Heathers Requests/One Shots

First Impressions

No fan art this update, sorry! It's surprisingly hard to find fan arts that trace back to an account, ones that have the correct formatting, ones that are appropriate for the story, etc. I didn't update yesterday, simply because I couldn't think of anything. I'll try to create a workable update schedule, but I have literally no patience, so... yeah. Hope you enjoy! TW//Swearing, Mentions of Abuse

The Heathers. Some people called them goddesses. Was I the only person to see them for what they really were? Frauds. Frauds, all of them. The green one used to be friends with Dunnstock over there, the yellow one is a little weakling and a pushover, and the red one? Well, maybe she wasn't as much of a fraud as the other two.

Because she was mean. And cruel. And heartless. Two people like that are either partners in crime or enemies. And as I would rather blow up a school than be friends with her - which honestly isn't saying much - we were enemies.

Until there was another one. A blue one. And wow. Words weren't enough. For everything in my shitty life, I had words. But she threw them all out a window. She, now she, was a goddess.

She had only recently started hanging out with the royalty of Westerberg High, but she was the most worthy to rule it. I could tell. By the way her eyes, her deep, dark eyes, bloomed with disgust when she was flagged down by a red scrunchie in the halls. The way she effortlessly quoted books that I thought I was the only person in this school to have read.  

The way she lingered slightly when the Heathers tore her away from Betty Finn, or Dunnstock. The way she looked as though she might murder them. Me too. She was walking over. If I ever got flustered, I would be. But I didn't. So I only smiled as she walked over, her eyes flickering with something I hadn't seen before. Before I could even see it, it was draped with a mask of cool superiority. Just like a Heather.

"Hello Jason Dean," she said, raising an eyebrow. Daring me to challenge her, to correct her, to tell her that she was wrong. To anybody else, I would. To those dumbasses Kurt and Ram, I would. To the other Heathers, I would. But her? She could have all the exceptions she wanted.

"Greeting and salutations," I said, leaning forward. My eyes slid over to the Heathers. I could get used to those poisonous looks. I live with Big Bud Dean. I eat those for breakfast. I gestured, and her eyes followed mine, like a puppy. A puppy that wouldn't hesitate to bite off your hand "You a Heather?"

"No, I'm a Veronica," she said, her voice dropping and her eyes glinting. She drummed on the lunch table with her perfectly painted blue nails. Blue. Every Heather had their own color, it seemed, including not-Heathers. Veronicas. "Sawyer. This may seem like a really stupid question."

It was one of those lunch time polls, of course it was stupid. But what if she came up with it? She seemed like the type to downplay her accomplishments. Social conversations were a puzzle. Some people knew hoe to solve it but I, I knew the code. Hell, you could even say I made it.

"There are no stupid questions." Her expression became less fake, less practiced, more interested, more off herself shining through the blazar and popularity.

"You inherit five million dollars the same day aliens land on the earth and say they're going to blow it up in two days." I raised an eyebrow, and a small smile was growing her face. "What do you do?"

I let myself take a moment to process whatever she had just asked me, and the way her eyes studied me like a math problem, one she was going to solve in no time. "Well that's the stupidest question I've ever heard." I tell a lot of lies, and hell, maybe I'll tell some to her one day, but that, that was the truth. She laughed quietly, something for only us two. I intend to keep it that way.

What answer would she like? "I don't know, probably row out to the middle of a lake somewhere, bring along a bottle of tequila, my sax, some Bach." I had never listen to Bach a day in my life, I could barely hit a tune on a drum much less play the saxophone, and I would shoot someone before going boating - again, not saying much.

But the lies were worth it for the look she gave me, one that was meant to draw me in, but all that I could see was that I was drawing her in. "How very," she said. Her tone was almost like she was making fun of me, out of me. She couldn't of course. Anything bad she had said to me, my father had said it first.

"Come on, Veronica." That bitch would be the first to go. We locked eyes. Cold rage and deep, black hate. I stared right back, letting her see all my rage. And it was more than she could ever hope to feel. She was taking away Veronica. My Veronica. Oh you'll pay, I thought, letting her fear struck blue eyes make their way into my daydreams, along with Veronica and smoke, explosions, death.

"Later." Maybe Veronica was going with Chandler, but she wasn't a push over. Maybe she was drawing me in, just a little. But I was used to feelings, to showing them and then burning them, like a light switch.

"Definitely." She was pulled away, but I knew that I would see her soon. If not today or the next day, in my dreams. I knew something was missing from them and here it was: the sarcastic brunette to stand beside me as we watched the school burn.

(920 words)