coming out of my blue blazer and im doing just fine

veronica looks out the window, forlorn. the door is open. she closes the door, and locks it from the inside.

[unheather]

ARE YOU GOING TO LET FEAR TAKE THAT? private & selective blog for veronica sawyer from heathers. unaffiliated with the general rpc. mutuals only. rules below.

is this blog movie based? musical based? yes and no. it is my own interpretation of the character. i am going to put veronica primarly in a stranger things verse as her main setting for fun and sport.

shaking my head everytime she does something morally wrong so you guys know i don't agree with her or her thoughts. mun =/= muse. she has some incorrect takes about the universe and women, and feminism and like life in general.

i am all down for shipping, i have a very particular vision with veronica that might complicate shipping just like normally but lucky for everyone this blog is plotting based and i won't write with anyone without some base plotting.

general content warning for. anything in heather media, veronica is like passively suicidal and that can be sometimes reflected in the decisions she makes and inner thoughts so just be warned.

[ichtgod]

she's working herself up now, getting all self-righteously indignant. now probably isn't the time to tell her what happened to heather chandler. "and, in lieu of a piano, here i am."

he raises his eyebrows at her outburst. kind of smirks at 'dinner plans'. "hey, at least i'm a cheap date."

guessing that's not going to be enough to budge her, jd sighs. "look i'm sorry if there was a little...miscommunication, here." there: an olive branch, along with his best puppy dog eyes. "and i'm sorry i got blood on your skirt. okay?"

he hopes that'll diffuse some of her rage; he really doesn't want to have to kill veronica if she tries something stupid. he likes her better alive -- might like her even more undead, tied to him forever, but this isn't exactly the scene for that conversation. even jd, with his famous lack of tact, can understand that. he moves his hand from the gearshift to veronica's knee, seeing if she'll let him. "so, what now?"

and she'd even wrested an apology out of him. really, what more does she want? her 'guilt' isn't going to bring those two assholes back to life -- they're too long gone for that, and more importantly, they'd make terrible vampires.

[unheather]

DEAR DIARY, count duckula has jokes now. i don't find any of this funny. note to self, next time carry a stake in your purse. or holy water. start the next first date splashing some in his face. maybe even suggest italian. why the fuck is this happening to me?

her eyes are trying to drill a hole through his forehead. in lieu of a piano. he thinks he is so hilarious. veronica bites the inside of her cheek, any fear of danger long receeded into the depths of her emotional chasm. no time for that. a cheap date, a lousy date, a man eating date. for once she is considering cutting meat off. that's enough blood for a lifetime.

her arms are crossed, and she is left to think. before he speaks again. underneath the gore and blood something pushes through. and veronica feels something a twinkle in those eyes. something so stupid. who does he think she is? there's no it's okay you ate those people, baby, you must have been so hungry. damn...his face is really distracting. miscommunication? blood on the skirt? someone hand her a reality check she wants to hand it over to him and his stupid pretty face and hope it doesn't bounce.

her eyes land on his hand on her knee. and then back at him. she doesn't move him. but her arms remind crossed and she looks away clears her throat in hope for something to give. you are going to have to try a little harder buddy. "-i don't know, jd. i guess i am a little rusty on my post-murder aftercare." see, she has jokes too. people are dead. and veronica lured them. jesus. she needs her mind off things. implicating her, is this fun for him?

[unheather]

i've seen this one already. i know how it ends.

veronica scoffs, rolls her eyes.

DEAR DIARY, annie summers...kind of like a b list celebrity around here. heather chandler says she is a bottle blonde and that has to count as some sort of personal foul. i don't know what to do with the whole happy go lucky routine, like jeez, we get it barbie peace and love on planet earth you don't have to gag on it.

veronica sawyers finds herself in quite a situation, in her hand a blade. it is awfully poetic, she derives no enjoyment from having to plunge it deep somewhere in her friend? acquiantance? doing anything else would be social suicide, and hasn't she tried this hard and sacrificed so much to be left without a safe place on top of the food chain. it's just business. man eats man world. or high school.

"yeah? do tell...how does this one ends, annie?" it's sarcastic. mean. you can't keep everyone out, she wants to say. a beat before she looks down at her shoe, inspecting it for any scuff marks. "-speaking from experience or?" she looks back up. unnecessarily cruel, coming from a place of frustration. it's the cost of legacy, or boredom, or power wielding fantasies.

[ichtgod]

he frowns at her thoughtfully. “maybe you’re my ‘ghost business’. think of that?” jd immediately regrets saying it, giving away the complete lack of control he has over his own undeath. he wonders what she’d been dreaming about, but the way she’d woken up gasping makes him think of seeing her in the makeshift noose.

are you enjoying this, she says, and something in him twists. if he were alive he’d call the feeling nausea. you know me better than that. but does he get to say that? jd had been right about the school, the world, sure, but he had tried to kill her. and he’d slammed her into the wall. and flipped her off. he’d been wrong about veronica. thought she’d been weak, she’d given up on life. on him. but no, she’s more powerful than that. too powerful to be haunted by stupid nightmares. it’s unfair.

“c’mere,” he says instead of answering, giving in to the urge to gather her up in his arms. she’s the only thing he can touch — most other items drift through his hands as though he were made of smoke. she feels warm and alive against his chest. he remembers sitting on this bed with her, plotting a murder. acting like he was joking, but she was into it, he knew it, she’d been too smart not to see through his act a little bit, she believed it because she wanted to believe it and she’d laughed and then they’d made love in this bed. jesus, when did they stop understanding each other so well?

[unheather]

veronica mirrors his frown, now that's something.

DEAR DIARY, turns out this ghost bullshit is more complicated than originally believed. what am i supposed to do? forgive him. send him flying. whatever awaits for him can't be good. would it even work if i don't really mean? i suppose ghost rules can tell my heart isn't pure. or in it. like at all. is there an alternative? call the goddamn ghostbusters.

veronica swallows a protest, and she can feel him, and she can smell him. and it's dizzying, beneath the dirt and the burnt smell, it's all him. the type of things she would fantasize about, that would linger with her after seeing him. she wants to hurl all over again. she holds him, and he feels read. can she hurt him? like he hurt her? can he feel pain?

she does not notice but her eyes get watery. it's sadness, it's anger. why did he have to do this? why did it have to end like this? "i hate you." she doesn't fight him off yet. "this blows." she sounds like a child who didn't get what she wanted. but she's sad, heartbreak not even death can fix. fuck him. fuck him sideways. jeez get a goddamn grip, veronica. she holds onto his raggedy jacket. really holding into it. sadness melting into anger, then back into sadness. it's not working, just like they don't work.

[ichtgod]

@unheather, plotted.

“seeing ghosts again?” jd’s smile is bloodied, face soot-dusted, but just as smug as it was when he was alive. he smooths his expression into false concern. “gee, veronica, maybe you should talk to a shrink about that.”

he’d never thought much about an afterlife when he was alive. just figured it probably wasn’t as simple as the paintings at his mother’s church, with puffy clouds above and boiling lakes below. sure, he’d studied his dante, his bosch, but found nietzche’s dead god best suited to his tastes. and in actuality, the afterlife — or whatever this is — seems to conform most closely to ol’ william: hell is empty and all the devils are here.

still, he’s not complaining. an eternity of veronica is far from torture. sure, jd misses his bike, smoking, the general independence that came with having a physical body, but it sure beats soaking in a lake of fire for the rest of time.

she’s not doing so hot, these days. it’s something that jd blames more on her lack of vision than himself. doesn’t mean he enjoys seeing it. and sometimes, when she wakes up from what was clearly a nightmare, sweating and pale, with jd sitting at the edge of her bed like a fucking pet, he hates her. hates her for not letting him hold her and soothe her and stroke her hair until she falls back to sleep. hates her for making him want to anyway.

so he gets his jabs in where he can.

[unheather]

veronica wakes up by gasping for air. it's immediate, she cannot remember her dream. most of the time she cannot remember what she last saw. but she does see him. smile bloody, dirty and she swears she can smell burnt everything. she presses the palm of her hand into her eyes until she sees shapes, throwing the covers away. it takes her a moment, there's a non humorous laughter that just bubbles from her chest and she looks at him then. eyes adjusting to the dark. but she can see him perfectly.

"and get thrown into a padded room? yeah right. how does i keep seeing this dead boy and he follows me everywhere sound?" she lifts her knees up. she reminsces of a different time, of him in her bed in a way that didn't felt like this. carrying a boulder on her shoulders. lifting heavy. she doesn't understand why she can see him.

DEAR DIARY, i didn't think breaking up with my first boyfriend would be this difficult. i am keep seeing him. dead. and bloody. at least he is all in one piece. there is no rhyme or reason, maybe i am finally succumbing to hysteria. should i be nicer to him? would that set him free? i am running out of ideas and i am not opening my big dumb mouth about this one. is he a figment of my overrun imagination, a manifestion of guilt? or is he really there. fuck my life.

"so you don't have anywhere else to be but at the edge of my bed? any ghost business. or something." she is being mean and unfair, sure. but so was he. (and she thinks she can feel what her nightmare was about. her hands red, red, red. dripping.) "-or are you just enjoying this?" veronica thinks or deludes herself into thinking she doesn't know him anymore, that there was a point in time where she stopped understanding him. even now. she misses him. she misses them.

[unheather]

Violet senses those like her like a shark smells blood in the water. She's had Veronica pegged from day one, certain they had more in common than the faux-Heather in her royal blue wanted to confess. Every interaction they have is a weeping stab wound — coming suddenly and lingering after. This one is no different.

"I know ya love blood," There's a sick smile on Vi's face. "... maybe as much as I do."

[NOW PLAYING: Ptolomaea by Ethel Cain!]

veronica more often than not does not know what to do with violet. sometimes it's like a smear on a window, condensation blurring the person and she just sees concepts. violet smiles and it churns her stomach. she raises an eyebrow. and tilts her head.

DEAR DIARY, i wish i would stop attracting the craziest people. i am a goddamn magnet for people like this. and i don't hate them, but having to make a space for myself and violet is just harshing my vibes. she doesn't know the plan. you know be a heather, graduate, go to college. the plan. and honestly she should know by now. whatever.

"i don't have the slightest clue what you're going on about." to be seen....is a burden, it's a curse, she thinks. veronica turns, looks over her shoulder. the rest of the group far away. she can rarely catch a breath. and it's like the world is so damn certain to keep her on her toes. then back. tilting her head. uninterested. "somethings we just have to do. i'm sure you understand."

[ichtgod]

jd chortles. “well, shit, veronica, they looked scared to me.” like he was ever going to stop there. he imitates the terrified rictus of kurt’s face in his final moments. “oh, god, please, no!”

he can hear the tempting rush of blood in her veins as her heart beats faster. sure, he’s just had two rare cuts of grade-a all american jock, but a creature like him is always hungry. a pit with no bottom. a black hole older than the surrounding stars.

he restrains himself. he’s had a lot of practice restraining himself, waiting for the perfect moment. in fact, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s really cut loose like he just did in the woods. he’s still feeling high with it, feeling alive. she should be too.

he leans closer, into her space. up close, veronica smells like wildflowers and expensive perfume. he kind of loves it. he kind of loves her. “you wanted them dead. it’s a little late for second thoughts, sweetheart.”

[unheather]

veronica can hear it, and replay it over and over. hand over her mouth, unwilling to give the carnage a second thought.

DEAR DIARY, sometimes god makes these weird choices like making literal flesh eating monsters look human and like cute and handsome with nice hair. i've fallen victim to the scam, like god has this idiot never heard of exaggeration? sure i'm prone to saying the worst most violent thing about many people. but this isn't the fucking looney tunes, people don't spring back when you drop an anvil onto their head or unleash a guy that's more teeth than person in their general direction. was i even aware? the nausea is a sure fire way of confirming how much i did not want this.

her body moves, more unconsciously than. consciously. slow. it's hard for her brain to process how she's looking differently at him. he isn't the boy she liked. the secret is too big, the price is too damn high. someone wake up veronica. she blinks, slowly turning from dread to anger. her brows furrow and she gets a sarcastic smile.

"wanting someone dead doesn't equal to wanting to kill them. it's like you just kind of hope for a piano to fall on them or something. wishful thinking. not...direct action. i certainly did not want this, i wouldn't have if i knew you...you were making dinner plans. god. jesus." and suddenly she remembers how blood is so fucking stubborn. hard to remove. she is going to have to burn this skirt. she likes this skirt before this, just like...she liked jd. before this. she's gotta have some sort of exit strategy. she never thought she would have one. it's only now that dark eyes meet his and what she is hoping to see she doesn't know.

[ichtgod]

"what?"

they're in her car, the plan having gone off perfectly, and still @unheather is staring at him like she's seen a ghost. jd swipes his tongue over his teeth. he's still warm and buzzing with adrenaline, stolen blood. he frowns at her. if it's shock, it probably should have worn off by now. and if veronica's pissed, the silent treatment isn't exactly her style. he wiggles his fingers in front of her face. "anyone in there?"

[unheather]

veronica can replay the moment over and over, like someone is winding the tape and playing it. there's so much blood everywhere, teeth sharp as ever and she just stood there, like she's dumb. it's all clicking into place. eyes zoned out in the general direction, just forward. like if she doesn't move he will get bored and move on.

DEAR DIARY, horror movies to me felt like just the perfect excuse for boys to pull the moves on stupid girls. turns out i'm living one and in an incredible feat it's still an excuse to feel up my skirt. i'm going to be sick. now my dinner out is trying to come back up to say hello. my dream guy turned out to be a real nightmare. unbeknownst to me i've been siccing him on people like a goddamn dog. i'm starting to think he's due for a visit to the fucking pound. look at the flowers, jd. look at the fucking flowers. wonder when will i go from girlfriend to dog meat? blood sacrifice?

she blinks back into reality. the coppery scent lingering all over the stupid car, there's not enough plastic pine trees that will ever let her exist in this car in peace again. "jesus." it's the first thing that breaks the silence, she turns slowly. "-what the hell is your damage?" she feels silly now, stupid even. her face scrunches up, disgust, fear, nausea they all blend into a nice little twist of the heart here. this isn't what she wanted, what the hell is going on? how long has this been going on? the questions are indeed endless. "what was all that? we were just going to scare them. geez." red doesn't go all that well with the shade of blue her skirt is, the few specks of blood have turned nearly black.

[unheather]

❛ Does it take a lot out of you? Destroying everything in your wake? ❜ /+jon

veronica arms are crossed. she stands next to jonathan. eyes far out on the horizon, like it's doing any good to just be ignoring the source of her most recent troubles. she rolls her eyes, sighs with it like her soul is leaving her body.

DEAR DIARY, today i may have heathered too close to the sun. yes, heather as a verb. because that is what i did, and it was so fucking easy. now i got a burning sensation all over my body like i've been splashed with holy water and a guilt only a catholic boy could carry. now i have morrisey over here asking questions i would rather ignore like any other normal teenager.

"what do you think?" veronica turns to jonathan, sometimes he looks so. honest. raw in a way that makes her envious, like sure he's miserable but so is she, no one wins. "also you are blowing this way out of proportion. they'll get over it. and so will you." and yes, she wants to say. it is exhausting to keep this up. but there is nothing else there for me but to be a cunt. what jonathan doesn't get is that there is a part of veronica than thrives in this enviorment. that's the real killer. jonathan so far has been spared. for whatever reasons.

[unheather]

hi! like this to plot <3

[demobrat]

he's an honest guy. better than his crook of a dad, at least. eddie tries to follow in uncle wayne's footsteps: let it all hang out. this is who and what i am. take it or leave it.

so, it's real grating when he's being purposefully misinterpreted. the whole town is already on his ass because they think he killed chrissy cunningham. he didn't. not directly. maybe, he could've stopped it, yeah, but he he didn't. couldn't figure out how to help while it happened right in front of his eyes. nobody's ever claimed munson was the brightest in the class. it's driving him clinically insane to be seen like this. to be spoken of like he has it in him to kill somebody. to hear he's following in daddy's footsteps.

and veronica, goddamn it, her comments over the last few days. her tiny, witty little comments. they've driving him up the goddamn wall. looking down on the rest of us. she's acting like he's holier than thou, like he isn't talking to her from below ground. he's subterranean. he's six feet fucking under.

"it's just you're easy." oh, to his great despair. another disappointment doled out by the universe. really, he should be used to the feeling by now. "it's like. . . you hear the name. whispers throughout the halls." eddie leans in a little closer, like he's coming in to tell her a secret. his voice dips, rasping, and his hands flare out into the air. "veroooonica sawyer."

he's in a bad mood. he's in a bad place in life. he's pushing, unloading it all on her, racing towards one or both of their limits. "and you think: here's a mystery. a real gordian knot." eddie's yet to find skin thick enough to keep him out from under it. he's got half-baked memories of even dear ol' mom telling him to take it easy. "the enigma of hawkins high on the freak's humble turf. exciting day for me, right? no! noooo. no. it turns out, you're the same as the rest of the letterjackets." his ego really is smarting. she's standing there in her snazzy little plaid outfit, a self-imposed uniform, and he is in clothes he's been wearing since the day chrissy died. he hates her. loathes her. needs her to stay here, listening intently, her eyebrows hunched into angry little lines and her eyes blazing. "just another woe-is-me rich girl."

[unheather]

veronica's eyes squint at the man before her, the stupid shit that seems to go from brain to mouth in ways she hadn't considered before, couldn't dream off. she holds her fists tighter, like that's going to keep her on her feet. far from the edge. she's not easy.

DEAR DIARY, this asshole thinks he read me to filth. he thinks he is all that and i have to keep this stupid idiot moron alive. because i have grown a spine, and i cannot stand the idea of jason carver thinking he is right in any logical sense of the word. i have to swallow my pride in ways i have never done. not without a punch, not without some pull. not without a fight. fuck. fuck him. this is why he doesn't have a girlfriend. i know that in my heart.

veronica laughs, humorless, looks around. is anyone hearing this shit? she isn't an enigma but she isn't easy. gordian knot what a fucking nerd. "oh sorry i didn't know we were all working really hard to keep you entertained." she rolls her eyes then. "-is that so? well yippe ki-yay! eddie munson figured it all out. gee i must have missed the memo, since you know all the stupid jackets and their idiot girlfriends are out there hunting your ass."

"you are just mad. so incredibly angry. drives you insane that someone else cracked it. like see i don't have to be on the outside to know that it's all crap, that it's all bullshit. i'm playing the game and winning." doesn't mean it isn't fucking miserable. that it sometimes it eats her from the inside in. "-and you can't stand it." she taps her finger on her shoulder. like it's final, it's the last thing before all hell breaks loose. it's hard to see it, the picture put together. the idea that eddie munson has concocted all by himself based on nothing but smoke and mirrors. woe is her. she deals with this as best she can.

veronica sawyer isn't a myth or a legend. she is just passing by cruising without letting this hell hole sweep her in. as if eddie isn't the best example of what happens when you are out there. veronica has made it so, assured her destruction only comes when she's aware. whatever is thrown her way she knows before it happens. and now all she wants is for him to stop fucking around. baiting her. they're going in circles. and she needs a gun.

[unheather]

hey, uhh, is everything all right? (shy and drenched in da shower)

veronica sawyer lies before the water. volume of hair depleted, mascara running. eyes closed. the showers in hawkins high are a humiliation ritual at best and a infected disease ridden ground zero at worse. the water is loud and cold, and decidedly not comforting in the way that it should be.

DEAR DIARY, there are fucking monsters. as if life couldn't get any worse. hawkins, indiana ripped a page out of lovecraft and just. doomed us all to hell and back. it was easier when it was about finding the person who actually is killing people. turns out it isn't a person at all. so. this one is definitely on me. add to the list that they will ship me off to the ward for. i always wanted an extensive vacation. i just never thought it would be like this.

that's it. the string broke. snapped, pearls hitting the ground. the world is a hilarious place and veronica is the punchline. she wishes eddie has a snooze button. not right now. but his tone is different, carries lightly. unlike the usual bitchy one that now seems to crack a smile into her face. breaks through. she turns, unable to recover in time. can't see any tears beyond her expression, that's what the water is for. the hard decisions. to hide a little bit in it. and eddie's now wet too. shirt white and translucent. she looks up at him, a little transfixed, mesmerized. has he always looked like this? little droplets falling off the edge of the curls.

"no." there it is. honesty, open and raw and ugly. and to anyone else veronica would look more angry than vulnerable. what a fucking sap. "-i think not. quite the opposite. actually." no trace of sarcasm, no trace of the shield and sword she valiantly defends herself with. she holds herself. there she is, veronica sawyer makes her very late debut. neck bared, if eddie munson had any teeth it would be in this very moment the perfect time to sink them in.

[unheather]

❛ i knew there was something about you. i knew i didn't like you, but i couldn't put my finger on it. ❜

note to self, always trust your first instinct. the one that says, eddie munson is an annoying asshole. stay clear. stay minty, and frosty. veronica's hands curl into little fists, not much in the way of damage. much more versed in the art of frustration. "that's very interesting, eddie. i'm dying to know some more about how you are on top of the world and looking down on the rest of us."

DEAR DIARY, day three of following some lunatic across this miserable town. he is driving me crazy. i should let him get swallowed up by the very angry mob but then again i would miss all the fun. god as my witness, he definitely didn't kill chrissy cunningham, he couldn't kill a fly if it landed on him. i've seen it, the opposite of the grinch. heart four sizes too big. except when he's talking to me. for some reason. i guess a big heart doesn't stop you from being a cunt.

she keeps walking next to him, as she's putting on a show. commands attention in a way that she should find distasteful. (for the record, she does not. she finds it entertaining. and maybe a little charming. but that's for her to handle.) "-so? what is it? what about me has you utterly restless? spill." and she doesn't need to be helping him. she is getting some funny kick out of this. she gets to avoid everything and everyone. dig a hole and crawl in, fun.

[misandriste]

Winona Ryder as Veronica Sawyer HEATHERS 1989, dir. Michael Lehmann

[unheather]

                              NO, I'M A VERONICA ... SAWYER.