#she killed his best friend to /prove a point/ what would she do if Gowan fails to follow through?

[one-little-nerd-stayed-home]

Time once more for 11:30pm thoughts with Jo.

Anybody else think about. Calder and Gowan mirroring eachother and how Calder took the deal with Ultrus to save his friends lives

And Gowan took the deal with Alexandrite because she took his friend’s life?

Cause uh. I do. Apparently.

[shalebridge-cradle]

I know you have other prompts so please don’t feel obligated to do this, but what about the ghosts AU where they sit through their graduation? If you do the musical canon, you could even have Ram and Kurt in their class and with them. Thank you for all the writing and headcanon stuff you’ve been posting here! I’ve been meaning to send something in for a while now.

That I can do.

There are four seats meant to be left empty - two with lettermans draped over them, one with a red ribbon, and one with a blue book.

The only people who know the seats aren’t vacant are the ones sitting in them.

Veronica knows how hard Fleming fought for that fourth chair. She doesn’t really get why - maybe she believed there was good in her. That Veronica was just a girl too lovesick to notice what she was doing. As usual, Fleming is wrong. Veronica was just angry and stupid.

Nobody, dead or alive, is listening to Gowan’s introductory speech. Ram and Kurt are elbowing each other and pointing at various students, and Heather has a reassuring hand on Veronica’s thigh.

Gowan hasn’t mentioned them at all. That’s probably for the best. Let it be silent and sophisticated.

���God, they all look so girly in their little dresses,” Kurt says to Ram.

“They’re gowns, dude. They all proved they’re smart, so they get to wear wizard robes.”

Never mind.

“Wizards are nerds. Good thing we don’t have to wear ‘em. I kinda want the jacket, though.”

“Yeah, It’s cold.”

(It’s always cold.)

“Hey, ‘Ronica,” even in death Kurt’s trying to pick her up, “why’d you have to kill us in our briefs? You into that?”

Veronica sighs. “I didn’t know you were gonna die. If I did, I wouldn’t have agreed to the prank in the first place. Assholes you may have been, but you deserved some dignity.”

“You’re still mad about the skid marks, aren’t you?” Ram teases.

“Whatever, dude. I mean, it would have been a killer prank if it went like you said.”

Killer.

“Can you shut up for five minutes?” Chandler snaps, “This is supposed to be a formal event.”

Kurt hangs his head in shame, like a kid getting told off.

(That’s all he was. A dumb kid.)

“Sorry, Heather.”

“You’d better be.”

Veronica rests her head on Heather’s shoulder, a sign of her gratitude. Chandler offers an almost invisible smile in return.

They listen to the valedictorian’s speech, and Veronica’s so proud of Betty Finn for beating out Rodney in the fight for the top spot. The speech she gives is way better than anything he would have come up with, anyway. The guy was only good at taking tests. Betty talks about hope, the future, everything they can do now that they’re free from high school. Every so often, her eyes flick to those four seats in the front row.

Ram leans over, his voice a stage whisper. “Why does she keep looking at us?”

“She can’t see us. She’s talking about leaving high school, so she’s thinking about the ones that don’t get to.”

The former linebacker goes deathly silent, his eyes blank as he looks back up at Betty. As she finishes her address, Ram claps clumsily, like he’s forgotten how.

Then, Ripper.

“Ah, fuck,” Heather mutters.

Veronica’s not sure what it is about the pastor that triggers the effect. Maybe because he’s a holy man, and his mere presence makes ghosts suffer.

“Don’t stick your finger in it, Kurt,” Veronica says as a precaution. He probably won’t listen, but no-one can say she didn’t try.

“If he says anything about ‘the MTV video games’, I’m gonna puke.” Heather’s voice is already growing thick. Veronica hates this. Her temple has already gone ice-cold, and the vision in her left eye is going dark.

Father Ripper speaks of them. Of course he does, the ‘suicides’ have drastically boosted the numbers of his flock. How the dearly departed all supposedly found solace in the arms of the Lord, how, so long as the graduating class follows the straight and narrow path, everyone will find peace their former classmates lacked in their lives.

Bullshit. All of it.

Veronica hates the sensation she has to go through when she’s like this. It’s eerily familiar - like drinking a frozen drink too fast, but only on one side of her head. Hates it, hates it, hates it.

“Don’t cry,” Ram tries to say, his rasping voice accompanied by a faint, tuneless whistling.

Ah, hell. Is she crying? This is the last thing she needs. Salt in the bullet wound.

The hand that was on her thigh rises to her shoulder, pulling Veronica into a one-armed hug.

“He’ll stop with his preaching soon enough,” Heather reassures her, pausing to cough, “you’re okay. It’s okay.”

Ripper finishes with the sort of finality he’s used to by now, and the focus shifts to where it should be - the students who are still left. The pain in Veronica’s head fades a little, and she relaxes as the first students receive their diplomas.

She applauds nearly every student - The Country Club kids are the only exceptions. Kurt whoops and Chandler smiles when Heather McNamara receives her ticket out of this hellhole, and Ram claps politely for Martha and all his past friends (he’s getting the hang of it now).

Soon, it’s all over. Final congratulations are given, and everyone files out. The four are left alone among the empty chairs.

“Feeling a bit better?”

Veronica taps her now-present temple in response to Heather’s question.

“I’m happy for them,” she adds.

“Good. Good.” She pulls Veronica closer, pressing her lips to the top of her girlfriend’s head. “Some of them only passed ‘cause of you.”

“I just took some notes. Most of it was them.”

“You’re more help than you think. Remember that.”

Veronica leans into the embrace, sighing. She can see Kurt and Ram out of the corner of her eye again - apparently, awkward knuckle-punching is the only form of affection they know that cannot be construed as gay.

“Maybe we should do this again next year.”

Heather hums. “Maybe. Might not gets seats, though.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just… It’s a nice feeling, seeing everyone happy and ready to get on with their lives. Ready to grow up and be adults.”

And die. But maybe they’d die happy. That’d be something.

“I guess,” Heather concedes. “We should get going before they pull the chair out from under us.”

They do. All of them. The gym, where everything could have gone so wrong, is silent once more.