Okay so Casey is like 16-17 and April is 16 in the 2012 series so that would mean Casey is possibly a grade above April, but I headcanon that they are in the same grade in high school because Casey got held back.

They do make it clear that Casey is failing his classes so badly that he needs a tutor and he always skips out on doing homework with April.

Not in the Job Description

heres a silly lil Danny Phantom concept based entirely off a half-awake sleep-vision that made me laugh :) my subconscious brain is a genius at coming up with things that make just enough sense to be worth writing

summary: Danny's job at a local restaurant is surprisingly fulfilling, even after being crowned Ghost King. Speaking of that job, however, there are some intricacies to it that are hard to keep in mind during everyday life.

warnings: descriptions of nausea and mild sickness

words: 2180

AO3 link

===

Honestly, life was going pretty well at the moment for Danny Fenton. He wasn't even worried that it was a false security or a calm before a storm, because this kind of semi-serenity had been going on for more than a year. It was a long-term stability brought about by adaptation and putting in effort to get help and accommodation. Jazz would be proud!

Sometime at the beginning of Junior year, the Observants had chased him down and crowned him High Ghost King (much to the chagrin of both involved parties). It certainly added responsibility to Danny's plate, along with some new sensations and a series of crises (what didn't these days?), but a little political discussion with some of the more powerful ghosts ended with Danny deciding that, at least at the moment, the position didn't require him to do much more than he normally did. More ghosts would seek him out for help and he would do his best, and some "paperwork" (though there was very little paper involved and it was a lot of talking and oaths and rituals and such) happened about monthly. Otherwise, though, the Zone didn't need much more help than that, having survived off an absent King for centuries. Well, and the ambient purpose of the King as a sort of core for the Zone, but Danny didn't have to put in time or conscious effort for that.

Eventually that settled into normalcy, and Danny was back to worrying about the balance of schoolwork, self-care, and fighting. He still hadn't given up on the prospect of someday becoming an astronaut, and he was determined to have the grades for it. Don't get him wrong, he'd gotten way better about that! He'd formed a practiced, if not entirely stable, system that kept his grades at a solid B- / C+, while getting a solid 5-ish hours of sleep most nights and not bottling things up too much. It was about halfway through Junior year that he realized, with some help from his friends, that his ghosts fights were honestly pretty civil, at least against the regulars. Civil enough that he knew they had some respect for him, and was willing to risk asking for help. So a few weeks and awkward but not bad conversations later, and he had agreements with almost all his regular "foes" not to cause trouble within Amity from 11pm to 7am, 3pm on weekdays. It was more than half the day off-limits on school days, and plenty of ghosts made up for it to a degree by making themselves more common during the "permitted" hours, but it greatly increased Danny's well-being and school performance anyway. "Rivals" like Skulker and Technus had enough respect for Danny and his Lair to abide, and plenty even cared that he was taking care of himself, even between frequent sparring. Maybe a few were really just in fear of his new crown, but he chose to cautiously pretend that wasn't a possibility.

After graduation — he made Senior year with all As and Bs! — Danny's parents had encouraged him to get a part-time job over the summer. He had been interning at FentonWorks (paid! His parents might not be the most attentive but they certainly weren't unfair) since he had accidentally revealed himself a few years back, and they had been thrilled to hear that he still intended to go into NASA if possible, and had done whatever they could to help. They recommended the job because, as good as a paid scientific internship was on a resume, it would help to have a variety of activity and the opportunity to get recommendations from employers who weren't liable to nepotism. After searching local businesses, Danny found a small sandwich shop founded by a middle-aged couple who had moved in and set up shop just before the ghost attacks began. Being close to the school but not far from the commercial sector and offering small portable food (no one wants to sit down for a meal when a spirit could come crashing through the window at any moment), the place got good enough business to pay the employees a proper living wage. Better yet, they were allowed to take home unsold food! Not to mention the owners were both very kind women who held smiling conversation with employees and customers alike. Danny was more than lucky to land such a nice job, even if it meant he had to get up at 7 five days a week.

All this is to say that it wasn't as surprising as it could have been that he was having a slow and pleasant day at work.

Both the owners were out for the day on some sort of vacation, so today it was just Danny and a short teenager named Casey manning the place. Most of their orders recently had been online due to an explosion causing road work near the restaurant and it was mid-morning, leaving work slow enough that they could afford to just have the two until lunch shift started. Danny was on cashier duty today, but unless the door bell sounded, he was helping Casey in the kitchen.

"Aw, man, we're almost out of tomatoes."

"Really?" Casey looked up to the shelf Danny was inspecting and indeed saw only 3 tomatoes. "Huh, guess they didn't restock yesterday. Well, we probably shouldn't risk needing more before the day's out, do you want me to go get more?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah, I can go. I think I could use the fresh air." He said that a lot, especially as an excuse when his ghost sense went off, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. He never had liked being confined.

Casey checked the monitor to see if they'd gotten any new online orders. Since there was a grocery store just a block away, any time someone needed a quick restock they tended to just walk.

They looked up to see Danny already had his jacket on and was looking them in the eye. "Would you take over my position until I come back?"

"Of course. Ten minutes?"

With a nod and a smile, Danny was out the back door.

===

After a moment of habitually wiping down the counters, Casey went up to the register in case a customer appeared.

It was even quieter than before for a few minutes, so they busied themself with mini restocks and organization. They were in the middle of stacking some paper coffee cups when they started to feel dizzy. There had been this subtle pressure on their chest since Danny left, which they figured was anxiety for working the restaurant alone for the first time, and now it had solidified into a warm nausea that flared whenever they exhaled.

With the disinterested panic that came from having strange things happen for years, they wondered if they had missed their medication this morning. A quick glance at their phone, however, showed the notification for it checked off.

Putting the phone back away, Casey noticed the tips of their fingers were somewhat translucent. Alright then, it was definitely something to do with ghosts. Great! Just excellent. The panic was less disinterested this time.

They weren't familiar with any sort of ghost illness that made humans translucent, so they definitely needed to call someone to make sure nothing bad happened. It would be best to call the Fentons' public number so they could go over and get looked over by then. In the meantime, they should call Danny and ask him to hurry back. He shouldn't be much longer anyway.

Casey didn't even get the chance to act on their plan, however, before a short humanoid ghost appeared in the dining area. They didn't look to be up to anything, but Casey reached for the emergency ectoblaster beneath the register anyway. The nausea was getting worse, along with a new chill, and they couldn't be sure this new ghost wasn't somehow causing whatever they were going through.

The ghost looked at them with an expression that was almost desperate. "Ah! Kind human, thank you for your time." The ghost... bowed? "I am Eurusid, from the Spoken Channels. There has been a dispute which damaged public meeting grounds in the center of the Channels, and both groups refuse to allow the damage to be repaired except by the other group."

Casey's eyes narrowed. It was becoming difficult to stand with the dizziness, and if not the ghost himself, then whatever he was saying was probably a hallucination. They didn't even think about responding beyond a detached "what".

It was then that Danny re-entered the back door with the new tomatoes. Good thing, too. At least with another person there, Casey could confirm whether they were hallucinating.

===

Placing down the grocery bag and shrugging off his jacket in one motion, a skill only gained by years of laziness efficiency, Danny called toward the register. "Back!"

Once he caught sight of the teen, however, all casualness shed itself from his body and he rushed over to hold them. "Man, Casey, you feeling alright? You look really pale." The realization that their form was slightly translucent, despite the firm human heartbeat beneath, was drowned out by him finally noticing the ghost standing a few feet away. The reaction of his ghost sense had been so minor that he had ignored it.

He was surprised to see that he recognized the specter's face, marred as it may have been from worry and confusion aimed directly at Casey. "Eurusid? What's going on?"

As the ghost, still confused but unwilling to act impolitely, gathered his bearings and began to bow toward him, Danny's coworker shuddered under his hands, regaining his full attention. He thought back through the day's events for hints as to the situation, before swearing, cutting off whatever Eurusid was about to say.

Danny backed up and said, voice as clear as he could, "I recall my position."

Casey's reaction was immediate, a gasp of air like they had been kept from breathing and a return of their skin's human opacity. Danny rushed back over and put his hand on their back to steady them as their eyes narrowed and went slightly unfocused.

Figures, doesn't it? One of the many intricacies that had come up at his coronation Junior year that just hadn't come up enough to keep at the front of his mind. One of the defenses of the High Ghost Crown was the ability of the King to temporarily give their duty to someone else. As long as that person accepts, during a specified time they substitute for the King in dealing with political matters, as well as taking over as much as their ability allowed of the King's function to process the energy of the Realms.

Danny had no idea that this ability could be activated with words as vague as "take over my position", let alone that it could be used with a human. That potential had never come up during the ceremony, so for all he knew, a full ghost in his position couldn't substitute with a human. A human certainly shouldn't be able to take over any part of the energy processing, though maybe in Amity Park the average person processed enough environmental ectoplasmic energy to make it possible. Regardless of residence, though, it could not be good for Casey's body, which had no Core to properly process energy and had no human equivalent except perhaps a small emotional center in the brain, to even attempt to filter and manage some of the inherent energy of a dimension.

Their skin was still clammy and their coordination was shot. Ancients, if this is what an accidental substitution did to a human, Danny would have to word things very carefully when asking for help in the future.

"King Phantom?" Danny looked up to see that Eurusid was still floating there awkwardly. Right. He had two people here to help.

"Sorry, Eurusid. One moment, I'll be right with you." He turned back to his coworker, who looked confused and less lucid than ideal, but probably still lucid enough to realize this ghost had just called him "King Phantom". Well, he'd deal with that once it came to it. "Here, Casey, let's get you some water." He helped them walk back into the kitchen and sat them down on a bench by the back door. There was a chair in the register area, but they probably didn't want to feel exposed to the dining area like that, even with nobody but the ghost there.

Once handed the water, Casey sighed and eagerly drank from it, eyes closed. Danny rubbed his hand on their back a bit and promised to be back shortly before walking back out to meet Eurusid. Whatever he was here about was probably worth immediate attention but Danny was sure there'd be at least a solid minute of apologies on both sides before the matter was addressed. Hopefully both the Spoken Channels and Casey would be alright before the next shift came in.

...And Hell Followed With Him, Chapter 3

Guys I finally did it!! 😭 Thank you to @fadedjacket who helped motivate me to keep writing this story, and thank you to everyone who reblogs content of my girl, Veronica! 💚💚  So, without further ado, here’s my newest chapter in my main fic! (Here’s the ao3 link for those who prefer to read there!)

1 / 2

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom’s windows, casting a golden glow onto the hardwood floor. Veronica’s eyes opened lazily and she squinted into the sunshine, her throat felt dry and her stomach hollow. When she looked at the end of the bed, a grey mass of fur rose and fell slowly. Wiping the sleep from her eyes- V made out the shape of Boomer slumbering at her feet. A smile came across her features when she heard quiet snoring from him. 

Ronnie shifted her legs under the covers, trying to move slowly as not to wake her companion. Her bare feet met the planks quietly, and she went to the door. The moment she turned the knob to leave, Boomer’s head shot up and he looked around for a moment before yawning. He cocked his head at Veronica, and she went back to the bed to pat him on the head. “You can stay here, I’m gonna go check in with Mary May… and hopefully get a shower.” V tousled his floppy ears once more before heading downstairs as he settled back down.

On the main floor of the Spread Eagle- the people of Fall’s End were still celebrating their emancipation from the cult. Beer bottles clinked together and people laughed in groups. Mary May was running food and drinks to a table in the corner before she met Veronica at the bar. “Morning dep, you look tired.” The woman observed, her blonde ponytail swinging cheerfully as she wiped up a spilled drink at the end of the counter. 

“Well I feel like shit. Got any aspirin?” Came Ronnie’s response. 

“Nope, fresh out.” 

“Hair of the dog it is then! One beer please.” Veronica sighed, hopping onto a stool. 

Mary May grabbed a bottle from the cooler, setting it down in front of her with a smile. Veronica twisted off the tip, hoping the frosty beverage would quell her headache, “Also, could I use your shower, and maybe a change of clothes? I could definitely use it after last night.” 

“Go for it!” Mary called back, hurrying over to another table to take their orders. 

V headed back upstairs, opening the door to see Boomer sitting up with his tongue lolling out. “Hey little guy, sleep well?” She asked him and he hopped down, walking over to her and nosing her hand so she’d pet him. “You’re such a sweetie..” The deputy smiled and scratched under his chin before going into the en suite. 

The shower was a small standing one with subpar water pressure, but as Veronica stood in the warm torrent she released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. This was practically the only moment of true solitude she’d had in two days, yet she couldn’t keep her mind from racing. How was she supposed to take down Eden’s Gate when she was just one woman? Sure, she’d been lucky so far, but at the end of the day she was only one person. V thought of her mother, the bright grin on her face the day that she’d watched Veronica follow in her footsteps and graduate from the Police Academy. What would she think of her daughter now? Would she also think she was a coward and a murderer like John? 

Veronica raised a hand to clutch the heart-shaped locket her Nana had given her; it hung loosely around her neck and the metal was growing colder as the hot water depleted. She tried to shake the thoughts from her mind, thinking ‘I’ve only done what I had to do… my hand’s been forced..’ Yet in the back of her mind, V knew part of her wasn’t hating this, part of her wanted to make the people who’d snatched her from her normal life pay for the turmoil she was going through.  

Almost thirty minutes later, Ronnie emerged from the steamy room wrapped in a fluffy purple towel. She immediately made her way to the dresser and dug through the drawers until she found an outfit that suited her. ‘Anything is better than tan fuckin’ cargo pants.’ She chuckled to herself, laying out dark blue jeans and a low-cut black tank top. 

Once changed, she admired herself in the mirror and slipped her boots on. She noticed her brunette roots were spreading, and she was sure it would be a long time before she could dye it again. 

Next, Veronica strapped her holstered handgun around her waist and grabbed her backpack and M60, swinging both over her shoulders. “God this gun is fucking heavy!” She cursed. Taking one last look around the room before heading downstairs, she saw Boomer had taken his leave already. ‘That dog has a mind of his own.’ V smiled, and closed the door behind her. 

On the main floor of the Spread Eagle, business was still booming. Mary May was behind the bar speaking to one of the patrons who sat in front of her. When she caught Ronnie’s eye, she gestured her over. “Deputy! After a shower and a beer you seem bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“Well I certainly feel better. Any way I could badger you for a meal?” The woman pulled out her wallet from the red backpack containing most of her belongings. 

“You put that away, heroes eat free in my bar!” 

At being called a hero, Veronica stiffened. The moniker didn’t seem to fit as comfortably as the barkeep used it; ‘What kind of hero murders people?’ Her mind practically shouted at her. 

Mary May had already turned towards the kitchen, calling out “Casey? Get our friend, the deputy, some breakfast ready- would ya?” 

The man in the window wiped his hands on his apron and nodded at the pair “One full breakfast, coming up!” 

V came to her senses once more and put her wallet back in the pack she’d withdrawn it from, giving the barkeep a smile. “I appreciate that, but the ‘hero’ stuff isn’t necessary… I’m just trying to do what’s right, that’s all.” 

“Oh I don’t think you have to worry about trying, seems like doin’ what’s right’s in your blood, hun. Not a lot of people would run in here guns ablazing to save a town of near strangers.” The blonde gave her another smile before going to check on her tables. 

“That’s a pretty thought.” Veronica mused, thinking she wasn’t quite sure what was right anymore. 

Her foot tapped against the metal of the bar stool as she watched the chef work, her stomach growling at her impatiently. She realised the last time she’d eaten was well over 24 hours ago, and that thought did nothing to help her hunger panes. Turning to the patron next to her, Veronica asked “Got a cig?” The man next to her obliged, giving her a nod as she stepped off the barstool and out the front door. 

“I really wish this were a joint.” V shook her head before lighting up, inhaling the bitter fumes. Cigarettes had never been her favourite vice- but she would take what she could get at this point. 

The morning sun poured over the small town, framing everything in an angelic light. Townspeople roamed through the streets, picking up debris and throwing it into contractor bags. Despite spending almost the whole previous day cleaning and mending the broken town, there was still much to be done. It heartened Veronica to see the people of Fall’s End working together to fix their home.

Another drag of her cigarette, and the deputy couldn’t help but reflect on the past two days. She’d seen more bloodshed than in her whole life, and been the cause of most of it. The weight of each death she had caused was heavy on her heart as she replayed watching the light fade from too many eyes. 

Ronnie had never thought she’d need to discharge her weapon in the line of duty. Working at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department was a relatively easy job, there were your fair share of crazy people and petty criminals, but she had never seen anything like this. It crossed her mind that every time a call regarding Eden’s Gate had come across the scanner, her partner, Staci Pratt, had been completely against going and always let someone else go in their place. ‘Hell, even Sheriff Whitehorse didn’t seem to want to send us on those calls. God I hope he’s okay…’ 

Veronica’s mind drifted to her companions- and what they must be going through at the hands of the cult. Dutch had assured her that they were all alive, but he’d neglected to give her any details. She thought of Joey- the fear on her face as she had been snatched out of the flaming wreckage of their helicopter. Now where was she? Trapped by John, being held against her will for what purpose? To convert her? 

The thoughts and questions raced through the deputy’s head, making her feel dazed. She continued to circle back to one thought: ‘I have to save them, I’m the only one who can.’ Her fingers felt the warmth of the cherry of her cigarette, and she realised she had smoked it down to the filter. V tossed it to the ground and wandered back inside. The customers were rowdy for only 11 in the morning, and their clamoring mixed with the song on the jukebox to create a nice din that allowed Veronica to not have to think anymore. 

Reaching the bar, she saw a plate filled to the brim with eggs, bacon, and toast. Her stomach rejoiced as she picked up the silver fork and dug in. 

In no time at all, the heavy meal rested comfortably in the deputy’s stomach. Ronnie leaned back on the stool and patted her midsection with a delighted smile. “My compliments to the chef!” She grinned and felt some of her bad mood fading away. 

Mary May strode behind the bar and leaned over it, resting her elbows on the polished wood. “Don’t say that, or it’ll go straight to his head!” She chuckled, glancing at the kitchen window.

“So, deputy, remember last night when I mentioned you.. lending a hand?” 

“I don’t remember much of last night, but I do recall that… what do you have in mind?”

Mary May took a deep breath, her gaze turning to the bar. “Yesterday, you had some balls running into town like that. Most people see Eden’s Gate and run the other way… but, my dad was one of the first to stand up to ‘em. Any time one of those peggies would show up lookin’ to cause trouble- he’d hop in his big rig and chase them right outta town.” She smiled at the memory, and with a nod she continued, “He loved that truck; called it the ‘Widowmaker’.”

Her face darkened, thunderclouds practically rolling into her deep blue eyes. “Those fuckers stole it from him, a week before he passed…” Her fist clenched on the bar and she shook her head.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea.” Veronica sympathised, unsure if she should take the other’s hand but ultimately deciding against it. 

The blonde pulled herself from her memories and met V’s eyes once more. “You really wanna piss off the cult? Get the Widowmaker back. Show them we’re not just gonna roll over… and give folks here something to cheer about.” 

At this, Ronnie nodded; mulling it over for a moment. “How do you propose I do that?” 

“It’s locked up under guard at a grain mill not far from here. Hell, you came in here and saved a whole town! I think you’re the person for the job, Veronica.” 

The deputy saw sincerity and a hint of desperation in the bartender’s eyes, striking a cord in her. This woman had shown her some much needed friendship yesterday when the past days’ events were starting to take their toll, and Veronica wanted to do what she could for her. ‘This is also the only way I can get any closer to saving Joey, even though that’s a daunting enough task…’ V felt herself almost begin brooding, but got back on track quickly- “Okay, one Widowmaker coming up!” 

Relief washed over Mary May’s features, and she smiled, “Somehow I knew I could count on you, dep.” 

She returned her smile, and the two shared a happy moment despite the days of chaos. “Could I steal a beer for the road?” Ronnie asked. 

Turning to grab a cold one from the cooler, Mary May obliged- popping off the cap and handing it over. “Be safe out there, and go ahead and take the Jeep ‘round back, just park it somewhere I can go get it after this business is over. The grain elevator is northeast of here, follow the road and you’ll be there in no time.” She offered as the deputy headed for the door. 

“Thanks, I figure I can’t order an Uber around here.” V joked as she managed to catch the keys Mary May threw unceremoniously her way.

Outside- the morning sun rose higher and higher, blinding Veronica as she stepped out of the Spread Eagle. She made her way around the side, spotting the Jeep at the end of the dirt driveway. As she opened the driver’s door, a bark came from behind her. “Hey buddy!” The woman turned to see Boomer watching her expectantly. He padded closer to her with a small whine. “I don’t know if you should go with on this one, it’s pretty dangerous…” 

His brown almond eyes met hers as if to say ‘And our last escapade wasn’t?’. She shook her head with a chuckle, reaching down to scratch him under the chin saying, “Most dogs aren’t adrenaline junkies, that’ll take some getting used to!” 

Sighing, Ronnie put her hands on her hips; Boomer stood there, projecting as much sass as a 35 pound furball could. Finally relenting, she moved away from the open door and gestured him in, “Fine, I guess if you want to run headlong into danger I can’t stop you!” 

The pup jumped into the passenger seat, celebrating his victory. Veronica took her spot next to him and started the car, pulling out of the driveway while fiddling with the radio. Faced with the ‘only-two-radio-stations-conundrum’, the deputy landed on the peggie station. The song playing relayed the perks of baptism, advising the listener to ‘let the water wash away their sins’. 

“Is this seriously all they listen to?” V asked, glancing at Boomer as they cruised down the road. The dog sighed, putting his head between his feet in agreeance. She reached forward and switched the station back to the original one, where a soft rock song played.

The trees they passed blurred together, one green line as they sped to their destination. Veronica couldn’t help but let her thoughts stray to her own father. When Ronnie was only twelve, Benjamin Rook had ruined their family’s picturesque life by finding love in the arms of another woman, and abandoning Veronica and her mother. He moved to North Carolina and forfeited his parental rights without much of a fight so he could start life anew without the burden of his old family. 

Letters would come in the mail; at first every week but then every two, then every month, and then not at all. Before long, Sarah Rook had decided her and her daughter needed a change of their own. The two packed up their belongings and moved from Butte, Montana to Hope County, right on the outskirts of Missoula. 

Sarah, with previous law enforcement experience, had no problem securing a job at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. She became quick friends with Earl Whitehorse, who was chief deputy to the sheriff at the time. Because of this friendship, she’d been able to secure a job for her daughter those many years later when Ronnie had felt so lost and needed a direction to go in life.

The wound of her father leaving never quite healed, and it wasn’t one Veronica tore open too often unless she was deep in her cups. Seeing the admiration Mary May held for her own father had almost reared the ugly head of jealousy in her; however irrational that may be. At the same time, she’d felt the need to preserve that happiness in any way she could. ‘Man, projecting much?’ She chastised herself. The things lack of closure will do to you. 

Coming out of the trees, V saw a towering grey structure up the road and knew she’d reached her destination. To the side of the grain elevator and the building next to it rose a large hill. The deputy pulled off into a clearing, making sure the Jeep was out of sight of the road before getting out. 

Boomer hopped out with her once parked, and the pair began their trek up the hill. It took them only a couple minutes before they were at the summit and had a decent view of their objective. The cattle dog growled at the sight of peggies patrolling the grounds, armed to the teeth. “We gotta be careful, okay bud? Just follow my lead and stay safe.” Veronica smiled reassuringly at him and pet his head. 

The hill they stood upon sloped directly down to the fence around the building in which the deputy knew the Widowmaker must be kept, offering her a quick entrance to her objective. Patches of tall grass and flowers offered sufficient camouflage as the woman and her dog crept downhill. As they approached- the sound of the cult’s music and sermons could be heard. John’s voice was practically blasting over the speaker as he preached, “...We are fast approaching the Collapse! Soon, the world as you know it will be gone, and with it- all that is cruel and evil!”  

V rolled her eyes at his words, trying to count the cultists waiting below. John’s voice continued, “But for those of you that embrace us, those of you who say yes to the Father; Eden’s Gate will provide salvation! Do not be afraid, God has graced us with the opportunity to start anew!” 

The deputy pulled around her backpack, pulling out a pair of binoculars. “Looks like four peggies so far…” She muttered, watching them patrol. John’s voice over the speaker grew sinister as he said, “But not everyone is going to embrace us, some have fires that need.. dampening. Some need our help to say yes… that is the will of the Father, to say yes! To say ‘Yes I will be reborn.’, to say ‘Yes I will give my life for the project.’, to say ‘Yes I will pledge my soul to the family at Eden’s Gate!’!” 

Veronica tossed the binoculars back into the pack and shared a horrified look with Boomer, affirming “Sounds like cult shit to me!” Her pup whined in response, taking the lead as they reached the bottom of the slope. 

Slinging her M60 around her shoulders to the front of her body, Ronnie popped open the top and made sure the gun was fully loaded. As she did so- the deputy caught herself humming the cult song she’d heard on the radio barely thirty minutes earlier. “‘Now that this whole world is ending….’ fuck that song is such an earworm!” She cussed to herself and let the gun settle against her body once more. Taking a few deep breaths to prepare herself for whatever may occur, she decided it was now or never.

  The woman lowered to almost a crawl and made her way to the bottom of the hill, into one of the flower patches. The soft yellow flowers had a perfumy scent that filled the air, but Veronica felt no different among the blossoms so she assumed these weren’t the Bliss flowers Dutch had mentioned.

One of the men who guarded the building strolled out of the fenced area, coming to stand just in front of her. He was whistling quietly, not paying attention to the danger behind him. V checked that no other peggies had followed him, and she rushed forward to grab him in a chokehold; slowly taking him to the ground and pressing her arm to his windpipe until he stopped struggling. She hoisted him onto her shoulder and retreated to the flower patch. After dropping him to the ground, Veronica checked his pocket and found a twenty dollar bill and a grenade. “Seriously? Are all these guys armed like this?” She wondered aloud before sliding the grenade into her bag. She hesitated over taking the money, thinking ‘Am I any better than one of them if I take this?’ After a moment, Ronnie slid the bill back into his pocket, thinking better of it. 

Leaving her fallen enemy, she made her way back to the chain link fence and passed through a gate leading to a space behind the building filled with piles of wood, pallets covered in tarp, and all manner of odds and ends. Veronica took refuge behind a pile of 2x4s and peeked over it, spotting only one cultist at the end of the alley. Boomer waited outside of the gate, watching her every move. ‘I’ll take this guy out, and just keep trying to move forward.’ She planned loosely.

V moved from crate to crate, getting closer to her target until got close enough to take him out much the same way she did his lookout. She stashed this body behind a crate, finding only some spare ammo on him before advancing. 

At the end of the warehouse was the backdoor. Ronnie tried the handle, but found it to be locked. “Well fuck..” She sighed. Turning to her right to continue on, she saw a note next to the door. 

“The warehouse is to remain locked and access is limited. If you need to get inside you can find the key by the workshop tent, but check with the Baptist before using it. We can’t afford to be careless around the Widowmaker.”

The deputy frowned, “Baptist… that must be John.” The last line gave her a light laugh and she murmured, “I think it’s more careless to leave a note saying where your key is stashed, assholes.” And she set off. 

In the space in front of the building, Veronica counted four more peggies. Looking to Boomer, Veronica murmured “It’s a damn infestation.” She scanned the ground and found plenty of small rocks, and helped herself to a few. One man was near the corner of the compound, away from the others. Taking careful aim, one rock was thrown about 10 feet from him. The man startled before going to investigate. V smirked and threw another one at the side of the building, luring him away from the flock. Once the man was alone he was dispatched, leaving only three. 

Creeping further out than before, Ronnie saw the three gathered around two large cages covered in black. On the side, they both read ‘Meat Wagon’ and angry growls could be heard from within. ‘What the fuck is a ‘meat wagon’?’ She wondered. 

“That was a hard hunt today.” One of them said, looking at the others. 

“It was… I hope Brother Jacob appreciates these offerings.” The one in the middle replied. 

The gnashing of teeth could be heard clearly as Veronica recalled what she’d read in Dutch’s bunker, ‘Jacob, he’s the eldest… didn’t his note say something about monster wolves?’ She contemplated this, deciding the best course of action. 

She drew her pistol, shooting the lock on the first cage and allowing a large grey wolf to spring forth, leaping onto the cultist that had called it an ‘offering’. The wolf savaged the man as the others yelled, raising their guns. Before they could even get any shots off V shot them both to the ground. 

The thick sounds of flesh tearing reached Veronica’s ears, and were sure to occupy her nightmares later. Once the wolf finished his revenge, its amber eyes found her own and a deep growl emitted from its throat. The deputy froze, licking her lips nervously as her life practically flashed in front of her eyes. 

It felt like far longer than a minute as the wolf contemplated the deputy. Suddenly, the beast broke eye contact and looked behind her before dashing out of the tall gate leading to the road, and then to the treeline; content to not eat its savior. 

It was only when Ronnie could no longer see the wolf that she resumed breathing. She turned around to see Boomer watching her. “Did you just scare a wolf?” She asked him in disbelief. The dog barked twice in response, and V sighed in relief “Props where props are due... holy fuck that was scary!” 

After another solid minute, they headed towards the tent mentioned in the note. The keys to the warehouse were sitting on a table directly inside, and Veronica grabbed them. 

Once inside the warehouse- the deputy took in the sight of her charge. The semi-truck was painted purple with a mural of a bald eagle painted on the side, and hot-rod flames graced the hood. On the front near the grill, twin M2 Browning machine guns were mounted. “Wow… I think I’m in love.” V chuckled, staring at the machine in awe before tentatively climbing into the cab, keeping the door open for her furry friend to hop in. She found the key and the garage opener in the visor, and then they were off. 

Easily crashing through the fence gate, Veronica felt they were home free until someone called over the radio “Someone made off with the Widowmaker! Block the roads leading back to Fall’s End, don’t let it through!” Ronnie took a deep breath and turned up the radio, blasting rock music.

As she sped towards the first roadblock, Mary May’s voice crackled through the radio, exclaiming “Holy shit you did it! I knew you had it in the bag, V!” Before Veronica could think of a response, she continued. “Listen, the cult’s gonna throw everything at you now, shove it right back down their fuckin’ throats! My daddy put cannons on that thing, don’t be afraid to use ‘em!”

“You got it!” Ronnie called into the radio. She scanned the cab and her eyes landed on a trigger mechanism near the gearshift. The truck barrelled forward and the Brownings fired off, sending several peggies flying. Boomer hunkered down in the passenger seat, attempting still to peek up through the windshield.

Ahead, two of the off-white trucks with Eden’s Gate symbols blocked the way. The deputy braced herself for impact as the 18-wheeler crashed through the first of many roadblocks; the first truck flipped off of the road and the second spun out of the way. “Goddamn!” The deputy yelled as the Widowmaker hurtled down the asphalt. 

The truck cleared the block with no damage, and Veronica lit up like a kid in a candy shop. She turned to her companion in the other seat, Boomer gave her a big doggy smile and turned back to look out the window. V pressed the call button on her radio, reaching out to Mary May. “This is pretty badass!” She whooped. 

A second later, her friend was on the line, saying “Hell yeah! Hit those sons of bitches! Better yet, honk that horn every time you do so I know when to cheer!” 

As they approached the next roadblock, a fierce grin came over her features and she smoothed a finger over the trigger in anticipation. The upcoming barrier was composed of one white truck, and a fuel truck blocking the entire road. When they were about two-hundred feet from the block, Veronica pulled the trigger, shooting off round after round into the tank on the truck ahead. When they were only a hundred feet away from it- the fuel truck erupted into a blaze, sending flaming shrapnel flying in every direction. Clearing the second block, V laid on the horn with an almost crazed grin.

The pair flew down the road and through the wall of heat and embers that had roasted all nearby cultists.  They had once more come out without a scratch, causing Ronnie to rejoice. “Woo! This is the shit!!” She yelled, adrenaline pumping as the music resounded through the cab and they careened down the country road. 

A few minutes later, the turn to Fall’s End was the next left. V’s eyes darted between the turn and the open road that lay ahead. ‘I’m sure the cult has even more roadblocks ahead.’ She mulled the thought over before turning to Boomer and declaring “I say we do a victory lap!” Before pressing the pedal almost to the floor, rushing down the road. 

Many roadblocks later- Veronica and her furry friend were once again rounding the bend that led to the turn for Fall’s End. The deputy felt as though she was practically vibrating with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The sounds of men screaming, the warmth of the multitude of explosions, the feeling of the trigger under her finger growing more and more comfortable. Her aquamarine eyes seemed to glaze over as she considered what all this might mean for her, and what her eagerness to cause mayhem may say about her true nature. 

Before V could travel too far down that rabbit hole, her radio crackled to life with the grateful voice of her friend, “The way you’re handling that rig would make my dad proud, Ronnie. Now bring her home!” 

Hearing Mary May’s voice laden with joy, Veronica couldn’t help a small smile. “Be there in 5!” She called back down the line, turning down the road at the sign for Fall’s End. 

The moment Veronica and Boomer rumbled down main street to the Spread Eagle, the blonde bartender could be seen waving them on. The rig turned slowly onto the dirt driveway- and the hydraulics of the brake system hissing loudly as the 18-wheeler came to a full stop. 

V pulled the keys from the ignition and the truck shuddered as the engine cut off, leaving the semi to creak and settle like a great beast falling into the deep slumber of hibernation when the pair hopped out of the cab. 

Boomer’s tail wagged and he bounded ahead to circle round Mary May’s legs before returning to his companion’s side. Across from the pair, the barkeep beamed at the sight of the rig right where it belonged. 

“I gotta say, deputy, seeing my daddy’s truck rumbling home sure brings back memories. I’d stand out here every time he came back, just like this, wavin’ him home.” A sigh escaped the woman and she nodded at Veronica, her eyes almost misting over. “Thank you for this, I honestly can’t thank you enough.” 

Seeing the joy and nostalgia from her newfound friend warmed V’s heart, and she offered the other a heartfelt smile. “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing, girl. I’m glad to stick it to those peggies, show them they’re not the ones in charge. Not for long anyways.” 

Mary May clapped her on the shoulder, looking up at the semi, her face filled with pride. “You know, my dad woulda liked you. You’ve got grit, that’s for sure! If you ever need to use the Widowmaker you don’t even gotta ask!” Moving past Veronica, the other placed a hand on the curved steel of the machine, sliding a hand lovingly over the smooth metal. 

Ronnie’s smile faded, and she scratched the back of her neck. Clearing her throat softly, she spoke, “I really appreciate that, Mary May. Listen… do you know anything yet? …About Deputy Hudson, I mean.” 

The blonde met her eyes, a frown plain on her face as she stated, “I ain’t heard nothing good, I can tell you that. All I know so far is that John’s got your friend holed up somewhere, and he’s trying to make her ‘atone’, whatever the fuck that means. So far it sounds like Hudson’s been holding out- but no one can hold out against John for long. Motherfucker’s crazy.” She spit on the ground, as though unable to contain her disgust. 

Anxiety overtook Veronica, icy cold fear freezing the blood in her veins. At the forefront of her brain, images of Joey bound and bloodied assaulted her senses. Swallowing past her emotions, V asked, “What can I do next??” 

Mary May put a reassuring hand on her shoulder before taking a few steps towards the bar. “Go talk to Jerome at his church, then come back and see me. I’m gonna go put my ear to the ground, and make a ridiculously strong drink with your name on it.” 

“Sounds like a plan… especially that drink.” Ronnie muttered. 

Once she was sure the bartender had made her way back inside, Veronica wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver running down her spine despite the warm breeze touseling her dirty blonde locks. She thought of her friends, each of them trapped and waiting for her. The weight of her obligations felt like too much to bear for one woman- but she knew there were no other options. Her hands fell to her sides, and her gaze was drawn to the ground. ‘What the hell am I doing here? Running around playing vigilante… and enjoying it, for fucks sake! These people may be monsters, but I sure as shit am not any better.’ V scoffed, chastising herself silently. 

Her hand felt wet for a moment, and she looked next to her to see Boomer nudging her with his shiny black nose. He licked her again and met her eyes- his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he gave her a big smile as if to say, “It’ll all work out!”.

Despite everything, the corners of her lips tugged upwards, and she lifted her hand to stroke his soft fur. “Thanks bud, don’t you worry about me, I can handle this...” She reassured him, not quite convincing either of them. 

Behind them, church bells from down the road chimed suddenly, signifying the top of the hour. The pair’s gaze was drawn to where the bells swung in the white tower- sounding off three times before coming to a stop. The echo of the last ring filled the air, and Veronica adjusted the strap of her M60 uneasily, looking down at Boomer once more to say, “Sounds like that’s our cue, huh?” 

The pup barked encouragingly, starting off down the short road without looking behind to see if she followed. After only a moment of hesitation, V joined him. 

Golden sunlight filled the near empty streets, painting the white walls of the church a shining shade of yellow. Paint peeled off the outside walls, but a platform on the side of the building with painting supplies held the promise of the future. 

A simple garden graced the front of the building; two large flower pots framed the stairs leading to the entrance. Under a large glass window- the doors to the church were propped open, offering a view of the interior. Pastor Jerome sat on a chair in the front of the church, a Bible in one hand as he read to an injured man lying on a mattress on the floor. 

As Veronica came through the entrance, she noted the bullet holes in the walls that were accompanied by violent maroon swatches of dried blood. It was hard to believe the fight for Fall’s End was merely 24 hours ago. The deputy stopped at the end of the aisle as Jerome’s words echoed off the holy walls. 

“Psalm 41:3, and the Lord will heal him upon his sickbed, The Lord sustains them on their sickbed and restores them from their bed of illness. In the darkest of times, there’s always a bit of light.” 

On the mattress, the man’s eyes stayed closed and he rolled on his side. The pastor’s eyes lifted from his pages, finding Ronnie’s. He greeted her with a smile, closing the book but leaving his thumb in it to preserve his spot. “Veronica. I’m glad you came.” 

Clearing her throat, she replied “I just finished helping Mary May, I figured I’d drop in and see what you needed help with.” The woman’s finger ran down the strap on her weapon restlessly, glancing at the podium behind Jerome. It wasn’t hard to envision him there, preaching to his flock. 

The man in front of her nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Jeremiah 23:16, ‘Do not listen to what the prophets are prophesying to you; they speak visions from their own minds, not from the mouth of the Lord.” He met her eyes once more and there was a weight to his gaze she didn’t quite understand.

Resisting the urge to say ‘Huh?’ and give him an annoyed look, Ronnie waited for him to continue. She’d never liked church, but standing in one now with proverbial blood on her hands felt even more wrong.

He waited only a moment more before saying, “Scripture tells us there is evil in the world. And that horrible things happen for reasons that do not make sense.” The pastor sighed.  “A long time ago, in peaceful times, I asked John Seed what was driving him. He gave me so many answers… all of them lies. I had one conversation with him and I knew. I knew… he masks his words as guidance, but deep down there is a selfishness that can only come from pure evil.” 

Not knowing what to say, Veronica looked away from him. She saw the man on the mattress had stirred, his eyes were glazed over with milky white cataracts yet they still searched the room for something. His breath came out in labored wheezes. 

On the floor next to the mattress, a cup of water lay within his reach. V leaned over to grab it, putting a gentle hand on the man’s arm and saying, “Here…” While guiding the cup into his now waiting hands. He took small sips before offering it back, rasping out a quiet thank you as he settled back onto the bare bed. 

“You seem tense, Veronica, how are you holding up?” 

A long sigh escaped her lips, and she took a seat in one of the askew pews. “I’m not sure how to answer that.” Came her honest response. 

“Do you need to talk about something?” He offered. 

Ronnie smiled humorlessly- finally looking at him. “You know, this is the first time I’ve been in a church since my grandma died.” 

Jerome pondered her for a moment before inquiring, “How old were you?” 

“23. It was just last year, actually. I don’t go to church, but she did… every day. Except one morning she didn’t wake up, and she never went again. What do you think that got her? Do you think she stamped her ticket to heaven by going to church?” 

When Veronica received no reply, she continued, “Because if that’s the case, I think my ticket’s already been revoked. Especially now.” 

Settling his elbows on his knees, the pastor leaned forward. “Why especially now?” 

V shook her head, a dry laugh escaping her. “Isn’t murder a big no-no to the man upstairs?”

Jerome frowned at her, understanding her tangent now. He took a moment to contemplate his answer. “Years ago… I refused to own a gun. I relied on the Lord to help me win every battle, to stand by my side and lead me to victory. Now, I know better.” He stood from his chair to join her where she sat dejectedly. “We are fighting a war, deputy. You’re here to protect people.” 

She couldn’t help but scoff. “I’m here because I got thrown in a fucking river and dragged into this ‘war’. Excuse my French.” 

“Veronica, I can’t heal the pain you’re feeling but I can say this: there’s a destiny for everyone. The work you’re doing here, fighting against Eden’s Gate, this is the Lord’s work. You are doing what you must, and every one of us is grateful. You are stronger than even you know.” Jerome gave her a long look, his faith in her clear in his eyes. “The cult has done so much damage to this Valley, and you’re doing right by us. Giving people something to believe in again… you can’t know how much that means to all of us.” 

The woman took a deep breath, unsure how to feel. Jerome’s words filled her with hope for herself, and her friends; but she worried about what her breaking point might be. ‘At least someone thinks I’m doing this shit right.’ She thought, the weight of the world temporarily lifted from her tired shoulders. “Is it ironic that I’m an atheist?” Ronnie asked, a small smile appearing on her features. 

“I think that’s the definition of irony, my friend.” Jerome smiled with her, and for the moment they both felt a sense of calm. 

Veronica nodded, the idea of doing more dirty work not bothering her as much as when she first stepped in. ‘If a literal pastor thinks I’m the good guy, then I am, right?’ She reasoned with herself, pushing aside her moral dilemmas for now. “So, what exactly is it you need from me?” 

Jerome sighed, suddenly weary once more. “With the Resistance budding, and people starting to fight back, I’ve been needed here in Fall’s End now more than ever.” He stood once more and wandered to the front of the church, pacing as he continued, “As you can see- John’s making a lot of people suffer right now, and quite frankly, I can’t keep up. These people need me, they’re my responsibility now... but that just means keeping tabs on the Resistance has been that much harder.” 

The deputy nodded, urging him to finish his thought. It seemed everyone was experiencing some degree of the mental turmoil she’d been enduring over the past few days. 

“There are a couple of people hiding away at Woodson Pig Farm, trying to hold out from the cult. I haven’t heard from them in a few days now, and I’m getting worried. Can you check on them for me? We can’t afford to lose a single one of our fighters.” The man pleaded, finally coming to a stop at his podium. 

Veronica reached into her backpack, pulling out the map Dutch had given her. “Where’s it at?” 

Jerome pointed out a building almost directly east of Fall’s End, only a couple miles away. 

The deputy nodded and stashed her map, “I’m off then!” As she headed for the exit, Boomer got up from where he’d been lying in the corner and stretched before following after. V paused in the doorway, turning back to say, “Thank you, Pastor. Really.” 

“Any time, Veronica. I’m a pretty good listener. Good luck.” He nodded to her as she stepped through the threshold. 

In less than 10 minutes, the duo saw a long dirt drive leading up a hill into the trees. They could hear shouting not too far away. “Sounds like it’s time to ditch the car.” V pulled the key from the ignition, and the pair left it at the bottom of the driveway. 

They trudged up the hill, the yelling growing closer by the moment. At the crest of the driveway, there was a worn sign that read “Woodson Pig Farm, Family Farm Since 1942” with a pink pig above. The word ‘Gluttony’ had been scrawled on the pig. 

Behind the sign stood a small, mint-green house with dried flowers adorning the front porch. A rustic looking fence surrounded the house and farm, but had been broken down in a few spots where the cult’s trucks had crashed through. Veronica crouched behind one and peered around it. 

The front door of the house stood ajar, and a single peggie stood inside. He held his gun close, and was yelling at another man who was bound on his knees. “Saying yes is the only way!” He shouted before using the butt of his gun to hit the man in the face. Ronnie winced as the captive spat blood. 

Creeping closer, the deputy peered through the windows of the house. She saw no one else inside, and inched forward. Next to the frame of the door, a white and red poster had been hastily hung. Veronica’s eyebrows raised in surprise as she recognized what the poster depicted. It was a ‘Wanted’ poster, with the word ‘Sinner’ bolded on the bottom; the picture in the center was from a grainy security camera, but Veronica’s face could be clearly made out. 

‘Wow, I’m so infamous I get my own wanted poster?’ She thought with a brief, bemused smile. Ronnie made it to the doorway, and pulled out her long black hunting knife. Inside, the cultist was still yelling at his hostage with his back to the doorway. 

Veronica crept forward and then lunged, grabbing the man and thrusting the blade through his neck. A deluge of blood sprang from the nicked artery, painting both the cultist and the hostage red. V kept her hand clamped down on her victim’s mouth, until his muffled yelling turned into choking gasps. 

The man’s body slumped to the floor; and the woman wiped her knife on his shirt before using it to cut the bonds of her ally. The man stood his eyes wide with shock. “Go, get out of here and hide! I’ll take care of the rest of them.” Veronica insisted. The man nodded shakily and turned, running out the door. 

Ronnie moved through the living room to the back of the house, heading towards the back door. She paused at the entrance to the bedroom, where she could see two peggies outside the window. One held a flamethrower, and was using it liberally on a pile of the occupant’s belongings. 

Pressing on to the back, V came through the door into blinding brightness and held an arm over her gaze to let her eyes adjust. When they did, she gagged at the sight in front of her. In the fenced pen, a pile of pig corpses festered in the sun. To the left of this awful vision, another cultist berated a woman lying on the ground, her hands and feet bound. 

A moment was needed to compose herself, then Veronica crouched once more to sneak along the side of the building. Behind her, the other two peggies were bickering. “Brother John’s head is clouded. We should just kill the deputy.” One of them said. 

“He said she needs to atone, see the error of her ways. He’s serious about this one.” The other replied, his tone cautionary. 

A chill seized Veronica as she imagined herself at the hands of John; tied to a chair, at his mercy. A strong shiver traveled down her spine, and she stiffened as her brain took that thought in a much different context. Bile filled her throat with the realization that even with all she knew of John, she was still attracted to him. She shook her head, shooing the thought from her conscious.

Behind her, Boomer had made his way out the back door and to her side. It relieved her to see him, and she smiled. “Wanna tag team on this one?” Veronica asked her companion. 

The cattle dog’s ears perked up, and he scratched at the ground in anticipation. Nodding, Ronnie murmured “Good boy! Now, see him?” She pointed to the man in the pig pen. “You take care of him, and I’ll grab them.” Her finger drifted to the pair who were still complaining behind them. 

Seeming to understand, Boomer started forward with his ears low and came up behind the man. He leapt forward and seized the peggie’s arm- wrenching him down to the ground. The man fell with a startled yell and hit the dirt. Boomer wasted no time and went for the jugular,  mauling him before he could make another noise. 

At the same time, Veronica pulled her M60 forward and jumped out from behind her cover. She shot a spray of bullets at the two cultists, not even giving them time to go for their weapons before they dropped. V let the machine gun fall against her, and she went to the woman in the pig pen to cut her loose. 

“Thank you, deputy, I knew you’d come!” The hostage professed, picking up her deceased captor’s weapon. 

Ronnie gave her a bashful smile, replying “Happy to help, Miss… now you should get out of here, get somewhere safe.” What she was really thinking was, ‘Am I a household name or something? Jesus.’ 

The woman nodded before turning and leaving through a gate in the fence. 

Once she was out of sight- Veronica turned back to the house and headed back inside. In the living room, she was about to pull out her radio and call Jerome when she heard something that made her stop. A faint click, and then something that sounded like whispering came from above. 

V looked all around her, finally stopping in the middle of the living room and peering up. Above her there was a large, square opening that looked like it had been hastily covered by flattened cardboard boxes. She frowned and jumped up, hitting one of the pieces with a thud. The sound suddenly stopped. 

Jumping again, Ronnie batted the cardboard away and left the opening uncovered. She paused for a moment, listening hard for anything. A few moments passed with no noise- and the woman made one last jump to grip the edge of the opening. With a small  grunt, she pulled herself upwards into the attic space. 

As she hoisted herself up, she took in her surroundings. The attic was small, only the length of the living room. Two wooden shelves stood opposite one another; one filled with only boxes and the other holding some ammo and a tac vest. Next to the second shelf, there was a dark recess in the wall. 

Veronica clutched her gun closer, and heard the same noise as before: a click followed by a softer noise. She stepped closer to the recess in the wall, and could finally distinguish the noise. A man huddled in the space behind the wall, gripping his radio and whispering hurriedly, “That sinner’s here!! Send a capture party! We can get her for John!” 

Their eyes met, and the deputy scowled at the man before firing at him. He fell backwards with the force of the bullets, gore covering the wall behind him. His radio was still intact, and his contact could be heard shouting “It’s deputy huntin’ season! Capture not kill, we need her alive! Use Bliss bullets!” 

The woman grabbed some ammo off the nearby shelf and stuffed it into her backpack. After taking what she needed, she dropped down into the living room and checked her gun. As she was about to reload- an off-white Eden’s Gate truck screeched to a stop in front of the house, and three men in heavy riot gear hopped out. 

Upon seeing this, Veronica dove for cover before they could see her. Her back rested against the wall next to the front door, and she heard one of them shout “Come on out darlin’!” She swung around her backpack and pulled out her radio, turning it to the frequency she wanted. 

“Jerome, it’s Veronica, I secured the farm but one of those fucks called for backup and they said something about a capture party? I don’t know what the hell that is, but I sure as shit don’t plan on finding out.” She babbled into the radio. When no response came, the deputy moved underneath the window, readying her weapon. She peeked up and aimed, seeing one of them on the porch. 

Before Ronnie could get off a shot, a sound behind her caused her to whip around and she was confronted with one of the men; who must have come in the back while she was making her call. He shot a round, hitting her in the thigh and causing her to yelp with pain. Before she could make a comment about his aim, or think about why the bullet hadn’t torn through her, her vision blurred. 

The world became shaky- and stars swarmed her sight. V was able to slur together a few words before she passed out, and she grumbled “You… asshole…”

Though she could no longer see, Veronica could feel someone pick her up in a fireman’s carry. She knew they’d tossed her into the back of the truck, and heard the engine rumbling in the distance. A few bumps in the road were the last things she felt every sensation was gone, and she fell into a white abyss of Bliss. 

no sleep for the wicked

Bucky,

I pray this letter finds you well — it’s been so long, so very damn long. 

I know you’re wondering how I possibly could’ve gotten your address — I’m surprised myself, to be honest, you really did not want to be found lol. I must say, you’ve done a helluva job of keeping yourself off of the grid but I can’t say I’m surprised; if James Buchanan Barnes made his mind up to do something, it was good as done.  I’ve always admired that about you. But if you taught me, anything brother, it’s to take life in my own hands, craft my own destiny and after 10 years, 86 days, 14 hours, and 56 minutes of searching, I’m finally sending this letter off.  I don’t know what I’m expecting out of this but I’m here to ask you to come back home Bucky. I hope that you know that you are missed — shit man. We never expected you to leave and never once thought you’d stay away for so long after that. Nothing could ever take your place here, not even me.  If only for a weekend, please come back.  P.S. — can I still call you Bucky?

Love,  Steve ——————— The smell of coffee is the only thing in the world that can possibly rouse Sam Wilson out of his fitful sleep. Even then, it takes James Rhodes placing the mug directly in Sam’s face for the sheriff to even stir. Long nights at the Handonsville’s Sheriff Department will do that to you. It’s a deep roast, made by some kind of hipster brand that Sam can’t even pronounce and is *too damn expensive* if you ask him, but it gets the job done. And the job needs to be done, unfortunately. What went from an absolutely rarity of Sam staying overnight to work on a case has become a constant in his life. And Sam’s loves constants. He loves a routine, loves order and predictability; loves waking up every morning at 5:45am, going on his morning jogs and greeting the early risers of the town — Mrs. Carter down at the library, Mr. Barnes who own the local meat shop, loves making it back at his cramped apartment at 6:15, not a minute later. And as much as Sam loves the constants in his life, he will never get comfortable with the sudden constant-ness of the disappearances in his town. No matter how many times it happens, no matter how each disappearance closely mirrors the one before it, no matter the same sad looks on each one of the missing person’s families' faces, the collective dread they all seem to share when they come into the office to report that their son, daughter, sister, cousins hasn’t been home in over 24 hours. No, he’ll never get used to that, no matter how constant. Sam stretches, feels his body protest fervently against the position he slept in, hears his bones cracks as he stretches. At only 30 years old, Sam already knows he’s getting too old for this shit. His body continues to groan in protest as he wearily stands, stretching his arms and back once more before grabbing his coffee to take a look at the ‘Missing Persons’ board. He’s been in the station since last night, pouring hours into a case file — which doubled as his pillow, to make some sense of the mysterious disappearance of one Casey Johnson. So deep into the file, Sam didn’t even bother to make the ten-minute trek back to his place, eventually just giving in and sleeping at the office. Casey Johnson was the latest victim in what seemed to be a never-ending cycle of disappearances in the small town. Nothing about Johnson was similar to the case before him; he was young, two weeks removed from graduating from high school. He was a good kid, a little on the dopey side but kind-hearted nonetheless. Anyone who knew Johnson knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly and that made the question of *who would hurt him* that much more pressing. He had no run-ins with the law, on the contrary, he spent most of his free time down at the office with Sam, with dreams of eventually becoming a sheriff himself. So no, there was no pattern between Johnson the last case, Steve Rogers, the soldier notorious for his frequent visits to the station, who disappeared just a few days before Johnson. The only thing they had in common was leaving their respective places with an unspoken promise to be back — Rogers was off to the post office to mail a letter while Johnson was taking the garbage out for Mr. Barnes at the meat shop, never to return again. It made no sense. --- The first instance of someone going missing, it was Pixie Thomas, who was quite as eccentric as her name would suggest. With no reason to suspect foul play and with one of Pixie’s favorite bands on tour one town over, it was safe to say that she left to become one of their roadies. The second, third, fourth and fifth time it happened, well those cases weren’t so easy to write off. The victims ranged in ages, marital status, wealth, race. It was almost like whoever was behind this was choosing them at random which spelled trouble for the small force. With nothing to link the missing together, it was nearly impossible to know when and where the perpetrator would strike next. “Earth to Sam, hello?” Rhodey’s voice and wave of hand brought Sam back to the present. This kind of thing has happened before, Sam becoming so hyper-fixated on a particular case that he forgets to eat, drink, *blink*, but nowhere near this magnitude. Now, more often than not, Sam finds himself lost in his work and the other officers just find him lost. “I know you like to think if you stare at this wall long enough, the answers will appear like you’re in some kind of Sherlock episode but I’m sorry buddy, it ain’t happening.” Sam *might as well* be in a Sherlock episode the way this case is turning out. Actually there’s nothing more in the world he would love more than to ask Benadryl Cumberbatch for help with solving this shitshow but alas. “Go home Wilson”, Rhodey continues, “you need some rest.” “Can’t”, Sam replies. And it’s true; he can’t. He can’t just separate himself from this case, it’s not that easy. He can’t leave it unsolved, can’t chance the townspeople catching word of the seven disappearances within county lines and how their very own sheriff department has no clue what the fuck is going on. Can’t go home to *rest* when people like Casey Johnson or Steve Rogers may never make it back home ever again. Blowing on his coffee, letting the steam of the hot beverage envelop him for a moment, he turns to Rhodey and then back to the corkboard. ———— Growing up in Handonsville, Sam wanted nothing more than to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a sheriff in the town that loved him and he loved back. Handonsville, with all of its small-town charm — small, quaint, stereotypical —  is the only home Sam has ever known. It’s one of those places where no one is a stranger, for better or worse. Here, secrets are hard to hide and even harder to keep. Little to no anonymity is a small price to pay considering how fiercely the small town protects each other and itself. Growing up and until Sam’s third year on the job, there was no crime, no violence, no ... anything to be honest. The sheriff’s department was mostly for show, something to make out of towners reconsider their ideas of fucking with the people of Handonsville. And it worked. But now something had changed in the sleepy town. There were no threats from outsiders; no drifters unaware of the unspoken rules that govern Handonsville causing trouble. No, it was a different malevolent presence blanketing the town, sinking onto the residents, heavy and restricting. Now, the danger came from inside of the town. You could practically feel it in the air. The feeling of dread, of waiting for the first fall of rain to come after the dark clouds move in. The anxiousness of seeing lighting flit across the sky, preparing yourself for the roar of thunder that’s sure to follow. In the three decades Sam has lived in Handonsville, he never had any reason to ever doubt his own safety or the safety of the other 800 residents that called this place home too. Until today. Until Derek Anderson, the town’s resident mechanic, came barging into the office, yelling that he needed to speak to Sam and he needed to do it *right away*. Frantic and upset, Anderson ignores Rhodey’s suggestions to quiet down, the officer throwing an apologetic look over his shoulder at Sam who’s come from the back to see what the disturbance is all about. Before he even reaches the man, Sam knows immediately what all of the commotion pertains to, he can feel it in his gut. The eighth disappearance in less than two months in Handonsville. ———————— Taking the crumpled piece of parchment paper out of the garbage can for the sixth time today, Bucky finds himself staring down at the words of someone he hoped to never speak to again. At the mere mention of coming back home, of *Handonsville*, Bucky felt the floodgates open; nostalgia pouring down on him, pulling him under until he has no choice but to float with the current; had no choice but to let the memories he tried so hard to repress wash over him, engulf him completely. It’s nothing against Steve; no, Steve was a light in Bucky’s life, a light in so many others lives as well. Steve was smart, funny, had a penchant for danger the same way Bucky did. They were brothers in every sense of the word; playing together, fighting together, even crying together once when Sir Snaps a Lot, Steve’s turtle died. They didn’t know it then but it was a reason why they got along so well, like they were actual brothers. Because while Steve was a light in Bucky’s life, smart, funny and a risk-taker, he also was the byproduct of an affair that ruined the Barnes’ home completely. How their father thought a secret of that magnitude would ever remain hidden in a town like Handsonville was beyond Bucky and the ensuing drama drove him and his Ma out of town. It took years for Bucky to even acknowledge his father again, much less his father’s son. And *Steve* — the same Steve who was his age and his height and classmate and his best friend was no longer just that. Steve was his brother and no matter how many times they often referred to each other as brothers before the truth came out, how natural their relationship, the unmistakable bond the two shared, it wasn’t right to refer to Steve as what he actually was. But that was years ago, a lifetime even, and Bucky had made his peace, putting time and eight thousand miles of distance between himself and the sins of his father, only for one measly letter to draw him back, like a moth to an open flame. A small part of Bucky knew nothing good would ever come from him going back home. Knew there, he was more likely to meet his demise than his dawning; but under the incessant need to separate himself from the town that shunned him, turned him away was the egregious *want* to prove that he made it without them. That there was a great big world outside of the small town and that world accepted him even when they wouldn't. With his jaw set and his bags packed, Bucky set off to Handonsville. ————- It’s all starting to run together at this point. And not that Sam isn’t emphatic to the plight of Mr. Anderson — his heart yearns for the other man, the very idea of having to file this kind of report for your child is *traumatizing*, it’s just that he’s seen this scene play out before. He’s seen the frightened look on Anderson’s face before, he’s seen in at least seven times in the past two months. He’s heard the script before, sure the names and dates and last seen places are different, but in the end, it’s all the *same*.

I Couldn’t Be More in Love [E.D]

Summary: Ethan’s not about cliches, he swears, but he has the feeling he might just die if he doesn’t tell you how he feels during your last senior prom slow dance.

Warnings: nothing but like I’m very sorry for the cheesy picture BUT LOOK HOW CUTE

Author’s Note: just a lil something I couldn’t get out of my head, it’s cheesy, it’s lame, it’s short, and it’s nothing special but my prom is next weekend and like c’mon how perfect would this be. just stopping by, hope you’re all doing fantastic!! love you all, and photo credits to popstyledolan (?? i’m not sure if this is instagram or twitter or tumblr, lmk if you guys know and i’ll add a link!!) ALSO like isn’t this song such a prom song I FEEL LIKE IT IS 

Word Count: 2.6K+ || masterlist

Ethan had a gut full of fruit punch (spiked--thank you Casey Fraiser) and a head full of fuzz; what's a guy gotta do to get you for a slow dance?

He's slumped on the third row of the high school gymnasium's wooden, creaky bleachers, both hands threaded in the messy, over-gelled locks on his head, his foot tapping a mile a minute. And he should really be out there next to Grayson, whooping and hollering to the ancient Lil Jon song echoing out of the low budget DJ's rusted speakers, but he just can't stop thinking about you, okay? And this isn't new, and that's what's getting old.

He just wants one slow dance. Or two. Or three, or four, or ninety. It's the only time he gets the excuse to hold you close and make a fool of himself and not have to apologize once. He always does everything in his power to deprive the mood of romanticism, though.

Because this isn't the first or even the second dance he's spent beating himself up over you. No, this has become a tradition over the years; Ethan says something like, 'Hey, let's go together to the dance, just as friends, cause I don't want to waste my time begging some chick that's probably out of my league when I can take my best friend and have a way better time' (romantic, he knows), you guys suit up in your best homecoming, snowball, or prom attire, and spend the night together.

As just friends. 

Ethan's made that super clear to you; Just Friends. Every single dance is Just Friends. And it's started to make less and less sense over the years, why he wouldn't go with Molly Kozial even though he'd been talking to her right up until promposals started getting popular again in March. 

"Molly's a lot of work," he had said through a mouthful of fries, his feet kicked up on his dash in the parking lot of the McDonald's you guys went to all the time. "What's the good in going out, spending a shit ton of money on candy or whatever, getting all nervous to ask her, and having the drama of it the next day in school when I can just go with you? Easy as pie."

Right, you had thought. Cause I'm definitely not worth the time, or the candy, or the drama. Ethan had made that very clear by the eighth time he'd taken you to a dance. 

It's not like you were going to bother yourself with the pain of his backhanded rejection; this was your senior prom. Just Friends is what you needed right before heading off to college--no need to invest yourself in some guy who'd inevitably break your heart by the end of summer. 

"Yeah alright," you'd said, slurping a thick gulp of milkshake. "But I think I want to wear white this year and-"

"Nooo, everybody's going to say we're getting married," Ethan whined reflexively, his head flopping against his car seat and a pout on his lips. 

"Deal with it," you shrugged. "That's what you get for your lack of, uh, chivalry?" 

Ethan shot a glare your way. "Chivalry?" he asked through a bite of his cheeseburger. "I hav' pl'nty 'f chivalry." 

"Right," you snorted, yanking the burger out of his hand and taking the biggest bite you could. 

So you'd announced it oh-so-inanimately to your friend group at lunch the following day, ignored their pointed smirks and knowing glances, and searched for a prom dress worthy of your bank account. And it was fun! God, it was fun, it was always fun going with Ethan and your friends, but...

Well, but you wanted to feel wanted. You wanted that whole experience, getting asked with roses, being slow danced with and held tight. Ethan unfailingly went overboard on slow dances every year; he shouted the lyrics to the songs off key, spun you around dramatically, made fun of all the surrounding couples--just sucked any bit of romance out of it. Cause you guys were Just Friends. 

And that was fine, but it wasn't perfect.

You looked around and saw him stuck up in the bleachers, his hair disheveled and his face pale where it hung. He looked awful--he looked sick. You stopped grinding on your best friend Courtney for a split second to examine him more properly. 

Ethan did feel sick. He thought he was going to throw up thinking about what he was about to do. 

Should he? Should he really expose himself like this, at a school dance of all places? Didn't you deserve better than that? You deserved a fun, drama-free night full of shitty 2000's music and even shittier spiked punch--the staples of a good prom. You deserved a bed of roses and chocolate truffles in those heart packages and a million other cliches. You deserved more than Ethan. 

But it's May now, Ethan realizes. Realizes he's got exactly 24 days until graduation, and then only three months until college begins and you two split about half an hour apart. It's May and how much longer does he really have anyway? What if you died tomorrow? Ethan's heart actually sinks at the mere thought.

He looks up to see you frowning at him half a gym away, your hair dolled up all pretty, your face caked with all the make you don't need but love so much. You look spectacular in your dress, obviously. Ethan knows there's no way in fucking hell he can't do this tonight, cliches be damned.

And now, now Ethan's made a promise to himself--he's gonna tell you how he feels--and it feels like torture. He has the heaviest, most leaden bit of dread sunken in his stomach. And yet, he's gotta do this. He's just gotta. 

You've started trekking towards him--wobbling like a newborn colt in those heels you forced yourself to wear--when the DJ says with the stalest of voices, "Alright everybody, we're going to slow things down a bit..."

It's a song Ethan would never know off the top of his head if he hadn't heard you singing it in the shower one time when he'd come over. He can still hear your voice--less than angelic, he will admit--wailing the lyrics of I Couldn't Be More In Love by the 1975. Rasp and cracks aside, the memory still makes his knees weak, even weaker than they are now, rising despite the butterflies in his belly begging him to sit back down. You halt where you are and gaze up at the rafters of the gym once you realize what song's playing, and Ethan can see the faint smile on your lips even in the lowlight and beams of disco glitter. He thinks he just might faint. 

By the time he gets to you, he can hear his own pulse, can feel it too in the expanse of his neck and planes of his chest. His hands are clammy—no, clammy hardly covers it. He might just sweat through his dress shirt; luckily, he discarded the vest and dinner coat awhile ago. You're still grinning up at the ceiling and Ethan wonders if he should just run while he still has the chance. 

But he doesn't, of course he doesn't, because he has to do this. So, he taps you on the shoulder gently, the most gentle he's probably ever been with you, and swallows the lump of fear in his throat. You look at him and grin, all teeth, and mumble, "I love this song."

"I know you do," Ethan blurts too quick, his words strangled. Slowly, he slides a hand down the length of your waist and wraps his palm there and takes your hand in the other. Then, the two of you realize that that just won't work, so he chuckles and pulls you in close, tight, fits you between his arms with his wrists dangling over each other behind your back. You slip your arms around his neck and it feels different this time, much different, and you wonder when Ethan grew up without you noticing. 

"How'd you know?" you ask after a beat, a quirk in your brow. 

Ethan pinches his eyes shut, cursing under his breath. "Uh..." he begins, swallowing thickly, "heard you sing it in the shower one time..."

He knows there are better ways to explain that, but he can't figure out any bit of the English language right now, not with you pressed against him naturally, like you could slow dance with him forever. He prays to god you can't feel his heartbeat against your cheek. 

"Oh my god, tell me you're kidding," you groan, heat licking at the back of your neck. You bang your head against the bone of his shoulder, humiliated beyond repair. "I have the worst voice and you know that."

Ethan shakes his head right away, his hold on you tightening just a little. This is so foreign, Ethan being... God, if you didn't know any better, you'd almost say Ethan was nervous. 

"That's okay, I like your voice," he squeaks. 

You stiffen against him and then realize he can't possibly be serious, so you giggle in his ear. "E, stop sucking up to me, we're already best friends." 

Ethan knows he has to do it now, now. He lets out a shaky breath and squeezes his eyes shut tight, counting back from ten. 

But what about these feelings I've got? I couldn't be more in love.

By the end of that line, Ethan decides he must spit it out. "I know, and I hate it." 

He hears your breath hitch in his ear, feels you tense and pull back from his chest, warmth disappearing from your body and your personality. Ethan knows he has to keep going when a look of pure heartbreak splits on your face. 

"I-I don't like being best friends. Well- no, I love being best friends, but I don't- I- I don't like being just best friends, okay? I don't like pretending and I've spent the past four years pretending," Ethan breathes, his whole body shaking. 

You've caught on by now, and your jaw's completely slack. It's a good thing Ethan's eyes are sealed shut--permanently, from what you can tell.

"Eth-"

"No, I gotta say this," Ethan whines, his head falling forward. He presses his temple to yours, so close and intimate in a way you've never seen him, never felt him. The two of you are still swaying, slow and steady, blending in with the crowd of lovesick teenagers. And it's weird because it feels so personal, you feel so alone in your own little world of Ethan. You love it. "I fucking love you. And I'm not saying it in that way that we end our facetimes with, I mean that I really fucking love you. I'm- I'm in love with you," he chokes out, his voice crackling. He pauses for a beat and shakes his head. "That's not even right. I don't even know if there're words out there that can describe how I feel about you. And I know I'm an ass about a thousand percent of the time, but that's because you make my legs feel like jelly and my head feel like static. And usually, I can just ignore it--well, not ignore it, I can never ignore you--but usually I can, uh, push it down," he says. 

Ethan pulls back and looks down at you, his eyes round and doe-ish. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and he shakes his head again. "But not tonight. Not when you're looking like this and acting like you always do. I- I think I nearly passed out when I picked you up from your house," he says, squeezing his eyes shut once more.

You're absolutely gobsmacked. Amazed. Stupefied. Speechless. 

"And I get it, I'm shit at romantics and even worse with words, but I mean it. I'm so into you. And this might be surprising since I'm pretty good at pretending like you're a little sister to me-" Ethan pauses to scrunch his face up distastefully. "-but that couldn't be farther from the truth. I, um, I couldn't be more in love," he finishes, wincing at his cliche and the way he's echoing the chorus's lyrics. 

You think you might just cry with relief, staring up at him. He's looking at you like you've just saved the world, or aligned the stars, or waxed poetry; his eyes are soft but full of awe, a few inches from yours. And his lips are parted like he wants to say more, but Ethan's right, he's never been that good with words, not until now. Your hearts thundering, pounding, racing in your chest, swollen with love for Ethan Dolan. And you thought he ought to know it.

You giggle with disbelief and shake your head. Your head falls forward on his collarbone and he takes the opportunity to kiss the crown of your head, and you wonder if Ethan feels this inevitability, that there has always been a spark of tension between you, that just friends can't care as much as you two do and remain just friends, that he's got nothing to worry about. So you pull back, inch your lips forward, and check his expression for permission, but Ethan's already halfway there. 

You lean in, and press your lips to him softly, graze your fingers against the peak of his cheekbone. He's kissing you back like he's got all the time in the world to love you under the glow of these disco lights, in the mass of these slow dancing bodies, in the middle of your high school gym. His tongue glides along the split of your lips, hesitant but warm and wet and stomach-flipping, and you crack open your mouth with a giggle, slipping your fingers into his over-gelled hair. Ethan slides his tongue along tentatively along yours. He must notice your shudder and feel you press into him more firmly, more sure of yourself, because he does it again, leaving you dazed and crazed and desperate. You cradle his jaw between your palms and kiss him like you mean it, lost in the feeling of love and the tune of a love song.

Subliminally, your brain registers the snickers and whispers sounding around you, but you're too intoxicated by the reality of your constant daydreams to really acknowledge them. However, Grayson has other plans as he claps a hand--hard--on Ethan's back as the song draws to a close, startling the two of you and peeling you away from one another. 

"About fucking time, bro," Grayson snorts, his eyebrows lifted skyward and his smirk far too smug.

Your cheeks are burning as you glare at Grayson and the way he's chuckling along with your crew of friends. Ethan decides there's far too much space between you and yanks you back to him, ignorant to your stiffness. "Suck my dick," he snaps back, resting his chin on the crown of your head. After a beat of swaying still, as the sound of a song less heavy rolls in, Ethan says, "I think your lipstick is like, all over my mouth."

You snort. "How much gel did you put in your hair?"

Ethan scoffs and shakes his head, his chin rubbing over your hair. "No idea. Too much."

"It's all over my hands," you giggle, squeezing them in the air and cringing at the way they stick.

"It's all Grayson's fault, the bitch doesn't know how to do hair apparently." 

You chuckle and shake your head, so familiar with this side of Ethan it comes as no surprise. What does shock you is the way he keeps his arms tight around your waist, the way he slips a finger under your chin and tilts your face to his, and plants another kiss--albeit tongueless--on you in front of half the student body. If Grayson gags violently and Courtney attracts the attention of everyone with her obnoxious awe's, that's okay with you. You couldn't be more in love. 

CLAYTON KOVACS

Age: Twenty Nine Occupation: Detective with the NOPD Gender & Pronouns: Male & He/Him Length of time in NOLA: Twenty Nine Years Faceclaim: Casey Deidrick

A DECREE IN HISTORY

Life was never meant to be easy, but it was never meant to be quite this hard either. Growing up in the big easy could have been an idyllic beginning for Clay Kovacs. He had the picture perfect family; both parents, three kids, and a dog living in their modest walk-up apartment over the restaurant the family owned. The restaurant, aptly named Cafe Kovacs, had been in the family since his grandfather had started the business in the sixties and it truly was a family affair, with all of the siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles working various shifts. The one thing that was a guarantee growing up was that they were always strapped for cash. Most of the spare money went back into the business, so there was little left over for both Clay and his younger sisters Hanna and Mila. At the time though, they didn’t care because they all had each other; but sadly that was not to last. It all changed for him when he was thirteen years old. Being the older sibling, he was put in charge of the younger two. Tasked with the chore of grabbing groceries from the local market, the three Russo siblings had set out to get the essentials with little issue. On their way home, Mila had dropped her bag by accident, causing the eggs inside to crack. Instead of walking home with cracked eggs, Clay told Hanna to stay put while they went back a few blocks to replace the bag. Once they came back to the spot Hanna had been sitting, a short stoop with a tree shading it from the sun, she was gone. Annoyed at first, Clay called out for her and walked with his remaining little sister to try and find where she’d run off to. It soon became apparent that she was nowhere to be found and now he had the horrific task of telling his parents that he’d lost his sister.

No one had any idea of where Hanna Kovacs had gone, or who may have taken her as it was quickly determined to have to be a kidnapping. This was 2002 and there were security and street cameras, but they weren’t as prevalent as they would become later. On video, Hanna was seen talking to a tall figure wearing a dark red hoodie before going willingly with the person; who’s face was sadly never seen. The person must have said something to the little girl to convince her that she should leave with them. Clay was never supposed to see that video, but he’d managed to sneak a peek at the TV during a brief newscast while at his grandmother’s house and that image was seared in his brain ever since. Days went by, then months, then years and still nobody had seen or heard of anything having to do with Hanna’s kidnapping. At first, Clay would spend his time after school physically searching, but then as time went by and the search radius grew too large, he surfed the internet for signs of his sister. He couldn’t help but feel responsible. If he had just taken her along with him to get those damn eggs, none of this would’ve happened. Getting through school was a chore, trying to deal with the guilt he felt on top of the work that school entailed, but he graduated by the skin of his teeth.

After years passed by, it became a little easier to live life as the fresh pain of losing his sister grew into a numbness he’d learned to manage, but that didn’t mean he’d given up. He went to LSU and eventually graduated with a degree in Criminal Justice, all with the goal of trying to help people never feel like he had. Once he’d graduated, he applied to the NOPD Police Academy, blowing through the requirements with a single-mindedness that was almost unbelievable to witness. He worked the next few years as a police officer with the NOPD, eventually working his way up to being a detective. Now he would really be able to help people in need, like his family had been. Life faded into a sense of normalcy that Clay got used to. He had his job, dated, and tried to live his life despite the tragedy that had befallen him. But his mistakes would again rise up and try to destroy everything he had. One night after going out with some of his fellow officer friends, he was driving home after having a little bit too much to drink. He wasn’t blackout drunk and so he thought he’d be fine to drive the ten blocks back to his apartment. Making a stupid decision, he sped through a light that had changed from yellow to red just a few moments before. He hadn’t seen the jogger that had already begun to cross the street before clipping him with his car. Realizing that he’d just royally fucked up, he sped off while knowing that there had been no one around this early in the morning in the outskirts.

After making another colossal mistake that could’ve cost someone else their life, Clay threw himself into work to try to distract from reality, but when he had down time he would look into the police report from his hit and run, finding the information about the person he’d hit. Erik Sanders, thirty five, a contractor from the area with two kids and a wife. The guy had spent a month in the hospital fixing his shattered right leg, and was now on disability. Clay knew that he’d ruined this guy’s life, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn himself in. He’d lose classified document access if he was charged with any crime, and he wouldn’t be able to help find his sister, so he was determined that he would find another way to help him, but keep his own life intact as well. That came in the form of sending cash to the Sanders residence, addressed to them from an ‘anonymous’ helper. If only they knew how far from the truth that was. As the year went by, he found it harder and harder to keep sending the amount of money he felt that they deserved, but an opportunity arose from bending his morals completely. Looking the other way in situations where normally he would arrest criminals, or other ‘dirty’ moves. It was completely new for him and it made him sick to his stomach to see how far he’d fallen, but it was either this or jail himself.

WHAT LIES BENEATH

( + ) Caring, Methodical ( - ) Aimless, Destructive

If the sinful streets of The District could talk, they would whisper about JAMESON HALL’s arrival. Rumor has it, they are a little bit DETACHED & INHIBITED. Maybe we should find out for ourselves, they could be GREGARIOUS & ADAPTABLE. All we really know is they will be working as an MULTI-TALENT ENTERTAINER. Someone said they saw them listening to HALLUCINOGENICS by MATT MAESON on repeat, it’s like their theme song or something. Don’t trust the gossip though, come find out for yourself. You can see them coming from a mile away in the INNER HARBOR by the tell tale signs, SUNLIGHT STREAMING INTO A BEDROOM, THE WARM LAUGHTER OF OLD FRIENDS, GOING FOR A RUN BEFORE THE SUN RISES. [ CASEY DEIDRICK, SHIFTER (SIBERIAN TIGER), CIS MALE, 33, HE/HIM]

ABILITIES

tiger physiology (slightly larger than wild tigers)

slightly enhanced strength/stamina in human form

enhanced senses

slightly slowed aging (delayed by ten years after the 35-40 range)

WEAKNESSES

he is still physically vulnerable to injury and mortality

intense emotional trauma can cause him to become stuck in his animal form

can still become fatigued

WC01. Is that supposed to impress me? Having been a well known celebrity, James has had his fair share of interactions with fans. He’s used to people approaching him for autographs or pictures, and while it’s always nice to see how far his talents have reached, it can be tiresome. This person is someone who, for whatever reason, didn’t recognize James when they first met despite his face having been plastered on movie promos and in television ads. It’s a nice change of pace, knowing that this person he keeps having random run-ins doesn’t care to know about his status.

WC02. It takes a village. This individual has been beside James for every step of his road to recovery: they’re his sponsor. They’ve seen him at his lowest and know most of his relapse signs. Thankfully, it’s been a little over three years that they haven’t seen any of the signs.

HC01. Considering his level of fame made it extremely difficult to just step out of the limelight, James decided to step away from active music production and acting opportunities to instead become a comedic duo with his childhood best friend. He’s done stand-up comedy on his own but the work they do now is more of a passion project than anything else. They have performed in various shows and movies together and now perform improv on stage.

jameson jeremiah hall ii was born on a stormy night in dallas texas, to parents jameson and renee hall. he was an unexpected pregnancy in a teen romance, but not an unwanted one. his parents were deeply in love with each other, and had the support systems available to raise a child at such young ages. his parents had another child when he was in elementary school, and a third as he was about to turn ten. from the moment he laid eyes on them, james knew he had to protect his brothers with ever fiber of his being. it was what he was put on the world for.

as he grew up, james naturally fell into a rebellious personality that nobody seemed to be able to pull him out of. he wasn’t a bad kid, per say. he never gave his parents so much grief that it actually upset them. he just mostly disappointed them by never showing up to class, smoking weed, going to parties, getting into fights— teen stuff. they cut him some slack because he always had good grades, a result of a higher than average IQ and retention ability. some doctors commented that he might even have photographic memory, but james never got tested for that. if he had actually applied himself, he would have been valedictorian at his graduation (which he skipped.)

at the same time that this rebellion was happening, james made sure to always be home at a decent hour to set an example for his brothers. either this, or he made sure to let his parents know he wasn’t coming home. that he was safe. he never caused any real problems for his family. when he was home, he would spend his time with his brothers, teaching them tips he wished he had an older brother for, playing catch, brotherly things. he loved them both to no end, and still does.

flash forward to james at 18 years old, the night after his youngest brother’s 9th birthday party. he was in the backyard, having a smoke before calling it a night. what he didn’t expect was to be woken by the fire alarms, nor the heat. nor the screaming of his brothers. he ran to his youngest brother’s room which was closest to his own, seeing that their brother was already being carried out by a firefighter. there was no time to look for anything; he had to get the kids out. by the time they were outside and he realized their parents were still inside, the flames had reached and ignited their family truck in the garage, knocking down the left side of the house, and their parents’ bedroom going with it. four police officers had to hold james from running inside. half the house gone, half the family gone.

it was the first time james showed raw emotion— to anyone. he cried into his best friend’s shoulder and clung to his brothers like their lives depended on it. it crushed him. once he made sure they had a place to stay as their home was rebuilt, james fell down a rabbit hole. he fell victim to addiction, but he did his best to stay in school to earn for the family he was now in charge of. the responsibility on his shoulders turned a new page for him. he refocused on school and dedicated himself to working and studying, his days filled with multiple classes to get his medical degree as quickly as possible.

the years in school flew by, and as he realized his brothers were moving on without him, james didn’t know what to do with himself. he was now a doctor with no passion for the field. music was more of a way to destress for him, but it had always been a talent he had, and a pipe dream. that is, until he began performing at a local wine club that held open mics. he was 25 when a talent agent from california gave him his card. seeing as his youngest brother was still a minor, still his responsibility, james agreed to start working with the agent as long as he could remain located in dallas. his first song hit the radio a month later, and it was like time flew by after that.

what should have been instant gratification became a droning lifestyle. he was still as lonely as ever, and with the middle brother gone to the military, and his younger brother hating every inch of him, drugs became the friend he needed. getting the drugs was far easier when he had friends in high places. he was finally happy, at least temporarily. he made connections from california to moscow, and everywhere in between. once his youngest brother was old enough to take care of himself, making it clear he wanted nothing to do with james, he became an international celebrity. he was 27 years old when he reached stardom through his music and various acting roles.

he had reunited with the woman who would become his wife shortly before his peak in fame. she was angelic enough to deal with his status in the early years of their marriage, but the stress of the media began taking a toll when they lost their first two children to miscarriages. james decided that the thrill of doing what he loved wasn’t worth losing the presence and health of the woman he loved. he cleaned himself up and went to rehab, stepping back from an active music and acting career.

JAMESON IS CLOSED & WRITTEN BY PIXIE.

Could be mean and say all even numbers, but i'm not gonna... Just do multiples of 5

50 oddly specific headcanon asks

5. describe your muse’s worst nightmare.  casey’s worst nightmares, in terms of actual dreams, are dark & vague.  they involve a lot of mystery & unknown, often ending in a lot of bodily harm that she can’t fight.  that said, her nightmare in reality is a lot less abstract –– && in a sense, it has already come true.  her worst nightmare would be never being able to practice again, or failing, never being able to help someone again.  ultimately both represent the same fear :  helplessness & powerlessness. 

10. does your muse get carsick?  when casey was small, she got carsick frequently.  if her parents took her on a drive that lasted more than an hour, she would often end up quite ill.  as a result, she would throw fits whenever they tried to strap her into her seat.  however, as she grew older, she grew out of it. 

15. who do they tend to bicker with the most?  bickering may be a strong word.  she debates a lot with coworkers & detectives, particularly olivia.  rarely is this personal.  she also has quite a few playful bickering sessions with her partners, but it is rare that this becomes a genuine fight.  sometimes she likes to argue just to be a sass brat.

20. where are your muse’s ancestors from?  do they keep any of their traditions?  casey is of european descent, largely slavic, german, & french.  she does not keep customs from any specific culture.  however, her family is catholic & she does keep some of those traditions.  although she may not attend mass every sunday, she still occasionally goes to church, & she participates in confession, prays, & celebrates christian holidays.

25. how many hours a day do they spend on the internet / watching tv?  while she may, at times, leave the television on to something mundane in order to sleep, casey rarely actually watches television.  her time on the internet is largely focused around research for her cases or reading the news, although she has a few dumb facebook games that she enjoys playing to pass the time if she does not have work to do.

30. who was your muse’s first kiss?  casey’s first kiss with a boy happened on new years when she was fourteen.  at a party with a bunch of other military families from the base, she shared a midnight moment with a boy with whom she also went to church each week, donny mclachan.  he had nacho breath & it grossed her out so much that she didn’t kiss another person for almost four years after.  her first kiss with a girl happened when she was nineteen.  an early graduate from high school, she was already a junior in college.  she wasn’t normally one for the party scene, but a few other students from one of her group projects were going to celebrate the end of midterms, & she decided to let loose for once.  she hadn’t meant to flirt with rebecca, but she leaned in a little too far, let her fingers linger too long on her hand, & was startled by the sudden connection of their lips.  it was softer than donny had been, & sent sparks through her whole body that exhilarated & terrified her at once.  but, casey told herself, she couldn’t possibly be interested in women.  shortly after, she met charlie.  her next kiss with a woman was alex cabot, years later.

35. does your muse cross their legs / ankles when they sit?  usually, yes, at least if she is in a professional context.  casey generally wears skirts to work, making crossed legs a necessity, but even in pants, it tends to make her look more professional and powerful.  outside of work, it’s a crapshoot.  she might cross her legs or she might just let herself loose.  she’s not afraid of a little manspreading.

40. has your muse ever been to a concert?  casey does not go to concerts very often, but has been to several in her life.  her first was when she was seventeen, when she went on a date with a boy named jack to see kiss perform live.  it wasn’t really her normal speed, but she definitely had some fun.  maybe a little too much.

45. what is your muse’s hogwarts house?  although very smart, keen to learn, & creative, as well as ambitious, casey is a gryffindor.  her greatest traits are her bravery, resilience, & unwillingness to stop for anything in the pursuit of justice, even if it lands her in trouble.

50. if your muse could rid the world of one thing, what would it be?  if casey could rid the world of one thing, it would be mental illness.  so many lives would be saved, if only people’s brains didn’t cause them harm.  both the vilification & victimization of mentally ill people would end.  && no one would ever need be hurt by their or anyone else’s mental health again.