#and I did convince him to at least TRY a scrunchie instead of the evil rubber bands he uses normally | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

do-y0u-have-to-let-it-linger · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Can I get a ship? I'm an INFP, straight girl with social anxiety. I listen to music all the time. (mostly rock) I never leave the house without my earphones. I enjoy movie nights, reading books (romance and mystery are my favourite genres), playing videogames, goofing around with my friends. My friends would describe me as kind, helpful and loyal. I'm really into photography. I wanted to be a photographer as a kid, but it's just a hobby nowadays. I'm a hopeless romantic and a night owl. It takes time for me to open up to people, but once I'm there I can be pretty talkative. I'm 5'8" tall, I have half long brown hair, dark brown eyes and I wear glasses. If I have to describe my style it would be somewhat 80s grunge. Thank you!

(tw: swearing and eating)

I ship you with Scott Summers!

You never got along very well with Scott Summers.

He always came across as a bit of a preppy asshole. Not that his preppy-ness was necessarily correlated to his asshole-ness, but it did seem to enhance it.

You may think that not getting along perfectly with some random boy who happened to live in the (large) building you live in is not much of a problem, but you are incorrect.

When your best friend (and dorm-mate) of ten years, Jean, is on a so-called "superhero team" with and is good friends with said boy, it is not exactly easy to avoid him.

Since Jean's biological family was not around, she made her own.

The first member of her so-called found family was you, who arrived just a day before she did. When she first entered your dorm, you were adjusting all of your newly unpacked trinkets. You were both young enough to immediately become friends, no questions asked, and your friendship stuck. You two tended to keep to yourselves and each other, until you two were older.

When Jean was invited to join the X-Men with some of her friends, you couldn’t have been prouder. The problem was that when you met this other part of her found family, it did not go well. None of you clicked whenever in the same room, and Scott immediately made fun of you the moment he met you. You ultimately decided to avoid her other friends, but be supportive of them. Not because you couldn’t handle Scott, but because you didn’t want to put Jean in a position where she had to choose between you and them. Overall, this just made Jean desperately want you and her other friends to get along.

"Come on, just sneak out with us this one time!" Jean was sitting on the edge of your bed, making puppy dog eyes at you and clasping her hands together.

She always tried to convince you to hang out with her friend group. Even if that meant, in this case, convincing you to break (very reasonable) rules with them.

"No. Absolutely not. Jubilee is going to try to 'catch me a man', and Scott's going to try to be funny but just end up making fun of me. Besides, why would I break school rules and steal a car for a trip to the mall?"

"Because you haven't seen Empire Strikes Back yet, and I bought you a ticket for 1:00 PM today."

"Shit. You're evil, you know that? This is unfair. You know me too well."

Jean beamed at you. "Thank you, I try. Now, get dressed, you're going to love this."

"I am dressed, and you can’t make demands. I’m the one being convinced here!"

"I will not be pestered by Jubilee's pleas to let her give you a makeover! Just throw on jeans instead of your sweatpants or something! Now chop, chop! We're leaving in 10 minutes!"

"I'm sorry, 10 minutes?"

"I knew if you had more than 15, you would change your mind. Meet me by the front door when you're ready to go!"

After Jean left your shared room, you threw on some different clothes and hastily grabbed everything you needed to go. With your sneakers in your hands, you ran into the school's kitchen and shoved a granola bar in your mouth. As you were hopping, trying to force your shoes on your feet, someone spoke from behind you.

"Well, you look elegant as ever."

You froze, squinted your eyes, and clenched your jaw. Well, as much as you could with the previously mentioned granola bar in your mouth.

Scott Summers.

You swallowed and turned around, plastering on a smile in preparation to respond to his sarcasm.

"Well, you know me, unwaveringly ethereal."

Once you finished your attempt to keep the peace, your grin dropped off your face and you went to tie on your shoes, occasionally having to push your glasses back up your nose as you did so.

Jean then started talking to you while making her way into the kitchen.

"Come on, we need to go before Charles's class ends- well, well, well, look at you two!" she spoke in a sing-song tone at the end.

"Trust me, there's no 'you two' here." Scott hissed at her. Hissed! The audacity, would it be so terrible for him to be theoretical friends with you?

"Calm down, I just mean that I'm glad you two are talking," Jean said. "But we need to go. Like- now."

Jean then grabbed you by the arm and started to pull you out of the room, wiggling her eyebrows at Scott on the way out. Scott got up to trail behind you two, if he could glare at people with the glasses he wore, then he would have been glaring at her.

You elbowed Jean in the side and whisper shouted at her.

"What was that? What was the purpose of the eyebrow wiggle?"

"What eyebrow wiggle? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're a menace to society, you know that?"

"I am aware that you don't actually think I'm a menace, but I appreciate the compliment." She leaned down and messed up your hair. "Now let's move it!"

When you got to the minivan you were all "borrowing" from Charles, most everyone was already there. Kurt, Jubilee, and Peter took the back seats, and Ororo was sitting in the driver's seat.

You walked to sit shotgun, but Jean sped up to beat you to the seat.

Suspicious.

Squinting at her, you went to sit in the middle row, where Scott also made to sit.

It was silent for the first minute of the drive until Jubilee tried to strike up a conversation.

"So! Y/N, I'm so glad you decided to hang out with us! I love your outfit. Ooh! Peter, hand me my bag! I have a scrunchie that will match perfectly."

Peter looked at her with mock disbelief. "Yeah. dude, make me reach behind my seat and into the trunk of the car."

Kurt clearly did not want to be part of this conflict.

Jubilee smiled sweetly at Peter. "Shut up and grab me my bag, please?"

Peter sighed half-sarcastically. "Yes ma'am."

Well, Jean's friends were just as you remember (aka slightly crazy).

You heard Jean's voice in your mind "If you don't wear that scrunchie it will genuinely hurt Jubilee's feelings, and I will never forgive you."

You looked at her through the mirror and raised your eyebrows.

Jubilee's voice took back your attention. "Here it is! Scotty, I can't reach. Can you hand this to her?"

Scott visibly winced at the nickname "Scotty" but handed you the scrunchie anyway. After trying to hide your amusement at the use of "Scotty", you attempted to put your hair up with the scrunchie, and you saw Jean smile. You were determined to make friends with these people for Jean.

"Thanks, Jubilee," You smiled at her. "So, how do I look?"

Scott chimed in immediately. "Like you're twelve."

"Ok, shut up Scott. You look cool, Y/N." Ororo gave you a thumbs up from the front seat. They were all clearly told to make friends with you by Jean in the same way you were. Well... told or threatened. Who's to say.

The car ride was awkward, to say the least. When you finally arrived at the mall and exited the car, you felt like you could finally breathe. You spoke first while you were all walking into the mall.

"So, how are we planning on killing time before Empire?"

"Well, Jubilee wanted to pick up some more eyeshadow with me, and Peter, Kurt, and Ororo are probably going to buy even more colored leather jackets," Jean said.

"Where does that leave me and your wallflower?" Scott asked Jean. You turned to look at him, attempting to make your lack of amusement clear. "What?" He shrugged, "It's true!"

"Ok, first of all, she's not actually that shy, you're just mean. Second of all, I was hoping you two could go into the book shop together until we're done."

Your eyes widened as you turned to Jean, silently begging her not to leave you and Scott alone.

"What? Why are you looking at me like I'm crazy? Maybe I thought you would try to get along because you both love me and I want you to be friends!"

Scott responded first. "You're totally guilt-tripping us right now."

"Yes!" Jean responded. "Yes I am, and you better be feeling guilty. Now, we're all going inside, and you are going into that bookstore together, you are going to bond over your cheesy dreams about falling in love, and, Scott, you are going to be kind! Or I will be very upset!"

You and Scott looked at each other (slightly afraid) before you turned to Jean and nodded your head at her.

"Ok. Let's go, Scott." You looked at him and he nodded at you both of you then started to head to the bookstore.

In the door of the shop, you glanced at him awkwardly. "So... is there a specific section you want to visit? Or-"

"Uh, I usually just... wander." He was bouncing on his heels.

"Oh! Ok, uh... where you lead I will follow!"

He spun around and started to walk aimlessly, actually trying to make conversation.

"So- you take photos?"

"...How did you know that?"

"I've seen you. That sounds creepy, I just mean that I saw you with a camera once when you walked Jean to training. It seemed nice. Only a dumbass would own a nice camera and not use it."

"How kind of you to not see me as a dumbass," you mumbled as you ran your hand across the book binds. "Do you have any hobbies?"

"Not really to be honest. Well, actually- I like... cars."

"...Cars. Huh. Elaborate."

"My brother, his name is Alex, taught me how to fix up cars when I was younger. Ooh- recently we found this beautiful 1962 AMC Rambler- I mean, it was basically a pile of garbage, but we're fixing it up."

"What's a Rambler?"

"W- 'What's a Rambler?'" He looked at you like you were speaking another language. "A 1962 AMC Rambler is only the car of my dreams!"

"The 'car of your dreams'?"

"Uh, yeah. What- do you not have a dream car?"

You laughed at him, "No? I don’t know that much about cars."

"You don’t have to know shit about cars to have a dream car! Come on, you don't have any car you would want to drive?"

"A school bus."

"...What do you mean."

"I mean- I bet I could live in a school bus. It's big, has a lot of windows, it's yellow." Scott was surprisingly easy to talk to.

"A school bus. Huh."

"I thought of that on the spot, it's not a long-term dream of mine."

"No, I see the appeal. I do think it's weird that you listed it being yellow as one of its positive attributes though."

"Holy shit. Holy shit!"

"What? What's the problem?"

You grabbed the book you spotted and held it out to him with your arms fully outstretched, it almost hit his nose. "Do you know what this is?"

Scott's hands appeared at the top of the book, and he pushed it down so you could see his confused expression. "A... book?"

"Very funny, Scotty, but no this is not just a book. This is a sequel."

He crossed his arms across his chest. "... 'Scotty'? I'm gonna kill Lee."

"Who's Lee?"

"Jubilee."

"If you can call her 'Lee' why can’t she call you 'Scotty'?"

"Because 'Scotty' makes me sound like I'm twelve!"

"Well, according to you, this scrunchie makes me look twelve. So I guess we're even, Scotty."

"I see why you and Jean are friends. You’re both evil."

"I called her evil not 10 minutes ago! Look at us, 'bonding' and all."

"Speaking of a 10 minutes ago, and that whole 'twelve' thing, I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?"

"Sorry for calling you twelve... and a wallflower. You seem... neat."

"Thanks... I think."

"Neat is a good thing."

"I'm kinda messy actually."

"I meant neat as in like- cool. Plus, you’re the first friend-ish person I've had that also wears glasses!"

You smiled at each other for a moment.

This was amusing.

He was amusing.

Unfortunately, someone popped the bubble encasing you and Scott. "Wow, 'friendish'? That's an upgrade from them low-key hating each other."

You whipped your head around to see Peter and Jean standing on the other side of the aisle, clearly having been observing and talking about you.

Scott spoke first. "How long have you two been standing there?"

"Long enough," Jean smiled. "You two get along."

"...So?" Scott asked.

"So, about an hour ago that seemed completely impossible."

An hour? That couldn’t be possible. "Wait, what time is it?"

Jean responded. "12:45, you’ve sure been chatting for a long time."

Scott cleared his throat and turned to you, "So, uh, you should buy that book, and then we should head to the movie theater room thingie."

You looked back at him. "Yeah! Ok, so... yeah."

After you and Scott walked away, Peter leaned over to whisper to Jean. "Well, that was a long glance. We've really gotta lock 'em in a closet together or something."

Jean shoved Peter, and you all went about your mall trip as you did before, except that now you might have a new friend... ish.

#tw swearing #scott summers x reader #x men #scott summers #tw eating #writer's block #am i right?#i really hope this is good #i did research on cars for this #also i know hank has glasses but him and scott aren't really friends they're more like a teacher student thing so shut up

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writers-blogck · 8 years ago

Text

Warning(s): N/A

Title: First Meeting

Number in series: One

Fandom: Horror Movies

Word Count: 3,342

First Meetings

Jason: For as long as you could remember, you had lived here. Either you were born here or you had forgotten all your memories from before. You didn't care as they weren't important. All you wanted to do was get out of here, no matter how far you had to go. Luckily, you didn't have to do anything other than talk to a certain man, whom you came to know as your father. You liked him; he was the only person you would talk to in this god-forsaken place. Whenever you were seven, you had bitten the psychiatrist who had been assigned to you on the shoulder and torn a good chunk out before they were able to get you away. They got you to spit out the piece, but you would be lying if you said that you didn't like the warm, copper liquid that went down your throat. When Dr.Lecter arrived, it was almost like a miracle sent from your guardian angel or guardian demon, you didn't care which. He started off by asking if you thought you were evil, to which you replied no. You didn't believe you were evil, as evil and good were just things made up by man. They were just words, which had no power unless you gave them some. Instead, you responded by saying that you just did what you wanted, not trying to define it as good or bad. You said you wouldn't kill, as you didn't like the action of it. You didn't dislike people who did, but you didn't like to get dirty, and killing was a very dirty thing. Dr.Lecter began to have a liking to you and somehow convinced the other doctors that you would be best treated at a home. You never knew how he got them to agree,but you didn't care. You just did what he told you and soon you were outside, in the real world, no more white walls. Dr.Lecter spoiled you. It wouldn't be what normal people would call spoiling a child, but to someone as fancy as him, it was. You always wore elegant dresses or shirts, your room was decorated with the most expensive things, and he began to treat you with the delectable food that he prepared. He didn't lie to you about what was in it and you didn't care. You didn't know why you didn't, as you knew most people would find this disgusting, but you didn't care. You grew up, sheltered from the world. Dr.Lecter would let you go outside if you wanted, but would tell you terrible stories of what might happen to you out there. They weren't to scare you, but they were true. He always told you the truth. He never lied, which seemed to be something he did a lot if he wanted something. You didn't mind. You grew up in the solitude that was just broken by Dr.Lecter. He taught you everything you knew and soon you were an amazing chef. You never did any of the killing and he didn't seem to mind. He understood that you didn't like to get messy, unless need-be. He was fine with getting the supplies and making the dish if you didn't want to take part. When Dr.Lecter came into contact with Norman about living in the hotel, he was unsure about it. It was only when Norman said that they would have an entire floor to themselves, that Dr.Lecter agreed. He wanted to have his own area where he could go and be left alone. He also was worried about you having to meet others that were similar to him. With people who didn't mind killing, which was fine. But he was worried that you might have some trouble dealing with them since you were used to him. He may find nothing wrong with killing, but he still acted like a gentleman. Not all of them acted the same way.... On your first day at the hotel, you were nervous. How were you going to get along with the others in the hotel? You were a teen, yet you hadn't had contact with many people, other than Dr.Lecter. What if they didn't like you? You knew you shouldn't be worried, since you only needed Dr.Lecter, but for some reason, you wanted them to like you. This was your chance to actually make friends. Dr.Lecter had left you to grab a few of your things while he made sure everything was fine up in your new home. You were nervous. You hadn't been this nervous since you left the asylum. You held your suitcase, as Dr.Lecter didn't want you carrying some of your heavier ones. He treated you like a doll, like you couldn't do much for yourself. The boys who you were living in the hotel with were going to be shocked by how Hannibal treated you, since he normally didn't get close to anyone. Even that Clarice women, he would kill her for you. That put things into perspective to the boys on how protective he was of you. He may not die for you, but he would get close. You looked down at the ground and didn't notice when you almost ran into a man. Your eyes widened and you began to apologize over and over, but the man wearing the Hockey mask didn't respond. He just stared at you and tilted his head to the side. He wasn't used to seeing a teen girl that he wasn't suppose to kill. It was strange to him. "S-Sorry...I should get going..Dr.Lecter will be waiting for me. I do not wish to be late. Goodbye." You held your suitcase tightly and pushed passed him, quickly taking the stairs two at a time. Jason watched as you hurried away, realizing who you were. You must be Hannibal's daughter...He was going to be living with you, not matter what he wanted. That would be interesting. You were a teen girl, did that mean you were going to be scared of him? Deep down, he hoped that you wouldn't though he couldn't figure out why. J.D.:

You were never the popular type, though the Heathers kept trying to make you one of them. You didn't know why they tried so hard. You were nothing like them. You didn't judge people based on their looks. Yet, they still tried to get you to follow their scrunchies cult. They reminded you of a real version of Mean Girls. (This is set in present time, not in 1989)

But, you still joined them, though you didn't act like them when they weren't around. Instead, you just followed Heather Chandler around, writing down whatever stupid poll she was trying to get you to do. They were always stupid, but you still did what they told you. You didn't know why. Why didn't you rebel and say no? Were you scared? Did you want to be popular, even if you realized that it wasn't important? At the moment, you were following Chandler when you noticed a boy staring at you. You hadn't seen him around before, meaning that he had to be new. When you followed the Heathers, you knew everyone, even if you didn't talk to them. You still knew their names and their weaknesses. The talent of Chandler was figuring out what makes them tick. He was cute, having brown hair, dark eyes,and a large trench coat. He didn't fit in, which was obvious. No matter where you looked, your eyes were always drawn back to this boy. It seemed like he wasn't even trying to look away from you. Every time you turned to look at him, his eyes were already there. He had a book open on the table where he sat, but it didn't seem like he was attempting to read any of it. "What are you staring at, (Y/N)? I know it isn't the paper that you are suppose to be writing on." Heather Chandler scowled, her eyes narrowing when she saw where you were looking, "If you are going to stare at that freak, then go over and ask him the questions, okay? At least you will be doing what you are suppose to then." You nodded and walked over to the loner boy, trying to look as casual as possible. You couldn't let him know that he was causing your heart to race. You were smart, which meant that you weren't someone who started to like someone because of how they looked. You kept reminding yourself of that as you made your way over to the boy. At least, you had never been that kind of girl before. Was this boy making you one of them? "Sup, you want something?" The boy asked, leaning back in seat that he was in. His dark eyes were staring up at him, with almost a predatory look. "I'm asking these questions, like in a poll, to people , and wanted to see if-" "Did you want to or did that blonde chick make you? Heather, right?" "H-Huh? How did you know that?" "The hierarchy here is nothing different than all the other schools I've been to, and trust me, I've been to them all. But, whatever, whoever is making you do this doesn't matter. I have time on my hands, at least enough to listen to you speak. Ask away." He smirked as he watched your reaction to what he said. You cleared your throat before beginning, "Okay, so, may I get your name?" "Jason-Dean, but you can just call me J.D." "Okay, and-" You were about the ask the stupid question about a million dollars that Macnamara had come up with, but you stopped yourself before you began. You should ask him something else, something that would make him remember you. You didn't want him to remember you as a stupid girl who couldn't come up with interesting questions. What could you ask? You had to think of something quickly before he got suspicious that you were stalling. You didn't want to seem weird. "If you could do something about the hierarchy of high school, what would you do, or would you do something if you could?" You asked quickly, remembering what he had said earlier. "Hm, seems like I'm a psychic. I got the hierarchy before you even spoke to me. Anyway, if I had someone to do it with, then yes." He stared into your eyes and you knew he was talking to you, as if telling you that he wanted to get to know you to break down the walls of this school. The two of you could be the perfect pair and you could fix everything that was wrong in the world. "Ah..." You pretended to write something down and he was able to tell that it was fake, "Thank you for answering." "Now, do I get to ask you a question?" "What? Um, I suppose. No one ever asks that." "What's your name and number?" He smirked, causing a deep blush to form on your cheeks. You pulled out a piece of paper, writing down both answers on it and handed it to him. You didn't stay to see if he would say anything else. You just quickly turned around and walked back toward the Heathers, ignoring the eyes that were burning into your back.

Michael: Fire was something that was always part of your life. If you had what you wanted, a trail of smoke and embers would follow you wherever you went. The grass would be smoking beneath your feet. But, you couldn't allow yourself to dive into your pyromaniac wishes because then the law would get itself involved. The law always made things messy. They weren't any fun. At the moment, you were behind Bates Motel, burning some of the paper trash because Norman allowed you to. He understood your need to burn things and gave you permission to burn in a big barrel in the backyard. As long as you made sure that the fire didn't spread to the motel, then he was fine. He still kept fire extinguishers everywhere just in case, since he didn't trust you fully to stop the fire if it got out of hand. You became memorized when you saw a large flame. Your hand was resting above the fire, the very tips of the flames licking at your palms. It wasn't enough to hurt, but just enough to feel the heat that came off of the amazing creation. You knew you weren't normal and not just because you loved fire. There was something different about you...You weren't human and you knew this. You didn't know what you were, but fire didn't effect you. You could shove your entire arm down in the barrel of fire and feel the heat, but not be burnt. Your skin would remain to look normal and not charred. A twig breaking behind you caused you to turn. You knew that you were going to get new long-term guests at the hotel. Before it had only been Norman, (Normans G/N), and yourself. But, he had gotten into contact with others that were like your group and had asked them if they would like to live here. They were arriving today and you were told to look out for them. You must have gotten too worked up with the flames to remember to keep an eye out. Now there was a man wearing a full mask staring at you through the eye holes. You couldn't see his actual eye color, just dark pits of nothingness. He was wearing a full-length jumpsuit which was dirty. It obviously needed to be washed, something Norman might convince them to do. Most would be scared of the man standing in front of you, but you could care less. "Hey." You said, turning your back to the fire. If Norman saw you not looking at the fire, he would flip, but you didn't care. He could act however he wanted and you would act how you wanted. He wasn't your mother and you didn't have to listen to him, even though you did listen to him for quite a bit. You respected him, but sometimes he was just too much for you. "You're new right? You're part of the group that's coming to live here." "Yeah..." A gruff voice responded, something you had expected. All of the killers that you had met seemed to have gruff voices, except for that Leslie guy. He was interesting and you considered him to be a friend of yours. He could be weird at times, but compared to many of the killers you had met, he was fun to hang out with. "Here. Let me show you to the meeting area. Norman is going to show the new guest to their room." You began to walk away from the fire when Michael cleared his throat, referencing the fire. You sighed and turned toward it and waved your hand. A large gust of wind caused the fire to go out, just leaving ashes of the papers which had been burned. A small frown was on your face as you led Michael to the area Norman had told you about. You left him there, saying you needed to go back to work. There had been a pile of garbage beside the barrel and Michael assumed you meant that you had to burn the rest of that. As you walked away, he couldn't help but wonder what you were. How were you able to put the fire out with just a wave of your hand? So many questions with no answers. Norman: You had met Norman during a storm. You could remember the day like it was yesterday, even though it had to be a few years since the first meeting. You had never had an easy life. A sexually abusive father and physical abusive mother, nothing seemed to go your way. When you were old enough, you decided to run away, though you hadn't thought it through about how you were going to be living. It wasn't safe for you on the streets. You were quite young, being in your teens, with very little knowledge. Your parents had been telling the government that they had been homeschooling you, when in reality they hadn't been teaching you at all. They didn't see the reason since they hadn't even wanted you in the first place. After months of living on the street, catching illnesses and doing horrible things to survive, was when you met him. You knew that he was older than you, but you didn't know by how much. You couldn't tell and you weren't going to ask. He had been walking past and noticed your shriveled up form laying in an alley. He must have taken so much pity on you. Normally, Norman would just continue walking, but he didn't though he wasn't sure why. Instead he went down and asked you if you were alright. You told him the truth and he started to feel bad for you. He could see your beauty and helplessness behind your eyes and decided to take you back to his motel. You could be perfect for him, as he could see your innocence hidden behind the streets you lived on. At first, you were scared of him. He had to have a hidden motive for taking you in. In truth, at first, he wasn't sure if he was going to let you live. He thought that he would just see how you took to living in the motel, and if it wasn't a fit for you, he was going to kill you. But, you started to grow on him. He started to teach you simple things and give you nicer clothes. He even employed you, though he didn't pay you. Instead he gave you money for things you wanted, but he thought that helping at the motel might help with your studies as well. Plus, he needed a little more help around the motel. You were a hard worker and he liked it. You looked up to Norman and followed him around like a lost puppy often, unless he told you to go do something. He didn't mind you following him as long as you didn't interrupt him when he had to deal with some of the guests. He normally would go tell you to clean a certain room if he wanted to be alone and you were happily agree. You quickly developed feelings for this man who was one of the only people to ever show you kindness. You didn't quite understand normal romance since you had only been shown abusive versions of it, so you didn't know how to go about showing him. You just would do small things like hold his hand or lean on him when sitting. He would tell you if you did something he didn't like and you would quickly apologize. He would feel bad about this and let you do what you wanted sometimes, as long as it didn't make him too uncomfortable. The other killers found it amusing when they first came to the motel to see Norman allow a girl to get that close to him.

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legends-of-direbear · 8 years ago

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Dead Man’s Switch || JD/Veronica: Heathers: The Musical AU

Genre: Heathers: The Musical (AU from Shine A Light)

Summary: When Veronica McNamara is driven to commit suicide, Veronica’s determination to save her drives JD to make a promise to keep Veronica safe. Even from himself. Apparently Sherman is making a change.

Part 4

Note: this is not intended to glamorize toxic relationships. If you find yourself in a relationship where you are the only thing keeping someone from harming themselves or others, please get help, because that’s not healthy or right.

Triggers: attempted suicide, murder, bullying

The next day Veronica was reminiscing over the acts of the previous night—and trying to remember where she’d stuck her American History homework that she couldn’t tell was ever going to be collected or not—when Martha suddenly appeared beside her. She balked slightly, wishing she’d spent more time thinking about how she was going to deal with her best friend.

“So Veronica—did you get it?” Veronica blinked twice in confusion. “JD’s locker combination? Remember: we were going to look there, see if there was anything suspicious?”

Oh crap. Now Veronica remembered: during one of Martha’s blusterings, she’d mentioned the idea that maybe Ram and Kurt’s deaths had been staged. She’d thrown out JD’s name as suspect based on their fights in the cafeteria, and had asked Veronica to get his locker combination so they could snoop around for any evidence. Veronica had honestly been hoping that her friend was just hysterical, and while casting heavy doubt on the (very correct) theory, had agreed to try just to calm her down.

Apparently the time between then had simply reinforced Martha’s beliefs, because here she was now. “Oh, uh, no, Martha—I’m sorry; I forgot.”

“Well, maybe you could ask him now?” The larger girl wasn’t giving up easily.

“Look, Martha—you saw the note. JD didn’t do that.” True—JD didn’t write the note: she had. JD had just shot them both.

“But Ram wasn’t gay!” the other girl insisted. “We kissed—“

“Back in kindergarten Martha! That was a long time ago!”

Her friend shook her head stubbornly. “No; it’s more than that. I’ve seen the pictures Heather’s been collecting—he’s been with a lot of girls. And then there’s that letter he wrote to me—“

Damn, Veronica should have known that Heather Chandler would find a way to bite her in the ass from beyond the grave. “Ram didn’t write that letter, Martha!”

The surprise on her face was killing Veronica. “What do you mean?”

She forced a sigh. “Ram didn’t write that note—I did. Heather created it as a joke. The whole party knew about it, and nobody laughed harder about it than Ram.”

Veronica’s heart wrenched painfully at the wounded expression that played across Martha’s face. She wanted to apologize; to explain everything. But she didn’t know what was in JD’s locker—she still didn’t know how much she could trust him. She had to hurt her best friend to keep her safe. And so she watched guiltily as the most kind-hearted person she’d ever known tearfully fumbled down the corridor and out of sight.

As if the Devil himself were listening, no one other than JD himself popped into sight not a minute later, wrapping his arms happily around her and kissing her gently along her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Still wracked with shame, though, Veronica wasn’t really in a mood to be seduced, and instead turned to face him. “I want to see inside your locker,” she demanded, causing the boy’s eyebrow to quirk curiously.

“My locker? Why?”

“I just broke my best friend’s heart for you—I want to know that I’m not being stupid by trusting you.” Being honest was a questionable tact at this point, but Veronica was starting to run out of energy keeping track of all of the lies; JD at least knew everything and maybe she could be truthful.

He looked slightly hurt by her accusation, but nodded tersely and led the way back toward his locker. She quickly saddled up beside him, whispering as they tread past the other students.

“Everything’s gone, right? No ich luge bullets?” she spat acerbically. “You got rid of all of it like you promised?”

“Yes, Veronica.” A touch of annoyance tinged the tone of his reply, and he quickly spun the combination of his lock before jerking it open. Veronica was relieved to see it was simply filled with books—texts, philosophy—and a slushie, probably from his morning pit-stop. “Satisfied?”

“Why do you still have this?” Veronica reached in and pulled out a familiar and beaten-up version of Moby Dick, waving it lightly with her brow furrowed in disapproval.

“Relax. It’s just a stress reliever,” he promised, crossing his arms and watching her unconvinced expression before huffing and straightening so he could close the distance between them. “Look Veronica—I’m not going to lie and say I still don’t think about offing Heather Duke; or that I don’t believe she deserves to die. But I made a promise to you, and I’m going to keep it. The book is just…an escape. A creative outlet for my macabre fantasies. I’m not going to do anything unless you change your mind.”

“I’m never changing my mind,” she told him adamantly.

JD shrugged. “Then I guess evil like Heather Duke is forever safe,” he lamented, holding out his hand. Veronica paused a moment, then reluctantly put the book back in it.

“I’m sorry,” she felt the need to apologize. She wanted to explain to someone, since she couldn’t to Martha. “Martha is just taking the whole Ram thing really hard—she’s been in love with him since kindergarten—“

“Why would someone like Martha Dunnstock waste her time on an asshole like Ram?” JD inquired out loud, putting Moby Dick back in the locker and shutting it forcefully.

“It’s a long story,” Veronica replied, not sure someone as detached as JD would get Martha’s fascination with the boy that had been so sweet so long ago. “But the point is, watching my best friend being miserable over a guy I helped…kill is killing me, and I just had to tell her about the whole note thing to finally get her to drop it.”

“She’s better off moving on,” JD remarked casually, possessively wrapping an arm over her shoulder as the bell rang. “She’s way better than Ram Sweeney.”

“Of course she’s better than him, but I didn’t want it to happen like this.” Veronica was miserable, and she wished her boyfriend was a little more sympathetic. Trying to convince him that their victims were real people capable of real humanity seemed like trying to convince Heather Duke to share her new red scrunchie.

They finally reached her classroom, and JD spun her lightly to face him. “Look,” he reassured her, hands on both shoulders to force her eyes on him. “It’s going to be okay—this will all blow over soon, and people will only remember the good things that came out of this. Martha will realize she’s better off, and you’ll see that we did that for her. It’ll come out right.”

Veronica wasn’t so certain, but she nodded anyways, accepting a chaste kiss from her boyfriend before he and his duster spun off in the opposite direction toward his own class.

#Heathers: The Musical #au #mine #ficlet #Multichapter #jd #Veronica #heather duke #heather mcnamara #martha dunnstock #dms #dms004

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