Jason ‘𝙹.𝙳.’ Dean

“I kissed and kissed until I could almost forget how restless I'd become.” Member of the Westerberg High A.V. Club Class of 1990 Heathers: the Musical rp blog

[ifwevestillgottheright]

“𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓸𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝔀!”

“𝑶𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕?”

“͟O͟r͟ ͟I͟’͟m͟ ͟b͟r͟e͟a͟k͟i͟n͟g͟ ͟u͟p͟ ͟w͟i͟t͟h͟ ͟y͟o͟u͟.͟”͟

“Dean, you’re on light duty!”

Roll the light in. Plug it up. Count to three. Flash it on Fleming.

“Make the A.V. Club proud, sport!”

Don’t call me sport.

The usual. Roll the light in. Plug it up. Count to three. Flash it on Fleming.

“Woah, the club’s newest member and our wallflower on tv! You’ll be like, famous!”

Roll the light in.

Plug it up.

Count to three.

1.

2…

D͟o͟n͟’͟t͟ ͟y͟o͟u͟ ͟w͟a͟n͟t͟ ͟a͟ ͟l͟i͟f͟e͟ ͟w͟i͟t͟h͟ ͟m͟e͟?͟

We all do what we must for the one we love most. It’s love that binds all of humanity together no matter how much it tears us all apart too. They say love makes us crazy but I couldn’t disagree more. For me, I found clarity and who I am in loving someone else. Before I even knew how to fall I stood alone. A frozen statue observed by all but never cherished, never touched. I saw the world for what it was, not what it could be. Every wart, every disgusting truth those of us would turn away from in the pursuit of stability. Spraying perfume on a pile of trash, putting lipstick on pigs and calling it “beauty” as our world decayed around me. I had no interest in playing along. I had no interest in the people around me. I shut the world out to play numb for it was the only way I knew how to breathe in the toxic air. But, then I was melted into a puddle of warmth by the girl I now call my girlfriend.

Enter Veronica Sawyer, the only thing that’s right about this broken world. My love, my life, my reason to stand to go on living. The only reason why humanity is worth saving. I’m sure you’ve seen her around. Unlike myself, Veronica sees the world for what it could be, not what it is. She finds beauty in warts. She smells the perfume but never the trash underneath. She sees the lipstick and the pig but turns away from the shit it clings to. She opened my bedroom window, taught me how to breathe the air again. Perhaps you could see why I needed to protect her from the world that only wanted to snuff out her warm and caring light.

You know, I still think about it. Hard to say I don’t the way the school has made a spectacle out of their deaths. The almighty Heather Chandler decomposing on a rug; drowning in no-rust-build-up Hull Clean and Corn Nuts down below us. (Well, that rug’s gonna need a good cleaning. Bet you it reeks of expensive perfume and death, which might as well be the same thing.) Ram Sweeney bleeding out in the grass he used to go cow tipping in; (I’m sure the cows will mourn their favorite cow for as long as they shall live in peace now.) Kurt Kelly falling off the fence like a rag doll, never able to put a hand on Veronica ever again. (Although do I really need to emasculate Kurt any more than he already did on his own begging for his life when we both know he didn’t deserve to keep it?)

We made their deaths look like suicides, Veronica faking their handwriting. It was good enough to fool the cops. It fooled our classmates and the school’s faculty as well. I saw all the good that came from this. Three less assholes making life unbearable, Veronica safe and sound with me. The deaths of Ram and Kurt even seemed to bring tolerance and inclusion into the town. I mean, how often is it you can say it is a good day to live in Sherwood, Ohio? We did that! We started and finished wars. We vanquished the dragons. YOU’RE WELCOME TOWN!

I was doing this all for her and planning to do it all again:

“𝑺𝒐, 𝒘𝒉𝒐’𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕? 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒖𝒌𝒆?”

“𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉?”

“𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑾𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒐𝒃𝒚 𝑫𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏…”

That is, until Veronica interfered. I had known she was feeling unsure of our plan lately. She had stopped climbing through my bedroom window and began maintaining her distance. Leaving me alone to suffocate it seems. I knew she was lying to herself. She wanted them gone as much as I did. She just couldn’t accept that part of herself the way I could. Seeing as society had been telling her all these years wishing ill on those around you was inherently bad. The world always so black and white. Never shades of gray. The truth was a grosser reality than most could face though I never struggled to see it. I knew if anyone could see the world the way I did and do what we must it was her. We were special. We had to make the world a decent place for people who are decent and the only way we could improve the world was W͟H͟E͟N͟ ͟E͟V͟E͟R͟Y͟ ͟A͟S͟S͟H͟O͟L͟E͟ ͟W͟A͟S͟ ͟D͟E͟A͟D͟ But, no. She’d rather go to jail. Give a free pass to the cannibals and assholes to keep her soul “clean”. Every war has casualties. Doesn’t make it any less worth fighting.

𝓒𝓪𝓷’𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝓫𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷?

𝓘𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓸 𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓸?

𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷.

𝓘 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

She wanted to give everything up so we could be normal teenagers or else she’d break up with me. It was merely a small set back. A temporary kink in a well oiled machine of our love. She always keeps me humble like that. Always on my feet. How could I ever get bored nor have enough of it? But, the way she looked at me while she begged me, the look in her eyes like she was about to cry or give up on me if I didn’t say yes. I couldn’t lose her. Her love was too good to lose. We were supposed to be in this together. I can’t do this alone. Without her I have no reason, no purpose. What am I worth to the world if I’m not yours? I would do anything to keep her from crying. Like Kurt and Ram had made her cry before. She was always the one I would choose above all else.

So, I said I chose her. Another part of my soul chipped away and burned to dust if it meant I could pull her tighter.

I’ve assimilated into normal high school life as she asked of me. I joined the goddamn A.V. Club, in all its unpleasant glory. Somehow the most bearable club I could find to partake in remains excruciating to anyone with dignity. Though I generally am quite respected among my peers among the group. If that’s out of fear of my demeanor, their awe that I’m surprisingly rather good with the equipment, or shock that anyone in the club has ever held hands with a girl is yet to be seen. I suspect it’s somehow all three at once. I smile and nod when I want to say no. I always do what I’m asked and arrive on time. Never too early, never too late and I always leave on time as well. After school, Veronica and I go to the mall and share a plate of chili fries, talking about our day like all high schoolers do. Like our small, feeble teen problems are the end of the world.

“Normal” is less of a set goal more so a construct society has insisted on putting upon us all. Everyone’s definition of the word is somewhat different and yet I’ve still never fit into anyone’s definition of it. My life has been far from “normal” for as long as I can remember. Long roads, moving boxes, dads who let their kids shoot firearms but never in the house. If I’m being honest I find the whole routine of normal life to be dull and unfulfilling. I know I could be doing more. We should be doing more. We have the power to change things and we gave that up for what then? Complacency? Security? Love…

Sometimes while I sit at the movies with my arm tucked around her I wonder if I’m doing it right. If the shtick is making her happy as intended. I’m not normal. I don’t really know how to be normal. But, I want to be for her. And when she looks at me with love in her eyes I know I’m doing it right. If playing house like I don’t see the way the world is decaying in the background of our domestic bliss to maintain the facade of peace, if it means one more day of getting to love her, then who am I to not play along? Even it doesn’t feel right to me. Even if I feel like a ghost of myself everyday I pick her up after class. This isn’t who I am and I know it. That fact eats at me with every bowling pin I knock out, every club meeting I attend, every day I see Heather Duke tormenting those below her when we could’ve put a stop to it long ago by now…

𝓦𝓮’𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵!

𝓦𝓮’𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓭𝓲𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽!

𝓦𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓻 𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓼!

But, I can always shut my eyes and pretend to not a little longer for her, right?

(ADMIN + RP INFO)

[ifwevestillgottheright]

Sometimes I ponder

J.D. was in philosophy class, which was a rather unforeseen circumstance in of itself if he was being honest. In the past he hadn’t been particularly known for engaging in extracurricular activities. Why would you choose to put yourself through even more school than truly necessary of you at its most unstimulating and dreadful for what ultimately was very little gain in the end? Well, why then? For college? Are people really just that distinctly bored lately? He didn’t see much reason to be found in that at all. If he could choose he’d usually take it up with the nearby 7-Eleven or a bookstore instead if he was looking for some form of leisure. Though if that were really the case he should be asking why he was sitting in a philosophy class in the first place.

In this new “normal teenager” skin he wore he had been throughly encouraged, if not coerced in his mind to consider trying new things to put himself out there, to live life in a new way, under this new perspective one of which just happened to be more palatable for Veronica, such as new clubs and extracurriculars. So it seemed Veronica always thought complex problems could be made due with easy answers. Not that he was necessarily inclined to disagree with her on the matter…

He promised her he would try it…

𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℴ𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒽ℯ 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓉𝓇𝓎…

𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘺…

𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 S͟O͟M͟E͟T͟H͟I͟N͟G͟ ͟Y͟O͟U͟ ͟K͟N͟O͟W͟ ͟Y͟O͟U͟ ͟C͟A͟N͟ ͟N͟E͟V͟E͟R͟ ͟G͟I͟V͟E͟ 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓉ℴ 𝓀ℯℯ𝓅 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒾𝓃 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓈𝓅 𝒶𝓃ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒹𝒶𝓎?

Not unlike the club that was forced upon him, philosophy was his curriculum of choice seeing as it sounded like the most bearable of all evils he was in position to choose. There certainly were worse classes to be in than philosophy. He presumed that the majority of the classmates who surrounded him, while passionate enough about the subject to burden themselves with an extra class were unlikely to know as much about the subject as he did. He often found his mind adrift into the murky waters of life’s meaning and all the labels philosophers have given to compartmentalize what simply can’t be compartmentalized into mere words.

He could say he understood what meaning and purpose were now more than ever through his worship and adoration for Veronica. He thought that this love put him on a higher power of understanding and control than his peers were. He knew himself to be a god among rodents being forced to mingle but even he could admit there was only so much understanding he could do in these limiting conditions. In this limited box he put himself in to play nice with those very rats he thought should be squished for enrichment as people do with their own beliefs to make them more palatable. Philosophy was like high school in that regard. “Popular,” “Jock,” “Nerd,” “Nihilism,” “Platonism,” “Existentialism” they all practically meant the same thing to someone who thought of himself to be on a higher level than that. As Plato once so eloquently described: “I know that I know nothing”.

Today’s lesson began with three simple words: “Sometimes I ponder”

He related to the feeling described. Is it truly living if you don’t ponder or are only existing through life without any form of introspection or interrogation of what’s true in our society? He bet most of those cannibals and assholes didn’t think about what it was really about, thinking of life as a buffet where the weak had to be made to starve. Wasting their lives making the world an awful place for no reason other than their own inability to look internally and see the blood on their hands was always theirs to spread. How funny it would be for those very same people’s blood to spread on the pavement instead of onto others like a parasite…People were a sickness disguised as something pure when there was no purity in their souls to be found. “If hell was other people” other people made hell sound like a goddamn paradise. The only place people like that could get along was in heaven. That is, if damnation didn’t pay their debt before. He wanted to do something about those people but wasn’t allowed to.

Why shouldn’t he be allowed to?

Every war had casualties, didn’t make them any less worth fighting on the path to a better world. People vanish and die, it’s the inevitablity of life. It’s arguable the thing he pondered most…

It was something he pondered at his mom’s funeral even if that felt a lifetime away from him by now…

ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵈᵒ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵉᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ, ʰᵘʰ…

It was something he pondered at Ram and Kurt’s funeral too…

The way Ram’s old man came to his aid in death, speaking of his son like he was actually someone of value in life because he was gay like the ripe old bastard…

L͟i͟k͟e͟ ͟f͟a͟t͟h͟e͟r͟,͟ ͟l͟i͟k͟e͟ ͟s͟o͟n͟

𝒜 𝓅𝓇ℯ𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝓁𝒾ℯ ᴅʀᴇɴᴄʜᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʙᴜʟʟᴇᴛ ʀᴀɪɴ.

That’s the thing with adults, they always find a way to pull the wool over their eyes just in time to hide from the ugly truth. It’s how Veronica and him had managed to fool so many of them. The Sweeneys, the Kellys, they were never going to see their sons for who they were in life when this fictionalized recollection conjured up by him and Veronica brought them a faux clarity and comfort. A world where they didn’t fail the youth.

A world where their boys were 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎𝓇, never ḿ̬̏ͤͅo̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝.

Though he had to say, the gay confession at the funeral was rather amusing even if it was two parents taking away from their children’s tragedy at what was supposed to be their time of mourning. Not that he thought Kurt and Ram deserved any better than their own funerals to not even be about them in the end. It was as hysterical as it was pathetic. He could taste the irony dripping like blood and rainbows…

He pondered if his own dad would grieve him when the time comes. If Veronica would too if she was somehow forced to outlive him…Even if he intended to be hers until death did him part by any means necessary…

You could say he pondered all kinds of stuff…

[ifwevestillgottheright]

what even is av club dude. what do you do in it??

TW: Parental abuse, visuals of guns, and violent intrusive thoughts

J.D. was in homeroom studying. In a strange occurrence for him, he had actually arrived earlier than usual today. It was typical of him to always show up at just the right moment, never too early to have to hang around his fellow classmates, but never too late to cause interruption or be marked as late either. He didn’t really know why he was here now, all he knew was that he woke up earlier than expected and didn’t particularly feel like sitting at home and waiting til it was, as his old man would say, “showtime”. Guess the “why” didn’t really matter to him all that much anymore, just that he was here now for the foreseeable school day.

Though even if he had stayed he would’ve still had the house to himself for the morning. By the time he had woke up, bright and early as it was, his dad was already out the door and off to another work day full of disappointment and coming home to drink himself away…He always did prefer when he was home alone, even when he was only barely 10. But, it felt better than usual to not be in his dad’s company. If he was being honest, all the things that asshole did to hurt him, to remind him what he really was, had been burrowing deep under his skin lately. He deemed that as the cost of learning to feel again. When you’re numb none of it really matters. In the past the occasional defiance followed by a hit of slush to the brain was all he really needed to satiate all of that truthful shit inside his head he ought not to say when he felt his dad’s hands near his face or his voice mocking and berating him after school.

But, that simply wasn’t enough for him anymore. It didn’t stop the sudden urges, the feeling of wanting to punch a wall or cry, the way his hand would curl up into a fist in his pocket, never seen by the bastard but known to be there by him. He had never been in tune with his own emotions before but the melody of rage coursing through him at home was getting too loud to ignore before it reaches it’s inevitable destructive crescendo that’ll tear them both down.

Sometimes he wondered why he let his dad live in the first place…

He was purifying the world, freeing it of those c͟a͟n͟n͟i͟b͟a͟l͟s͟ ,those b͟u͟l͟l͟i͟e͟s, t͟h͟e͟ ͟w͟o͟r͟s͟t͟ ͟o͟f͟ ͟m͟a͟n͟k͟i͟n͟d͟ truly and yet he never took care of the biggest cannibal and the worst bully he had ever known…

How easy would it be to put a bullet through the head of the man who raised him one night during one of those drunk stupors he always seemed to have after work? Liberating himself from all of this in the process…

One bullet…

Click…

*BOOM*

He knew what he promised Veronica but surely she’d understand…She’s met the old man before! She has to understand how difficult he makes it for him to keep living, to keep breathing in a world where he knows what he wakes up to tomorrow.

🅐🅛🅛 🅦🅞🅡🅚 🅐🅝🅓 🅝🅞 🅛🅞🅥🅔.

How is it supposed to be all’s fair in love and war when there is no love and only war?

Well, at least he wouldn’t have to clean up after that b͟o͟o͟r͟i͟s͟h͟,͟ ͟c͟a͟n͟c͟e͟r͟o͟u͟s͟,͟ ͟w͟o͟r͟t͟h͟l͟e͟s͟s͟ ͟ 🆃🅷🅸🅽🅶 that p̞̈͑̚͞o̯̱̊͊͢ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍s̠҉͍͊ͅ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ w̦̺̐̐͟o̯̱̊͊͢r̴̨̦͕̝l̙͖̑̾ͣḑ̴̞͛̒ he’s been forced to call a father for almost 18 years…

It would almost be funny wouldn’t it? Justice, karma coming to pay it’s due through the form of the son he hates so fucking much…

Ｉｔ’ｓ　ｆｕｎｎｙ…

ⲏₑ’ₛ ₗₐᵤ𝑔ₕᵢₙ𝑔…

I̷t̷’̷s̷ ̷a̷ ̷j̷o̷k̷e̷…̷

A̷͙ͭͫ̕l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣ o̯̱̊͊͢f̵͖̜̉ͅ ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅ s̠҉͍͊ͅư̡͕̭̇c͕͗ͤ̕̕ḣ̖̻͛̓ ā̤̓̍͘ f̵͖̜̉ͅư̡͕̭̇c͕͗ͤ̕̕ḳ̯͍̑ͦỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑ j̪̟̮̔ͩo̯̱̊͊͢ḳ̯͍̑ͦẹ̿͋̒̕…

Then why hasn’t he already?

Maybe because rather he’d like to admit it to himself or not, the man who raised him was still at the end of the day, very much still the man who raised him. That under all that rage, all that hate:

There was still a child who wanted to feel like his dad loved him. He was the only parent he had left after all…

As he was sitting in homeroom another student, presumably a jock from the football team spoke up to ask a question. While he instantly recognized the man’s letterman jacket as one of the ones in which Kurt and Ram always wore, he was shocked to find anyone on the football team would’ve arrived early for class. Huh, normally he’d write off jocks as a hollow thing, always late, always flunking, always worthless. But, maybe he was judging too harshly and this particular guy wasn’t as hard headed as he expected and has something insightful to ask his peer…

This hope was quickly dashed hearing the actual question.

How could someone not know what A.V. was? God knows it was practically everywhere nowadays. He clearly didn’t even care for the activity. He didn’t even like the club. He certainly didn’t like the people. He did it because Veronica wanted him to get more involved with the class and A.V. Club seemed like the least awful club option for him, and he still somehow found the whole thing dreadful and frustrating.

Normally he’d tell the empty headed lowlife who contributes nothing but empty entertainment to an already deeply empty world by kicking a ball around that his question is inane and he wouldn’t even bother to answer what should be such an obvious question but, he knew that wasn’t the “outgoing” or “friendly” thing he should say so, instead he refrains for now.

He could call the A.V. Club many things…

“Soul sucking” for starters…

“Boring and unfulfilling” works as another descriptor…

A͓̽ p͓̽r͓̽i͓̽s͓̽o͓̽n͓̽ w͓̽i͓̽t͓̽h͓̽ n͓̽o͓̽ e͓̽s͓̽c͓̽a͓̽p͓̽e͓̽ i͓̽n͓̽ s͓̽i͓̽g͓̽h͓̽t͓̽…͓̽

But he knew better than to say those things. To ever convey how miserable he truly is…

Not that’s he’s actually miserable-No, he’s merely just having a bad day. It’s all a temporary lapse of bad feelings. He can assure you everything will be better tomorrow and he’ll be back to bright and jovial and normal by then…

If there even is a tomorrow…

He smiles politely, drumming his hands on the desk in front of him. “Well, allow me to end the suspense for you. “A.V.” stands for “audio visual”, us at the A.V. Club work to operate equipment such as lights, projections, microphones, sound systems, and cameras for all of the school’s various activities. We’re a very welcoming group of individuals who strive for smooth operations as a teenage IT crew. It’s not a school play or assembly without our touch so it seems. If you have interest in joining we’re always looking for new members, you know.”

[ifwevestillgottheright]

legit just hands you a coupon for half off slurpees at 7-11 for a month and walks away

TW: Self-Harm, Flashing throughout, and visuals of guns

J.D. was standing at his locker in between classes. His body certainly felt heavier than it usually did, almost as if his feet were becoming one with the floor as he stood there. He always found the school’s lighting to be too bright and blinding, his classmates were already enough of a headache as it was he didn’t really need the further incentive to have one. Though today the lights felt particularly blinding as he started entering his locker combination with an almost robotic stillness and precision. He couldn’t even seem to remember what day it was anymore. Monday? Friday? Wednesday? It all appeared the same to him, it had all become blurry now.

It had been a couple weeks now since he moved to Sherwood, Ohio and he had already begun to be lulled into a routine. Sure, it did take longer than it typically did for him to begin to feel burdened by the monotony and dullness of life in a new place that never truly felt new, but it felt especially disheartening seeing as things had started to finally feel different for once. Veronica had brought a spark of life to his cold and dead world. The frozen lake had been thawed; Sleeping Beauty awoken by a kiss. What they did together was the fire born from that very spark and he wanted it to engulf the world as they danced in the fire of all that hurt them, that hurt her. A phoenix rises from the ash of what was before, like he did, like the new world should’ve done too…

Guess the end of mankind and the beginning of the new world waits another day until she’s ready. But, one thing was never in doubt: a frozen lake can’t easily be frozen again once it’s been thawed out. Once you cut a puppet’s strings off it doesn’t stop being a real boy, a carved out heart doesn’t stop bleeding because you put a napkin over it and call it “fixed.”

He kept putting in the numbers, concentrating on each number individually.

|||| 𝟑𝟓 ||||

|||| 𝟏𝟓 ||||

|||| 𝟏𝟎 ||||

Maybe that was the combination from his last school instead? He’d been through ten high schools and the only thing that had ever changed was his locker combination.

How he wished something else would change…

As he stood there, wishing he could punch his locker door open or better yet, just bludgeon his head against his locker until his skull was shattered and his brain matter stained the pristine door he couldn’t manage to get open (he bet all the school would even do was ask the janitor to clean up the mess instead of actually doing anything about it) one of his peers who’s name escaped him (he didn’t bother to remember anyone he didn’t have to) handed him a coupon for his favorite place:

𝟱𝟬% 𝙊𝙁𝙁 𝘼 𝙎𝙈𝘼𝙇𝙇 𝙎𝙇𝙐𝙍𝙋𝙀𝙀, 𝘼𝙉𝙔 𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙑𝙊𝙍!

Huh, well a Slurpee did sound nice right about now if he was being honest. 7-Eleven wasn’t just his favorite place, it was a sacred place. The constant iceberg in a sea of change. He prayed at the altar of slush to keep him sane in the trying times, in the unending lifeline of numb lacking in mountains of true joy or agony. It felt like everytime he was about to despair, every time the voice in his head got too loud there was a 7-Eleven waiting for him, calling to him. His relief, his escape, his joy it could all be found in those very linoleum aisles…

It was coincidentally also the place where he met and really got to know her.

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆…

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈…

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓…

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥.

You know, there had been a distinct lack of Slurpees in his life lately…He thought he didn’t need them. Not anymore at least. His head had been notably quieter since beginning his relationship with Veronica, he could’ve sworn her love kept the bad things in his head away and in return he kept all the bad things away from her. Amid all the chaos and commotion, in the blood and the drain cleaner, he never felt his mind feel so clear, like a jolt of lightning coursing through his veins. But, now the chaos had settled, the lightning ceased, and his mind was messed up, clouded and hazy with all he wanted to do but couldn’t because she said he shouldn’t. He knew Veronica would be concerned to know he was considering taking up the coupon and diving back into the ice, getting lost in the pain he knew far too well by now-she always was so caring like that…Maybe even too much for her own good he thought. She cared about even the most vile of people who she shouldn’t. If he thought he was blind she was even more so, messed up by all the lies they fed her about how the world should work, not how it actually works.

He wasn’t like that. He was too cold to know her warmth but not cold enough to be as icy as he used to be…

Maybe one more wouldn’t be so bad…

To unburden his load, of course…

Forget what he’s pretending to be for her….

ᶠᵒʳᵍᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁱᵗ’ˡˡ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇᵉ ᵉⁿᵒᵘᵍʰ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᵉʳ

ᵀʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢⁿ’ᵗ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵉ ⁱˢ

ᵀʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵉ’ˡˡ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ

H͟e͟’͟s͟ ͟t͟o͟o͟ ͟d͟a͟m͟a͟g͟e͟d͟.͟ ͟T͟o͟o͟ ͟b͟r͟o͟k͟e͟n͟.͟ ͟

It really was beginning to become too much noise for him…

Fighting pain with more pain, it’s what he always did at a time like this…

Ｄｒｉｐ…

Ｄｒｉｐ…

Ｄｒｉｐ…

Oh, what is that sound he hears?

Ｄｒｉｐ…

Ｄｒｉｐ…

Ｄｒｉｐ…

Say, can the sound of the tried and true Slurpee machine cover it up?

Who’s to say…

L͟e͟t͟’͟s͟ ͟t͟r͟y͟ ͟i͟t͟,͟ ͟s͟h͟a͟l͟l͟ ͟w͟e͟?͟

He politely thanks the individual and stuffs the coupon in his pocket. He really should know better than to lie to his beloved by now…

He really fucking should…

[ifwevestillgottheright]

If you could snap your fingers and instantly make the world better, what would you do?

J.D. was sitting in the school library reading, as he liked to do most when possible. Even in this great time of change in his life he found comfort in what he thought to be most familiar, in this case the library. No matter what school he was attending he’d always find a way to skim their collection of books. Books always were more reliable than people after all. Libraries proved to be a sea of knowledge and escape in a world of ignorance and cruelty and just like the 7-Eleven before it they were often uniform and followed the same Dewey Decimal system. It was the only system in place that didn’t give him a headache. There were books for all kinds of stuff to keep him company: romance, horror, mystery, it was all he ever needed to remain enthralled with life.

In a hallway full of people wanting to speak with him the quiet of a library was much needed catharsis. He always thought there was a book for everyone and everyone a book. Though books certainly were more reliable than people ever could be. Even the worst of books could never compare to the worst of humanity at the end of the day. A bad book could produce frustration or a headache but it could never truly sour enjoyment of the arts. A bad person however could sink an entire race if it wasn’t stopped. It was why he preferred to ignore and avoid people like they were a bubonic plague before Veronica suggested he try to be more social. To be more like their peers before it was too late for his “soul” when his soul had never been so clearly alive and thriving. When life had finally found color she wanted to dilute it back into grey. Oh well, if that’s what she wants he guesses he’ll paint the world in grey for her when red was the more enticing color right about now…

At least in the library he could be himself without judgment from her or anyone else for that matter. It was just him and his thoughts and that was all he wanted.

As he was turning a page in the book he was reading a question in it immediately got his attention:

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨?

It was a stupid question, foolish really. You know, it was the exactly type of question Heather used to ask for her “lunch time polls”. All those ridiculous questions with no meaning instead of asking things that actually would do good for the world. When would Heather Chandler ever even have the incentive to ask a truly hard hitting question given that she benefits from the system those kinds of questions would tear apart? And he wasn’t thinking school library organizations systems…She never would like something like that, shattering that glass ceiling like her torn apart coffee table. Bet, that rug still needs a good cleaning.

It seems to him Heather Chandler was the ghost that haunted the narrative of his relationship and school, Veronica’s dead worst enemy she still calls her “best friend”. He never could see how she had become so blinded, so brainwashed to see the girl who did all those things to her and her best friend as a fellow friend. Veronica still felt bad about what they had done when there was no reason to. The whole school had rallied around the dead bitch, her suicide was art and they were her painters. There was a beauty in that story, in knowing it was well crafted by them and that everyone believed it. God, people will believe anything if it’s prettier than any ugly truth. Heather Chandler the monster was now Heather Chandler the martyr and he found humor in that. In knowing everyone is so desperate to make her “tragedy” about themselves that it’s erased who she was and what really happened to her.

Rewriting history in blood is easy when nobody cares about the truth.

Well, at least now he’ll never have to hear her ask him another question ever again…

If he had the power to make the world better with a snap of his fingers he would do many things. The main thing of which being to purge the world of all of those assholes he despised so much. To make the world better would be to restart and craft a new world in its image, which they were doing successfully. They were scaring the cannibals into veganism, cruelty birthing kindness. Nobody who made Veronica cry and cling to him for oxygen deserved to keep breathing in his eyes and they were well on their way to making that beautiful world of smiles and their love she wanted to live in. They had work to do and the work was waiting for them. But, no she wanted them to quit the job and join in the mundane of normal life or else risk losing that love that keeps him tethered to the earth entirely.

So, he assumed if he had to answer this aloud he would say that the thing he would do to make his world better instantly would be to do whatever makes her happiest and let him hold her tightly until this night becomes the day again.

[ifwevestillgottheright]

What do you think makes someone a “good person”?

TW: Flashing lights

J.D. was working the amplifiers at today’s A.V. meeting. He generally preferred working the lights as opposed to working the amplifier as it required more effort of him and there was more room to fail. Besides, already found there was too much talking in the club. Its members loved to chat amongst themselves about whatever foolish things were happening in their lives that day. Sometimes they’d ask him about his day, if it had been good, if it had been nice, if he could kidnap a Heather and photograph her naked in an abandoned warehouse and leave her tied up for the rats would he and which one? (One of his fellow club members in the glasses was so abhorrent he gave Ram and Kurt a run for their money in being an abomination to god. That certainly didn’t mean he didn’t think about which Heather he craved being eaten by rats most however.) He always hated when they did that but he had to go along with it anyway.

The club was far too social for his taste, much to be expected as most people who had chosen to be in a fucking A.V. Club likely remained very low on the food chain. He would’ve rather vanished into the background than maintain any prominence in the insolent group, but alas they were all too determined to remain a team in spite of him being no team player. (His intellect with this stuff along with the title of being Veronica Sawyer’s alleged “boyfriend” didn’t do him any favor at not standing out either. Like he was ever good at that as it was…)

As he looked at the amplifier his mind wandered to what it would be like to turn the whole thing up knowing it would deafen him from all the civil small-talk he despised. There was no point in the pleasantries of pretending to care about each other’s problems. Or even better it would deafen his classmates and the school at large, the school as a whole always did make too much damn noise for his head to tolerate. He knew amplifiers were capable of explosion, though it wouldn’t quite be like the movies. No, it would merely catch fire if cranked too high. The fire engulfing his and everyone else’s lungs so they can’t speak would still be preferred to this.

J͟U͟S͟T͟ ͟A͟ ͟L͟I͟T͟T͟L͟E͟ ͟H͟I͟G͟H͟E͟R͟ ͟A͟N͟D͟ ͟T͟H͟E͟ ͟P͟A͟I͟N͟ ͟G͟O͟E͟S͟ ͟A͟W͟A͟Y͟

His thoughts were interrupted by a club member approaching him with an unexpected moral dilemma: Well, what does he think makes someone a good person?

He knew for a fact society had commodified the very nature of goodness. Being moral and just is less about what’s true and more so about what’s comfortable for the people in the room to bear witness to. Morality can slip into the gray if it’s something others find justifiable. Harming another person is acceptable if they hurt you first but never if you took the first swing. If an animal is being particularly difficult you can euthanize it without judgement. Cannibalism is fine if it’s means to survival yet all we do as a species is cannibalize ourselves and our very nature and spirit.

Being a bitch is just swell if you’re the one in power and asserting your dominance on those who can’t fight for themselves. That they deserve it for being too loud, too fat, too this, too that…

Touching what’s not yours to touch is ok as long as you’re on the football team and benefit society in the deeply unbeneficial…

And above all else, no matter who you ask: murder is always WRONG.

He knew his love had been struggling to feel like a “good person” for what they’ve done. When to him, her goodness was never in doubt and neither was his. They were doing what must be done. A necessary evil that becomes an inherent good and that was the mark of true goodness.

We did this town a favor!

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏!

And they were monsters.

𝑵𝒐, 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍…

Only if you’re blind, come on…

Or it was until she killed the sound and made them stop.

“I suppose what makes a good person is your ability to stand up for what’s right in a world that so desperately wants you to do wrong to uphold the values it drills into your skull without questioning who those very values really benefit. It’s using the power you’ve been given to change things; to make the world a more bearable place for us all and never compromising in that regardless of society’s attempts at blinding you from what truly matters under the guise of something beautiful yet painfully fake. It’s knowing how to keep your soul clean in a dirty world above all else, or only dirtying for the ends that will always justify the means. Call me an optimist, but I believe the good that comes from the bad can overtake most things in the end.”

Fucking hypocrite.

[ifwevestillgottheright]

What does this guy think of superlatives?

FLASH WARNING & TW FOR ALLUSIONS TO ABUSE!

J.D. was sitting in one of Westerberg’s many stairwells with a book in his hand. In his downtime between classes and A.V. Club he usually liked to read. He knew as a part of this “normal teenager” shtick he was likely supposed to be talking amongst his peers and gaining more social interaction. But, he still maintained limits on how much he could tolerate when it came to interacting with his classmates. He was an outlier in more ways than one and in one such way was his lack of friends. He often kept to himself, more so a lone wolf than one of the pack. He didn’t like Veronica’s friends and didn’t see what he gained in making friends on his own besides frequent unnecessary nuisances.

So, the book would have to do instead…

This particular stairwell he had chosen for the day was next to the gym. Underneath said gym he knew there to be a boiler room. His mind drifted to that boiler room, the feeling of standing in one he knew far too well from his dad’s work. The advice his old man had imparted on how to blow one up until the whole world around him disappeared in the rubble and ashes of their tomb…

J̶̳̀́̃ā̤̓̍͘s̠҉͍͊ͅo̯̱̊͊͢ṇ̤͛̒̍! S̵̙͕̀̃Hͥ̽ͣ̃̔O̖̼ͩ͌͐W̯ͤ̾ͣ͝T̨͈͗̌ͥI̍̅̀̎̊M͉̅ͮ͒ͤḚͭ̉̇͟!

Of course nothing comes for free from demolition man and one man wrecking crew Big Bud Dean, in all his toxic glory. The semi-psychotic bastard had a thing for tearing things down. He only does what’s best for him after all. Nothing comes without strings. Affection, advice, and that’s when he even gives any. The bills are always due, the pasta his son leaves for him after work always cold. Beer cans strung along their coffee table, Texan slurring, tv static and god knows what noises from his bedroom. Cigarette burns and bruises. The reminder his son is forever replaceable. Too prideful like his dad, too damaged like his mom. Like father, like son. Thinking about explosives at a time like this. J.D. would’ve rather been held by his mom in that condemned library in Texas before his life went to black prematurely than to live and see the day he looks himself in the mirror and realize he had become his old man…

His mind cleared enough to hear a classmate speaking to another student near the stairwell. It was clear they weren’t talking to him more so about him like he couldn’t hear them. As if he wasn’t a real human being. Some things never change. No matter how much he integrated himself into Westerberg’s evolving ecosystem there would always be people who had made it their life’s mission to ridicule him. He had never put high stakes in his reputation or people’s expectation of him before. So the insults always fell on deaf ears. Always a waste of everyone’s time and energy that could be used for the benefit of society. Not unlike be often felt now…He had been called almost every insult and slur in the book and plus some, it never changed who he was. He never gave them satisfaction for it to. None of it beat what he heard at home anyway.

He couldn’t seem to concentrate on the book anymore. The words of the students playing in his head like a broken tune he couldn’t turn off. All he could do was read the same sentence over and over again:

Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn. Those who don't build must burn.

Superlative

𝔸𝕕𝕛𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖

“of, relating to, or constituting the degree of grammatical comparison that denotes an extreme or unsurpassed level or extent”

J.D. puts a bookmark in his copy of Fahrenheit 451, looking up at the students who had been talking this whole time about him.

“Isn’t the superlative the most interesting, most compelling of all adjectives at one’s disposal? What other adjective could possibly compare?” He interrupted dryly, assuming his statement would cause more confusion than amusement.

[ifwevestillgottheright]

Hi jason!!!! *gives him a slushie*

FLASH WARNING!

RING! RING!

The school bell rang its usual chime. J.D. had just finished up another upmost *thrilling* club meeting. Another meeting in the bag, another day of the monotonous routine he now called “life”. He was more than ready to pack up and be done for the day if he was being honest. This particular meeting had felt like it had dragged on more than they already did as it was. His eyes were tired and his legs felt like they were moving on their own. A shame to be on autopilot once again.

He was used to being on autopilot, his mind foggy and cold more often than clear. Always one foot on the ground, one foot in his grave with him. Looking ahead of himself on the road but seeing nothing in sight. Sure, this quest for normalcy hadn’t brought him as much satisfaction as he would’ve expected. He had to wonder how he had gotten to this decrepit, crumbling state. What had made him feel truly alive and truly fulfilled in the world? What had given him purpose and control above all else?

C-CORN NUTS!

S͟T͟O͟P͟ ͟B͟E͟I͟N͟G͟ ͟A͟ ͟D͟I͟C͟K͟?͟!͟ ͟

𝑤ₕₐₜ ₜₕₑ ғᵤʗₖ ₕₐᵥₑ ᵧₒᵤ 𝓭ₒₙₑ?!

Though it didn’t really matter now, did it?

His thoughts were quickly interrupted as he turned the corner to find a student having approached him. Strange seeing as before he had joined the A.V. Club he was very rarely approached by his fellow classmates, which he often found more of a positive than anything else. This had seemingly changed and not for the better. He was no longer the unknown new kid who had took a swing at Kurt and Ram to be avoided at all costs. No, he was “J.D. from A.V. Club”

He fucking hated that with all his soul.

“Greetings and salutations.” He responded politely, his hands clasped in front of him in spite of his exhaustion and boredom.

He was not much of a social person, often preferring to be alone unless truly necessary. He was rarely in the mood to chat amongst people and as of right now, was even less so than usual. He wanted nothing more than for this conversation to be over as fast and abruptly as it started. The student in question (he still hadn’t bothered to learn the names of the majority of his class as he knew his time in Sherwood was finite as it was) referring to him by his full first name certainly wasn’t doing him any favors either.

Don’t call me Jason…

To his pleasant surprise, the classmate had brought him a Slurpee. This was an unexpected turn for him. He wasn’t exactly used to the students of Westerberg High being nice to each other, let alone him. He hadn’t asked for one or payed someone to buy one, it appeared to be a gift just because? His eyebrows furrowed, half expecting this to be an elaborate prank at his expense. But, no. Sure enough it was a Slurpee. Huh, maybe there was still some hope for this school after all…

God knows he needed one of those right about now.

He took the Slurpee from the classmate, a grateful smile on his face. “I thank you. I appreciate it. Can always go for a Slurpee myself.”

He nodded his head before walking away so he wouldn’t get stuck here any longer. The second he was out of the student’s vision his smile faded into an irritated expression as he slurped the gifted slush until he winced from the brain freeze. Humming an offbeat tune to himself as he walked towards his motorbike outside.

[ifwevestillgottheright]

Meet the Admin:

Do I even need to introduce myself at this point? You can call me Marty (he/him) I'm 20 years old (my main blog is @themlpasouefan but I'm also @beautifulfrickinupdates) and welcome to the J.D. rp/ask blog! (I'm also the mod of a shit ton of other J.D. blogs including:

@explosiveslurpeelover (Casey!J.D.)

@myaltarofslush

@takeouthertonsils (Christian!J.D.)

@asteroidthatsoverdue (Casey!J.D. again)

@mr-noname-kid (JDevin)

if you want more J.D. writing from me!)

A pleasure to meet you!

RP Rules & Boundaries:

- I'm game to rp with almost anyone, all you have to do is ask or send something in! I can get a bit busy or scared to reach out but I promise I want to write with you!

- Admin is 20 (an adult!) and as a result feels generally uncomfortable to rp recuperated romantic feelings or nsfw with an known underage writer!

- Admin is fictionkin and has a tendency of getting psychically ill due to the memories of/attachment to the character involved so I reserve the right to not answer an ask if it ever effects those specific boundaries. (For this reason, NO SELF-SHIPPING OR YUMESHIPPING PLEASE!)

- I reserve the right to refuse any ask or rp request if it gets overwhelming or makes me uncomfortable for any reason. I am also not obligated to main anyone or have a storyline with a certain blog unless I want to! Rp is meant to be fun and I want to keep it fun!

- General trigger warnings for the character apply here: Parental death and trauma, abuse, violence, self-harm and suicide, but I try to mark the posts with trigger warnings if possible! Since this is an act 2 blog J.D.’s mental stability is rapidly declining and trigger warnings for later stuff in the show are applicable!

- My dms are always open if you want to ask specific questions about boundaries and what l'd be comfortable writing with you!

- (All OOC writing will be in parentheses or marked accordingly from now on! Thanks!)

As you can tell from the intro, this blog is set post-Seventeen pre-I Say No and follows a canon compliant timeline. (Chandler, Kurt, and Ram are dead, JDronica is canon)

There will be a main list but I’m totally ok with interacting with blogs outside of it! OCs and ensemble blogs are not only welcome to be mains or have plot lines but are actively encouraged! This J.D. is trying to be a “normal teenager” and experience “normal teenage things” I’m also not against ghost Chandler or Kurt and Ram blogs interacting or being mains so long as I can make it make sense for the blog!

This will probably be more of a lowkey blog. I’m mostly focused on the blog’s general character arc about this canon period in the plot not often explored than a very tight dramatic canon divergent plot. But I do want to have a plot and keep general consistency and continuity if possible!

Currently posts are compartmentalized between two tags:

#A.V. Cassette Tapes for Asks

#If You Could Let Me In for RP responses

Main List (comment/dm me if you want to be added!):

Veronica Sawyer: @ifimwhatyouchoose

Heather Duke:

Heather McNamara:

Martha Dunnstock:

Ms. Fleming:

OCS: