#i mean i listen to heathers and mean girls an unholy amount so it makes sense

[kanobeanz]

my spotify wrapped hehehe

[y-n-isafandomslut]

Dead Girl Walking [Thomas Jefferson x Reader] *Smut*

Word count: 1,109 Au: modern Triggers: smut af, cursing, mentions of suicide Author’s Note: I basically just found out what Heathers is last night, only got to listen to about 2 songs and immediately wanted to write something similar to “Dead Girl Walking” & could totally see modern Jefferson rocking out so… yeah. And i have the unholy desire to call him T Jeffs like oml yes please daddy, get what im saying.enjoy

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“If I were you Y/N, I would just kill myself so that there wouldn’t be a mess later.” Angelica hisses at you as you lay on the tile of the school, “It’s not like anyone here needs you or could care less about what could happen.” The mean girl and her half-wit sisters leave you a crumpled mess. “By the way, you have until monday to leave. Or else we will finish you. Enjoy your last few hours of being alive.” The girls snicker as they walk away from you.

“Why the fuck did I agree to meet that bitch on a saturday?” you sit there holding back a tear. You slowly crawl until you back is up against the lockers. “Are you ok?” a voice whispers behind you. You turn and notice that it is Thomas Jefferson. You turn to face him and say, “Im fine,T Jeffs. Really I am.” He shrugs his shoulders as though he doesn’t actually believe you, moves to help you up anyway. “Thanks.” You struggle to say to him, since before you he was the most hated person on campus. He walked away before you had a chance to say or do anything about the weird encounter. And as suddenly as he appeared he disappeared in a flash of purple.

The sun was lowering as you started walking around town, considering your options. “Well, at this point I could be someone different. Goodbye Y/N! Or even we could move. It’s just you anyway, so there’s no guilt.” You laugh at yourself for being so daft. “Or….” you bite your lip thinking about that yummy piece of meat, T Jeffs. “Let’s play Jeffs.”

You notice a small patch of purple from the corner of your eyes. Knowing that it was him, you followed him to his house. You wandered the block until you were sure he was asleep, then climbed the tree that proved to be the easiest way to get into his room. You lifted up his window and slid right in. Your skirt pulled up a little bit exposing more than a healthy amount of thigh.

You strode towards his bed and watched your prize dream peacefully for a minute til he realized you were there. “Y/N! What are you doing in my room?” Thomas asked you. You took off your jacket and lazily threw it to the floor. “Sorry, but I really had to wake you. And well, if you must know I have chosen you to be my final ride. Because the Schuyler’s decided my time is through. So all you need to do is give me what I came for.” “Y/N are you fucking crazy? You broke into my house to have sex with me?!?” T Jeffs responded. “Are you? You have a girl basically throwing her body at you to subdue and your not jumping on her deal.” You counter.

You pull the covers off of his bed to find he’s only in his white boxers. Leaning forward toward him exposing your cleavage and placing your hand dangerously between his legs. “Come on. I’m hot, pissed and I’m on the pill.” you beg. He still looks at you as though you were high, so you slowly take of your shirt exposing your dark red bra. That was all he needed to see to start considering your offer. He pulls you on top of his lap and starts kissing you feverishly. You return the kiss and hold his head closer to you, being extra sure to push the firmness of your breasts into his chest. His hand makes it’s way to your hip eager to try and remove the skirt that was still attached. He pushes you onto you back and pins you into the mattress.

“Whatcha gonna do Jeffs?” you tease mockingly. He looks down on you like he won the game and folds your bra cups to expose your nipples which were already hard from the excitement of being in his room. Your right nipple gets pulled and rubbed by his hands and your left one got the special treatment of being brought into his mouth. His spare hand was massaging your ass and you reach to try and remove his underwear. He pulls away from you momentarily to take off his boxers. Once he finishes his clothes he moves to your and starts by lifting up your skirt and ripping off your panties. You look up at him utterly confused. “I want to fuck you with it on.” he winked, causing you to blush. You rip your bra off and throw the remains in the pile that already started to accumulate.

“Oh, Y/N,” he moans, “are you ready?” he asks you looking down at the massive size of his dick. You didn’t really pay attention to it since this whole encounter you were working group for the build up. You nod your head and he slowly slips inside of you, biting your shoulder to hold in his screams of pleasure.

His body crashes into you with more force in every thrust and faster than you ever knew could happen. Your name is whispered into your shoulder a million times before he gives you the cue he was ready. He moves as though he was trying to take you off of him and you push down forcing your body to rock with the orgasm his body was enjoying.

“Are we done yet?” he asks you. “Not even close. I still have a whole 24 hours of living to be doing. And I’m not letting you go.” You smirk maliciously. Using your tongue you make a trail that goes down to the center of his body to his dick. You stroke it, gripping hard and pumping fast. You look up to find him looking at you with eyes full of need. You lick the tip of it, sucking hard every once and a while. Surprising him, you take his whole length into your mouth and bob your head up and down his length. Thomas pushed your head further onto his cock and released his load into your mouth.

Once he sees the look on your face he pulls his dick out of your mouth and looks down at the beautiful mess he made.

As though he missed your body to much, he leans back on top of you and starts to suck on your neck, leaving bruises and hickeys all over your neck and body, leaving evidence that he was here.

You smile at him as the sun starts to come up. “I hope you have even better plans for today’s sex.”

[shalebridge-cradle]

Unholy Alternate Chapter 10: Martha

(Since the actual chapter 10 got a pretty good response, I decided to post the other one here so the time I spent on it wasn’t entirely wasted. Ghost text was originally underlined as well as italicized for clarity, but formatting should indicate whenever the ghost is speaking.)

WARNINGS: Mentions of suicide in this chapter.

Martha Dunnstock always did her best, because that was all anyone could do. It didn’t matter if it was in class or in PE (even though everyone always laughed at her), but she always went the extra mile when it came to her friends.

So, obviously, Heather Chandler’s sudden death, and what it did to Veronica, was weighing heavily on her heart.

Veronica was… gone. There was no better way to put it. Sure, her body was still moving through the motions, going to class, eating lunch, but her eyes were just… blank. Lifeless.

Martha and Mac (and yes, she had gotten Heather McNamara’s permission to call her that) were doing their darndest to get some sort of positive reaction out of her, but nothing they tried was working. Of course, there was nothing negative either.

Always look on the bright side of life.

It was also good that everyone else was avoiding them like the plague. With one Heather’s death and another’s disappearance, the social pyramid had crumbled into disarray. It was the reason no-one called Mac out for hanging around her, the bottom of the food chain. It was the reason no-one really spoke to either of them, at all.

Maybe it was just the fact there was a serial killer on the loose. That might also be a factor.

Mac was right. The police here were useless. Not only did they fail to apprehend Jason Dean, the had failed to find Heather Duke, too. That made Martha nervous. Why did she run? She did the right thing, and told the truth. She could have asked for protection from the one guy who was out to get her, but instead she fled into the great unknown. Why?

There was also someone else missing, and to be honest, she didn’t notice until Mac pointed it out.

“Have you heard?” the other students said in whispers, “Courtney’s in hospital.”

“Got mugged on her way home from school.”

“She lives on the nice side of town, is nowhere safe?”

“What’s she in for? Stab wounds? Concussion?”

“Blood loss, I heard.”

And in that moment, Martha got exactly what she thought she wanted. Veronica reacted.

She was laughing.

  Heather Chandler’s funeral was a miserable experience. Of course it was, Martha said to herself, it’s a funeral. These things weren’t supposed to be happy.

She figured that Heather Number One would be pleased with the turnout, though. People were nearly out the church doors. Heck, there were even a few photographers, and a local news crew were setting up outside as everyone filed in. All this publicity around a girl obsessed with popularity, and Heather wasn’t able to see it.

Truly tragic.

Martha and Mac remained long after anyone else filed out of the cemetery, even Mr. and Mrs. Chandler (who Mac was kind enough to identify, a twinge of bitterness in her voice). Mr. Chandler stayed for a carefully calculated amount of time, before insisting he had a plane to catch. The dead girl’s mother lingered a little while longer, before trudging off, alone.

The reason she stayed for so long was because Veronica refused to move.

That brief flicker of mad emotion had disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Veronica was back to being near-catatonic. Her oldest remaining friend stared at the mountain of flowers impassively.

Then…

“She’s not in there.”

Veronica’s voice was rough, perhaps from lack of use, and Martha hated the sound of it. She shared a look with the Last Heather Standing.

“Where else would she be?” Mac questioned.

“Don’t know. Not here.”

“She’s dead, Veronica,” Martha half-pleaded with Veronica to see some sense, “I’m sorry, we all saw it.”

Veronica made a noise, and Martha had never heard something so broken come out a human mouth.

“She’s been dead for the past few months. This is nothing.”

Martha tensed up.

  An emergency meeting was called. According to Mac, this sort of thing happened a lot with the Heathers. Martha honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Heather Chandler had forced someone to write down the minutes.

“We need to do something,” Martha said firmly, “We can’t let Veronica wither away like this.”

“It’s such a weird thing to say, though,” Mac replied, “‘she’s been dead for the past few months’? Like, what does she mean?”

“She’s in denial. She doesn’t want to believe Heather’s gone.”

“Nobody does.”

“But she might do something really stupid! We need to take steps to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“What if she’s right, though?”

Martha’s brow knitted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’d think Heather would show up as a ghost. You’d have seen her by now, if she was dead.”

“I think coming back to haunt the living is the exception, rather than the rule,” Martha replied. Mac scoffed.

“Well, yeah. But do you really think someone like Heather is just gonna stay down after that?”

“She got shot in the head, Heather.”

They both turned to the third member of their meeting.

“What do you think?”

I think you’re both right, the voice replied.

  Mac and Martha eventually both agreed that Veronica’s safety was the most important thing to them in the few days following the funeral. She was the one friend they had, and they both refused to let that slip through their fingers as well.

To be fair, they could have been more subtle about it. They removed razor blades, cords, ropes, pills, anything that Veronica might use to hurt herself. It was hard tracking everything down and hiding it, but the peace of mind, and the grateful smiles of the Sawyer family, made it worth it.

“Martha, I’m not suicidal,” Veronica had told her at lunch one day. She was getting better about talking, even if it was in short, broken sentences. Martha nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Veronica didn’t look suicidal. Tired, grumpy, yes, but not suicidal. Then again, Martha thought, no-one really ever looked suicidal. That’s why it always came as a shock.

Better to be safe than sorry. Martha would continue.

 “I think they were dating.”

Mac was chewing thoughtfully on her fingernail as she spoke. Martha nearly choked on her popcorn.

“Who?”

“You know, Heather and Veronica.”

Martha didn’t know. She didn’t mind it, obviously, but the fact she had completely missed that made her feel like a bad friend. Maybe she should go over and tell Veronica she loves her no matter what…?

Actually, that might not have been such a good idea. Veronica was still mad at her for not listening about the whole ‘not-suicidal’ thing. Self-defeated, Martha’s eyes returned to Mac’s TV.

She’d rented Beetlejuice again, since she hadn’t managed to finish it on her last movie night. Since Mac was kind enough to host, she figured she’d just start over from the beginning for her benefit.

“How did you figure that out?” Martha asked.

“Well, I got help. James- no, Jason Dean told me. I think he was expecting me to tell other people.”

“And you believed him?”

Mac shrugged. “I didn’t have any reason not to, at the time. I mean, I didn’t catch them doing anything, but they were having, like, a lot of study sessions.”

Martha frowned, mulling over the new information. Striving for academic excellence wasn’t exactly an indicator of a romantic relationship. Then again, she barely knew anything about how Heather Chandler’s brain had worked. While she contemplated, Mac’s attention returned to the movie.

“I wonder if that’s actually how ghosts work.” She murmured.

I didn’t get a manual, if that’s what you’re wondering.

“Really? Hm.”

  Martha drummed her fingers on her bedside table. Her companion watched, waiting for a question.

“So,” Martha began, “When you said ‘you’re both right’, did you mean…?”

I meant that you were both right. Just in different ways. came the response. Martha rubbed her temples.

“Is Heather Chandler dead or alive?”

Physically, she is dead.

Oh-kay. Now they were making progress.

“Is she a zombie? Like Kurt?”

No. She’s not like Kurt and Ram. Martha flinched at the name. She was perfectly comfortable with being in the denial stage, and wasn’t willing to move any further down those five steps until everything else in her life was sorted.

Do you want to talk to her?

Martha hesitated.

On the one hand, she did not want to talk to Heather Chandler, and she was sure Heather didn’t want to talk to her. She hadn’t, except in sneers and insults and, that one time, a terse concession, likely at Veronica’s insistence. Martha didn’t know exactly what condition Chandler was in, but she seriously doubted it would improve her already sour mood.

On the other hand…

The school was falling apart without her. More importantly, Veronica was falling apart without her, and Martha was bailing water out of a rapidly sinking ship. There were so many questions to ask – how did you survive? Can you see ghosts? Were you dating Veronica? Did you treat her right?

What did you do to her? How do I fix it?

Martha grabbed her Ouija board, but the clearing of a throat that didn’t need clearing stopped her.

You won’t need that.

  She knew about the house at the edge of town – decrepit, supposedly abandoned in the 70s – and Martha had hoped she never would have to go there. In elementary and middle school, the whispers of ghosts roaming the halls had made Martha shiver, but she knew now that those rumors weren’t true. The only things haunting this skeleton of a home were drug addicts and ne’er-do-wells.

And, apparently, one actual dead person.

The pale figure on the filthy old armchair stood up as a creak of wood alerted her to Martha’s presence. She sauntered over, like a cat, but Martha hurried to meet her. She wouldn’t be cowed into submission, not when she was preparing to interrogate this phantom.

The voice that emanated was hoarse, grating. Like gravel. Stone on stone.

“You can’t sneak for shit.”

It was such a strange experience looking at her. She had… faded, like an old photo left in the light for too long. The colors were washed out. White and grey, rather than gold and pink. No red, of course. A faded leather jacket over a hoodie (just like the one Veronica purchased) and washed-out jeans. Martha never realized associating someone with a color could have such a profound effect on recognizing them.

That scowl, though, that was the clue that this was definitely Heather Chandler.

“What is it, Dunnstock?”

Not Dumptruck. Martha internally squealed as she clicked her pen.

“I have some questions.”

Heather groaned, but her eyes were stopped mid-roll by another steely glance from beside Martha. Chandler straightened under the unearthly gaze, and coughed. Martha took it as an affirmative. She readied her notebook.

“What are you?”

“Vampire.” The answer was spat out, almost unwillingly, and Heather seemed to shrink underneath the weight of the word. “Have to drink blood, don’t have a heartbeat. Vampire.”

Martha frowned slightly. “You don’t have fangs.”

The response was immediate, and part of the reason Martha didn’t react is because it took a few seconds to register. It was a sudden thing, a shift in the structure of Heather’s face, and Martha found herself face-to-face with totally black eyes (a dim red just visible in the center) and a mouth full of impossibly sharp teeth.  

“This good enough for you, Nancy Drew?” Heather snarled, voice even rougher and more feral than before.

Martha’s face was blank. “Yep.”

There was a shocked silence. Heather returned to… well, mostly normal, and backed away.

“Wow. You really don’t give a fuck, do you?”

Martha shrugged, and scribbled away in her notebook.

Angry Vampire. Do not bring up fangs. Stereotyping may also be a problem.

“Okay. Next question. Did you and Veronica… uh… you know. Date?”

Heather’s eyes widened, caught.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied robotically.

“I’m sorry if it’s too personal. I just want a yes or a no.”

Heather flopped back down into the chair, fidgeting. Had she ever done something so vulnerable at school? Had she ever seemed unsure? Martha attempted to remember, before deciding that any occasion where it had happened might as well have never occurred at all.

“Yeah,” Heather mumbled after what seemed like an eternity. Then, it was like Martha had opened the feelings floodgates, “she helped me through this whole unlife thing, when it first happened, and she just kept helping me. I made the first move after she did something stupid, and she didn’t reject me, so I assumed it was okay. I still… fuck. I still care about her. A lot.”

Martha drew a little love heart on the page.

“She doesn’t know you’re here, though. You haven’t told her.” Martha said, gently. Heather ran a pale hand through white hair. “You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to. I can ask another question.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Heather snapped, but there was none of the usual venom in it. “She wants to do normal teen stuff. I tried, when I was alive, but she didn’t get the hint that I liked her until after I died. Then I died again, and I figured if I got out now, there was still a chance she could get what she wants with someone else.”

“She’s a wreck right now.”

Heather sniffled. “I know.”

Martha crammed in the word ‘sad’ next to her ‘angry vampire’ note. “I think that the S.S. Normalcy has left Port Veronica. Go see her. Explain yourself.”

“But she freaked out last time.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Heather cried defensively. “I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just wanted to see her, and she didn’t even know I was real!”

Then prove that you are. Simple.

“Shove it, Casper!”

“She’s right,” Martha butted in, “Hug her. Maybe kiss her. Make her feel loved while you can. I want my best friend to feel better, and you might be the only one who can do that.”

Heather ran her hand through her hair again, her attention elsewhere. It was still so strange to consider Chandler as anything more than an idea. A movie villain, rather than someone grappling with feelings just like those of the students she used to rule over.

“I can’t believe I’m taking relationship advice from you two dweebs,” she grumbled. Now-grey eyes flicked upwards. “I’ll talk to her – tomorrow night. What’s your next question, Girl Friday?”

Martha clicked her pen. “You can tell Veronica yourself.”

Chandler scoffed. “That’s it? I can come up with ten different things to ask a dead girl before breakfast.”

“I’ve already gotten what I wanted.” Martha smiled, and Heather just watched in confusion as Martha practically skipped out.

  Everything was great.

Martha had often thought she had peaked in Kindergarten, when everyone was friends with everyone, but she had proved the world wrong, in secret. Sure, life wasn’t as shiny and happy as it was back then, but it was a huge improvement from a few months ago. Martha’s hard work had paid off – she had not one, but three friends, maybe five (she hadn’t won over Chandler just yet, and once Heather Duke stopped hiding, she was sure they could go back to the old days) or six (once Ram was… found. Yes. He would be found, safe and alive).

School was almost back to normal. There was a pep rally on that night, and Martha was ready to go support Mac. Just a quick check on Veronica – it was unlikely she wanted to go, but it was still possible. She might even benefit from it. Maybe.

Actually, now that she thought about it, probably not.

Mrs. Sawyer smiled as Martha walked up the stairs, and she was, too, until she heard a voice in her ear.

Something’s wrong.

Mrs. Sawyer was right behind her. She couldn’t just stop and ask. Instead, she gave a meaningful glance to her left, and the ghost disappeared.

“Veronica?” Mrs. Sawyer called, knocking on the bedroom door. “Veronica, your friend Martha is here to see you…”

No response from inside. Veronica’s mother shrugged, and went back down the stairs. The usual response from Veronica these days, Martha imagined.

She turned the doorknob.

In amidst splintered wood from the closet door, Veronica was swaying gently from a noose.

Martha’s scream was cut off when Veronica’s head shot up, and she gave her trademark strangled cry.

“Oh my god! Martha, I’m so sorry! Don’t freak out!”

“It’s too late for that!” Martha shrilled. Veronica fiddled with something around her waist, and fell to the floor with a thud.

“Ow.”

Martha stomped over, trying to get the right mix of anger and disappointment on her face. “Why?! What possessed you to fake this sort of thing? Was it a joke?”

“No! No, of course not!” Veronica’s eyes flickered for a moment, and she was overtaken with something darker. “JD was here.”

Martha froze.

Veronica continued, her tone now urgent. “Listen. He’s going to do something awful. Worse than killing Heather and Ram and Kurt. I need your help.”

Yes. This was the moment Martha had been waiting for. Her chest puffed up in excitement…

And then deflated immediately.

“I’ll try,” Martha said, almost apologetic, “but I don’t think anyone will listen to me.”

“Then I’ll make them listen.”

Veronica picked up her croquet mallet. There was a fire in her eyes that wasn’t there before, and she was pacing, thoughtful.

She was back.

“Everyone already thinks I’m crazy. Not without good reason, obviously, but if I tell them there’s a bomb, I’ll probably get sent off to an asylum.”

“There’s a bomb?!”

Veronica shrugged. “That’s what he said. So, maybe I can get people out of the gym, find the bomb and… defuse it. Somehow.”

Martha shook her head. “If you find it, take it out into the football field. You might set it off accidentally.”

“And no-one has to play football. It’s a win-win.” Veronica’s smile faded. “Shit. Duke.”

Martha perked up.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. JD said something about a suicide note. He might be planning to fake a suicide again.”

Martha mentally filed away the ‘again’ for questioning at a later date. There was a cough from behind her, in lieu of a tap on the shoulder.

Chandler’s finally stopped brooding. She’ll find Heather Duke while you find JD.

“She’s fine.” Martha relayed. “Well, she will be. I’m sure of it.”

Veronica frowned, and Martha’s sure she heard the taller girl curse under her breath.

“One question. Just one, Martha. Do you believe in ghosts?”

Martha turned around to face the apparition, silently asking permission.

Betty Finn nodded.

“Yes,” Martha replied. Veronica smirked.

“I thought so.”