Heathers Jd Fanart Novels & Stories

A screenshot of a trending tag: #PLANTGIRL My soul left my body and filed a complaint. “Why,” I croaked. “Why would they call her that.” Sienna looked offended on my behalf, which was almost sweet considering she was still convinced it was me. “Because she hid him behind a plant! People love a theme.” I stared at the screen. Someone had made fan art. Not good fan art, more like a doodle of a girl in a hoodie heroically standing beside a potted palm while Jace hovered in the background like a rescued prince.

Heather woke up in Jason's bed. Her gaze fell on his sitting figure by the window. His shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his broad chest, as he worked intently at his easel. She slipped out of bed, barefoot, and padded over to him. The painting had taken shape, revealing a clear outline. In the soft silk sheets, she lay draped in a languid pose, her bare body gracefully illuminated in the artwork. Her expression was serene, not seductive, but almost pure, as if her form was something to be revered.

Helianthus said and walked off with Briar, who gave her a house tour. Heather turned to her father, who was sitting with his tab on the couch, and said, “Daddy, I don’t like her anymore.” “Too bad and it is too late to change your mind now,” Koda said without looking at her and continued to tap away. Heather huffed and ran after them, finding the horrible two in their father’s bedroom. Helianthus looked around the room and saw a picture of a woman in a frame. And saw that she looked like Heather.

“Stay away. All the catty witches will start fighting over them. Sit back and let the competition take themselves out. Those two will take any women mixed up with them down when they fall. They are trouble on two or four legs. Sexy trouble, but trouble.” Heather’s words annoyed Rose. Heather was always a little jealous. She was the daughter of the Rolling Meadows Pack Healer. Rose knew Heather didn’t believe she belonged. She believed her father’s position made her less than, but they didn’t care. So, Amber had to drag Heather to these events.

“Toast?” “No thanks,” Rhett wrinkled his nose. “I like your apron,” he mocked his mate as he took the coffee to the table. “Well,” Heath looked down at it and shrugged. “Work with what you have.” Rhett sat in front of a sketch pad and flicked it open out of curiosity, tilting his head as he looked at the drawing. “I’ve seen this before,” he said to himself and flicked a few more pages, frowning, his coffee forgotten. I’ve…” He traced his fingers over a sketch. “I’ve actually tattooed someone with… Ah, f-k. Morgana Ivy the comic artist.”

All eyes turned to the woman who had just stepped out onto the back deck. Heather. She wore white jeans, a white jacket, and a bright yellow top, with not a hint of Abby’s signature pink anywhere on her. He watched as Abby lifted her head, a hopeful look on her face, and then the sadness he saw as she realized her mother hadn’t done the one thing she’d asked. In a sea of every shade of pink imaginable, Heather stood out like a sore thumb which was probably her intention. Heather hated it when anyone else was in the spotlight, even if that other person was her daughter.

After we take our seats, I listen to Heather and her friends talk of the Emporer. “He’s fucking hot! I’d die to know what he smells like,” Piper beams, and I notice they are passing around a painting of him at the table. "Yeah, I will let you do that. But nothing more." Heather warns. She has already declared him "hers". "And if he will want more?" Piper asks not daring to say more least she upset their queen. "He won't, trust me!" Heather tells her. Her voice is stern this time. See, I have a good reason to loathe her.

Persephone cried. She could hear another heavy breathing and the thumping of heart as quickly as her own. In the deep silence, right in front of her eyes, a radiant face revealed itself, first the elegant narrow jaw then the proud cheekbones and the pair of shimmering eyes as black as the river Styx. Silken strands of raven hair unraveled and flowed heavily over a set of slender shoulders. Hades finally appeared from the dark as she removed the Helm of Invisibility from her head. Persephone gasped at the sight of the goddess and she quickly backed herself away in fright.

She was dressed in a black wool dress, her long hair neatly pinned into a bun, with her fair skin glowing against the dark fabric. Suddenly, Jay stepped closer, his voice dripping with malice. "Heather, now that you're awake, it's time to finish what I started carving." When Heather had lost her mind, no amount of torment could elicit a reaction from her. Now that she was back to normal, Jay relished the thought of watching her suffer. Heather couldn't recall Jay ever carving anything into her skin, so she met his gaze with a cold, unwavering stare. Jay's eerie gaze locked onto hers. "This time, no one will save you—"

She reminded him, with a touch of caution, "Careful, Alpha. You stand before a council member, and thus, you have no right to show such blatant disrespect towards me." But Arthur remained undeterred, his frustration guiding his actions. Ignoring Heather's rebuke, he forcefully placed his hand on her shoulder, exerting a tight grip. Through gritted teeth, he repeated his question, "I demand an answer. Where is Skylark Bluedawn?" Experiencing a sharp pain shooting through her shoulder, Heather swiftly pushed Arthur's hand away, her tone laced with indignation. "How dare you touch me inappropriately! Madam Skylark Bluedawn has already departed, along with her mates!"