least. If you only count ‘her life’ as the time she’s actually had control over it.

There’s a quiet pause, but Dolores doesn’t really mind it, letting Laurel take as long as she needs to find words. Then she feels Laurel come up behind her, and she pauses again in her work, setting down her paintbrush so that Laurel can slip her arms around her.

“You’re really good at saying stuff like that,” Laurel murmurs in her ear.

Dolores laughs a little, resting a hand over Laurel’s and leaning gently back into her. “It’s not just saying stuff.”

“I know.” Another pause. “I guess I… try not think about how long we’ve both been here. It’s hard to, without thinking about how every day’s just another day closer to when we go back.”

Slowly, Dolores shifts, and Laurel loosens her hold to let Dolores turn around and face her. They’re both aware that their feelings on the rifts – on wanting to return home – differ, and Dolores thinks she can see a flicker of insecurity in Laurel’s eyes. She reaches up to touch her face, her own expression gentle. “You don’t know that we don’t still have a lot of time here.”

“Yeah. But it’s not knowing that bothers me.” Laurel rolls her eyes briefly at herself. “…Sorry. I’m really killing the mood.”

“No. I want you to talk to me about things.” Dolores leans in to kiss her, lingering just long enough to make her point. “I remember when you weren’t sure if we should even be together, because you were afraid of losing someone else. And I was afraid of…” Well. A lot of things. Brushing that aside, she tilts her head a little and watches Laurel carefully. “Do you think it’s worth it now?”

Laurel swallows, not quite trying to bite back her vulnerability anymore – and when she stares into Dolores’ eyes and answers, its soft and honest. “Yeah. I do.”

Dolores smiles and moves to kiss her again. “Me too.”

“Now, see -- wasn’t this worth hanging up the vigilante cape for a couple of days?”

Nyssa leans against the ship’s railing, gazing out over open water without responding, but Sly is pretty sure he sees the barest flicker of a smile. And he knows enough about Nyssa by now to take that as confirmation.

“I didn’t take you for much of a sailor,” she comments instead of acknowledging his teasing.

He shrugs. “More of a pirate, technically.”

“Of course you are.”

Someone less astute might have said Sly enjoyed needling exasperation from Nyssa. And, well -- he does, but not just for the sake of it. He knows that if Nyssa really didn’t enjoy his company, she’d be blunt as much to say as much, and there’s something about the way she dryly indulges him instead that’s... endearing? Is that the right word?

He just knows he likes the easy banter. He wonders if she’s had much opportunity for something so uncomplicated and fun, before now.

‘Uncomplicated and fun’ is the whole point of today, actually. They’ve known each other for months, but Sly still hadn’t been sure he could count on Nyssa accepting his invitation to go sailing in his newly acquired pirate ship -- but she had. She’s here. Away from land, away from all ties, out in the middle of the ocean, she looks a little freer than Sly can ever remember seeing her. He smiles at her, unable to clamp down on the impulse to open up his heart a bit.

“Actually, my... ancestor was a pirate.”

Nyssa actually turns to look at him then, an eyebrow arched just slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah, her name was Henriette. Last year, my gang and I stole a boat and chased after some pirates who’d stolen something important from a friend of ours.” Sly pauses, trying to fight back a grin at the thought of Nyssa encountering Dimitri in any capacity. “So I guess I take after her. It’s just kinda... stuck with me, since then. I dunno. I like being out on the water.” He lets the wind buffet his fur.

Nyssa is quiet for a moment, her expression... well, Sly reads it as contemplative. Until she speaks, and unexpectedly, her voice is just the tiniest bit bitter. “I’m afraid my family’s never done much worth living up to.” She halts, almost apologetic, and adds a touch more softly, “But I’m sure you’ve made yours proud.”

Sly’s heart feels like it squeezes a little, but he knows Nyssa won’t appreciate pity, so he swallows his sympathetic words and smiles at her again. “Thanks. And... you know, the family you find can be just important as the family you come from. Sometimes more! So, in a way... I bet you’ve made yours proud too.”

He thinks he might have surprised her, because she only stares at him for a moment. And then she graces him with a rare, genuine smile of her own. “Perhaps you’re right.”

+01

The aliases Villanelle takes on are not simple games of pretend. They are people -- so real in her mind that they might as well actually exist. She molds their stories, their personalities, their mannerisms with careful detail and precision, until she gets to the point where she can put them on and take them off like an outfit.

That’s why she is so good at what she does, so convincing. So if Toffee wants her to take an undercover position as his personal assistant, she is going to be nothing if not thorough.

“Tell me about your world,” she suggests almost conversationally to Laurel the next time they see each other. She bites back amusement as Laurel looks at her and narrows her eyes, questioning and a touch suspicious.

“Why?”

“I need to make sure I get all the details right, if I am going to pretend to be your sister?”

Yes, Villanelle dropped that on her intentionally, but she is not expecting the way Laurel stiffens almost imperceptive. Interesting.

“You’re not doing that,” Laurel tells her tersely.

“Why not?” Villanelle widens her eyes a fraction. “You said you would help me --”

“I said I would help you come up with ideas, I didn’t say you could pose as my sister.”

Truthfully, Villanelle wasn’t all that attached to the idea, but there is obviously something here -- and she can’t leave it alone. “But if I have someone who has supposedly known me all my life, I will be more convincing.”

Laurel scowls at her briefly, picking at an invisible spot on their cafe table. Then she says, “I have a sister. ...Had. It’s complicated. You know, the whole Earth-Two thing.”

“Oh.” Villanelle doesn’t know what she’s supposed to feel about that. Doesn’t that make this easier? “Is she anything like me?”

Laurel stares at her and doesn’t answer. Inwardly, Villanelle has to suppress a sigh. People and their touchy subjects. She doesn’t understand. Her family is dead, and she doesn’t have any problem talking about them.

...At least in broad terms.

But there are other things to consider: Laurel has been a useful ally. She offered to help Eve, and besides that, Villanelle likes her. They aren’t so similar that they understand each other entirely - the way Villanelle yearns to find someone who understands her entirely - but they’re alike enough to understand some of the same things. Right? They’re both criminals.

So... maybe it is worth trying to step back from this boundary.

“Fine, okay,” she relents, smiling to get Laurel to relax a fraction. “I won’t use that.”

Laurel’s outward response is mostly sarcastic, but Villanelle is fairly certain it’s at least somewhat put on. “Great. Thanks. I’m sure you’ll come up with something else.”

“Oh, I already have,” Villanelle informs her cheerfully. “You aren’t too touchy about your cousins, are you?”

Laurel sighs.

#pour one out for the line breaks that were originally in this fic #just kidding it worked out fine #happy birthday spear!!!#fic #btw i looked back some old logs to be able to better grasp heather and veronica's voices #and boy we put them through an absurd amount of shit.

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