welcome to my guilty pleasure blog!! my name is bea and I'm 30. mostly using this space to explore different themes and ideas related to writing and of course all things whump.
Favorite tropes: captivity whump, recovery fluff/comfort, found family, noncon whump (always tagged), emotional whump, protective caretaker, forced to watch, happy/hopeful endings (even if - especially? - it takes a hot minute to get there)
Original Posts:
my prompts
my polls
my drabbles
Original Stories:
Unmade
Vienna’s abduction by a sadistic serial predator, Alec, forces her to endure unimaginable suffering which she survives only through the memories of her loved ones, including boyfriend/best friend Zander. While Zander spirals in grief, he forms an unexpected bond with a case agent, which leads him to an encounter with Alec that results in his own capture. Reunited in captivity, Vienna and Zander face more horrors before finally escaping. The story shifts to their healing process, where love, family, and resilience help them reclaim their lives after the darkness.
(Main characters - Vienna, Zander, Alec, Miller)
The Last Flame
Set in the dystopian future state of Syndora. Rixton, a pilot in the resistance group the Forge, is captured by the oppressive Syndoran regime and tortured for years, haunted by the deaths of innocent people. When he is finally rescued, he returns to the Forge to find Asher, his former love, who had believed him dead and strove to move on. As Rixton and Asher both battle guilt and the broken trust between them, they must navigate the long road to healing in the midst of a still-burning revolution.
The days and weeks marched on. The haze of summer began to loosen into a brisk autumn, wind whipping its way through colorful leaves. The uneasiness that seemed to haunt the campus for the first several weeks of the semester began to relax into something manageable, almost routine. It was, of course, very sad what had happened to Vienna DeNova (whatever that may be). She was a great student, always lit up the room. But life had to go on.
It wasn't as if she were forgotten. People kept their lavender ribbons pinned to their backpacks and coats, but the scheduled prayers, even casual mentions of Vienna, seemed to be decreasing by the week. Her volleyball team held tryouts and took on several new players, filling her spot so they had a full team for the new school year. And the campus that had once felt so somber, so united, started to fall back into its usual rhythm — girls shrieking with laughter in the quad, guys painting their faces and chests for football games, students walking together and bemoaning the amount of reading their professors had assigned.
And then there was Zander.
He felt like the lone survivor of a horrendous plane crash, or the last human left on earth after an alien invasion. The way that everyone could go forward with their lives, snap back into place as if the universe had not been permanently altered. Watching the way others moved through the world felt surreal, almost uncanny, as if everyone was attuned to some invisible rhythm that he no longer had access to.
But it wasn't as if Zander didn't fall into the same trap of normalcy as the others, was it? He slept, enough. He ate, for the most part. He went to class. He talked with people. All the things Vienna couldn't.
He'd thought about returning to campus — without Vienna — a lot. Had weighed the pros and cons, the possibilities and potential scenarios. Zander had expected it to be hard, feel heavy. What he wasn't quite prepared for was for it feel haunted.
The first time he'd thought it, his stomach had lurched. Because haunted was a word for things that were dead. And Vienna was not. Was not. Was not.
But… what other word would fit better? What other word could capture the feeling of being back here, of practically seeing ghosts around every corner?
There, on the quad, where he'd often catch her sitting and working, soaking in all the sun she could in between classes. He still half expected to hear her call out his name, bright and clear.
The English building, where she'd slid into the back of his Composition & Rhetoric class right before he gave a presentation he'd been dreading for weeks, and the sight of her sitting in the back row steadied his voice even while he felt his heart would burst.
Her freshman dorm, the one where she'd shared a room with Abigail, where he and Vienna had so many tiny private moments that had felt sparkling and warm and holy all at the same time. He can see the window to her old room each time he walks to the library, now covered with someone else's curtains.
The dining hall, their dining hall, the one smack dab between the humanities building and the student union. Vienna had refused to go into it for a week last year after she laughed so hard at something Zander had said she'd snorted juice through her nose.
The pier, where they'd shared moments that felt both breathtakingly small and private and surreally huge and epic. Sitting on the wooden slats looking for constellations, having all day parties with friends, swimming across to the tiny "island" in the middle and having to get Jay to come pick them up in a canoe.
It was as if he was being suffocated by memories — no, not memories, not exactly. Rather, it was the devastating contrast between then and now. Then, when life floated open in front of them, expansive and open and full of possibilities, like they were right at the start of something. And….now. Now, in which the future felt both impossibly far away and far, far too close. Now, life was small and frightening and sinister. All with the same backdrop.
So, what was unexpected was finding a place where he could actually breathe. The craziest part to Zander was that Miller's office should have felt worse than anything. Everything in it was a reminder that this really existed, that it was happening, that she was still — still — gone. Her face smiling down from the walls, the murmur of her name in the hallways.
And yet….it was somewhere that Vienna had never been. Somewhere that, frankly, he couldn't imagine her in. Her presence was so solidly in the Then column of his life that the thought of her being in this place, despite its entire existence revolving around her, seemed ridiculous. No one there had any particular preconceptions of Zander in the FBI office, none of them had known him then when he appeared to be easily successful and put together and undemanding. None of them looked at him like he had two heads in the now when he did things like stalk around with a sour expression on his face or show up late to class or snap at others.
Being there felt like being connected to Vienna now, the version of her and of life in general that that he had to reconcile.
They had something. Zander had known it before it started showing up in the news cycle — the sudden flurry of activity, Miller collaborating with more and more faces, downing more and more coffee for what Zander assumed had to be long as fuck hours. So when it became public that law enforcement had several persons of interest they were looking into, Zander was excited but not shocked.
But just because Zander was there didn't mean he was privy to any special information. Agent Miller was, to Zander's great disappointment, committed to keeping those boundaries pretty firmly in place. Whenever something came up that anyone outside of law enforcement wasn't supposed to know, Miller could give Zander a look and a nod to the door and Zander would get up and leave — or, more and more often, Miller would take the phone call or meeting in another room so Zander could stay. It was…..nice. Zander had nearly knocked over his chair in his hurry to get out the first few times it had happened, but Miller didn't make him feel like a burden.
It was one of the things that made Zander's shoulders drop the moment he walked into Miller's office. The agent was just easy to be around. One minute they could be shooting the shit about this or that sports team, and the next, Zander could be choking on his words while talking about Vienna. And when that became too much, and Zander wandered back into lighthearted territory, Miller would follow him there. Didn't make it awkward. Didn't make it a thing. Just let him….be.
Even when Zander came into the office steaming mad, like he had the other day. He didn't even know why he was so mad. He'd been outside studying, trying to enjoy the fresh air before it got too cold, and a couple was sitting on one of the tables close to him. They were loud. Which was fine. Whatever. They were outside.
But when the girl had shrieked over a spider crawling on her chair, and her boyfriend had laughed and hopped up as if to save her, Zander felt like something inside him had snapped. He'd leapt up too, snatching his books off the table and stomping away like they'd done something to personally offend him.
And Miller had let him pace and rant and generally be a bit of a douchebag in his office until the anger cooled into gut-wrenching sadness. As was typical.
So when Zander walked in today, feeling like a walking corpse, he saw no reason to hide it. Miller was actually walking out as Zander was walking in, brushing by him quickly and saying, "Got a phone call, make yourself at home," and Zander obliged. He slumped down in his usual chair and stared at the wall.
It was a white cream color. Probably the same color as a million other offices in a million other cities. But Zander was beginning to feel as though he could pick it out of a lineup for all the time he spent here. His eyes darted, almost without his permission, to the photograph that Miller had pinned up on the wall next to his desk a few weeks ago. It was one Zander had given him, a picture of him and Vienna after his team qualified for states last year. Zander was in his blue jersey, mouth wide open in excitement, while Vienna embraced him from behind, beaming.
Zander looked away just as quickly, eyes burning. Goddammit. This whole fucking week had been worse than ever, in a way that he should have expected but somehow still bowled him over. He forced himself to look at a blank expanse of wall again, absentmindedly picking at his cuticles and somewhat enjoying the sting.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Miller finally came back into the room.
"Sorry about that. Apparently we have some missing paperwork somewhere and you know that's always gotta be crisis."
Zander watched a little listlessly as Miller walked straight to the file cabinet by his desk and fished out some form. He sat down, wrote something at the top portion, sighed, and finally looked over at Zander slouched across from him. A beat passed, and then Miller asked,
"You look like shit. When's the last time you ate something?"
"Gee, thanks," Zander grumbled. But when he looked up at the agent's expectant face, he could tell it wasn't a hypothetical question. "I don't know. Maybe….lunch. Day before yesterday."
Miller's eyebrows went up.
"So you haven't eaten anything in, what—" He glanced at the time on his computer— "30 hours?"
Zander shrugged. "Guess so."
"Hm. Surprised you even had it in you to walk here. Noticed you didn't swing by yesterday, either."
"What, are you taking attendance now?" Zander griped. He could feel the agent's steady stare at him, and stubbornly refused to speak for a moment more before relenting. "….it was our anniversary, of when we officially started dating. October 2nd."
"Ah." Miller's desk chair creaked a bit as he sat back. "How long?"
"Two years." Zander swallowed. "But felt like longer."
"Everything does, at that age." A nostalgic grin pulled at Miller's lips, but then his voice lowered into something more serious. "Hey."
Zander understood the cue and raised his eyes to meet Miller's again. They were calm, patient.
"Anniversaries are always rough. Of any important date. Anyone in your position would feel the same way."
The words were simple but hit anyway. A little something loosened in Zander's chest and he nodded.
"You know, there's a place about a half mile from here that makes a damn good burger. You could head on down there, probably wouldn't see too many kids from campus."
"Going out alone around our anniversary sounds like its own version of hell, but thanks anyway."
Zander was being annoying and he knew it. Miller eyed him for a minute and then tossed down his pen.
"Fine. Then we'll go together. Get out of here for a while."
Zander gave him a look.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
"Good, because I don’t babysit. I just don’t like filling out incident reports.”
Miller was already standing and grabbing his coat. Zander looked at him in exasperation for a moment and then followed, shoving down the slavish thankfulness rising inside him.
It was a relaxed place. Dim light and wood paneling, sports games playing on TVs scattered around the walls. Definitely the type of place you'd order a beer in, but Miller asked the server for two Cokes as they sat down. He nodded at one of the TV's running a program on an up and coming NBA player and Zander was relieved to easily pass the time discussing the new season's prospects.
Zander got a burger, as Miller advised. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until it was set down in front of him and had to keep from inhaling it within two minutes. Miller, somewhat to his surprise, ordered sushi, several little bundles of rice and fish and seaweed that he ate with chopsticks.
Miller noticed Zander eyeing his plate. "Want to try any? It's not bad."
Zander looked at the roll as if expecting it to start squirming around the table. "Uh. It's raw fish, right?"
"Yeah, this one's salmon."
Zander had a vivid memory of learning about the "double bucket" symptoms of salmonella in biology in high school and politely declined.
"To each their own." Miller grinned as if he knew exactly what Zander was thinking. They both enjoyed their food for another moment before he continued, "You know, I've been talking with Sydney lately."
Zander blinked at him, not following.
"Agent Herring. She works with Vienna's parents a lot, and they want to keep putting stuff out there about Vienna. Let people feel connected to her, make sure the search stays active."
Zander's heart clenched. He knew that the DeNova's had rented a condo in the Lakewood area to keep as close to the investigation as possible. They had indeed been very active, putting out statements and stories and pictures even as months went by. "That's a good idea."
"I told her I'd ask you about pitching in, seeing as you're a writer."
Zander scoffed a little. "Wha— I wouldn't say I'm a writer, I mean, I'm an English major, but that doesn't mean —"
But Miller was already shaking his head. "Zander, I've read your stuff. You're a writer."
No one had ever told Zander that before. Once we got past his instinct to protest, it made his chest swell a little. "Well….alright."
Miller nodded approvingly. "Anything that can pair with a picture or video would be good. Herring calls that stuff 'sticky,' makes people remember it better."
Possibilities were already whirring through Zander's mind. It was little things like this, moments where he could actually take action, that were helping him get by.
The sun was lowering in the sky by the time they each finished their food. Zander's leg jiggled under the table, making the whole thing shake a little. He had grown to hate this time of day. When he had to step out of the bubble of Miller's presence back into reality, long cold nights where every possible thing Vienna might be going through shoved its way to the center of his mind.
Miller picked up his soda from the slightly vibrating table and took a sip, regarding Zander.
"Wanna learn an old FBI magic trick?"
"Huh?" It broke him out of his reverie. "Uh, sure."
"This is old school stuff," Miller reached into his pockets to lay out a wallet, a small notepad, and a pen on the table. He also took off his watch and added it to the miniature collection. "But it matters more than people think. See what I've got here?"
"Yeah," Zander replied, looking over the items carefully.
"Wallet." Miller opened it up, flicked through some of the cards and bills inside.
"Pen." He picked it up and clicked it, setting it down as he picked up the next item.
"Notepad." He flipped through it, touching his watch with his other hand before setting it down.
"And watch." He picked it up as he rearranged the items in front of him, then set everything down and leaned back with his hands in his pockets.
"….okay?" Zander was still waiting for the trick.
"So what'd I take?"
"What?" Zander goggled at him, and Miller grinned.
"What'd I take? What's missing?"
Zander stared back at the objects. It all seemed to still be there. He carefully sifted through each thing until he noticed an empty slot."
"In here!" He held up the wallet. "You took out a card!"
"Not bad." Miller smiled approvingly and pulled a credit card out of his pocket.
"How did you —? I didn't even see you take it!"
"That's the magic of it." Miller slipped the credit card back into his wallet. "Want to learn how?"
"Yeah!"
And they spent a good twenty minutes practicing together, Miller teaching Zander how to perform sleight of hand and palm concealment and misdirection tricks. By the end, Zander was able to slip a quarter from his hand into Miller's wallet without him noticing.
"There it is!" Miller said, pulling the coin out with a proud glint in his eye. He was smiling wider than Zander had seen him do all afternoon. "You're a quick learner, kid."
"Yeah." Zander couldn't help but smile too. "I mean, you're a good teacher too, so."
It felt good to accomplish something, and by the time they were walking back to the FBI office in the dying light, Zander was breathing easier.
It was undeniably beautiful outside. Just chilly enough to feel refreshing, the setting sun casting golden rays through trees that were full of colorful, practically glowing leaves.
Did you know sugar maples are the best in fall? They're so bright!
Words came from Zander's mouth before he even realized he was speaking.
"This is her favorite time of year."
He braced for it — the pitying eyes, the awkward silence, the forced positivity, the "I'm so sorry." Any of a number of responses he'd grown to expect when mentioning Vienna, who to so many people now was no longer Vienna but Vienna DeNova, The Missing Girl.
But because Miller was Miller, he just smiled a bit and said, "Yeah?"
And something about the evenness of it, the nonchalance, made Zander like it was speakable and he continued on. Telling stories about fall memories, like the disastrous pumpkin carving incident of sophomore year, which made Miller throw his head back with a genuine laugh. Or how he and Vienna had spent hours in an apple orchard because he was so intent on finding the 'perfect' apple, only to burn the whole thing later. Or Halloween parties. Or football tailgating. Or Vienna being late to class because she kept stopping to take pictures of leaves.
"Wherever she is, I hope she can at least see the trees." His throat was tight.
Miller clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Me too."
For a moment Zander couldn't speak at all. He looked at the pink sky and blinked furiously. When he was able to talk again, he changed the subject to the book he was supposed to be reading for class, which Miller graciously allowed. By the time they reached the office, longing and sorrow and wistfulness sat on his chest in equal measure, but Zander felt somehow more able to bear it than usual.
"This was perfect timing, really," Miller said as they walked through the parking lot, waving a hand to some of the departing cars. "Pushed that paperwork squarely into tomorrow's problems."
"Glad I could be of service." Zander huffed a laugh. "But….seriously, man. Thanks. I did…..need that."
"Not a problem. You know I've got your back. This shit you're dealing with is….a lot," Miller told him.
Zander looked at the agent. His appraising yet patient brown eyes, the easy slope of his broad shoulders, the way he carried himself with a quiet confidence of someone who had lived a hell of a lot of life despite barely being forty. At first, Zander had figured that Miller allowing him to spend so much time at the office was out of pity, or a sense of obligation. That the agent looked at him and saw some poor sap falling apart, a guy who needed the supervision of a real adult before he did something stupid.
But….things were starting to feel different. Miller seemed pleased to see Zander when he showed up, would start conversations with him, ask him for his thoughts on things. Almost like a friendship. Well, not quite. Miller was much older, obviously an authority figure, it was more like….no. No, that was silly. And besides, Zander already had a father.
But Zander could tell Miller got something out of this too.
"Have you ever lost somebody?"
Miller looked a little surprised by the question. He reached into his pockets for his keys, breaking eye contact.
"Everybody's lost somebody."
He pulled out the keys and Zander could hear the mechanical sound of the car unlocking.
"You take care of yourself, alright? No more days without eating. Hit me up if you need me."
Zander nodded obligingly. He stood and watched as Miller pulled out of the parking lot, and couldn't help but wonder what beneath the steady surface the man projected. He walked slowly back to campus, practicing his coin trick as he went. Miller's non-answer had told him everything he needed to know.
"You're a lifesaver. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Me neither."
They'd both said it. As if it were a curse.
Wrote this kind of context-less to use at some point in a Vienna and Zander flashback (where they’re talking about something not LITERALLY lifesaving) and I’m chewing on it like a horse chewing on some quality hay
The days and weeks marched on. The haze of summer began to loosen into a brisk autumn, wind whipping its way through colorful leaves. The uneasiness that seemed to haunt the campus for the first several weeks of the semester began to relax into something manageable, almost routine. It was, of course, very sad what had happened to Vienna DeNova (whatever that may be). She was a great student, always lit up the room. But life had to go on.
It wasn't as if she were forgotten. People kept their lavender ribbons pinned to their backpacks and coats, but the scheduled prayers, even casual mentions of Vienna, seemed to be decreasing by the week. Her volleyball team held tryouts and took on several new players, filling her spot so they had a full team for the new school year. And the campus that had once felt so somber, so united, started to fall back into its usual rhythm — girls shrieking with laughter in the quad, guys painting their faces and chests for football games, students walking together and bemoaning the amount of reading their professors had assigned.
And then there was Zander.
He felt like the lone survivor of a horrendous plane crash, or the last human left on earth after an alien invasion. The way that everyone could go forward with their lives, snap back into place as if the universe had not been permanently altered. Watching the way others moved through the world felt surreal, almost uncanny, as if everyone was attuned to some invisible rhythm that he no longer had access to.
But it wasn't as if Zander didn't fall into the same trap of normalcy as the others, was it? He slept, enough. He ate, for the most part. He went to class. He talked with people. All the things Vienna couldn't.
He'd thought about returning to campus — without Vienna — a lot. Had weighed the pros and cons, the possibilities and potential scenarios. Zander had expected it to be hard, feel heavy. What he wasn't quite prepared for was for it feel haunted.
The first time he'd thought it, his stomach had lurched. Because haunted was a word for things that were dead. And Vienna was not. Was not. Was not.
But… what other word would fit better? What other word could capture the feeling of being back here, of practically seeing ghosts around every corner?
There, on the quad, where he'd often catch her sitting and working, soaking in all the sun she could in between classes. He still half expected to hear her call out his name, bright and clear.
The English building, where she'd slid into the back of his Composition & Rhetoric class right before he gave a presentation he'd been dreading for weeks, and the sight of her sitting in the back row steadied his voice even while he felt his heart would burst.
Her freshman dorm, the one where she'd shared a room with Abigail, where he and Vienna had so many tiny private moments that had felt sparkling and warm and holy all at the same time. He can see the window to her old room each time he walks to the library, now covered with someone else's curtains.
The dining hall, their dining hall, the one smack dab between the humanities building and the student union. Vienna had refused to go into it for a week last year after she laughed so hard at something Zander had said she'd snorted juice through her nose.
The pier, where they'd shared moments that felt both breathtakingly small and private and surreally huge and epic. Sitting on the wooden slats looking for constellations, having all day parties with friends, swimming across to the tiny "island" in the middle and having to get Jay to come pick them up in a canoe.
It was as if he was being suffocated by memories — no, not memories, not exactly. Rather, it was the devastating contrast between then and now. Then, when life floated open in front of them, expansive and open and full of possibilities, like they were right at the start of something. And….now. Now, in which the future felt both impossibly far away and far, far too close. Now, life was small and frightening and sinister. All with the same backdrop.
So, what was unexpected was finding a place where he could actually breathe. The craziest part to Zander was that Miller's office should have felt worse than anything. Everything in it was a reminder that this really existed, that it was happening, that she was still — still — gone. Her face smiling down from the walls, the murmur of her name in the hallways.
And yet….it was somewhere that Vienna had never been. Somewhere that, frankly, he couldn't imagine her in. Her presence was so solidly in the Then column of his life that the thought of her being in this place, despite its entire existence revolving around her, seemed ridiculous. No one there had any particular preconceptions of Zander in the FBI office, none of them had known him then when he appeared to be easily successful and put together and undemanding. None of them looked at him like he had two heads in the now when he did things like stalk around with a sour expression on his face or show up late to class or snap at others.
Being there felt like being connected to Vienna now, the version of her and of life in general that that he had to reconcile.
They had something. Zander had known it before it started showing up in the news cycle — the sudden flurry of activity, Miller collaborating with more and more faces, downing more and more coffee for what Zander assumed had to be long as fuck hours. So when it became public that law enforcement had several persons of interest they were looking into, Zander was excited but not shocked.
But just because Zander was there didn't mean he was privy to any special information. Agent Miller was, to Zander's great disappointment, committed to keeping those boundaries pretty firmly in place. Whenever something came up that anyone outside of law enforcement wasn't supposed to know, Miller could give Zander a look and a nod to the door and Zander would get up and leave — or, more and more often, Miller would take the phone call or meeting in another room so Zander could stay. It was…..nice. Zander had nearly knocked over his chair in his hurry to get out the first few times it had happened, but Miller didn't make him feel like a burden.
It was one of the things that made Zander's shoulders drop the moment he walked into Miller's office. The agent was just easy to be around. One minute they could be shooting the shit about this or that sports team, and the next, Zander could be choking on his words while talking about Vienna. And when that became too much, and Zander wandered back into lighthearted territory, Miller would follow him there. Didn't make it awkward. Didn't make it a thing. Just let him….be.
Even when Zander came into the office steaming mad, like he had the other day. He didn't even know why he was so mad. He'd been outside studying, trying to enjoy the fresh air before it got too cold, and a couple was sitting on one of the tables close to him. They were loud. Which was fine. Whatever. They were outside.
But when the girl had shrieked over a spider crawling on her chair, and her boyfriend had laughed and hopped up as if to save her, Zander felt like something inside him had snapped. He'd leapt up too, snatching his books off the table and stomping away like they'd done something to personally offend him.
And Miller had let him pace and rant and generally be a bit of a douchebag in his office until the anger cooled into gut-wrenching sadness. As was typical.
So when Zander walked in today, feeling like a walking corpse, he saw no reason to hide it. Miller was actually walking out as Zander was walking in, brushing by him quickly and saying, "Got a phone call, make yourself at home," and Zander obliged. He slumped down in his usual chair and stared at the wall.
It was a white cream color. Probably the same color as a million other offices in a million other cities. But Zander was beginning to feel as though he could pick it out of a lineup for all the time he spent here. His eyes darted, almost without his permission, to the photograph that Miller had pinned up on the wall next to his desk a few weeks ago. It was one Zander had given him, a picture of him and Vienna after his team qualified for states last year. Zander was in his blue jersey, mouth wide open in excitement, while Vienna embraced him from behind, beaming.
Zander looked away just as quickly, eyes burning. Goddammit. This whole fucking week had been worse than ever, in a way that he should have expected but somehow still bowled him over. He forced himself to look at a blank expanse of wall again, absentmindedly picking at his cuticles and somewhat enjoying the sting.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Miller finally came back into the room.
"Sorry about that. Apparently we have some missing paperwork somewhere and you know that's always gotta be crisis."
Zander watched a little listlessly as Miller walked straight to the file cabinet by his desk and fished out some form. He sat down, wrote something at the top portion, sighed, and finally looked over at Zander slouched across from him. A beat passed, and then Miller asked,
"You look like shit. When's the last time you ate something?"
"Gee, thanks," Zander grumbled. But when he looked up at the agent's expectant face, he could tell it wasn't a hypothetical question. "I don't know. Maybe….lunch. Day before yesterday."
Miller's eyebrows went up.
"So you haven't eaten anything in, what—" He glanced at the time on his computer— "30 hours?"
Zander shrugged. "Guess so."
"Hm. Surprised you even had it in you to walk here. Noticed you didn't swing by yesterday, either."
"What, are you taking attendance now?" Zander griped. He could feel the agent's steady stare at him, and stubbornly refused to speak for a moment more before relenting. "….it was our anniversary, of when we officially started dating. October 2nd."
"Ah." Miller's desk chair creaked a bit as he sat back. "How long?"
"Two years." Zander swallowed. "But felt like longer."
"Everything does, at that age." A nostalgic grin pulled at Miller's lips, but then his voice lowered into something more serious. "Hey."
Zander understood the cue and raised his eyes to meet Miller's again. They were calm, patient.
"Anniversaries are always rough. Of any important date. Anyone in your position would feel the same way."
The words were simple but hit anyway. A little something loosened in Zander's chest and he nodded.
"You know, there's a place about a half mile from here that makes a damn good burger. You could head on down there, probably wouldn't see too many kids from campus."
"Going out alone around our anniversary sounds like its own version of hell, but thanks anyway."
Zander was being annoying and he knew it. Miller eyed him for a minute and then tossed down his pen.
"Fine. Then we'll go together. Get out of here for a while."
Zander gave him a look.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
"Good, because I don’t babysit. I just don’t like filling out incident reports.”
Miller was already standing and grabbing his coat. Zander looked at him in exasperation for a moment and then followed, shoving down the slavish thankfulness rising inside him.
It was a relaxed place. Dim light and wood paneling, sports games playing on TVs scattered around the walls. Definitely the type of place you'd order a beer in, but Miller asked the server for two Cokes as they sat down. He nodded at one of the TV's running a program on an up and coming NBA player and Zander was relieved to easily pass the time discussing the new season's prospects.
Zander got a burger, as Miller advised. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until it was set down in front of him and had to keep from inhaling it within two minutes. Miller, somewhat to his surprise, ordered sushi, several little bundles of rice and fish and seaweed that he ate with chopsticks.
Miller noticed Zander eyeing his plate. "Want to try any? It's not bad."
Zander looked at the roll as if expecting it to start squirming around the table. "Uh. It's raw fish, right?"
"Yeah, this one's salmon."
Zander had a vivid memory of learning about the "double bucket" symptoms of salmonella in biology in high school and politely declined.
"To each their own." Miller grinned as if he knew exactly what Zander was thinking. They both enjoyed their food for another moment before he continued, "You know, I've been talking with Sydney lately."
Zander blinked at him, not following.
"Agent Herring. She works with Vienna's parents a lot, and they want to keep putting stuff out there about Vienna. Let people feel connected to her, make sure the search stays active."
Zander's heart clenched. He knew that the DeNova's had rented a condo in the Lakewood area to keep as close to the investigation as possible. They had indeed been very active, putting out statements and stories and pictures even as months went by. "That's a good idea."
"I told her I'd ask you about pitching in, seeing as you're a writer."
Zander scoffed a little. "Wha— I wouldn't say I'm a writer, I mean, I'm an English major, but that doesn't mean —"
But Miller was already shaking his head. "Zander, I've read your stuff. You're a writer."
No one had ever told Zander that before. Once we got past his instinct to protest, it made his chest swell a little. "Well….alright."
Miller nodded approvingly. "Anything that can pair with a picture or video would be good. Herring calls that stuff 'sticky,' makes people remember it better."
Possibilities were already whirring through Zander's mind. It was little things like this, moments where he could actually take action, that were helping him get by.
The sun was lowering in the sky by the time they each finished their food. Zander's leg jiggled under the table, making the whole thing shake a little. He had grown to hate this time of day. When he had to step out of the bubble of Miller's presence back into reality, long cold nights where every possible thing Vienna might be going through shoved its way to the center of his mind.
Miller picked up his soda from the slightly vibrating table and took a sip, regarding Zander.
"Wanna learn an old FBI magic trick?"
"Huh?" It broke him out of his reverie. "Uh, sure."
"This is old school stuff," Miller reached into his pockets to lay out a wallet, a small notepad, and a pen on the table. He also took off his watch and added it to the miniature collection. "But it matters more than people think. See what I've got here?"
"Yeah," Zander replied, looking over the items carefully.
"Wallet." Miller opened it up, flicked through some of the cards and bills inside.
"Pen." He picked it up and clicked it, setting it down as he picked up the next item.
"Notepad." He flipped through it, touching his watch with his other hand before setting it down.
"And watch." He picked it up as he rearranged the items in front of him, then set everything down and leaned back with his hands in his pockets.
"….okay?" Zander was still waiting for the trick.
"So what'd I take?"
"What?" Zander goggled at him, and Miller grinned.
"What'd I take? What's missing?"
Zander stared back at the objects. It all seemed to still be there. He carefully sifted through each thing until he noticed an empty slot."
"In here!" He held up the wallet. "You took out a card!"
"Not bad." Miller smiled approvingly and pulled a credit card out of his pocket.
"How did you —? I didn't even see you take it!"
"That's the magic of it." Miller slipped the credit card back into his wallet. "Want to learn how?"
"Yeah!"
And they spent a good twenty minutes practicing together, Miller teaching Zander how to perform sleight of hand and palm concealment and misdirection tricks. By the end, Zander was able to slip a quarter from his hand into Miller's wallet without him noticing.
"There it is!" Miller said, pulling the coin out with a proud glint in his eye. He was smiling wider than Zander had seen him do all afternoon. "You're a quick learner, kid."
"Yeah." Zander couldn't help but smile too. "I mean, you're a good teacher too, so."
It felt good to accomplish something, and by the time they were walking back to the FBI office in the dying light, Zander was breathing easier.
It was undeniably beautiful outside. Just chilly enough to feel refreshing, the setting sun casting golden rays through trees that were full of colorful, practically glowing leaves.
Did you know sugar maples are the best in fall? They're so bright!
Words came from Zander's mouth before he even realized he was speaking.
"This is her favorite time of year."
He braced for it — the pitying eyes, the awkward silence, the forced positivity, the "I'm so sorry." Any of a number of responses he'd grown to expect when mentioning Vienna, who to so many people now was no longer Vienna but Vienna DeNova, The Missing Girl.
But because Miller was Miller, he just smiled a bit and said, "Yeah?"
And something about the evenness of it, the nonchalance, made Zander like it was speakable and he continued on. Telling stories about fall memories, like the disastrous pumpkin carving incident of sophomore year, which made Miller throw his head back with a genuine laugh. Or how he and Vienna had spent hours in an apple orchard because he was so intent on finding the 'perfect' apple, only to burn the whole thing later. Or Halloween parties. Or football tailgating. Or Vienna being late to class because she kept stopping to take pictures of leaves.
"Wherever she is, I hope she can at least see the trees." His throat was tight.
Miller clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Me too."
For a moment Zander couldn't speak at all. He looked at the pink sky and blinked furiously. When he was able to talk again, he changed the subject to the book he was supposed to be reading for class, which Miller graciously allowed. By the time they reached the office, longing and sorrow and wistfulness sat on his chest in equal measure, but Zander felt somehow more able to bear it than usual.
"This was perfect timing, really," Miller said as they walked through the parking lot, waving a hand to some of the departing cars. "Pushed that paperwork squarely into tomorrow's problems."
"Glad I could be of service." Zander huffed a laugh. "But….seriously, man. Thanks. I did…..need that."
"Not a problem. You know I've got your back. This shit you're dealing with is….a lot," Miller told him.
Zander looked at the agent. His appraising yet patient brown eyes, the easy slope of his broad shoulders, the way he carried himself with a quiet confidence of someone who had lived a hell of a lot of life despite barely being forty. At first, Zander had figured that Miller allowing him to spend so much time at the office was out of pity, or a sense of obligation. That the agent looked at him and saw some poor sap falling apart, a guy who needed the supervision of a real adult before he did something stupid.
But….things were starting to feel different. Miller seemed pleased to see Zander when he showed up, would start conversations with him, ask him for his thoughts on things. Almost like a friendship. Well, not quite. Miller was much older, obviously an authority figure, it was more like….no. No, that was silly. And besides, Zander already had a father.
But Zander could tell Miller got something out of this too.
"Have you ever lost somebody?"
Miller looked a little surprised by the question. He reached into his pockets for his keys, breaking eye contact.
"Everybody's lost somebody."
He pulled out the keys and Zander could hear the mechanical sound of the car unlocking.
"You take care of yourself, alright? No more days without eating. Hit me up if you need me."
Zander nodded obligingly. He stood and watched as Miller pulled out of the parking lot, and couldn't help but wonder what beneath the steady surface the man projected. He walked slowly back to campus, practicing his coin trick as he went. Miller's non-answer had told him everything he needed to know.
The word slipped out of Caretaker's mouth, and Whumpee couldn't meet their gaze. This was why they hadn't wanted to tell them, why they always had kept the scars covered. Disgust or pity - Whumpee wasn't sure what would be worst.
character b is curled up on their side, shaking in pain. Suddenly, they feel a pressure on their hand, and character a comes into view. “Hey, hey, kiddo,” they breathe, their voice shaking. They squeeze their hand.
character b’s heart drops- character a doesn’t hold hands. If they’re holding hands, someone is dying.
The found family talk has me imaging how, years down the line in the story, Miller will still probably be getting invites to Vienna and Zander's family holiday get-togethers. Idk if this is in character for him, but I like the idea of him purposefully showing up in awful holiday sweaters so he can have a place at them as the Awful Holiday Sweater Guy, instead of inherently having to remind everyone of The Bad Times.
tbh im not entirely immune to a villain with a tragic backstory but i do think villain origins are a lot more interesting when the focus is less "here is the original sin, the first big bad thing that happened to them that made them who they are" and more "here is the first time a person who maybe otherwise felt powerless in their life realized that they could hurt someone and get away with it"
you can get a lot more mileage out of analyzing a truly abhorrent character through the lens of like. what sort of conditions would allow or even incentivize this kind of cruelty? what kind of person benefits from those conditions and how? over the more typical who hurt them type analysis. imo.
Random question: what kind of clothes does Alec get for Vienna to wear on a day to day basis?
Also, does he ever get her makeup/hair care stuff/nicer clothes and make her do herself up specially for him?
She doesn't have a ton of clothes there tbh, his MO especially early on was very "do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself" so he was trying not to linger too much buying clothes fit for a college girl.
she has some big t-shirts that used to be his, soft shorts and sweatpants, that kind of stuff. butttt Alec is Alec and he def couldn't resist getting her some little sundresses and lingerie for him to eventually destroy ^_^
cw: whumper-turned-whumpee, god whumper, living weapon whumpee, manhandling, restraints, beatdown
---
After the tears dried, they lay flat on their back and watched the sky change. Clem was tired of counting, so they didn’t. It could have been seconds or weeks, that still and silent reverie. Once they realised what was happening, their earlier panic seemed stupid. The stars go away when the sun rises. Obviously.
Except the sun didn’t rise. A Goddess did.
Not that any of this was communicated to them, of course. It was all instinct. They’d known about K’s deity, and realised as dawn broke that they were about to meet them. Whether they had been allowed to collect themselves on purpose or by sheer coincidence, Clem did not know, but they were grateful either way.
They dragged themselves to a kneel, hoping that they would not be ambushed. Presumably, the god would be on K’s side. Nothing to do about that now. They wouldn’t fight if it was deemed pertinent to destroy them — but they would ask for their fair reward. Safety for their friends. And then Clem could meet their mother. Either way, they’d be going home.
Each deity had its own sort of signature. Followers were attuned to it more than most, but Clem was in one’s domain. Some felt like rushing water, others like an enveloping sense of awe. They shifted on their knees uncomfortably, swallowing stress as they felt heat build on their skin. This felt like the unfiltered blaze of the rising sun.
Mercifully, it stayed just rising. It seemed that the sun - or the Goddess, stopped at dawn. Clem’s eyes were trained to the ground, deferent, respectful. They had something to ask, and wanted to have the best chances of being granted it.
The voice spoke with no warning, no crack of thunder or sky splitting apart to mark the occasion. Still, each of their atoms snapped to attention.
Clemency.
A full-body shiver rushed through them. They did not look to the source of the voice or to the sound of a body thudding to the floor. Unmistakeably and shockingly, they heard chains too. They were very aware of the side of them that faced her, but they did not look. It had been nice to be rid of K’s presence for a while.
Look up.
It was common knowledge that deities were beautiful. Still. There was nothing like seeing one.
She was magnificent. He aura covered the entire span of the horizon, like an unencumbered strip of dawn. Her dress was a swirling mass of light and solar flare, and her face was unwatchable, a sun in its own right. Everything was bright, and after what felt like an eternity of night, it would have been blinding anyway. Clem looked down almost instantly, flushing. They felt winded from just two seconds witness to a goddess’s visage.
“Don’t be shy,” she teased. Her voice held the kind of light and airy tone usually expected from young teenagers. “I’m not very important.”
Clem had no idea what to say. That wasn’t what they thought she’d say at all. They started to stammer out an introduction, despite the fact that she clearly knew who they were already. “Your eminence, I -”
K made a sound so bizarre that Clem could not finish what they were saying. They thought they knew her as well as they knew themselves, but it seemed she still had surprises. They looked over in shock. “Did you just laugh?”
“Your eminence,” she mocked, unfazed by the heavy cuffs weighing her wrists down. She was not kneeling, which had to be on purpose. “She exists because of me,” K snarled, clearly seething.
Clem met her fury with a cool gaze, refusing to give her any more fuel. They were not afraid of her, not anymore. But they shuddered at the sudden burst of tangible anger that rippled through the air. It was hot, so fucking hot. And Clem was in their dragon form, scales and toughened skin and all. Their wings wrapped around themselves instinctively, protective. God, they had missed those. K had been the reason they locked them away in the first place, they remembered with a start. It felt like a lifetime ago. Well, more like fifty.
Clem’s panic had been short-lived, aware that the anger was not directed at them. But now they had to reckon with the fact that K bore it all. To hear a laugh from her was one thing, but a genuine scream of pain was something completely different. Instinct told them to help, but they stayed kneeling.
Serves you right, Clem thought, instantly feeling nauseous. That was not a thought they would ever have entertained before. Who were they to pass judgement?
“Stand,” the goddess ordered when the scream gave way to laboured breathing. Clem knew she was talking to them but could not explain how. The teasing tone was gone. Where K’s voice had echoed, the goddess’s simply dripped with raw unfiltered power. K had a taste, this was the source. Her voice did not need to echo. It filled the space and then some.
Clem stood, preternaturally aware of K still on the ground a little ways away from them. Her breathing still bordered on agonal, but despite their nausea Clem felt no pity. You could not hurt people with impunity and expect no justice to be served. By a God.
The deity in question seemed to be diminishing herself, presumably for their benefit. Her dress stayed wild and unwieldy, its train spread across the ground for what looked like miles. It was solid and liquid and gas all at once. Her physical form shrunk to a height a little taller than them, and her face became less like the sun itself, though the completely white, star-like eyes were still impossible to look at directly.
“Are you afraid? You need not be. You beat my champion.” Her voice demanded authority. She did not sound angry, but Clem did not feel reassured. They felt immensely young, suddenly. It was unsettling to remember that they were so much younger than both other people in the space.
They lowered their head in a nod. “She fought well,” they said quietly, thinking instantly of all the times she had played unfair. If all of them had been fair, who would have won?
The goddess laughed, a single short bark. “She fought dirty. That’s why I like her. And you beat her still. Impressive.”
Clem had nothing to say. “Thank you,” they managed.
“Would you like a prize?”
Clem’s eyes widened. It seemed, bizarrely, like a completely genuine question. But they were no gladiator. They fought for one reason and one reason alone. Their voice came out as a whisper. “I seek no reward, your eminence. That was never my intention.” They didn’t want to reject a kindness, but could not fathom accepting any sort of reward.
“Oh.” There was silence for a while, then something almost bored and faux-grandiose entered her tone. “You are aware that this is my domain?”
They were still looking down, but they imagined that the statement was accompanied with a gesture at the world. They couldn’t ascertain if she was proud of it.
Clem nodded anyway. “I realise that it could not belong to -” They gestured with a hand to K on the ground, then quickly resumed clasping them behind their back. Their fingers gripped their wrist and they could feel their own heart racing.
“Hm. Clever,” she praised. “You are clever.” They felt the sensation of their hair being ruffled. It felt gentle, yet also as if their skin was being burned off. Unprecedented.
“Thank you,” they mouthed, blushing furiously.
“I should think you would be a far better follower than my current delinquent.” The last word was laced with something worse than venom. Clem was surprised that K had not already completely withered away.
“I would try my best,” Clem replied. They wanted to go home. They were getting impatient. They pinched their hand behind their back. Focus.
She sighed. “Not ‘you will’? You don’t want to stay with me?”
Clem reeled. Her tone had shifted from the judge presiding over the court to a friend asking them to play at recess. They did not feel smart enough for this. Ruth would know exactly what to say. They had never been taught how to advocate for themselves - quite possibly anyone would be better.
“I always intended to return home, your eminence.” They knew this was not right and felt a bone-deep terror at the prospect of outright denying a deity, but they couldn’t stay.
“So you hate me.”
Clem’s eyes widened. The goddess didn’t give them time to correct the assumption.
“You’ve seen how she talks to me! And that was only for a moment, imagine that for thousands of fucking years, that whining voice in my head constantly complaining about literally fucking anything. ‘Oh, Rory, it’s so cold out here.’ ‘Rory, I hate the short nights.’ ‘Rory, are you even listening to me?’ No! No, I’m not listening, because I don’t have to, if she had done her fucking job then I would have plenty of other voices to listen to, but she’s -”
She - Rory - suddenly moved over to K’s side and kicked, hard. “- so fucking useless, and I’m just stuck with her!” She let out a scream, then kicked again. And again, and again, moving from the stomach to the head. K took it stoically at first but she was worn down already, and struggled in vain to shift away from the kicks. Clem had no idea what to do, witness to a relationship clearly a lot bigger and older than themselves.
Then, as suddenly as the outburst had begun, Rory was in front of them again, and older. They hadn’t realised she had ever aged her form down. She seemed incredibly fluid, ever-changing based on nothing but whim. She let out a short, sharp breath. She was no longer wearing a dress, but a remarkably casual outfit instead. She was still clearly deific. Her skin glowed. Everything glowed. Her eyes stayed burning white.
“Sometimes I lose my temper with her.”
Clem said nothing, had nothing to say. She did not have to explain herself to them.
Rory took a step back, ageing down to teenager again. This was exhausting. Was she trying to make herself more personable? Did that ever work? Was she aware that her eyes glowed and her hair was on fire?
“So you won’t stay?”
Clem felt horrible rejecting her outright. “I - I would remember you. At home, if you wanted me to. Can I not do both?”
She made a noise of vague disapproval and moved on without replying. “You had a condition. For your war.” The last word was spoken with derision, and Clem thought with dismay of how juvenile it must have seemed to her.
Clem swallowed. They took a deep breath. “Yes. She was hurting one of my friends. The condition - if I won - was that she would stop. And not hurt any of the rest of them.”
“Mm.”
There was a long silence. Then she was younger than she’d ever been before, somewhere close to six or eight. She sat on a chair of her own making, pulling her legs up and examining her nails. She had no clothes that Clem could see, just a vaguely gaseous mist surrounding the image of a young girl. Her hair trailed out long behind her, looking in places like lava flows and molten glass. No wonder the world had to be made of marble.
Or - was it? For the first time, Clem considered the idea that the world was more of a prison than a palace.
A big sigh attracted their attention again. “Well,” she began, undeniably petulant. “You don’t have to deal with her, and I’m telling you that she behaves better when I let her play with something.”
Clem blinked. Blinked again, simply processing. Trying to process, though it felt impossible. They couldn't fathom it, the casual referring of weeks of torture as ‘play.’ People are not toys, Clem thought vehemently. They thought of Calyx, of Arthur, of everyone else who they could not protect if they asked simply for their family to be left alone.
“Okay,” they ground out, instead of the slew of swear words that they thought. This is a God, they reminded themselves. Like it or not, you can't fight this one. “Can - can she stop? Can you stop her doing that?”
It was bizarre to talk about K as if she was not there, but they preferred this version of the conversation. It was impossible to imagine having a civil or productive one with her involved.
“If I may offer a suggestion, your eminence.” Head bowed, hands clasped behind their back. The picture of subservience. They could stay like this for hours.
“You may,” came the slightly bemused answer. As if through revelation, Clem realised that their deference itself may be the cause of her amusement. From the way K had been acting, it was clear that she was never obedient of her own accord.
“I think - K - needs another hobby.” Clem stumbled over the name, only because they knew that they were the only one out of the three who did not know the true name. It was their only disadvantage. There was a kind of cosmic unfairness in it, like they were on a stair below the both of them, playing with things that they did not understand. But they did understand. "It's not fair to just use people like that."
Rory looked at them straight-on. “I think it's fair. She does good work. Sometimes. But when she’s good, she’s so good. Don’t tell her I said that.”
Clem couldn't help their blank stare. You said she was a delinquent. You said that she was useless. If you weren’t a God, you’d have kicked her to death minutes ago.
“My prize," they remembered, saying it with effort. “My prize would be to force her to stop playing God with people.”
Everything was still.
“Ah,” she hummed, turning to stalk over to the mute K still on the ground. She looked older now, anywhere from a young adult to a woman in her prime. “Is that what you're doing?” Her tone was cutting. When she lowered herself to lift K’s chin, Clem saw sharp nails dig into her skin. They darkened quickly, blood starting to travel down her hand as K struggled in the grasp. Those nails had to be knife-sharp, slicing cleanly through the skin.
“I don’t kno- know why you’re listening to them.”
Rory gave her a sharp backhand, and Clem could swear that they heard skin sizzle.
“Sometimes I want to destroy you, you know.” It was only a whisper, but in the silence Clem still heard it.
K hissed but collapsed once she was no longer being held up. She was more exhausted than they’d ever seen her.
Rory walked to Clem with a hand still dripping with blood. She lifted their chin with a nail, and they held their breath, eyes widening in fear. They’d been held at knifepoint before and this felt no different. Rory appraised them in silence, Clem getting more and more nervous with each passing second.
She sounded unbothered when she spoke again. Bored. “I don’t actually think you should be rewarded for beating her. It’ll just encourage people.”
“Okay,” they said quietly, self-preservation taking over.
“But you are… very polite. And I think it’s funny that you won. So, I can accept this request of yours.”
“Okay,” they repeated, a little lightheaded. “Thank you, your eminence.”
She moved her hand away, and for the first time dimmed her eyes so it did not hurt to look at her. They realised that they were shaking, thoughts stuttering over themselves. The magnitude of their situation and the encounter was starting to take its toll, and it took a long few seconds for them to come back to themselves. By then, Rory had pulled K up to standing, and was supporting her in a gesture so misaligned with their previous interactions that Clem could not at first understand what they were seeing.
They shook off the confusion. Not their problem. They would likely never understand the full extent of it. Clem stood up, holding their elbow and making a half-step towards the pair who had already turned away.
“Um.”
Rory turned her head, head cocked to the side. “Yes?”
“I - forgive me. Is it possible for me to go home?”
“Home? Where is home?” She sounded genuinely confused.
Clem's mouth opened and shut, and they could not stop thinking of Elene. Her face. Her soft golden hair, the way they found strands of it on the pillow, the way she worried at her lip when she was nervous, her voice, her kind eyes -
A giggle. Clem was so distracted, so caught off guard that they did not have the time to thank her. They fell through space itself, wings trying automatically to cocoon themselves against the force of it. Terror came and went, replaced by a light feeling in their chest. ‘Home’ had redefined itself without their knowledge, and Clem was excited to see it.
Whumpee has Whumper blocked on everything but Whumper makes a new account to get around it, sending Whumpee a degrading message that ends with them telling Whumpee to hit them up if they ever "need a good fuck again." Whumpee shows the message to Caretaker and Caretaker says, "God, what a fucking loser." It's not much but that comment does get a little chuckle out of Whumpee.
the laugh surprises whumpee. they can feel how weak it is as it rattles in their chest, but it's real. it's unexpected, and it's such a relief to realize that it's happened that whumpee can't help it - they tip sideways, their head knocking into caretaker's shoulder.
somehow, it feels okay. they feel okay. they got that horrible message, and their instinct had them turning to show caretaker before it could hardly process. they'd felt that awful pit open up in their belly, ready to swallow everything inside them, but caretaker had stopped all of that in its tracks. it was like they had made whumpee see just how pathetic whumper really was - still trying to control them like this. like whumpee's life was theirs to ruin.
"yeah," whumpee hums against their friend's shoulder. caretaker's arm curls around their back, easy and gentle and warm. "yeah, what a loser." they look down at their phone, sitting propped on their thigh (the thigh pressed against caretaker's), and they delete the message. they feel wobbly and bruised inside but steady. safe. "fuck them."
