#heathers musical fic

[sprnklersplashes]

jdronica 32? <3

set in the college-era of not beyond repair

When Veronica first starts to wake, its to the impossibly light touch of a hand against her bare shoulder. It could almost be accidental, its that light, and no sooner has she felt it than she's drifting off again, the mattress sinking beneath her body.

But then it comes back, just a tad more force pressed against her shoulders, and the corners of her mouth twitch.

She lets herself take her time waking up, because it's been a long week and because she doesn't not enjoy the delicate dance of his fingers across her skin. Her defences are down and they stay there, even though the only things "protecting" her body are a bra and her underwear. Modesty has long since left her, at least where this room is concerned.

After a few more minutes of careful caressing and floating in that halfway space between awake and asleep, her mind finally begins to perk up as a playful kiss is pressed to her neck. Warmth pools in her belly, and her bare legs shift against the sheets. A giggle is stuck in the back of her throat and it emerges as something low and bubbly and just about recognisable.

As she starts slowly pulling herself together, the kisses travel lazily up and down her neck, to her shoulder, up behind her ear. With the world this quiet, she feels his nose press against her skin and with that simple contact her whole body comes to light. The leg hooked around hers, the hand pressed warmly against her stomach. She feels it all and it pulls her from wherever she'd been to the solid reality of the tangled sheets on JD's bed.

This time, she doesn't bother hiding her laugh as he kisses her cheek. Her eyes finally flutter open to the blurry picture of his bedroom, slowly shifting into focus. The curtains are already open. the sun draped across the carpet and honestly, part of her is a little annoyed. How dare he leave her in bed.

But all thoughts of annoyance are banished when he croons "good morning darling" in her ear. She turns and meets his lips, the kiss quick and chaste and tasting vaguely of mint. She groans quietly, nuzzling for a moment against his collarbone.

"Morning yourself," she murmurs. "What time are we on?"

"Just gone eleven."

"Ugh." She lets her head fall against the pillow. Beside her, JD toys with her fingers. "You know, if I were still at college, I'd be running across the quad to get to my international law class."

"Sounds exciting," he teases. He lets go of her hand and wraps a lock of her hair around his fingers. "But... since you're on spring break and therefore, not at college, what would you say to letting your amazingly talented and hot boyfriend make you breakfast?"

"Depends," she grins. "Does the amazingly talented and hot boyfriend have access to coffee?"

"For you, we'll use the filter," he says. That draws a laugh out of her, as bright and as airy as the spring day outside. JD grabs her wrists and pulls her up to her knees and she can't find it in her to complain, not even when the blanket falls away and goosebumps prickle at her skin. Because he's sitting before her, messy morning hair and dimples and giving her one of his shirts because hers is crumpled beneath his bed right now.

"I'd expect nothing less," she tells him. He chuckles and gets up to go, but in the heat of the moment, she decides he's not getting off that easy. So she grabs his arm, laughs at his confused face, and pulls him down to kiss him again. It lingers just a little longer than the last one. Long enough for her.

"What was that for?" he asks.

"To say good morning," she replies. She pushes a stray curl behind his ear. "And because I always get the last word in this relationship."

And because I love you, she adds silently. Not that it needs saying.

[wildyfoe]

OUR LOVE IS GOD

Shout out to @n7punk for single handedly bringing back BOTH my spop and Heathers hyperfixiations with their latest fic. The mere idea of a Catra JD has me on fucking chokehold. Thank you for writing this

[drabsyo]

Are you ever going to draw more for your Heather's Murder Mystery AU? I would love to see more art of it! If not, that's okay

something something obligatory "Veronica and Heather are all alone in the hospital after Heather is trying to recover from her stab wounds and the killer is one of their friends (?)" scene, and oh they've just confessed their feelings for each other earlier because seeing the other one get hurt made them realize how badly they want each other in their lives

welcome to Act Three

[oh-goddess-of-chaos]

⠀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 – 𝐣. 𝐝. 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ (navi. & masterlist. & tag. )

「 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 」 yandere!jason dean 𝒙 female!reader

「 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 」 being the new girl at a school can be difficult, especially during the middle of the year and in a place with a rigid social structure such as westerburg high, but things can only seem to worsen when you start feeling as though you're being watched.

「 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 」 general themes from heathers the movie such as bullying, mentions of suicide, murder (c'mon, it's a heathers fic, what did u expect?), usage of guns, kissing, stalking, attempted rape (kurt n' ram), swearing , usage of drugs such as cigarettes, unconsensual kissing (doesn't get further than that in this), very slight insinuations to sex (spoken), the whole shebang.

「 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 」 4.5k

「 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 .⁺ ˖ ⌒ (slight spoilers) i wanted to make the reader decently perceptive and sarcastic this one, but nearing the end i definitely made her rationality kinda disappear since that's what fear can do to a person. jd is more based off movie jd, and so is veronica.

Joining a new school midway through the school year was, to say the least, unideal.

You and your parents had just gotten the wonderful opportunity to move to the quaint town of Sherwood, Ohio, somewhere you all were essentially forced to go since your father had been promoted by his job and your family was strapped for cash. And, sure, your house was bigger and nicer than your last, but you'd had to leave all your friends you'd been with since your childhood, which was difficult.

To add to all of that, the people were unfriendly and rude, and the weather was tolerable at best. Though your old home wasn't perfect by any means, it was most certainly better than where you were living now.

And now, here you were, standing before your new high school, knowing perfectly nothing about it or what to expect yet still expecting it to be one of the worst schools you've gone to. The odd stares your fellow students were shooting you seemed to be indicative of that.

Oh, good grief.

You sighed as you entered, only to immediately crinkle your nose in disgust as you were hit with the pleasant aroma of sweaty jocks and what you could only guess were something akin to rotting bodies. Speak of the devil, you thought to yourself as you were almost hit by what you guessed were two football players dashing down the hallways.

This was going to be a long rest of the year.

You were quick to shove past the students to get to the front office, keen on getting your class schedule and getting to your class as early as you could. You'd only just gotten here and yet already you wanted to go home, though you supposed that that was how high school normally operated. It was never something anyone particularly enjoyed. Most people just managed to tolerate it enough to attend the next day.

"Hello, I'm looking to get my schedule?" You said once you'd reached your destination, crossing your arms as you stared at the woman at the front desk. Focused upon her own work, she offered you no response. You pursed your lips.

"Excuse me?" You spoke, louder this time, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

Apparently you weren't the only one unhappy to be at Westerburg high today, as the woman, seemingly irked, slowly craned her head to face you. "Yes?"

She seemed an unpleasant sort of woman, a frown etched permanently upon her wrinkled face. You wondered what the other teachers must look like, and if they resembled her by any means.

"This is my first day here. I need my class schedule."

"Name?"

"Y/n L/n."

The woman nodded and typed something into her computer. She then pointed to the printer. "Wait over there. Your class schedule is printing right now. Once it's finished, just go to your first class. The class numbers are listed on the right side."

"Well, is anyone going the help me find my way around?"

Your question was only met with silence. "Fine, I'll find it on my own. After all, why would I ever need the help of a teacher, anyway? It's not like I'm new to this school or anything." You grumbled before grabbing your schedule and exiting.

Luckily, navigating the school was a relatively simple task. The numbers on every door and the maps plastered on the walls definitely helped, and you were able to find your history class before the bell rang.

"Here's your textbook, Ms. L/n." The teacher said to you the moment you told her your name. Silently, you nodded, deciding to take a seat somewhere in the middle of the classroom as you waited for class to begin.

Something seemed off, though, as the lecture began and you jotted down nearly everything you heard. You could sense eyes boring into the back of your skull, like daggers piercing through your mind, and it inhibited your focus. You could hardly pay any attention to the teacher as she went on and on about some war you didn't even know the name of. And so, discreetly enough, you 'grabbed' something from you bag, staring over your shoulder briefly in an attempt to see if anyone really was watching you.

And, as it seemed, someone was. You managed to spot them - or him, to be more specific. Uncannily dark eyes stared back at you, blank and hollow. It made your stomach sink. Quickly, then, you retrieved an object from your school bag and continued with your notes to the best of your abilities. Unfortunately, though, you couldn't get that kid's sharp gaze out of your mind. Something about it - something about him - was off, though you couldn't quite place what it was. And, sure, from what you could see he dressed somewhat oddly - a dark trench coat adorning his shoulders, covering his already black pants and shirt - but it was more than just the way he was dressed. You knew it.

You gave up on the matter minutes after you were done with US History. As much as you were curious at the time, you could care less if some creep was watching you. It wasn't like you didn't have your fair share of those back at your old school - you just supposed that they didn't seem so outward about it. After all, you'd stared at that kid - caught him right in the act, but he didn't look away, didn't flinch, just kept staring. Looking back on it, you were convinced that you'd caught the glimpse of some sort of smile. But, as you'd mentioned, what was done was done. You'd only have to deal with him for 45 minutes every day for the rest for the year, at worst.

Sighing, you dropped your bag beside you as you sat down on one of the sticky cafeteria benches, secluded from everyone else. Although you knew you could've tried to make friends during your classes, you were aware of the truth about social politics in high school: halfway through the year, friendships were already sealed airtight and people were much less open to saying 'hi' to a new face, so you didn't even bother. And, sure, the seating was horrible, but you weren't about to make a fool of yourself, especially on your first day.

The food at Westerburg High was - albeit surprisingly - quite alright, and you found yourself somewhat enjoying it. Disregarding the horrible smell and the violently loud chatter, you supposed the cafeteria and lunch as a whole was okay.

That was, at least, until you caught sight of that kid who'd been staring at you in history. You hadn't even noticed he was there at first, but there he was, halfway across the cafeteria, staring blatantly right at you. This time, though, he was just smiling - smirking, even, and it unnerved you.

What is wrong with this guy?

The rest of the week went by like this. On your way to class, you'd always see him in the halls, eyes locking with yours as you passed him. Or getting your books from your locker - he'd always be there, eyes glued to your form. He wasn't even doing anything, was simply fixated on you. It made you shiver, the looks he gave you at first.

Now, however, it was almost expected. You'd anticipate dark eyes boring into your skull and the fumes of cigars to follow you in class, or truly just anywhere around school, just as you would expect your shadow to follow you in the sunlight. And, as annoying as it was the every first day, now it was eerie. You didn't have to look over your shoulder to know you were being watched, but when you did, you'd surely freeze out of both paranoia and fear. While, yes, you'd expected this year of high school to be your worst yet, never had you expected for it to be to such an extent.

Your fear later festered when he pulled a blank on two jocks in the cafeteria. Although you knew blanks couldn't truly hurt them, you shuddered to think what he'd do if he really wanted to cause some damage.

Things got worse still when the kid started dating the infamous Veronica Sawyer, not quite a Heather but not quite anything else either. Gossip around the school grew mad about the unconventional couple, and you soon learned the name of the kid who never did seem to leave you alone: Jason Dean, or 'J. D.' as everyone knew him.

Now, whenever you'd see J. D., he'd always be accompanied by his girlfriend, Veronica. He never did stop staring, though, resulting in numerous glares coming from Veronica's way.

So much for being tolerated by the popular crowd.

School had then became a living hell for you, because if one Heather didn't like you, none of them did, making life going unnoticed near impossible. Now, no matter where you were, someone was either glaring or gazing at you, their intentions vague and unclear.

Things then got particularly bad when Heather Chandler became a sort of enemy of yours. You weren't sure what you did to irk specifically her, but, whatever it was that you did, she most certainly hated you, more so than Veronica, even. Not a day went by without a rude confrontation by her, and you could name several instances when she'd embarrassed you in front of the school.

But then, one day, she was gone.

Suicide. At least, that's what they said it was, but you knew too many people hated that bitch for it to be so. All it would take was a teenager driven insane enough by her to be driven to such a point, and considering the state of Westerburg high, you didn't doubt for a moment that the queen bee of the school essentially prompted her own death.

So, yeah. You knew her suicide was faked. Not that you were going to report it to the cops - you weren't planning on stirring up more drama - but you weren't stupid enough to be fooled by such a thing. And, besides, though you'd never admit it aloud, you were glad she was dead, in an odd way. Now you had at least one less person to make your life at this sorry school miserable.

So, life was okay for a while. People got too busy about mourning Heather's death to notice a nobody like you. Other than that creep J. D. and his jealous girlfriend stalking the halls, life was tolerable.

But when you're at the top, the only way you can go is down. And that's where you went. Down. All the way to rock bottom.

You didn't know how to put it in lighter terms, so here it was: You were almost raped. By Kurt and Ram, to be more exact.

Apparently, J. D. wasn't the only one who had an eye on you, and with all your attention focused on him (since you were so damn paranoid) you'd failed to notice the two jocks that also seemed to have been interested by you.

It was late at night. You were walking home from some house you'd babysat at as a favor, and two guys started following you. You didn't think much of it at first - just tried to forget about it and cool your nerves, but then they started to get faster, and faster, and you did too, until suddenly you were running, and then, almost abruptly, the two jocks had grabbed your arms and startled forcing you elsewhere. You screamed and fought, but no one was around to hear you.

You could only imagine the other 'nobodies' they must have done this to.

You remembered vividly your horror as the two piled themselves on top of you, eager to rip your clothes off. But, just as they were about to do so, a gun shot rang out, and then another. Frozen in terror, you didn't even move as you felt the boys' bodies go limp over you. You were only able to move when you felt a hand grab onto your own and force you up and get you back on your feet.

"Thank you," you barely managed to sputter out once the initial shock wore off.

"Go," is all the figure replied. A man, you presumed. You couldn't see his face, though, covered by the dark lighting. And so, dazed and confused, you obliged, not thinking twice about the words spoken to you.

The next day, though, was when things truly got out of hand.

Kurt and Ram, supposedly, had died in some gay love pact, wherein they killed each other. Hearing the news over the TV your parents played, you felt sick to your stomach. But, there they lied on the screen, a bag of supposed 'homosexual artifacts' and a suicide note to tie it all together.

And the whole town ate the story up.

You didn't go to school for about the next week or so. You told your parents that you were sick, and even though they knew you weren't, they still called in sick for you, able to detect that you weren't exactly feeling well mentally.

The week of repose was good, too. You were able to gather yourself up, not to the point where you didn't fear what could have happen had your savior not came to the rescue, but to the point where you could suppose that you were grateful that you wouldn't have to answer any questions from the police.

But now, at least for now, you knew you'd be safe.

* * *

You let out a soft sigh as you landed on your bed, curling into your warm sheets as a way of seeking comfort. At least you were safe and secure at home, you supposed, your parents only a relatively quiet yell away and your windows locked for good measure. If school was your hell, then you would consider home your heaven, away from the Heathers, away from J. D., away from everyone.

Turning off your light, you sank into your pillow in a desperate sort of way, clinging to it as if it were your lifeline. You'd hardly been getting sufficient sleep within the past weeks, so it didn't take long for you to fall into oblivion, the abyss of sleep consuming you whole in minutes.

So deeply unaware of your surrounding now, you didn't even hear quiet footsteps entering your bedroom.

J. D. was, to say the least, unsure what made him drawn to you in the first place. Maybe it was your calm and uncaring demeanor, or maybe it was the way you seemed to pick up on things through simple observation so easily, similarly to him. Whatever it was, he most certainly found you interesting. And, somehow, he could simply tell that there was something different about you - something like him that he saw in you, and it intrigued him to no end.

No matter how paranoid you were, you were never completely aware of J. D.'s reach in your life. When he'd watch you when you were at home, he'd remain particularly clever, knowing that if he was caught there was a high chance that he'd get into some really deep shit. Staring at a girl in school every day was one thing, but following her home? That was much more serious, and required a much less conspicuous plan.

But, alas, his plan paid off, and J. D. smiled knowingly as he stared at your vulnerable figure, taken over by a much needed sleep. You simply looked so perfectly innocent like that, something he couldn't wait to ruin once he had the chance.

J. D. laughed euphorically as he continued to just stare at you, unsure if he still had his wits about him but uncaring at the very same time. Perhaps all the cigars he had been smoking really were getting to him. But he knew what he needed to do before he brought you with him. So, quietly, resisting the urge to kiss your pristine lips, J. D. raced out of your bedroom, your door that was previously shut left open behind him.

Unfortunately for him, however, he'd forgotten that you were often a light sleeper that woke up at different intervals in the night, so when a particularly cool gust of wind came in through your open window, you were startled awake.

"What the fuck?" You muttered under your breath as you drowsily peeled your eyes open, squinting them as you stood up to close the window, before pausing and wondering how on earth your window had opened. After all, your parents never came into your room late at night as far as you were concerned, and you had locked your window when you'd fallen asleep, so how could it have opened?

It was at that very moment, too, that the faint smell of smoke wafted through the room, and you froze.

Sure, you knew you were paranoid, and that maybe fear had gotten the better of you, but you also knew that a potentially dangerous kid had been staring at you ever since you got to school and that it would be idiotic for you to assume that he had no malicious intentions.

Your stomach then tightened up once you noticed your open bedroom door. So, yes. It was possible that maybe your assumptions were idiotic, but you'd be a fool to not go with your gut when the most it'd cost you was some short-lived embarrassment, especially considering what could have happened with Kurt and Ram. So, quietly, you exited your bedroom, looking down the hallways of the upstairs floor as to reassure that the coast was clear.

It was.

More silently than you've ever done so before, then, you tip-toed to your parents bedroom, hoping to either alert them of an intruder or ask them what the were doing. But, just as you were about to open their door, footsteps were heard on the other side - not your mother's quiet, considerate ones, nor your father's loud, heavy ones, but a different kind.

Fuck.

As fast as you could, you dashed into the nearest room, leaving the door only just barely open as to not allow it to make any sound. From your parent's room exited a dark silhouette, wearing what you guessed was a trench coat and with only the burning edge of a cigarette as a light source plucked between two fingers.

You were right. You were fucking right. No other than Jason Dean was in your house, and right now, he was heading right for your bedroom, most likely intending to kill.

You needed to think fast.

My parents - right, my parents. They keep a gun in their bedroom.

You were shaking. Yes, your parents showed you were they kept the gun in the case of an emergency, but you'd never been taught how to use it.

As quietly as you could, you dashed over to your parents bedroom, closing the door behind you. And, even though you knew you didn't have the time, you took a moment to catch your breath. God, you couldn't breathe. And neither could your parents, as it seemed, when you looked over at their limp corpses sprawled in the bed. Slowly, you retracted the covers from their bodies, only to find a wet pool of blood that lay beneath them and their slit throats.

They were dead. J. D. had fucking killed your parents. You felt your knees buckle underneath you as you caressed your mother's lifeless face, her eyes never to once again open.

"Mom..." You whimpered, not caring if her blood stained your fingers. But then, you paused, realizing that, if you didn't speed up, you could be next.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I really need to find a weapon or a way out of here. I only have so much time before he finds me.

You suppressed a scream as you then scoured their bedroom in search of the gun safe, not keen on wasting any more time, but to your dismay, you couldn't find it.

They must have moved it from last year - fuck! - what else could they have?

Your eyes then landed on your father's esteemed baseball bat. You'd remember him talking about it, the pride radiating from him as he explained how it was the first bat he used to hit a home run with in high school.

Well, sorry dad.

Picking up what was now a weapon and placing it in such a way that would allow you to swing at a moment's notice, you slowly sauntered out of your parent's bedroom and into the hallway.

Your blood ran colder and colder as you approached your bedroom door, until, finally, you did, and raised the baseball bat even higher as to deliver the hardest blow on the boy that stood before you.

"You know, it would have probably been better if you'd stayed hiding," you then heard J. D. speak, turning around and raising an eyebrow at the bat in you hands. "You know, that isn't going to do much against a gun."

Time seemed to stop, and all you could stare at was the gun that sat loosely in J. D.'s hand. He was going to fucking kill you.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to use it on you," he then reassured coyly, as if reading your mind. "It's just a necessary... precaution. Now, why don't place the bat down so we can talk."

"I could scream."

J. D. seemed to smile at this and clicked his tongue, as if scolding you. "Now, would you really like to have someone else's blood on your hands like that? Just because I'm not going to shoot you doesn't mean I won't shoot anyone else. It'd be a shame if anyone had to die because of you."

Silence.

"Good, now... place the bat down."

Nodding, you complied, slowly placing your only means of defence on the ground.

"Okay, okay," you mumbled, trying to calm your racing heart down. Though you doubted it, you supposed that there was a chance that, if you could calm down enough, you could convince J. D. to leave you alive.

J. D. grinned. "Now, darling, why don't you come right here."

If you could've moved, you most certainly would've. After all, you'd seen that gun in J. D.'s hand. You knew what it could do. But you were frozen by fear, and no amount of rationality was going to move you.

"Now, this would all be, uh, a lot easier if you'd just come with me, because I'd hate to have to man-handle - " J. D.'s words cut short as he watched you, nearly stunned, as you bolted past him and towards the window. But he was quick to recoup his bearings, cocking the gun (for good measure) and grab onto your leg, successfully dragging you towards the ground. You grunted in pain upon your head slamming against the hardwood floor, the beginnings of a bruise already starting to appear.

Now only partially unconscious, it took you a long while to notice the tongue now prying apart your mouth and the chapped lips pressed against your own. You'd only really noticed when you realized that you couldn't breathe, and you let out a strangled groan as you tried to detach yourself from the figure above you, but to no avail. J. D. merely slid his tongue deeper down your throat, inhibiting you from screaming or making any other noise as he kissed you roughly.

You thrashed and flailed under his touch, but nothing was enough to free yourself from him. He was faster, stronger, and had the firearm in this situation. You stood no chance. So, with a heavy heart, you moved pliantly underneath J. D.'s touch, hoping he'd at least go a little easier on you at the very least.

And then, with bated breath, you observed as he stopped, and, hovering above you, took something out of his pocket. At first, fearing it was a gun, you began to once again fight against him, but then paused upon not recognizing the silhouette of the object in his hand.

"You know, as much as I'd like to continue this, I did come here for a reason." J. D. stared at you, no ounce of sympathy as he spoke his next words. "You know, it'd have been a hell of a lot easier if you'd just fucking stayed asleep."

Without so much as a moment to respond, a wet rag was forced upon your face. Confused at first, you lied still, before realizing what it must have been drenched it. You were now even more urgent in your fighting of J. D. (if that was even possible), punching and kicking him wherever you could. But he didn't budge, simply kept a firm grip on the rag.

"Shhh, it's fine, I won't hurt ya," he reassured, "Not unless I need to, of course."

But you didn't hear him, your consciousness already slipping as you'd only been half conscious before. You were trying to kick free, but already you were so exhausted, your adrenaline already beginning to ware off. Worse still, J. D.'s words of reassurance that you'd be fine and that everything will be alright were starting to mess with you.

You could hear him talking, but the words were muffled and blurred, and your body seemed to take everything in as if it were truth, because it was already relaxing under his cool touch. And it seemed that, the more fearful your mind grew, the more numb your body became, until, finally, you gave up your thrashing and your fighting, and sunk into J. D. harsh embrace willingly.

Upon your figure going limp, a devilish grin spread across J. D.'s face. Though he knew this was not how things were meant to occur, he was simply so happy - for he finally had you in his arms, where you belonged. And then, unable to help himself, he pressed a hungry kiss on your mouth, pleased to hear a muffled moan escape it as your tongue moved submissively under his own.

This was it! Finally - finally, after waiting for so long, you belonged to him. No more were the days when he'd have to watch you through your bedroom window, or the days where all he'd see of you were your paranoid eyes in the hallways, because, finally, here you were, in his arms, where you belonged!

Here you were at last, finally.

Finally, you were his and only his.

© do not translate, steal, or repost any of my works elsewhere without consulting me and gaining my consent.

[writer-rider-flirty-thirties]

In honor of my big bang fic's, Can Life Be Beautiful (Instead of Big Fun)?, first anniversary and hitting 200,000 words, I commissioned this wonderful cover art from @remmicreates!!! It's absolutely amazing and I'm so in love with it! (Go check remmicreates out!)

I hope whoever is enjoying the fic enjoys this art! (Well I hope everyone enjoys the art! It's simply beautiful!)

[theangelcatalogue]

25 YANDERE PROMPTS/CONCEPTS || !✦

TW: OBSSESIVE BEHAVIOR, YANDERES, POSSESIVE BEHAVIOR, KILLING, BLOOD, VIOLENCE, SWEARING, DELUSIONAL BEHAVIOR,KIDNAP, MANIPULATIVE BEHAVIOR, DRUGS(?), BAD ENGLISH, BAD GRAMMAR AND MADE BY A MINOR! (If i missed something please tell me!)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

1- " Boyfriend? Since when you have a boyfriend?

2- " They deserve to rot in hell for taking you away from me. "

3- " Our love is God! " (YES HEATHERS!!!)

4- " You love me! You always loved me! "

5- " I could treat you better and you know that! "

6- " You need me as much as i need you. "

7- " You can't just leave me here all alone! "

8- " Me? Delusional? No, madly in love? Yes! "

9- " You are so perfect, you know that right? "

10- " Where do you think you going? "

11- " Are you really going to hang out with them? Like, now...? "

12- " You are to pure for this world "

13- " Fuck, you run more faster than i thought. "

14- " They were very dramatic! " Oh please don't kill me! " " Please! No! Stop! " Damn, i don't knkw why did you liked them "

15- " I can't let you go! "

16- " Please don't go! I just need you! Please hear me! "

17- " Blood? OH! I- I CAN EXPLAIN- "

18- " Are you okay? The drug really had some effect on you... "

19- " If i was him, i would never make you cry. "

20- " They will pay for this... "

21- " I know you more than anyone! I know everything! Your Birthday, favorite colour, where you live, your passwords! See? We are meant to be! "

22- " So, i have some bad news about your friends... "

23- " I am yours, you are mine, simple. "

24- " Don't make me tie you up! "

25- " Home? Darling, this IS your home! With me! "

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

✦- NOTES

✮ If you all want me to make more i can make! This is kinda short i know- ✮

✮ I LOVE FATAL FRAME!!! FATAL FRAME>>>>> ✮

✮ I am making some and remaking some requests cause Yes ✮

✮ Idk tbh ✮

✮ SALUTATIONS SIR!!! ✮

[how-very-salty]

new chapter of royally fucked up. next chapter was a little... emotional o.o

uuuuw, 200 (even 201!) kudos... thank you all for support <3<3<3

[walking-dead-girrl]

most writings: you can see the symbolism of MC's villain arc because of the recurring serpent idealizations in the story and the slow, inevitable drop to insanity as-

heathers fanfiction: red scrunchie. watch out

[cr0wqui11]

In the mood to write a heathers omegaverse oneshot

[toxinoire]

Finally, I can write again!

This is how I visualize the final scene went down. A mix of both the 1988 movie and the musical.

~~~~~~

"Say hi to God."

Kaboom

Veronica, with a cigarette between her fingers and a sprained ankle, made her way through the school hallway as the other students ran past her to see where the explosion came from.

She contemplated.

She feels nothing.

Is she happy that four people had to fucking die? Absolutely not.

But...

When she looks at who are dead, Heather Chandler, Kurt Kelly, Ram Sweeney, Jason Dean...

Honestly she only feels bad for Heather. Because as much of a bitch as she was, she had her good moments. Moments that made her seem slightly human.

Kurt and Ram, she doesn't care. Those two were rapists. She doesn't like that she pulled the trigger, but Kurt and Ram being dead meant nothing to her.

As for JD....

She hopes he sees his mother. She hopes his father grows a brain and realizes his son is gone because he was never a father to him.

But as for him literally exploding in front of her...

She feels nothing.

She can only mourn that JD she first met, the lost boy who wanted his mother and was sweet, kind, a gentleman, and caring. Not the one that died in front of her.

The crowds moved past her, Veronica is too tired to even care that no one is asking what happened to her, why she looks disheveled and has blood running down her head.

Well,

Someone did say something.

"Veronica." Heather Duke called her, in all red. Veronica can't deny that she looks good in it, but still, she hates her in it. "You look like hell." Heather Duke moved closer to her, as if to inspect her. Veronica notices the slight concern in her eyes, and how she seems to be holding back her hands from reaching out to Veronica.

Veronica hates that last detail. Heather used to always reach out to her.

"Yeah?" Veronica chuckles. "I just got back."

Then, another voice calls her. "Veronica!"

Veronica and Heather Duke turn around to see Heather McNamara running to them. "Where have you been?!"

Heather Mac looks worried. Like, really really worried. "Miss Flemming told us you killed yourself." Heather Mac actually reaches out to her, inspecting her injuries, before she rests her hands on Veronica's face.

Veronica doesn't even hide how she leans into the touch.

She then sees the red fucking scrunchie and snaps back to where she is.

Veronica moves closer to Heather Duke and turns her around to take that damn thing off her.

"Veronica, what are you doing?" Heather Duke asks.

The students who were originally going to run past them stops in their tracks when they see Veronica with the scrunchie.

She wears it on her wrist and raises it up.

Time to actually do something.

"Listen up folks, war is over. Brand new sheriff's come to town." Veronica knows she sounds tired, but fuck that. "We are done with acting evil, we will lay out weapons down." She ties her hair with the scrunchie.

Everyone is watching her.

Good.

"We're all damaged, we're all frightened, we're all freaks. But that's alright. We'll endure it, we'll survive it-" Veronica pauses slightly when she sees Betty and Martha by the crowd. She calls them. "Martha, Betty."

They both turn to look at her, clearly resisting the urge to move. Veronica takes a deep breath. "Are you free tonight?"

Martha and Betty look at each other, before turning back to Veronica. They actually move forward this time.

It was silent for a while.

"What?" Martha breaks the silence.

"Uh, my date to pep rally blew-"

Accidental slip

"-me off..."

That's better

"So I was wondering if you guys weren't doing anything tonight we could pop some jiffy pop? Rent a video?" Veronica can hear how hopeful she sounds.

She doesn't have the right to be hopeful after what she did, but she still is.

"Something with a happy ending." She finishes. Veronica really wants a happy ending right now.

"Are there any happy endings?" Martha asks. Gosh, she sounds so tired. Betty isn't even looking at her in the eye.

Veronica looks at everyone around them and sighs. She turns back to her--hopefully still best friends. "I can't promise no more Heathers, high school may not ever end." She steps closer. "Still I miss you, I'd be honored-" She swallows. "If you'd let me be your friend."

"My friend." Martha says, as she takes Veronica by the hand and pulls her into a hug.

"We can be seventeen. We can learn how to chill." Veronica feels tears form in her eyes as Martha joins her. "If no one-"

Then, Betty joins them. "-loves me now, someday somebody will." She finally meets Veronica's gaze. "We can be seventeen. Still time to make things right. One day we'll change the world, but let's kick back tonight."

This time, it's Veronica who reaches out her to Heather Duke and Heather Mac.

Heather Mac immediately grabs her hand. "Let's go be seventeen. Take off our clothes and dance."

Veronica walks, well, limps, towards Heather Duke and reaches out, a silent plea in her eyes. Heather Duke hesitantly takes her hand, and once she has fully held it, Veronica pulls her into a hug.

Heather Duke puts one hand on Veronica's back, lightly returning the hug. But she grips onto Veronica's jacket as if it's a lifeline.

Veronica sighed. She really missed her. She didn't like what the scrunchie turned her into.

But holy shit, did she missed her.

"Act like we're all still kids, cause this could be our final chance."

Veronica smiles as she sees Betty, Martha, Heather M, and Heather D all try to be nice to each other.

Maybe they can all be friends.

Now everyone is joining them.

"Always be seventeen

Celebrate you and I

maybe we won't grow old.

And maybe then we'll never die."

Veronica feels happy. Genuinely, happy.

She missed that.

"We'll make it beautiful."

Veronica swears she hears Heather Chandler's voice.

"We'll make it beautiful.

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful"

This really feels like a win for Veronica.

[sprnklersplashes]

time won't fly (9/?) ao3

this was the very first page (not where the storyline ends)

Martha isn’t expecting much from today.

Which is a silly, self-pitying thought that she should push from her head and move on. She doesn’t know why she had expectations, other than she had a lovely night last week with Veronica. And yes, maybe some part of her-a very naive part of her-thought that they were going back to the old days, to Veronica-and-Martha, where every weekend was theirs, but that’s on her for not knowing better. If she refuses to let the past go, unrealistic expectations will plague her until after college.

With a heavy sigh, Martha drops her cereal bowl in the dishwasher and slams it closed. So much for not thinking about it. 

The house is empty; her mom is working the early shift today so she woke up to a note on the fridge signed off with ‘I love you’. It’s times like this the house feels a lot bigger; two floors become twenty, square feet become acres. When she could simply appear on Veronica’s doorstep, it hadn’t felt quite as lonely. A safety net always existed down the block for her. 

Earlier, Martha had asked Veronica during study hall, tentatively, if she wanted to do something today, but she had shaken her head, mumbling about a doctor’s appointment that morning. Which makes sense; twice now Martha has seen Veronica emerging from the bathroom, face pale and hair limp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Most of the time, Heather Duke trails after her, contempt in her dark eyes. And much as she tried, she couldn’t help feeling uneasy at the sight, a two-pronged fork poking her in the gut. One; someone was helping Veronica and it wasn’t her. And two; Veronica was staggering out of the bathroom with red-rimmed eyes and a bulimic of two years beside her. It’s awful, judgemental, to put those things together and yet she did. 

Martha shakes the thought from her head, scowling. She grabs her backpack from the table and storms into the living room, floorboards creaking beneath her steps.

So, at 9 am on a Saturday, Martha curls up on the couch, flips on daytime TV, and takes out her homework. She has a short essay on The Tempest to start and while she’s been in the class and made, she couldn’t recall the plot of that play with a gun to her head. 

At around halfway down the page, there’s a knock at the door. Martha’s head snaps up. It comes again, quick and dainty against the wood. It’s unfamiliar to her, and for a second she considers pretending she didn’t hear it. Then the instinct fades and she pulls herself up, and discards the blanket before she makes her way down the hall. She does her best to appear happy and welcoming but then she opens the door and she can’t quite do anything. 

Because Heather Macnamara is standing on her doorstep. 

Martha blinks fully expecting to wake up in her bed. In what version of reality would Heather Macnamara be on her doorstep, smiling at her like there’s nowhere else she would rather be.

“Heather,” she says, having taken far too long to find her voice. “Um, uh… hi?”

“Hi.” Heather beams at her, perfect white teeth in her perfect cheerleader’s smile. Her hair is held back in a loose bun, tucked under the same white beanie she had the last time she was here. “I was in the neighbourhood.”

“You were in the neighbourhood?” Martha repeats. She wasn’t aware their neighbourhoods existed on the same planet. 

“Uh-huh,” she says. “I mean, well, I was walking Lola here and I remembered how nice your block was and I thought I’d take her down it.” 

“Lola?” Martha asks. It’s then she glances down and sees that Heather is holding the lead of a very fluffy grey-and-white puppy whose tail beats a steady rhythm against the ground. “You have a dog?”

“Yeah,” Heather says. Of course she does, loads of people have dogs. That is not something to be confused about. “Normally my dad or my sister walk her, but I thought I’d take her down here for a change, and then I saw your house cause I remembered it from the last time I was here, and I thought maybe you’d want to come and walk her with me?” As if on command, Lola lets out a bark and begins sniffing around Martha’s sneakers.

Martha braces herself. Ram’s party bursts across her mind; all dimmed lights and a strong vodka smell, eyes of the world on her. Her hair rises on the back of her neck, waiting for the cheerleading squad to burst from her bushes.

Martha never used to be cynic. But now, she’s pulling away from Heather and getting ready to slam the door.

“So let me get this right,” she says. “You came all the way from your house to mine, which is at least fifteen minutes, to ask me if I want to walk your dog with you when there is a park five minutes from you?”

Heather’s face falls. It’s such a sight that Martha stops short, her breath sharp as she inhales. And then comes the guilt, cold beneath her skin, because this is why no-one likes you Dunnstock-

“I… I did not plan on you knowing all of that.”

“You live near Ram right?” comes her response. In contrast to her previous rant, this one is soft, careful, accompanied by a shift from one foot to the other. Heather nods, and doesn't meet Martha’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean it to be like that,” she says quietly. Her gaze moves up; she takes in the whole of Martha’s small house. The smile on her face is oddly subdued. Martha remembers the Heather who came to this house last week, sheepish and awkward, shivering in her long coat. “I don’t know what I meant, really. Guess I was just…” She shakes her head. “Nevermind. I’ll-I’ll see you around, Martha.” She turns on her heel, not so quick that Martha can’t see the red on her cheeks. Martha stands rooted to the ground, watching her leave. Then something emerges from the back of her throat, and without thinking she calls “Heather wait!” just before she reaches her gate.

When she turns, it’s one swift motion, pink lips parted.

Her hand tightens on the doorframe, the voice in her head whispers to stay put because she’ll end up regretting this.

“Let me get my coat,” Martha hears herself say. “I know somewhere we can go.”

The ‘somewhere’ in question is a woodland not too far from Martha’s house. Well, woodland is a little generous, it’s more a stretch of uninterrupted grass with clusters of trees round it. It’s not quite pretty enough to call woodland, and the stretch of highway in the distance ruins the image a bit. But it’s open and in the fresh air and Lola seems perfectly happy, straining against the leash as she tries to explore.

“She’s cute,” Martha says, nodding at her. “Didn’t know you had a dog.”

“I got her a few years ago,” Heather explains. “She’s a good girl. Most of the time.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “She doesn’t normally get to play like this. When my dad walks her he just takes her to whatever client he’s meeting up with that day and ties her to a railing while they walk.”

“Poor pup,” Martha sighs. Ahead of them, Lola jumps at a tree trunk, fascinated by a squirrel up in the branches. For a second, Martha laughs, caught up in this very strange moment, until she looks down. 

“Oh, hey,” she cringes. “Sorry I should’ve-your shoes are covered in mud.”

“Are they?” Heather stops, seeming to panic for a second. She follows Martha’s gaze and looks down. Sure enough, the pristine white of her boots is now streaked with brown, little jagged clumps nestled in the soles. Martha hadn’t thought of it when she took her out here. Her own sneakers are wrecked too, splatters of soil across the faded rainbow stripes.

“S-sorry,” she says again. “Maybe we should’ve just-”

“It’s fine,” Heather interrupts. She shakes her head once, twice, pink lips turning upwards. “It doesn’t matter. I can clean them later.” She resumes her walk, stumbling a bit as her dog pulls her forwards. Martha picks up the pace and scrambles to her side, slightly bothered by the pain in her hips.

Steadily, she breathes out. She can handle it, at least for the next hour or so.

“So…” Heather begins. “Were you in the middle of anything important?”

“Oh, no,” she replies. “No, just uh, getting a start on that English assignment.”

“The English assignment,” Heather sighs, teeth gritted. It’s there where Martha begins to see the Heather she recognises; steel beneath the yellow satin. “Don’t remind me. I think I just wrapped my head around it.”

“Well, we’ve got time,” Martha says. “It’s not due for another few weeks.” She pokes at a leaf with her foot. “To be honest, I’m still getting to grips with it.”

“You are?” Heather asks. Martha freezes, her cheeks burning. The admission had slipped through her teeth, undetected and unintentional, and now Heather Macnamara has it in her hands. She wills herself not to look at her, and steadies herself in preparation for the onslaught that’s about to come.

Only when she does catch sight of her face, Heather’s eyes are blown wide, her mouth hangs open, pink glows in her cheeks.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that,” Heather insists. “God, I’m-I’m so sorry I did not mean it like that. I just meant that like- well you’re so smart and you get such good grades, I guess I… I didn’t think you could find stuff hard.” She swallows, stuffs her hands in her pockets. “School stuff, I mean.”

“I… I do,” she mumbles. “Sometimes.”

“I feel like I’ll never get any of it,” Heather sighs. “English isn’t… so bad. Not all of the time. Neither’s history.” She huffs, a short and bitter sound. “It’s Math that’s getting me. None of it makes sense, you know what I mean?”

“Sure,” she nods, even though she doesn’t. Math comes pretty easy to her; it’s really just a set of patterns that she can memorise, but Heather is on a roll with something and the ache in her leg is making itself known. Heather can take the reins right now.

“I mean, I know you’re in a different math class to me so I don’t know if you’re doing this right now, but we’ve been doing surface area for weeks and I’ve had it explained over and over and I still don’t get it,” she goes on. Frustration trembles in her voice. “And it’s not… like I look at the numbers and they just don’t make any sense, you know?”

“Yeah,” Martha breathes. “Yeah, I know.” And she does, a bit, but right now the steadily growing pain in her side is taking over her thought process. Before she can think to stop, her hand is pressed to her side, her breaths become shorter, quicker. Heather slows to a stop, her eyes inescapable.

Get it together, the voice in her head whispers. Stand up, you’re fine, be normal.

“Martha?” she asks. All of the anger has fled her voice, replaced with a worry that Martha would be cautious of in other circumstances. She takes a long, slow breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth.

“I think…” she begins. “I think I need to sit down somewhere.” And the admission is humiliating, shameful, she’s handing Heather all the ammunition she could ever want. Forgive her language, but she is so sure this will bite her on the ass.

“Oh…okay,” Heather says. She looks around, fist pressed to her mouth. “I think… there’s a log over there? We can sit there.”

“No.” Martha shakes her head. “I mean… I know somewhere we can go.” She takes another breath and straightens her spine. The pain is still there, but she can bear it, she will. Perhaps if she were on her own she’d collapse on a log, but she’s not about to make Heather sit on a piece of fallen tree. Another breath. “I know where we can go. It isn’t too far. It’s inside. And there’s cake.”

“Oh well, if there’s cake,” Heather replies and inexplicably, Martha grins at her. Grins. At Heather. “You’re sure you can make it?” Martha sets her shoulders. When she was a kid and having panic attacks over going to school, her mom always told her, just make it to the door. Then the car. Then the front gate. Just one step. 

It’s the same thing here. 

“I can make it,” she tells her. She looks down and finds Heather’s free hand half-extended to her, another crutch. Her heart pounds, matching the ‘what on earth’ ringing in her head. She declines the offer though.

Before she turns, she sees Heather’s curl inward, then slowly and limply fall to her side. 

With slow and careful steps, Martha walks Heather down and along a backroad that takes them into the little park near her house. There, she leads the bemused Heather Macnamara and the still-excited Lola down a narrow path to a little white, rectangular building. The cafe’s been here since before Martha was a kid, run by a constantly changing group of local kids and college drop-outs, plus on elderly lady who’s worked here since before Martha was born. For all she knows, she probably built the place.

In the short walk here, the pain in Martha’s bone had sharpened so much that her breath is coming in short, swift gasps.  Her vision blurs at the edges, a familiar heat prickles at the back of her eyes. When they enter the cafe, it takes all of Martha’s self control to not completely collapse into the chair, and if Heather’s expression is anything to go by, she’s not hiding it nearly as well as she hoped.

“I’m… I’m okay,” she pants. It’s far from true, but she grips the side of the table anyway and braces to rise. “Anyway, what do you-”

“Oh my gosh no!” Heather replies. “No. I can order, what’s your usual?”

“it’s fine, I can-”

“Martha!” Heather snaps. “Listen, the fact that you made it here in one piece is a miracle, so I am going to order you a drink and you are going to sit here and maybe play with my dog if you want to!” Heather exhales, a short puff of breath, and then she smiles. “Please. Because if you pass out I will have a nervous breakdown.”

Martha freezes. Her mouth hangs half-open. At the very least, there’s something familiar in having Heather snap at her, her heartbeat spiked out of habit, but the request is so far from expectation that she can’t even formulate a response, let alone say it.

Heather waits until she croaks out that her usual is a vanilla latte, then she smiles and flounces off to the counter. Tiny flecks of mud fall from her boots as she goes.

If this is indeed a dream, now would be the perfect time to wake up. There’s no way it can get stranger than this. 

Martha runs a hand through her hair and lets out a long exhale. Around her, the few patrons in the cafe still watch her, evidently interested in whatever just happened. She wants to tell them that she doesn’t know what just happened either, only that the most popular girl in her school-who used to enjoy making her life hell-is waiting in line at the counter and her dog is rubbing her head against Martha’s leg, nuzzling and demanding pets. Martha gives them, because the motion is the only thing tethering her to Earth.

Good God, what exactly were her plans for today? They sure as hell weren’t this but  as she sifts through the confusion, she finds she’s not really complaining. There’s some part of her that’s enjoyed today. If nothing else, it’s better than sitting in her house.

She leans back in the chair. The pain in her side slowly recedes, and she allows herself a smile as Lola tries to stand on her hind legs. Martha contemplates calling over to Heather and telling her to grab some dog treats from the counter, until she turns her head at the exact time and sees a familiar car round the corner.

And maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s a coincidence, but as Veronica’s mom’s car slows to a halt on the road outside, Martha feels a shiver pass through her. A glance at the clock tells her it’s a little past ten, meaning Veronica’s appointment has likely been and gone. Should she be hoping everything went okay? Should she be calling her or chasing down the car? She can see Veronica, for a minute, jumping from the car and rushing inside. She unloads all her troubles onto Martha, just like she had a hundred times before, and Martha feels whole again.

Then, the light turns green and the car is gone. Veronica didn’t even know Martha was here.

“Okay, two vanilla lattes!” Heathers slides into the chair opposite her. Martha turns back just as she slides her cup across the table. “And they even gave us little cookies too! God you were right, Martha, this place is adorable! I should come here more often. They even gave me dog treats because I told them about Lola!” She giggles, her nose scrunches, and she bends down to feed Lola. “She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

Heather looks up, blonde curls falling in front of her face. Her blue eyes are bright, sparkling, there’s a pink flush on her cheeks and Martha realises that Heather is kind of beautiful. It’s always been a fact, but it’s never felt as real as it has right now.

She is also aware that Veronica is driving down the road to her house because of a doctor’s appointment Martha doesn’t know about. And that she’s been keeping something from her for weeks. Something happened to her at the pep rally and Veronica won’t tell her what. Since September, the person she thought was her one constant has been drifting further and further away from her. 

And she can’t solve that. But she can solve this. 

“Martha?”

“Why are you here?” she asks her. Heather’s face falls. Slowly, she pulls herself upright, her hands rest on the table.

“What?”

“Why are you here?” she says again. “Why are you with me? You have any number of people you could hang out with today-why the hell are you hanging out with me? Are your friends busy or is this some kind of ‘let’s hang out with Dumptruck’ joke like inviting me to Ram’s party was? Because if I’m honest Heather, at least the party invite made sense. That had a punchline. And it didn’t ruin your shoes, so what’s the point this time?��� She laughs and it sounds wrong. It’s cold and bitter and all the things she isn’t. “What gives, Heather?”

Now it’s Heather’s turn to be surprised. Martha doesn’t look away as she squirms. She avoids Martha’s gaze, pulls at her sleeves, looks at the floor. Maybe Martha should be uncomfortable with how it makes her feel. She is not a spiteful person and yet for a precious few seconds, she’s watching Heather Macnamara become small beneath her gaze and doesn’t dislike it.

Until Heather answers.

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “I don’t know why I’m here. When I went out today I did not plan on going near your house.” She looks down at her hands. Her fingers clasp and unclasp. Resigned, she heaves a sigh and slumps forward. “But when I was out… I could just feel everything and everyone. And I couldn’t stand it and next thing I knew I was on my way to your house.”

“Why?” Martha asks. Her voice is barely even a breath. “Why my house?”

Heather shrugs.

“I… I wanted to go to the last place I felt safe. And that was… that was that movie night you and Veronica.” She glances up, her eyes shining. Martha’s breath catches. “You were the last person to make me feel safe. And I don’t know why.” She shakes her head, huffs a breath. It’s almost self-deprecating.

Not almost. It is. Heather Macnamara is crying and self-deprecating right in front of her. 

And she doesn’t enjoy it now. It pierces her chest, as easily as a knife would.

Wood scrapes on wood, and Heather is pushing her chair back and standing up.

“I can go. It’s fine, I can-I can go. Thank you for-for today. For everything really I-” She pauses, presses her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to treat you like I did. I didn’t mean it Martha. And I’m sorry.”

Heather goes to untie Lola’s leash, but this time Martha is faster and she grabs Heather’s hand. The contact is so sudden that Heather gasps, muscles tensing beneath Martha’s hand. Martha realises she is standing too. Her heart is pounding and pounding and pounding. Heather’s hand is beneath hers/

And Veronica is still down the block. And yes, it’s driving her crazy but Heather is right here.

Heather’s hand trembles. Martha didn’t think that was possible.

“I said there’d be cake,” she says weakly. It takes a moment for the words to register. She watches as the realisation dawns on Heather’s face. Cautiously, like she’s expecting a trap, Heather sits back down. 

“Okay,” she says quietly. 

They order a slice of vanilla cake and share it between them. 

[purple-scrunchie]

JDoodle from last week I forgot to post

[deeplyshalllow]

There's something so funny to me about the fact that the entire Heathers fandom (including me) failed to realise that Big Fun was on Saturday when Dead Girl Walking is very explicitly set 30 hours before Monday 8am.

[tansyuduri]

Heathers Songs Merlin Version!

Okay so I first posted these in this post but I decided they needed their own post. (I linked videos in the song above) SO! I SAY NO (Arthur and Uther Version) ARTHUR:

You are a drug. You are a poison’d cup

I've got to show my feeling now and stand up.

I craved the love. When you would keep me close.

But you will not be satisfied until I overdose

This is it. For their sake. I am finally awake!

Let me be. Let me go

You need help. I can't provide. I am not qualified

This future king is coming clean. I say no

UTHER:

Arthur , they are-

ATRHUR:

No, no, no, no. Don't say a word

You speak and I cave in. You'll twist the truth again

And drill deep down beneath my skin

You said it was for her. And I believed in you

But you're still using ust o justify the harm you do

This is it. What you make. Call it all my mistake

Long as you let me go

You need help. I can't provide

I'm not here to stand beside

It's not too late, I'm fighting fate

I say no!

Blame her loss. Blame being sad. Blame the life we never had

But hurting people. That's your choice, my king.

'Cause I believe that love will win

And hate will earn you nothing in the end

This is the end

UTHER:

But I love you

ARTHUR:

Father!

This is it. I won't cry. Starting now. I will try

To pay back all the karma I owe

Start again, help those two. Far from people like you

So goodbye 'cause now I. I say no.

Just in time, I say no

Somehow I'm saying no

Just say no

I say no No!

__________________________________________________________ DEAD GIRL WALKING (Merlin and Arthur Version)

MERLIN: The evil king of the kingdom has decreed it.

He says Monday, in the morning, I will be deleted

They'll hunt me down in every hall.

Burn me alive until I fall.

30 hours to live, how shall I spend them?

I don't have to stay and die like cattle.

I could change my name and avoid that last death rattle.

But I can't just leave all my feinds.

Wait, here's an option with better ends.

Spend these 30 hours gettin' freaky, yeah.

I need it hard I'm a dead man walking.

I'm in your yard I'm a dead man walking.

Before they grab me from the stock.

I'm magicin' off your window lock.

Got no time to knock, I'm a dead man walking.

ARTHUR: Merlin? You Idiot, What are you doing in my room?

MERLIN: Shh...

Sorry, but I really had to wake you.

See, I decided I must ride you 'til I break you.

'Cause Uther says I got to go.

I'm drunk and here to let you know:

Shut your mouth and lose them night clothings.

Come on, tonight I'm yours.

I'm your dead Man walking.

Get on all fours.

Kiss this dead MAN walking.

Let's go, you know the drill. I'm done waiting. I've had my fill .

Bow down to the will of a dead man walking.

And you know, you know, you know

It's 'cause you're beautiful.

You say you're numb inside But I can't agree.

So the world's unfair. Keep it locked out there.

In here it's beautiful

Let's make this beautiful.

ARTHUR : Uh... That works for me,

MERLIN: Yeah, Lets go ahead

Take this dead man walking.

Let's break the bed. Rock this dead Man walking.

No sleep tonight for you.

Better Kiss me right down there.

Take me by the rear.

Make this whole town disappear.

Slap me, pull my hair Touch me there and there and there

And no more talking.

Love this dead Man walking.

Love this dead Man walking

Love this Dead Man walking.

BOTH: Yeah, yeah, yeah Ow, yeah.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- SEVENTEEN (Gwen and Morgana version)

GWEN:

Fine! Your “damaged” Really “damaged” But that does not make you “wise”

Fine you're “special”, Fine you're “different” But we don’t choose who lives or dies.

Let’s be normal, watch bad jesters. Sneak a picnic and watch the sky.

We’ll bake sweet things or go riding.

Don’t you want a life with me?

Can’t we be as a team?

That’s all I want to do.

If you could let me in I could be good with you.

People hurt us

MORGANA: Or they hate us

GWEN: And you’re right, thats full of woe But we let go—

MORGANA: Take a deep breath

GWEN: Then go buy some special clothes We'll go camping—

MORGANA: Work together

GWEN: And convince Arthur to hear us out Maybe moon Light

MORGANA: Maybe dancing

GWEN: Don't stop looking in my eyes

MORGANA: Your eyes

BOTH: Can't we be as a team.

Is that so hard to do?

If you could let me in. I could be good with you.

Let us be as a team. If we still got the right.

GWEN: So what’s it gonna be? I wanna be with you

MORGANA: I wanna be with you

GWEN: Wanna be with you

BOTH: Tonight

GWEN: Yeah you've been damaged

MORGANA: Badly damaged

GWEN: But your love’s too good to lose

MORGANA: Hold me tighter

GWEN: Even closer

Morgana: I’ll stay if I’m what you choose. Can't we be as a team.

BOTH: If I am what you choose

MORGANA: If change how I fight

GWEN: ‘Cause you’re the one I choose

MORGANA: You’re the one I choose

BOTH: You’re the one I choose

[swag696942069]

Marauders heathers au where Barty is JD. That's all I have worked out so far 💀💀

[lovefromremus]

Hi babes!! My bestie just posted a MARAUDERS/JILY HEATHERS AU FIC and writing is genuinely incredible and ik you guys would go FERAL for it so go check it out and send him all the love!!