#pure jdonica

[how-very-salty]

J.D. is just teasing her - he doesn't expect her to actually do it, but... hell, yeah!

[merp-blerp]

I wish Chandlmara (Heather Chandler x Heather McNamara) was a more popular ship because they're my favorite Heathers ship (no hate to any others).

To preface, I understand that a person’s reason for shipping something can be complicated. I know that some people ship things purely because the aesthetic is hot or they really only ship them in an alternate reality other than canon and that's totally okay (the Heathers fandom does this a lot, I think)! I do this myself. I'm not here to bash the other ships I mention here; I like them, in that complicated way. Just be mindful about why this ship would be toxic in canon and don't pick on other people for shipping toxic parings if you don't know the context of how they ship them.

That being said, Chandlmara would be the healthiest ship canon-wise. Chandler never picks on McNamara the way she does Duke or Veronica. Sure, in canon they rarely converse, but Mac did call Chandler her best friend right before “Lifeboat” so they must’ve been close off-screen (wish we saw more of that in their interactions, even if it's just small looks or giggling together at something stupid someone did in that bestie way).

As for Mcnamawyer, my second fav, it's fine until you remember Ronnie will probably have to lie to Mac for the rest of her life (or at least for the duration of their relationship) over the murders of her bestie and ex (Kurt in the og production). They themselves would get along fine, but there’s that factor. They are so cute though! My first Heathers OTP till I thought about Chandlmara. (Also how on earth do you say Mcnamawyer out loud???)

Duke x literally anyone in the show she canonically interacts with would be toxic. Sorry, Duke. An AU with Duke x JD (Juke?) would really interest me though. She would've been more down to murder and be his lackey I think. Toxic, but interesting. Chansaw could be really complex and often hot, but oh so toxic, lol. And we all know Jdonica is tough. More fans should consider Chandlmara.

[retro-pure-jdonica]

Milkshakes and Slushies

chapter 48--------------

“Veronica, what time did you tell J.D. to come over?” Mother asks, stepping into my bedroom.

“I told him three o’clock,” I respond, sitting up on my bed to check the clock and see that it is already nearing two o’clock.

“Well, I suppose you better start getting ready.” She comments, silently acknowledging the fact that I was still wearing pajamas.

“Yes ma’am,” I reply quietly, standing up from my bed. Since I’m not going out anywhere and the girls aren’t here, I decide to wear a dress that wasn’t blue for once. I wander into my closet and find a dark olive dress with small black flowers all over it. The dress has short sleeves so I pair it with a deep wine colored sweater so that I’m not cold. I haven’t been able to wear non-blue things for months and I feel like this has a nice fall feeling. I get dressed before walking back out into my room and over to my dresser where I find a nice starburst brooch to pin on my sweater.

I sit down at my dressing table and brush through my hair before twisting and pinning it partially up into victory rolls. After doing my makeup, I check my clock and see that it is only half past two. There isn’t much time to start on anything or read much so I decide to go downstairs to see if mother needs any help in the kitchen.

“Oh, Veronica, good. Would you put an apron on and come crumble this cornbread for the dressing?” Mother requests the second she sees me enter the kitchen, clearly wasting no time.

“Of course.” I smile, taking off my sweater and replacing it with an apron. I go over to wear mother is standing and does as she directs. As I assist, I watch her hurriedly go from place to place around the kitchen, working quickly. “Mother, we have almost two more hours before we eat. There’s no need to rush.” I attempt to calm her.

“Oh, you’re right.” She replies with a small laugh, checking the oven clock. “It’s getting quiet and your father is still in the bedroom. Would you be a dear and go turn on the radio.” Mother smiles kindly, taking everything I had prepared away so she could actually make food with it.

“Sure,” I reply, taking off my apron and putting my sweater back on before stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room. The soft music makes the house slightly less lonely. Since I am not needed at the moment, I sit down on the couch as to stay out of mother’s way in the kitchen. A few minutes late there is a knock at the door and I rush up to go answer it. Upon opening the door I am met with a slightly uncomfortable J.D. dressed in a suit. “You’re still not used to wearing them?” I ask with a small smile, pointing out his awkwardness.

“I don’t suppose that I’ll ever be.” He laughs, stepping inside.

“Come on, we can just go watch television until it’s dinner time.” I direct him as we walk into the living room.

“You know, when I was a teenager we didn’t have televisions in our homes. We had to actually talk to people.” Mother jokes, making her presence known in the house as she walks into the living room with us. Both J.D. and I laugh softly as we all sit down in chairs. “Hello Jason, how have you been recently?” She asks, striking up a conversation.

“I’ve been doing quite well.” He responds briefly, causing mother to smile understandingly and nod as she looks over the few injuries that still remained on him.

“So, dinner should be done in about an hour and a half so we’ll be eating a little after four. Mr. Sawyer should be coming out any minute so we can have some nice time to catch up.” Mother informs us and we nod silently. Feeling the air grow tense over the next minute or two, I decide to begin a conversation amongst the three of us.

“Did y’all hear about the murder of the Clutter family last week, down in Holcomb, Kansas last week?” I ask, recalling all of the news coverage that had been going on about it.

“Yes, terrible thing.” Mother replies, keeping her eyes down.

“Wasn’t it a robbery that went wrong?” J.D. asks, getting in his part of the conversation.

“Apparently, they still haven’t found who did it yet?” I inform him. Barely a second later, we all hear the master bedroom door open and out walks father.

“Oh, I haven’t seen you in a while.” Father smiles, acknowledging J.D..

“Hello, sir.” J.D. greets him, standing up to shake his hand before sitting back down. Father immediately walks over to the television and turns it on to flip through channels before finding the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“This is the thirty-five year anniversary, right?” I ask openly, not seeing that being advertised but recalling having heard about it.

“Yes, it’s been happening since 1924.” J.D. responds promptly, which is oddly funny to me.

“You know your parades well, huh?” I tease him with a smile.

“No, it’s just that I was living in New York around this time last year. I remember that being the thirty-fourth, my history teacher talked about it a lot the day before Thanksgiving break.” J.D. informs mainly me, fore father and mother weren’t paying very much attention. I’ve always loved whenever he stops thinking so much before speaking and, possibly accidentally, tells me a story from a place he used to live in or a school that he used to attend.

Eventually, mother and father disconnect from the parade and engage in conversation with J.D. and I. Luckily, J.D. eventually became comfortable and I could tell that his discussions with my parents came very naturally which was tremendously beneficial to my reassurance of mother and father’s acceptance of J.D. Not only was he comfortable with talking to them, they were happy when talking to him. Father pretty much smiles and nods along in any conversation, unless it’s about business or family, but mother was talking a lot to J.D. and seemed very pleased to be doing so. It was beyond wonderful to see J.D. smile and to be getting along with my parents.

[littleblueberryartist]

Welp, it’s 4.49am… Have some meme-ish(?) pure Jdronica?

~Aqua

P.s. this is inspired by @catnippackets’s comic: https://catnippackets.tumblr.com/post/149518260670/i-was-gonna-end-this-differently-make-lance (I’m so sorry I forgot to tag you before and I hope it’s ok that I post this!)

[sprnklersplashes]

dead girl falling

AO3 (rated teen and up)

Veronica slams her bedroom door shut, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, her mother’s concerned cries beginning to calm down.

‘I know exactly what you’re going through,’ she had said and Veronica nearly laughs. She doesn’t know what her world looks like, no one does. No one except her and the judgemental ghosts of Ram, Kurt and Heather Chandler, looking at her with narrowed eyes and feral grins as she looks around her bedroom for anything to use, to defend herself, to attack him with, she doesn’t know yet. By her guess, JD is right down her block. Five minutes from her house. Marching down the street with an untethered brain and a gun in his hand.

Five minutes to live, how should she spend them?

She looks over at her desk, covered with notes and flashcards and text book from a time when she thought her SATs were the most important thing in her life. She remembers telling JD when they were sitting on the wall outside the school one morning “if I don’t pass English, I’m dead” and he had laughed. At the time, she had loved his laugh, the way it sounded, the way it made her feel. Now, remembering it, she felt sick. She’ll never read the Bell Jar again.

Still, she sees a blank page and a pen and inspiration strikes. She grabs the notebook and pen off the desk and dives into her closet, locking the door behind her and turning on the light. It’s almost nothing, but it will work. It has to.

She closes her eyes and pictures JD’s writing. The sharpness of his ‘f’s and how tiny his ‘s’s are and how he never crosses his ‘I’s. It’s not easy, leaning on her knees under a nearly burnt-out bulb with her hand shaking as she scribbles, trying to form the words he’d say on the page, but she can’t stop. Even when she hears her window lock snap off, she keeps writing.

“Knock, knock,” he says. He almost sounds like he’s laughing. He’s so far from the boy she used to know, who was calm and collected, even when wrapping his arms around her with a gun in his hand after shooting down Kurt and Ram. She can only remember one time he’s ever sounded out of control; when he exploded after Kurt and Ram’s funeral, telling her about the evil fucks who made life unbearable. And even that pales in comparison to how he sounds now. “Sorry for coming in through the window, dreadful etiquette I know.” She keeps her mouth shut, pressing her back against the wood of her closet. Just keep writing, she tells herself. Just keep going. “Veronica, come on, I know you’re in here.”

She hears the tap of his knuckles against her closet door. No, not his knuckles. It’s too hard, metallic even.

“I can see the light on in there,” he taunts. The door handle rattles. “Open the door.”

“Why?” she asks, her voice small. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to tell you I forgive you,” he tells her. “Come on out and get dressed, you’re my date to the pep rally tonight.”

“Why?” she repeats. One syllable words might be all her fried brain can come up with right now.

“You know our classmates thought they were signing a petition. You should come out and see what they really signed,” he explains, his voice growing higher and higher and she hopes her parents can’t hear. She can’t drag anyone else into this mess. “After you chucked me out, I fell apart, Veronica. You should have seen me, screaming, crying, punching the wall. BAM!” On the other side of the door, his fist collides with the wall and she lets out a scream before clamping her hands over her mouth. “You should be dead for what you put me through.” Tears form in her eyes at how cold his voice sounds. She wants the boy who kissed every inch of her at 2am and told her how beautiful she is, the boy who told her he worshipped her, who fawned over her. But it’s the same boy who did all that. Just the side she never wanted to see. “But then I realised something… it hit me, you know? This wasn’t your fault. Nothing could ever be your fault, you’re too perfect for that. It’s them, those assholes. It’s our class, it’s our whole damn school. They’re the ones keeping us apart. Poisoning your mind, turning you away from me.” She hears him fall to his knees outside. “But it’s okay babe. I can fix you, set you free. Make everything the way it was.” His voice catches, and she wonders if he’s crying. “Make you love me again.”

“What?” she asks, so quietly she’s surprised if he even heard her. “What did they sign, JD?”

“A note,” he explains. “Listen, it’s good. ‘We the students of Westerburg High, will die. Our burnt bodies may finally get through to you. Your society churns out slaves and blanks, no thanks. Signed the students of Westerburg High. Goodbye’. Sounds good right?” As he reads, she tears her own note off the book, folds it as small as she can, and puts it in her bra. She hears him laughing breathlessly. “I built a bomb, Veronica. Went home and took a bunch of my dad’s explosives. Our school’s gonna be Vietnam, baby. Boom, boom, BOOM!” She can only imagine what he’s doing in her room. There’s three inches of wood between them but it feels like he’s punching her over and over. “Veronica, we can do it together. Remember what we said? We’ll burn it all down and plant our garden here, together. Veronica, I… I can’t do this alone. We started this together, we’ll end it together.” She wants to spit in his face. They didn’t start anything together except… well, they kind of did. She hears his ragged breathing. “We were meant to be together. I was meant to be yours and once we make them all go away, we can be together again. That’s what you wanted, right? To be with me?”

Not like this, JD. Not like this.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay. JD, I’m going to open the door.”

“You are?” he asks, hopeful and more than a little surprised

“Yeah.” She raises on her unsteady legs. Deep breath. “Just, stand back, please?”

“Sure, sure, anything.” She waits for a few seconds, slides the bolt open and takes a shaky step outside. JD is almost on the other side of the room, looking like a kid on Christmas morning when he sees her. Other than that he looks awful; his hair is completely dishevelled, like he’s ran his fingers through it, his eyes are red, his face is pale.  “Hi.”

“Hey.” He crosses over to her and she meets him halfway. He looks confused, unsure whether he shoulder be happy or sad. He caresses her face with one hand. She looks down and sees the gun in his other hand.

“I was never going to use it,” he promises.

“I know,” she says.

“What made you decide to come out?” he asks.

“I think… I think you’re right.” The words feel wrong in her mouth, but she forces them out anyway. “Everyone at school thinks you’re wrong for me. That you’ll hurt me. They just got me so confused.” She covers his hand on her face with hers and grabs his coat with the other. This shouldn’t feel wrong but it does. “They messed me up, put things in my head, they scared me. They made me forget everything about you.” He smiles as she talks, leaning into her touch. “You said you’d set me free? You’d put things right?”

“Of course I will,” he tells her, kissing her head. She wants to cry. Instead, she bats her eyes and smiles.

“Then let’s do it,” she says. “Make this whole town disappear.”

He laughs again and kisses her. She remembers at the beginning, when kissing him was like fire running through her veins, making her feel like she could do anything. She remembers when he kissed her after promising he’d change, slow and long and painful, tasting like tears and hope. Now all she feels is cold, dead weight on her lips.

She follows him out her window and down the drive, down the whole way to the school without question, letting him hold her hand and whisper to her that he loves her, all while the note crinkles against her chest and his gun sits in his pocket and a bomb in his backpack.

He takes Veronica down a back door into the boiler room. Having never been down there, she’s not sure what to expect, but it’s uncomfortably hot and the boiler looks ancient.

“Norwegian in the boiler room,” she mutters as he takes the bomb out of his bag and begins setting it up. It seems more complicated than she thought; coming in different parts he sticks together with a roll of duct tape.

“Well, my dad’s good for one thing,” he laughs as he keeps working. Veronica nods, her heart clenching in her chest. Above their heads, the rest of the students dance and cheer in blissful unawareness. Students who will be dead before they can sing the national anthem if she doesn’t act soon.

She looks back him JD. Sweat beads on his forehead, beginning to stick his dark curls to his head. She said it that first night they spent together and she meant it; he’s beautiful. Deceptively so. She leans against the wall, casting her mind back over everything. All the bad, Heather Chandler and Ram and Kurt and even what just went down in her bedroom, but also the good, the rush she felt when he’d hold her, how she cried against his chest after the three-way rumour was spread around the school, the sound of his laugh, them sitting together on his bed while he told her about his love for books, walking home from school together, their hands linked. A whole kaleidoscope passes in front of her eyes of the past month, half of it painful and ugly, half of it brilliant and spectacular.

She knows he could have been beautiful inside. She saw him be gentle and soft and kind with her. She wonders what would have happened if his mom had stuck around, if his dad was good. If she had met him before everyone convinced him life was war.

“Hey.” He stops his work and stands up. It’s only when he wipes away her tear she even realises she’s crying. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she lies. “I just love you.” He smiles and presses a kiss to her knuckles. For a moment, she doesn’t see the God complex and the violence, the manipulation and the pleading. She just sees her boyfriend.

“I love you too.” He sits down and gets back to whatever he was doing. “I brought some marshmallows. I thought it would be fun to toast them together, you know? Should have brought some crackers too, could have made s’mores.”

She presses her shaking hand to her stomach as a wave of nausea takes over. It’s now or never.

“What was that?” she asks, looking down the hall.

“What was what?” he asks, looking up.

“You didn’t hear that?” she says, pushing herself off the wall. She wills her voice to stop shaking. “I think someone came down here.”

“No one ever comes down here,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sure. He gets up and pushes her against the wall. “Stay here, I’ll check it out.”

“No,” she protests, grabbing his arm. “You’ve got this to do. I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. “If someone is down here you can get hurt.”

“Then give me the gun,” she requests. He takes it out of his pocket and looks from it to her. “I know how to use it, you taught me. You’ve got work to do here, and I’ll protect you if I have to.” He nods slowly, handing it over to her. He pulls her in and kisses her forehead.

“Be careful,” he tells her. “Don’t get hurt.”

“I won’t.” She starts walking away from him and hears him kneeling down in front of the bomb. She walks slowly, thinking about everything they could have done. Everything they could have been. Everything he promised her.

Camping, lying on the grass and looking up at the stars. Playing poker under blankets next to a campfire. Him letting her drag him around stores for summer clothes. Him holding her close on prom night as they dance and feel like they’re the only two people in the world.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, so low he can’t even hear. What he does hear is her beginning to cry. Behind her, she hears him stand up.

“Veronica?” he asks.

It’s time. She turns to face him, looking straight at his concerned face.

“Veronica what’s wrong?” When he steps forward, she steps back. Her arm feels like lead, but she raises it anyway. “Veronica-”

The bullet hits him in the stomach. She finds something ironic in the look of betrayal on his face when she pulls the trigger. An angry read stain grows on his t-shirt, spreading out like tentacles across the fabric. Neither one of them move, not even when the gun clatters to the floor. He gaps like he’s only just felt the pain and touches his hand to his stomach, wincing.

“Nice shot,” he says before he hits the floor with a bang, waking her up.

“JD!” she says, kneeling beside him, shaking him, forcing him to stay with her. “Listen to me, it’s over. It’s over JD! Which wire do I pull? How do I turn it off? Damn it which one?”

“You… you don’t need to,” he says weakly. “I never got that far. I never got it started. It won’t go off, ever.” He coughs painfully. “Unless you want it to.”

She reaches into her bra and takes out the note she wrote earlier. She smooths it out and drops it beside him. He laughs again and it sets him off coughing.

“And here I had thought you lost your taste for taking suicides,” he jokes. He keeps looking up at the ceiling. Veronica tells herself she shouldn’t go near him, but her body doesn’t obey and she kneels beside him. She doesn’t have the guts to look at the wound but nor is she strong enough to look at his face. She places the gun in his right hand, wrapping his cold fingers around the metal. “So what did you write?”

“What?”

“Can I hear my dying words,” he asks. He nods weakly towards the note she wrote, groaning in pain. “My final statement? I hope you made me sound good.”

She nods and lifts the page. It’s hard to read with tears in her eyes and her hands shaking, but she tries.

“Dear World,” she starts. “You weren’t kind to me. You gave me a father who never learned to love and dragged me around from state to state like a dog on a leash. You never let me stay anywhere and plat roots. You never let me grow. I was here for seventeen years and all I learned was pain and violence and anger. You were a war I never agreed to fight. You weren’t too kind to my mother either. You are cold and unfair, you give free passes to people who cause pain and let them relish in it, while giving no help to people who get hurt. Year by year you damaged me and now it’s all too late. I’m far too damaged for you or anyone.”

“Damn,” he wheezes. “You made me sound real deep.” She laughs despite everything. She pauses and considers continuing.

“To Veronica,” she reads. “I’m sorry I was never the love you thought I was. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you enough. I wish we had met before. I hope you remember me. Yours, JD.” When she looks at him, his eyes are closed and she nearly panics until she sees his chest rising and falling and hears his strained breathing. She sits there in silence for a while, keeping her eyes on him, assuming him unconscious. “I love you. Damn it, after everything you did, I love you, and what kind of idiot does that make me?”

“I,” he wheezes and she jolts. He heard what she said. “I love you too… As much as I could have.” She leans over him and touches his face. His skin is almost grey now. After what seems like forever, he opens his eyes. “I wanted the world to be right for you. I never wanted you to cry again.”

“I guess the irony isn’t lost on you,” she says. “After everything, you’re the one that made me cry.” He nods slowly, his eyes drifting shut again. He coughs painfully, struggling to breathe.

“That was nice, what you wrote,” he says. “Really. Especially that last part. People are gonna think I was deep. Special. Romantic, even. Some tragic anti-hero.��� She nods, not bothering to wipe her tears. “I’m going to guess the similarity is incredible.”

“Yeah,” she answers, her throat tight. Part of her wants to shake him and make him hold on. Part of her wishes there had been another way.

“You need to stick around here now,” he says. “Make things better. Clean up the mess down here.” She doesn’t want to know what he means by that, but in her mind, she thinks she knows where to start. A red scrunchie that should be meaningless. She’ll make it meaningless. “I worship you.” He must be hanging on by a thread now. Nothing he’s saying is in any way coherent.

She remembers when he first said those words to her. In the back of her mind, a small alarm bell rang, but something else took over; something in the way he was looking at her, the way he was smiling. She wanted love and got worship. Be careful what you wish for Veronica.

“Our love is God,” he says. He frowns slightly, his body tensing. A whimper escapes his mouth and it hits her; as terrible as he is, as much pain as he’s caused to her and to the school, he’s seventeen. He’s scared “Our love is God.” He wheezes in and out. “Our love is God.” He coughs some more, blood escaping from the corners of his mouth. “Our love is God.”

“Say hi to God,” she replies.

JD lets out a final, long, pained breath. His hand goes limp, the gun rolling out of it. His head lolls to the side. When she touches his forehead, it feels like ice.

She pulls her knees against her chest. The pep rally is probably still going on upstairs, but she can’t hear it. She can’t hear anything.

Selfishly, she thinks about how people will see her now. Her image has changed a lot over the past weeks. First she was Veronica the nobody, the frumpy geek who didn’t fit in. Then she was Veronica the honorary Heather who dressed like hell on wheels and went to hot parties. Then she was both Veronica the ex-Heather and Veronica who was dating psycho trench coat kid.

Now she’ll be Veronica whose boyfriend killed himself. That’s a fun way to finish high school.

She looks up and sees the half-finished bomb still sitting on the floor.

Shit, she thinks. She gets up and stumbles her way over. She looks inside JD’s bag and finds it filled with packs of what she guesses are thermals, if she was judging by his dad’s methods. She wonders what his dad will do now. Will he show up to the funeral? Oh God, there’ll be a funeral. Will he care that his son died?

She decides she can worry about that later. She puts the unassembled bomb back in JD’s bag and takes it outside, throwing it in the dumpster, pushing it down below the rest of the garbage bags. It’ll end up in some landfill somewhere, buried under everyday trash like broken bikes and chip bags. Maybe some Slurpee cups.

It’s still not over. She’s got one more part to play.

She runs in through the front door of the school, nearly falling on her face, weak as her legs are. She stumbles through the hallway, her ears ringing, her stomach churning.

“Veronica!” Miss Fleming comes down the hallway. Veronica only imagine the sight she’s greeted with, her pale faced, tear soaked student stumbling through the hallway like a zombie. “Veronica are you all right?” She shakes her head silently.

“It’s JD,” she says flatly. “Jason Dean. He’s dead. He killed himself.”

He’s dead.

She finally allows herself to break. Allows herself to let grief catch up and take over her. Allows herself to cry.

The words echo through her mind “Jason Dean is dead”. She answers Miss Fleming’s questions without much thought. “I found him in the boiler room” “He called me to say goodbye” “I looked all over” “By the time I got there it was too late”. It’s amazing how easily lying comes to her now. She nods when Miss Fleming tells her how sorry she is and if she needs anything she’s here. She thanks her without thinking and excuses herself, running to the bathroom.

She finally empties her stomach into a toilet, not that it does much good. She feels hollowed out but at the same time too full, like she’ll burst.

She stumbles out of the cubicle and makes her way to the sink. God, she does look awful. Her face is chalk-white and tinted green, dark shadows under her red eyes, her hair is a mess, tear tracks and grime and sweat run over her face.

“You know, this could be beautiful,” Heather Chandler had said once. She doesn’t feel beautiful. She looks as messed up and exhausted and horrible as she feels.

“Veronica?” A familiar voice asks. It’s not like it used to be, but nothing could take away Martha Dunnstock’s heart.

“Hey,” she says weakly, turning to face her. She rides on a mobility scooter now, a cast on her left leg and right arm and although her sweater covers it, there’s a brace around her ribs.

And it’s all her fault.

She may as well have pushed her off that bridge herself, and why did she do it? To protect the boy who is lying cold in the boiler room.

“Martha I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “For everything, for writing that note, for not telling you, for letting Heather walk over me, for how I spoke to you.” Martha comes closer, tears in her eyes too. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she says. Her hand reaches out and grasps Veronica’s. “And I forgive you.” Veronica knows she doesn’t deserve it, but she lets herself take it.

“I’ve missed you,” she confesses. “I should never have gone off with the Heathers in the first place.” They were never friends to her, not the way Martha is. Was. Except for maybe MacNamara.

“I missed you too,” she says. “Movie night was so dull without you.” She chews her lip anxiously. “Veronica… I’m sorry but I have to ask… is what they’re saying about JD true?” She nods, a fresh wave of tears coming over her. Martha’s mouth falls open. “I’m so sorry.” Martha pulls her into an awkward hug, but it’s the warmest, most beautiful kind of embrace she has felt and she melts into it.

“I gotta go,” she says after a long time. “But… are you free next weekend? Maybe we could pop some JiffyPop. Rent some new releases?”

“Yeah,” she answers, smiling weakly. “I’d like that.” Veronica smiles and leaves the bathroom, bracing the hallway. Students weave in and out, some too caught up in the latest gossip that’s no doubt spreading through the school to notice her. Some see her and stare, whispering in their groups. Some offer sad smiles.

“Isn’t she dating him?” she hears one say.

She pushes her way through the crowd until she finds who she’s looking for. A small, blonde girl with wide eyes in a cheerleader uniform and a sour looking girl with a red scrunchie.

“Where have you been?” MacNamara asked, throwing her arms around her. Veronica hugs back tightly, revelling in the comfort. “People are saying that JD… he didn’t, did he?” She can only nod. “Oh my God…” Veronica pushes MacNamara off her and marches up to Duke.

“You look like hell,” is all she says.

“I just got back,” she replies. She turns Duke around, ignoring her protests, and pulls the scrunchie off her.

“What are you doing?” Veronica kisses her cheek, leaving her speechless for the first time in a while. It’s not an unpleasant sight.

“Good news kids, war is over. New sheriff’s in town,” she says. “So hang up your weapons and start playing nice. Or whatever.” JD thought the only place Heathers and Marthas could get along was Heaven. Maybe he’ll be wrong about that. “Martha and I are doing a movie night next Saturday. If you want to come there’s room on my couch. BYOB. Bring your own blanket.”

“That sounds nice,” MacNamara says. She and Veronica share a heartfelt smile, while Duke looks on, her eyes conflicted.

“There’s room for you too, Heather,” she tells her. “Should you decide to come.”

She turns and walks off down the hall. Despite everything that’s happened in the past two hours, she feels a weight lift in her chest. She feels hope. She watches the social hierarchy of Westerburg fall in front of her and damn does it feel good.

Still, it’s not over. It won’t be for a long time.

She explains it to her parents. Explains that her “friend” JD killed himself. She lets them hug her and tell her how sorry they are and if she needs anything, they’re there for her. She sleeps all weekend, re-reading her diary entries from the moment they met. Laughing at the funny parts, crying during everything else. She picks at the food her parents bring up for her. She lets them kiss her forehead. She sleeps two to three hours at a time, waking up with a start each time. Sometimes she dreams of JD and her in her bed, while he kisses her and tells her that she’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. Sometimes she dreams of them dancing, him spinning her around and making her breathless.

Sometimes she dreams of Kurt and Ram lying lifeless with bullet holes in their chests, of Heather Chandler coughing up drain cleaner, or Martha lying broken with empty eyes under a bridge, of the school gym going up in smoke while she watches safely in JD’s arms, of JD bleeding out on a boiler room floor.

She always wakes up screaming at those.

On Monday, there’s a special assembly held in memory of Jason Dean. His suicide note gets spread around the school like a shiny new toy. Everyone sees him in a new light, the tortured romantic hero whose heart had too much pain to bear.

She hides in the bathroom at lunch. She’s unable to eat anything, so she just sits there with her arms wrapped around herself, wanting to disappear. She listens to the girls outside; JD has become a topic of bathroom gossip now, Westerburg’s newest pin-up.

They call him Jason Dean now, which makes her stomach turn more than anything. He was never Jason to her. He hated it when people used that name for him. JD was what he called himself, and it suited him. Jason Dean is the tortured soul, the one who searched for friends in the pages of books, the perfect prince to Veronica’s princess, the boy taken too soon, the perfect image of a tragic teenager, the boy who hung out at the 7/11 to escape his sad home life and stare up at the stars. JD was angry and violent, smart, cynical but cunning. Too smart, too cunning. He was the one who used books to make himself more articulate, holding on to some degree of control. He was the one who deliberately gave himself brain freezes so he couldn’t feel anything. He was all the ugly, twisted parts that the town wanted to hide away under the image they had crafted.

Jason Dean is the boy who was too beautiful to live. JD was the ticking time bomb that was bound to go off.

“Did you see what he wrote to her?” a girl says. “So romantic.”

“I wish I had a boyfriend like him,” her friend says.

No, Veronica thinks. You really don’t.

After school, she sits on one of the benches outside. It’s cold now and all she has on her is her flimsy blue blazer. She watches as her breath comes out in puffs of smoke then looks at her blank diary pages. After pages and pages of angry scrawling followed by short entries where she wallowed in misery and pity, she finds she can’t write anything. Her mind buzzes with thoughts she can’t seem to articulate any more.

Dear Diary, she writes.

What else is there for her to say that hasn’t been said already. She hates him? She misses him? She hates herself for letting this happen? She’s disgusted with the school for what they’re saying about him? How even people who never gave him a second glance are now half in love with him, waiting for their Jason Dean?

She clicks her pen closed and open, closed and open, closed and open. She’s poured out her heart and soul, her pain and anguish, rage and grief, and now what else is there to write?

Maybe the truth.

Dear Diary, I wish he’d stayed around a little longer.

And that’s it.

[druish--princess]

“Halloween is the most important day of the year. It's the one day on the Gregorian calendar where you're allowed to go around terrifying children and not be branded a psychopath.” -Veronica Sawyer and/or Jason Dean probably

[fangirlahead]

“Will you marry me?”

“Will you marry me?”-JD had been carrying the ring around in his pocket for a week already. A week. He knew he wanted to marry her, he was pretty positive Veronica wanted to marry him too. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just pop the fucking question.

He’d started to ask several times already but always chickened out, asking her instead “will you take out the trash?” when the garbage was practically empty or “will you hand me the remote?” when he could’ve easily grabbed it himself. Each time, she’d done as he asked but there was a look on her face like she knew something was up.

He’d taken her on two romantic dates already, prepared to ask her to marry him and each time, he just hadn’t. JD was turning into a wimp.

“JD, are you okay?” Veronica was waving a hand in front of his face. Crap, he’d zoned out in the middle of the 7-11. “Yeah, I’m fine.” It was midnight, thank god the store was open 24 hours, and the two were on their usual slurpee run. “Are you going to fill up that cup or do I need to do it for you?” He had literally stopped with his hand on the nozzle. “I just zoned out, Ronnie. I’m fine.” “If you say so.” Of course she didn’t believe him, she practically knew him like the back of her hand.

JD’s cup was soon full and they walked hand in hand to the counter to pay. As the pair walked out, Veronica walked in front of him and JD got an idea. He let go of her hand and dropped down onto one knee. That’s how you did it, right? It took Veronica the exact time it took for him to get on one knee to realize he’d let go. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She turned to face him and her body went stiff. “I’ve been trying to do this for a while and I never found the right moment. But I’m tired of putting it off and I’m tired of not being engaged to you. I love you, Veronica, I have since the moment I met you and I don’t plan on stopping. So what do you say? Will you marry me?”

Veronica seemed to be lost in thought. Did she want to marry him? Was she ready to spend the rest of her life with another person? Was that person going to be him? The answer was hell yes.

“Yes.”

[broadwayloserstuff]

Chansaw Smut

So I got a request for smut prompt 28 for Chansaw. I haven’t really read Chansaw so I was looking for some one shots on Wattpad and I realized there really isn’t a lot of Chansaw smut. And ironically, I saw @mcdonaldstm in the comments section. I haven’t written g x g smut in a long time so I apologize in advance. I’m sorry it’s so long lmao. WARNINGS: I honestly don’t think there’s a lot but uh swearing, smut, mentions of a gun and blanks, and I guess not a very good Jdonica relationship. MINORS DON’T INTERACT! “He doesn’t love you, Sawyer!” The red-clad blonde yelled. Two feet away stood a tall girl with short brown hair. The girl wore blue and her eyes were filled with tears.  “He does love me, Heather! You haven’t had a steady boyfriend in your life! How the hell would you know?” yelled the girl in blue. “Because, if you haven’t been able to tell by now, he’s not a good person, Veronica,” argued Heather, “He pulled a gun on the first day of school!” Veronica’s face flushed and she stuttered, “It was filled with blanks! No real harm was done!”  Heather rolled her eyes. Veronica refused to believe that her shady boyfriend really loved her. After all, they had almost nothing in common. Yet, Veronica still thought he was a good person, even after every red flag there had been. Veronica pulled her coat on hastily and shot back, “He pulled the gun on Kurt and Ram because they were harassing him!” Heather let out a mocking laugh. “Is that what it was? Or do you just not want to know that he’s a sick psychopath? If he’s such a good boyfriend, where is he? It’s a Friday night and you’re here with me. Shouldn’t you be out on a date?” Veronica stopped her movement and sat on the loveseat in Heather’s room. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face between her legs. Heather could hear her soft sobs. Maybe she had gone too far. After all, Heather was also quite jealous of how much Veronica cared for JD. Veronica was sweet and smart but also a major dork yet, Heather had fallen in love with her anyways. Veronica felt the chair dip beside her and looked up. Heather sat next to her, staring straight ahead. Veronica went back to crying as Heather gingerly laid a hand on Veronica’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “I went too far with that. But I stand by the fact that he’s not good for you, Veronica. He’s sketchy and someone else loves you more than he does.” Veronica picked her head up, looking dead into Heather’s aquamarine eyes. “Who?” she croaked. Heather hesitated. What if Veronica didn’t like her back? Would Veronica tell everyone that the most popular girl in school is a lesbian?  In a moment of pure love, Heather leaned over and pressed a small kiss to Veronica’s lips. Heather quickly pulled back. The pair sat in silence. “You like me,” stated Veronica. Heather stood up and walked to the window. “No shit, sherlock.” Heather heard no response from Veronica, so she sighed. “Listen, just give me a chance to prove I’m better than Jesse James. Just one night.” Veronica got up and pressed her lips against Heather’s. “One night, Heather.”  Heather grinned and their lips met in a more heated kiss. Heather kept pushing Veronica backwards until they fell on the bed, Heather on top. Heather demanded entrance and Veronica gave it to her. Their tongues fought for dominance, Veronica deciding to let Heather win. Suddenly, Heather’s hands went to Veronica’s jacket, practically ripping it off in eagerness. Veronica got her message and unbuttoned her blazer and shimmied out of it, tossing her blue blazer to the side. Heather quickly buried her head in the crook of Veronica’s neck, sucking hickeys into her seemingly perfect skin. Veronica let out soft sighs of pleasure, her hand going into Heather’s strawberry-blonde locks. Heather’s fingers fumbled as she attempted to unbutton the white shirt Veronica had worn underneath her Heathers blazer. Eventually, she got the shirt unbuttoned and quickly moved kisses down Veronica’s chest, over the lacy black bra she had worn, and down her stomach.  Veronica was in heaven. Heather had already gotten her so wet and she needed her so bad.  Heather seemed to sense Veronica’s need and she quickly pulled off the tiny skirt Veronica wore. How that skirt had tortured Heather. It was so short, almost revealing her ass, but was just long enough that it didn’t.  “Be a good girl and spread your legs,” ordered Heather. Veronica quickly obeyed, being turned on even further by the commanding tone in Heather’s voice. It reminded her of how Heather spoke to everyone at school yet it was somehow softer. Heather pressed Veronica’s panties into her core. “So wet,” she purred, “And all for me.” Veronica whimpered, “Heather, please, no teasing.” Heather gave her one last smirk before quickly pulling off her panties and diving in between her thighs. Immediately, Veronica gripped Heather’s hair. A loud moan sounded from Veronica and Heather moaned in response, sending vibrations through her core. Heather inserted two fingers, pumping them at a fast pace as her mouth worked over Veronica’s clit.  As Veronica clenched around her fingers, Heather pulled her mouth back and used her thumb to rub Veronica’s clit. Veronica came with a loud moan as she rode out her high. Heather pulled her fingers out, licking them clean. Veronica tasted surprisingly good. 

As Veronica regained her composure, Heather placed her clothes in her lap and gave her time to get dressed again. “I’m done,” said a tired voice. Heather looked back at Veronica, who was now back in her clothes, and laid next to her. “Get some rest,” said Heather, “I’ll see you in the morning.” Veronica nodded and rested her head on Heather’s chest, closing her eyes and immediately beginning to snore. Heather pressed on last kiss to the top of her head before turning off her bedside lamp and falling asleep.

[jockhunta-blog]

HC  -  some little JDonica things (please don’t reblog)

- whenever JD isn’t wearing his trench coat, veronica steals it and wraps herself up in it. she’s so smol that the hem of it reaches the floor on her.

- they’ve definitely made out in a 7-11 and been asked to leave more than once.

- they’re also totally that teenage couple that goes to a movie/drive in and doesn’t even remember half of the film because they were making out the whole time. At least Veronica probably tries to pay attention at first.

- they go to the library a lot and about 90% of the time they curl up and read together or read to each other quietly. the other 10% is more making out bc they’re teenagers like lbr.

- JD does more cooking than Veronica, but she helps out where she can and at least commits to learning how to make a few of his favorite things and they like to surprise each other with their favorite dinners.

- they make mixtapes for each other because they’re huge fucking nerds. the glove compartment in Veronica’s car is just filled with them and they’re all a weird mix of jazz, rock, punk and classical music. Veronica also sneaks some Madonna on there. JD isn’t complaining. they probably sing along.

- skipping classes to go lay in the middle of the football field and watch the clouds go by and talk about the universe. probably making out on the football field as well.

- leaving notes in each others locker and not always cute tuff but sometimes just dumb shit and inside jokes that nobody else understands.

- JD getting detention for getting into fights and Veronica either just staying with him or getting detention herself so she can stay. the monitor makes them sit on opposite ends of the classroom bc it’s supposed to be punishment, not cuddle time but they just end up throwing shit at each other and moving around whenever the monitor isn’t looking until they’re siting beside each other.

- also veronica keeping a small first aid kit in her locker for whenever he gets into fights and insisting on patching him up as much she can. and eventually she runs out of regular bandaids and starts giving him hello kitty bandaids lmao

- the two of them going to the mall and trying on the most ridiculous clothes there. poofy dresses and bedazzled jackets and laughing at each other and being dumb.

Veronica and JD just being normal teenagers in love and having fun and being kids and doing dumb shit and taking care of each other that is all.

[productivedissociation]

@anyone who has some story name ideas for an AU where JD's mom is less dead

Hit me up with those. Also if anyone wants to beta read it for me that'd be chill and appreciated.

[heathersgameoftag]

JD's route could also have a Persona 4 Golden-esque well-hidden "pure evil ending" where Veronica agrees to become his accomplice in his crusade to make the world a decent place for decent people by slaughtering everyone even mildly unpleasant. Also, should it be possible to redeem him on routes other than his own? On the fence on that; every story needs a good antagonist after all.

i’m surprised there aren’t many aus of that ending, tbh. or maybe there are and i just haven’t seen any because i never go in the jdonica tag on ao3

[how-very-salty]

masterpost of my jdonica fic <3

royally fucked up

J.D. gets another chance. It's Sherwood in September, and Veronica is smiling at him again. This time, he'll do anything not to fuck it up.

status: completed / translated: in progress

!!!new the forest (warnings!!! tags are reeeally spoilers, but the fic includes disturbing content)

Veronica ran down the stairs, hurried to the school bus - and suddenly woke up on the road in a completely silent forest. There doesn't seem to be a soul around... but someone's predatory gaze is fixed on her back. (references to The path)

status: in progress / translated: in progress

let's have some fun

Three years ago, J.D. went back to hell, but he comes back for the same reason: to make Veronica say his name three times. But something's changed.

status: in progress / translated: in progress

stay at the very edge and way he prays

Before she says no, Veronica sees Bud humiliate J.D. And it makes her change her mind and try one more time to change something for him. And that leads to a promise that will be broken.

(tw: bdsm)

status: completed / translated: completed

Veronica Sawyer decides to die

The bomb exploded. They both survived, but at a high price… Time has passed, and Veronica Sawyer finds comfort in imagining that she is gone. Her peace of mind is shattered by the doorbell.

status: completed / translated: completed

St. Calvin told me not to worry about you

They're broken up, but still need each other. She has the keys to his apartment, he wants her back. And there are rules between them that neither of them has ever learned to follow. (there is a new male character, but honestly, he's just one of the plot obstacles in this story).

status: in progress / translated: in progress

!!!new lavender

Just a scene from married life and problems that they have to deal with through conversation ( long-married JD and Ronnie)

SHORT STORIES (complited)

dearly beloved

jdonica one shots (If you want, you can give me prompts. i sometimes write them long, but i try to write all of them. except with agnst sometimes i skip them)

other way

Veronica Sawyer hurts herself to deal with her emotions, and a new guy notices. She's scared, but he just wants to talk to her ...and maybe help.

syndrome - the story of cotard syndrome

who is she - he meets her on a crowded subway and misses her… and meets her again

first of thousands - their paths cross because of a car accident

insomnia - he just can't sleep (partially refers to St. Calvin's au)

best gift ever - happy married life

we're locked in, right? - fate brings them together in a locked elevator

trace of a touch - J.D. is long gone from her life, but his every touch keeps to burn on her skin. No one else can, until one day…

let's get out of here - a wedding story in which J.D. steals a bride from his own wedding

turn on the radio and the braided bracelet - au!childhood friends, where J.D. is hopelessly in love with Veronica. or not so hopeless?

about a girl - Nick has been in love with Veronica since they were kids. but it seems he should have confessed earlier, because the new kid is about to steal her away from him

peek-a-boo - very hot zombie-boy and a pretty smart Ronnie? who just can't resist his charm (pure au with a twist)

white oleander - au!hanahaki where Ronnie has to choose between Chandler and J.D.

pick me up - a wasted Ronnie needs to be picked up from the bar, and even though they broke up, J.D. is the only one who can do it.

happy anniversary - nobody has visited J.D.'s grave for five years

what a night - J.D. climbed into her window that night, before the bombs and the petition.

a few more minutes and there is no cure - the bomb didn't explode, and it seems that J.D. completely failed // he returns to Veronica's life years later

an act of mercy - J.D. was dead in the explosion, but that night a familiar voice is heard on Veronica's phone

like burnt brownies and play with loaded dice - the story of Nick Sawyer and Jesse Dean

[scouts-mockingbird]

How about.... favorite JDonica fics? Angst, fluff, pure, anything? Or, favorite weird headcanons?

I hate this ask because I literally always say that my stuff is my favorite, which sounds so arrogant, but like… that’s why I wrote them? 

But other than that, I obviously adore everything written by my friends. If you want angst, you’re looking for Chris @penguinpatrolerarmy, angst king of tumblr

You want fluff I’d say @retro-pure-jdonica (both on tumblr and AO3)

General and variety, go for @fangirlahead (SadieeJanelle on AO3)

Weird headcanons is just too vague, sorry. 

[retro-pure-jdonica]

Friend on Friend, at the End of the End

CHAPTER 1

————————-

“Hello, ma’am. Are you alone?” A strongly built guard asks me as he climbs off of his elevated wooden post and cautiously trails over towards me. Another man of slightly shorter stature followed a few steps behind him.

“Y-yes.” I stutter, still not used to talking to strangers in the old Ohio area. There was a developing reputation of small states in the area to be developing totalitarian and dictative ways of governing, it’s why I had remained on my own for so long once my last group had faded, but the openness and viridity of the land behind him gave me hope.

“Do you have any weapons on you?” The same man continues with his questioning. A few months ago I would have been able to truthfully tell him no, but I had been forced to become much more prepared and self-reliant when I was on my own. Although, most of that struggle came in the form of shelter and food, rarely physical protection from others, nonetheless I pulled out the decent sized pocket knife that had become a normal part of my gear and handed it over to him; a sign that I wished to start out on the right foot. Not only was I showing that I wanted help from the state by continuing to communicate with this man, I was also already showing loyalty and honestly in giving my weapon to him, two traits which had become rather commonly praised throughout the regional states.

“Thank you very much.” He nods, sliding the knife into an opening in his utility backpack. “Go get the girls.” He instructs the other man in a low voice, who still stood ever so slightly behind him. The shorter one nods, turns around, and marches back through, what I assume is, the state’s borders. The Exposure had occurred almost fifteen years ago, all of which I spent hoping from state, to kingdom, to district, so at this point I was very familiar with the typical setup. By now, I also knew what signs to look for right off the bat to see if a state appeared to be of any interest or even any good, and this place was ticking all of the boxes.

Clearly identified borders, guards, equipment, and from the looks of it, a pleasant interior. I knew all too well by now that a pleasant interior was almost the most important part of a state; unhappy citizens did not make for a calm state. From what I could see, they had also made rather decent repairs to the buildings since The Attempted Wipeout. “Welcome, ma’am, to Politeia.” The guard smiles, finally stepping out of my way so that I could get a better look into the state. In between the two short wooden and brick fences that outlined the perimeter of the state and stretched out to the sides as far as I could see was a large clay slab with the word Politeia carved into its surface.

“Politeia?” I state as more of a question, being very unfamiliar with the word. It didn’t sound like English, but I wasn’t able to recognize what other language it may have been.

“These fine young ladies will explain everything to you.” He explains leading me inside the border and over toward the other guard who had left moments ago and returned with a group of three girls who all appeared to be roughly my age. A state even having some kind of welcoming committee was unheard of by me until now, so was a state having such young people run government-related jobs.

“Hello, I’m Heather, and you are?” The girl standing front and center smiles widely. Something about her aura was so intriguing, it was as if I just wanted to be around her.

“Veronica.” In reply simply, snapping out of my thoughts and going back to my regular state of alertness.

“Oh, I love that name.” The girl to her left gushes with wide eyes.

“Uh, thank you.” I smile back awkwardly. “And you are?” I ask her, attempting to learn all of their names.

“I’m Heather.” She smiles, immediately confusing me.

“But I thought that she was…” I trail off, point at the girl in the middle.

“I’m Heather Chandler,” The girl in the middle begins. “This is Heather McNamara,” she points to the girl I had just spoken to. “And this is Heather Duke.” she finishes, motioning to the girl on her right. “We are the welcoming committee of subdivision B of the northwestern region of Politeia.” Heather Chandler explains, and a question immediately drifts into my head.

“Wait, subdivided regions? How big is all of Politeia?”

“As of right now, we are at about 10,000 square miles.” Heather Duke jumps into the conversation. The biggest state I had ever heard of around here was 5,000 square miles, and most were so small they didn’t even really bother to measure. Most states were trying to stay on the smaller side, at least after the spy incident in New Arizona, but I guess Politeia was taking a different approach.

“Also, why the name Politeia?” I ask, trying to narrow down my list of questions that I had been mentally forming the second the border came into my sight.

“It’s Greek for state, like a community. We try to use it as a way of showing off the fact that we are a democracy, contrary to the popular ruling types of the surrounding areas.” Heather Chandler explains to me and I nod along. “Well then, why don’t we start our tour?” She smiles, clapping her hands as she turns around. As she begins a steadily slow pace, I follow closely behind her. “Firstly, may I ask how old you are?”

“Seventeen, I believe,” I inform her. A calendar wasn’t exactly the type of thing most people in America had today, but some of the states I had stayed at in the past had calendars in their town squares, but now that I’ve been on my own I’ve been judging time by the weather.

“So, you were alive during The Exposure and The Attempted Wipeout?” Heather Chandler asks, to which I respond with a nod. “So one of the bombs for Ohio during The Attempted Wipeout was dropped roughly ten miles away from us, so the damage to what is now Politeia was very catastrophic. Although, we have been working on repairing the damaged buildings a lot recently, along with the help of our amazing manual labor guild, and now almost all of the buildings are in great conditions.” She explains, gesturing to the small brick buildings lining the street we walked down. My guess is that they used to be simple town shops during the time of old Ohio, and the large glass windows in the front of almost all of the buildings suggested so too.

As we walk, the streets that were once bare start to fill ever so slightly with people. Most of them were young adults, I would probably guess about mid-twenties to early thirties, with the occasional elder or child, all of whom were simply going about their business around town. Seeing people act so much like how I vaguely remember before The Exposure was strange. I was struggling between the ideas of it being comforting and it making me fearful of another collapse. “Now, follow me just down to the end of Main street and if we keep walking for just a little bit we will get out of the city so I can show you how we sort housing.” Heather Chandler explains with her seemingly everlasting smile. I follow behind the three of them for about twenty more minutes, every so often being interrupted by a citizen saying hello or a person of some form of political influence either thanking the girls or giving them some quick update.

Once we finally reach the end of Main street, we turn left onto a road with many less buildings but much more greenery and plants. “Now, these are our housing units for the subdivision of the region.” Heather Chandler comments, motioning her hand down the street. “All of these neighborhoods that you see are actually pre-existing from the Originals. We have, to make things much simpler for the government in the task of collecting taxes, assigned a certain guild to each neighborhood. The assignments were designed to fit the class and lifestyle of each guild. The best part is, initial housing is completely free. We are in the process of expanding our population so the government saw it fit to take the housing that we already had on the land and provide it to the people for free. Of course, if a family expands and has to move or purchase another house then it costs them, but that shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

“So is the land considered the governments, or yours?” I ask, silently praying that she says it belongs to us. If the government controlled the land and a corrupt leader came into power, he could claim everything as his in an instant and kick his people out onto the streets.

“It’s considered yours. Of course, it takes some paperwork and time for the name of the house to switch over from the government to you, but yes. But you have no need to worry, our current ruler, Clifford Herring, was actually one of the rebels during the time of The Exposure so he knows the kinds of precaution to take to avoid corruption.” Heather Duke jumps into the conversation. The fact that their ruler was a rebel is quite shocking, since, although they succeeded, most of the rebels were killed or imprisoned when completing The Exposure.

“Okay, that’s good, and what exactly are these guilds that you keep mentioning?” I ask the group openly.

“A guild is the term we use for each of the major sections of jobs available in Politeia. We currently have manual labor, social activities, education, domestics, specialized, and obviously political leadership, but citizens must be elected into that guild. I know this all sounds like a lot but don’t worry, we’ll take you over to town hall tomorrow to get you sorted into your guild and get you a specific job. And while we’re on the topic of jobs and economics, I’ll go ahead and let you in on a few more things. We are currently working on getting a common form of currency for the state, probably in the form of coins or paper money, but right now the government recognizes ration cards from the Period of Unrest right after The Exposure as currency. When Politeia was first formed about a year ago, we came upon a massive storehouse of ration cards and the amount of ration cards hasn’t changed since then so don’t worry, we don’t have any big problems with inflation or deflation. One ration card is about similar to what ten dollars used to be like. If you’re like me and were too young to be able to remember the worth of dollars, my rule of thumb is that a decent meal for one should cost roughly one ration card.” Heather Chandler explains to me in great detail as we walk down the street.

“Thank you,” I speak up in the conversation. Everything was all very overwhelming at the moment, so I hadn’t been speaking very much, at least not in comparison to Heather.

“Of course. Now, the sun is starting to set so I assume you’re probably getting hungry. We have a few restaurants back down on Main street, and trust me it’s quite safe to stay out a little bit past sundown, but let me show you to your house first.” Heather Chandler finishes up her massive explanation of the most basic aspects of the state before continuing our walk down the street. “This neighborhood,” Heather starts up once more as we walk through the entrance of one of the smallest neighborhoods on the street. “Is assigned to people who aren’t physically or mentally able to work. We also use it when housing new people who haven’t been sorted into guilds yet.” She continues. The group halts for a second as Heather Chandler removes her backpack and shuffles through it to find a large plastic box and a small yet thick envelope. “Here are the keys to 207 Forrest Lane, the street that we’re on right now. I believe it should be just up the road.” Heather explains, handing me a keyring with a single key on it from the plastic box. “And, on behalf of the state, here are five ration cards to last you until you get sorted into your guild. Jobs pay daily, and you’ll be sorted by tomorrow, so they’re pretty much just to get you a meal or two and some financial… comfort.” She smiles once more as she slides her backpack back on.

“Thank you, again.” I smile, clutching the keys and cards in my hand.

“Of course. Politeia welcomes you.”

—————————-

woohoo, another au! I know I said this would come out n the next FEW days but then when I sat down to get started, I just went off. Hang tight, an explanation for the period of unrest, the exposure, the attempted wipeout, rebels, along with what the hell happened to America will be addressed in the next few chapters (also yes, I know that the Greeks didn’t invent democracy, but I was going through different translations that had relations to Athens and Politeia sounded the prettiest)

[littleblueberryartist]

Just a quick Jdronica doodle I did during @nevuabby’s stream! ~Aqua P.s. @deadprinxietywalking you wanted me to tag you right?

[sprnklersplashes]

me about the rest of my ships: what a pure and beautiful relationship. so loving, tender and caring. absolutely beautiful in so many ways. trusting, supportive, healing, caring. this is what relationships should be like.

me about jdonica: garbage. filthy garbage that makes me cry at 11pm. absolute trash.