#god awful fucking hellhole of a fucking house. I wish my mom was still here. or that I was just fucking dead.

[hagravenholm]

I’m sure this lady will explain to me how her cat fucking attacking mine completely unprovoked, for the second time tonight was actually, in fact, my fault since thats the case apparently according to her 🙃

[blownoffsa]

meant to be yours.

small drabble, mainly from veronica’s pov based around yo girl and meant to be yours. 

please ask before reblogging!

Keep it together. Keep it together.   Feet kissed the ground for a split second as she carried herself further and further away from Westerberg, advancing near her own home.Martha was probably dying. Martha could have died, and this one would be all her fault. No one else, no boyfriend with poisoned intentions or cruel friends – her. She wasn’t just becoming a Heather. She was becoming a murderer. The ghosts of her past, literal and figurative, took form while taunting her. Telling her to keep her shit together, to hold it together like she had so desperately tried to before. 

She had admittedly done a remarkable job at pretending to be okay when it came to people she hardly cared about, while she was under the influence of those who towered above her. But now that she had grown from the very foundation that the one she swore she would never become she had crashed back down.

Electric, red, pulsating beams seemed to hold her back, shackle her arms behind as she struggled. No Escape, No Escape.Veronica’s running on fumes, now. Veronica’s totally fried.Exhaustion didn’t begin to cover the feelings running themselves to death in a crowded mind. Heather, Kurt, Ram, Martha, everyone who has died in might die... She needed to get away from the one climbing up her ladder. Climbing up her ladder, holy shit, he was going into her room. He was going to be there, probably armed, and she would die. He would kill her, there is no one that he wouldn’t or couldn’t kill. Heather grew a wicked smile and laughed, cackles roaring in her mind as Kurt and Ram hovered expectantly, commentating unnecessarily about the happenings. The closet, the closet, the CLOSET. Her legs picked up faster as she ran to the only place she could think of for safety. Back collided against the wall, a single light hanging from the ceiling. She brought a blanket up close to her chest, his voice ringing outside the door.

         “KNOCK KNOCK! So sorry to burst in through the window... Dreadful etiquette, I know.”  She could practically taste the bitterness in his voice. It was palpable. Then again, Jason Dean always loved his irony. She thought back to the night of the party, before all seemed lost. Before anyone had died. It was a brash decision, one that she would be unable to truly get over. But the night was heaven in a Hellhole. It was magical. It was just the two of them. No world, no pain. Bodies intertwined, free. What a slam back to reality his arm was against her door.

“Get OUT of my HOUSE.”            Her voice tried to be strong but it came out as scared, broken. The very dark tone that she had loved not even weeks ago was now corrupted, turned into something that she would never be able to get out of her mind. He spoke again, knowing that she was hiding in the closet. Slyly telling her to open the door. Poison. He was poison. A wolf in Wolf’s clothing, one that would act like a sheep to the Sheep. She knew what he was now. She was sure of it.   “I’ll scream, and my parents will call the police.”   

           ...Maybe jail would help him. Maybe it would change the things she tried to change. Or maybe he was too damaged to be changed because he never learned how. That was when she heard a lighter tone, something reassuring, forgiving.  “All is forgiven, baby! Come on. Get dressed, you’re my date for the pep rally tonight!”

Date? He was coming up there to kill her. She was next, she was very aware that she was next. Veronica was confused, scared, and acted out of impulse.  “What--? WHY?”

“Our classmates thought they were going to sign a petition... you gotta come out here and see what they really signed!” 

           All of the color previously in her face drained. She knew it. He wouldn’t change, and he was proud of this fact. He was over the fucking Moon he had almost succeeded in whatever act of heroism he would claim. He began to make her feel guilty, telling her that she treated him like trash, that she should be dead. But now he claimed to blame it on high school. Not the fact that he was a God damned murderer. Not the fact that he was not sane. He pushed the blame. Anyone other than he. JD went on, talked about how he hit the wall and started to cry, and she could feel her heart break. Not for herself, but her him. For the boy that never got a chance. He knew how to play her, even now.     AND SO I BUILT A BOMB—

           ...Bomb. He was going to blow up the fucking school. All of that exposition for this reveal. She was desperate for a chance to change him one last time, to convince him. Grasping at imaginary straws. He began to plead. Telling her that they were meant to be. “Don’t give up on me now, finish what we have begun. I was meant to be yours.” A command, softened by a broken tone. 

Her hand reached for the knob. One last shot. He was softening up, right? She could possibly convince herself of it one last time. That is, until he went right back to where he started. Quickly.                             Well. So much for that bitter fantasy.

Her hand retracted its reach from the door, partially thankful for her being able to snap back into this harsh reality, those sadness did creep in through cracks. She wished she could open the door and convince him that all would be okay, that all would be truly forgotten. But she also knew where she stood. On top of the chair, tying a blanket – makeshift noose with a grip on her waist – around her. If she could convince him that she was dead, she would have some freedom to plan what she needed to plan, to mull over in her head the past couple of weeks and the repercussions.

“YOU WERE MEANT TO BE MINE.”   Came the possessive yell from the other side of the door, a slam to the closet where she stood. “I AM ALL THAT YOU NEED. YOU – YOU CARVED OPEN MY HEART. YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME HERE TO BLEED... VERONICA.”    The name ripped through the house, it’s a wonder that her parents hadn’t been alarmed sooner. His voice must be hoarse, and her parents didn’t truly seem to care. If something would go wrong, something too tight, she could die. 

                             She was ready.

A bang through what she could only assume to be a fist to the door.   “Open the door, please. Veronica, open the door. Veronica, can we, can we not fight anymore? Please? Can we not fight anymore? Listen, listen.” His voice became soft, and she felt her heart melt again, bleed again. She would not budge.  “I know you’re scared. I’ve been there!”   Had he truly been in her position? What had his father done to him before? She felt awful about the things she couldn't fix, it ate up her insides. Guilt for things she had never done.   “I’m your ticket. I can set you free.”   Something akin to a whine became his voice, losing it quickly. Quickly fading.   “Veronica, don’t make me come in there.”    He’s counting to three. She had three more seconds to make this right. Three seconds – or, if she knew JD –which she did... less. 

One. 

Two. 

FUCK IT.

Gun shot at the knob of the door as he kicked it down, the same moment the stool left from underneath her feet. She dangled from the light fixture above,, holding her breath. Not a sound. Not a move. The noise was met with a cold silence that hung in the air with the ghosts that taunted her. JD seemed... worried. Sad, upset? Something other than angry. He was always so angry but this, this wasn’t what he was.   ...Had it worked?. She desperately tried to ignore the rest of the time he was in the room, ignore the feeling of his hands grabbing her face, the feeling of his tears as they stained her blazer, him begging for her not to leave him alone. Claiming that she was the only one he could trust. She was the only one he could trust, and her dangling from a rope and a closet threatened sabotage against it all. His trust, quite literally hanging from a string. Would he ever be able to trust anyone again after he found out that she was lying? It wouldn’t necessarily matter. She wouldn’t be alive to tell.

       When JD left, Veronica's mom came back and seemed to care for her for the first time in her life, yelling and telling her that her ‘joke’ wasn’t funny. She seemed to care, to question, and for the first time... It seemed GENUINE.

                               She was about 17 years too late. 

Admittedly, Veronica could have had it worse, her parents could be Big Bud Dean or dead... but they still didn’t fully care. Or care to understand. She shrugged her mother off, grabbing her croquet mallet. 

The hour of truth was fast approaching, either one, or neither would come out alive.