#the north + west actually like them
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the-overgrown-states · 1 year ago
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okay. so. when we put them behind the fandom/fanfic lens.
all of them.
theyre STATES. they are not constricted behind human labels and pronouns!
if we use the actual provided content where Texas and the south are actually shitty people, this is the list
Nevada
Florida
Louisiana
California
Oregon
Montana
Idaho
Maine
New York
New Jersey
Massachusetts
Maryland
Alaska
Hawai’i
North Dakota
South Dakota
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sentientcave · 5 months ago
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Mood board for my latest project. Little bit of it below the cut.
You eat the lunch you packed and pull off your sweater, the noon sun warming you up enough to not need it, at least for the moment. You putt along to a new spot and try fishing again, this time catching three good sized fish. Surprising, considering the time of day, but sometimes you get lucky. You're thinking about heading back home when you spot a flash of white under the water.
You grab your camera, determined to be ready. And then a grey shape launches out of the water and into your boat, nearly capsizing it. The white orca sluices through the water next to your boat a moment later, regarding you disdainfully with one bloodshot eye. He flicks his tail as he dives again, soaking you and your passenger.
Your seal friend makes himself comfortable at the prow of the boat, entirely too pleased with himself.
"You're on thin ice, mister!" You tell him, turning back the way you'd come. Thanks to him you missed your photo and nearly went for a swim in deep water. You're pretty sure he couldn't help you out of that situation even if he wanted to, especially with a hunter swimming just below. You certainly don't want four inch teeth biting you in half.
Of course, you don't want to see your friend get eaten in front of you either. You know its the way of the ocean, but he's your little buddy.
The white orca cuts across your path again. You stop your engine, heart hammering, and grab your camera. He disappears into the depths for a moment, and then jumps a little ways away. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was showing off. You get several quick snaps that you know will be gorgeous— Water droplets catching the sun, his ghostly white body stark against the backdrop of the dark ocean. You grin at the seal, and yelp when something thumps the bottom of your boat, rocking it harshly.
Then the white orca (he needs a name, so you land on Ghost) surfaces next to you, terrifyingly close, and spits water at the seal.
“Holy shit,” you breathe, adjusting your lens for the close contact, camera shutter clicking away as you shoot pictures. Ghost eyes you, and then spits water a second time. The seal looks deeply offended, but not concerned, even with his hunter bobbing in the water a few feet away. “Aren’t you a pretty boy.”
He is pretty. A juvenile, maybe, now that you see him up close— He’s a bit small for an orca, but he’s all alone out here, no pod to speak of, and a juvenile wouldn’t survive on it’s own. As if he can hear your compliment, he creaks at you.
The seal barks back. He seems offended by Ghost’s presence. Understandable, since Ghost was trying to eat him earlier. You get a few funny snaps of the two of them regarding each other over the rim of the boat, having a conversation that you have no way of understanding. You feel a bit insane. A bit like you’re going to wake up laying in the bottom of your boat any minute, and this will all be a funny dream.
#cave writing#I don't have a title yet so I can't make an actual title card#this hardly qualifies as a mood board but I'm a sick fuck and the orca throwing the seal gets me laughing every time#true GhostSoap dynamic#I'm listening to so much Stan Rogers rn#I was listening to the Corries but I didn't like their version of Barrett's Privateers so I got sidetracked#Free in the Harbour hits#I've also been doing a lot of research on orcas and let me tell you. People have not been good to them#But in Western North Atlantic populations there's been more and more sightings since the 90s in the Maritimes#And lots of calves!! There's less pollution from farming run off in the northern areas so the population isn't experiencing the same-#fertility problems that some other groups of orcas do#and they seem to be more diverse in their breeding practices too which is good#there's a pod in the Southern hemisphere that's like Hapsburg levels of inbreeding#Although there are still some breeding problems all over just from being apex predators#lots of pollutants collect high up in the chain#That's why the resident pods on the West Coast of north america seem to do a bit better - They're primarily fish eaters#versus transient whales that tend to eat more mammals and other whales#People need to get their shit together about the ocean#Sorry what was I saying#I'm working on a novel version of this because there's a bigger story to tell but I still want to finish this fic version and post it#Sitting around 9k now but I'll probably finish it before posting just to avoid another WIP people want me to update chapters on lmao#anyway I should go do some chores or something
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moe-broey · 11 months ago
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What if.. for the first time in actual years.... I changed my loadbearing Alfonse phone background to North South FUCK West.........
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It will have to get a good grade in being easy on the eyes though, to stay. BIGGEST reason loadbearing Alfonse phone bg was a mainstay was bc the nighttime pallette on that one FEH comic panel was unexpectedly autism-friendly as a nice bonus LMFAO
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franeridan · 2 years ago
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i love the way luffy is so consistent and insistent in making fun of zoro for having no sense of direction that it slowly brainwashed everyone into forgetting he's just as bad himself
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sakuracyanide · 1 year ago
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gestures at pgsm zoisite.
in this essay i will explain how pgsm zoisite switches the colors & coding of the direction he's associated with from north to east and why that is fascinating -
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femslashspuffy · 1 year ago
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Colorado is so greedy my hometown now has a Raising Canes, In-N-Out, AND a Buckees. Plus if you drive a little more than an hour you can go to a Pizza Ranch. There's a reason no one can agree on what part of the country Colorado is because it wants to be every part.
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screambirdscreaming · 1 year ago
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Beach sand dynamics are stupidly complicated. In some places, yes, native vegetation holds the sand together and stabilizes the dunes. In other places, invasive vegetation introduced to stabilize the dunes fucks up the cycles of where sand is eroded from and deposited, leading to dunes forming in places people don't want them even as beaches erode nearby. (Also, massive changes to the structure of coastal wetlands.)
Whether waves deposit sand on a beach, or erode it away, has to do with the beach slope, the sand particle size, the angle at which waves approach, the wavelength and amplitude of the waves..... A guest lecturer for my coastal engineering class told us that, when running computer models of erosion and deposition responses to proposed beach projects like this, you're lucky if you end up in the right order of magnitude.
Beaches are very dynamic. It's not uncommon for hundreds of tons of sand to shift on and off a beach over the course of a year, usually scoured off by winter storms and deposited back over the summer. Anything that tries to modify that process - such as to prevent the sand from scouring away past a certain point - runs the risk of massively changing the dynamics in unpredictable ways.
And then, with "beach nourishment" projects like this, there's the question of where the sand comes from - where it was mined, and what the environmental impacts of sand mining there are - as well as the question of where the sand ends up if it all erodes away like this. (Did you know there's a sand mafia? That's more to do with the mining of sand for concrete, though.)
Anyway the bottom line is: don't put your fucking house there.
You think you're "next to" the beach, but you're very much *on* the beach as far as the scope of its natural processes go. And either you're fucking those dynamics up, or they're going to fuck you up. Or both!
absolutely losing my mind that a bunch of nimby assholes spent $500k to build a sandcastle that was promptly wiped away
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trans-soapberry · 1 year ago
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ohghhghghh I love doing stupid inefficient sorting for things. I'm going to try to sort countries flags (using emojis) by continent/color/construction in Google docs
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bijoumikhawal · 8 months ago
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Hurricane Helene Relief Funds
Brother Wolf Animal Rescue operates out of Asheville, which has been hit aggressively by storm and flood damage
The Asheville Survival Program is reaching out. They appear to actually be the ones who use the Cashapp $Streets1de, and they just got put with Appalachian Med for convenience.
Beloved Asheville is reaching out. www.PayPal.me/belovedasheville and venmo.com/beloved-asheville
Homeward Bound helps the homeless in the Asheville/Buncombe area
Theres a fund for smaller rural communities around Asheville. It's close to its goal, but I really wish they'd set it higher considering what people are gonna need. Someone make sure they surpass it!
Charlotte NC is reaching out. Charlotte Mutual Aid: Helene Disaster Relief. CashApp: MutualAid704. Venmo: MutualAid704. Open Collective: Helene.cltfnb.com
Olive Branch Ministry is reaching out from West NC
Josh Griffith is fundraising for his efforts to deliver food in WNC
Breathitt County in Kentucky is fundraising to help NC through the Rousseau Volunteer Fire Department, as well as asking for physical supply donations. Their paypal is jrousseauvfd, put "for NC flood". Jaxon Flower shop in Jackson KY will also take physical donations. They aren't looking for clothes, moreso cleaning supplies and other items.
North Durham Mutual Aid is reaching out.
Eastern Kentucky Mutual Aid is also reaching out for funds. There looks like there might be two orgs with similar names, but if so both are helping. There's PayPal.me/ekymutualaid, Venmo - @ekymutualaid, or Cashapp - $ekymutualaid. There's also a Facebook group where individuals are posting requests for aid.
There's a fund for relief in Erwin, Tennessee
Helbender Harm Reduction is collecting physical supplies in Knoxville alongside First Aid Collective Knoxille, whose Cashapp/Venmo is: $firstaidcollectknox. If you're nearby they're looking for clothes, blankets, shelf stable food, rain gear, flashlights, and batteries, which is what most other groups asking for supplies are looking at too.
The TriCities Mutual Aid group is mostly asking for volunteers and supplies in the Tennessee/Virginia area. However, they may shift to donations, and you can reach out to them to see if they would be welcome either way.
Food Not Bombs Tallahassee has a cashapp: $fnbtally2022. They and Mutual Aid Athens are also boosting any community calls for funds, labor, or supplies in various states on their Instagram pages
Taylor County FL is reaching out. Paypal: [email protected] and Venmo @Mskatonic138
The Footprint project's Florida team is asking for people to support their response by texting HELENE to 44-321
Since I don't know if the post I made late last night will get traction I'll reiterate that Mutual Aid Disaster Relief is a trusted org. You can send funds at the linked site, or via Paypal: [email protected] Or Venmo: @MutualAidDisasterRelief
Appalachian Med is another trusted org I shared last night. They have Venmo: @AppMedSolid. Put Flood Support in the description
Animal Disaster Relief Coalition is helping people make sure their animals are fed.
A list of Mutual Aid groups can be found here
A friend of mine, Vyn, is asking for help since he'll be out of power for around a week in Southeast GA
Other physical supplies people will be looking for in flood impacted areas include:
bottled water, potentially water filters
personal hygiene items: wipes, camping showers, tampons/pads/other menstrual products, handsanitizer, mosquito spray, laundry detergent, washboards, toilet paper, diapers, and especially any products safe for sensitive skin
medications- ibuprofen, monistat and other meds for yeast infections, cold and cough meds, any diabetic meds that can be safely shared, etc
individually wrapped low or no prep food items, baby formula, and Gatorade
duffel bags, backpacks, heavy duty storage totes and trash bags, 5 gallon buckets, coolers
Fans, dehumidifiers, moisture sensors, generators, gas and gas cans, solar charging items and battery banks, first aid kits
chainsaws, crowbars, hammers, air filters, respirators, 2×4 planks, bleach, roofing nails, heavy duty gloves, and potentially waders.
and board games or other non electric activities for children
Double check if you can before you donate these items to make sure whatever local drive you're headed to wants them and can distribute the more specialized ones where they're needed
And please! Add any funds you know of, especially for South Carolina and North Georgia since I wasn't seeing many funds for those areas! I know South Carolina is in desperate need and there's definitely parts of North Georgia in need too. Atlanta saw some bad flooding so keep an eye for them too!
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spotsupstuff · 1 month ago
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I'm still working on getting the gardening ending for myself, but I've been collecting some ponderings I'd like to write down. So:
A congregate of thoughts on Watcher lore (as of now):
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• I really like that this DLC is right now three kids in a spiritual trenchcoat. None of them is normal. I bet they'd all be friends if they met.
• I really like the color coding of these 3, as for what I've assumed regarding to colors' symbolism in this world: - Black stands for Nirvāṇa, the Void, being outside of the reincarnation cycle - Gold/yellow stands for holiness, ascension - Blue/purple stands for damnation/stagnation - White stands for Saṃsāra, the cycle of reincarnation, the physical world (the Watcher lingers in the physical world, unwilling to leave it)
On the account of blue and yellow being on opposing sides on the color wheel, I'd also gander a guess that the Rot and the Void don't entirely agree with each other/may be on opposing sides.
• Therefore, I don't think the gardening ending was exactly what the Rot Prince wanted to achieve, supported by his last two dialogues with the Watcher:
[Greeting lines]. As with all great deeds, my work is not without great challenge. It has taken eons and the light fades. The paths close and change. I can almost feel... a will... at odds with my own.
[Greeting lines]. Forgive me if I go on! You have done so much for me, I will not burden you with my troubles. Please, rest here as long as you wish. You are always safe here, my dear friend. You, who were there for me.
My guess is that the content that hasn't dropped yet will introduce either a new character/s in a sort of godly roles, or will explain the powers playing behind the wheel flowers and the Cycle.
• A light at the end of the tunnel (or something white/bright with a way to it?) is mentioned by both Spinning Top (at her ending) and the Prince (both as a flowerbud and in that first paragraph I copied up there).
I don't know what to do with this yet, I just found it interesting. Something something the white light within the Void Sea in the original game?
• ,,Outer Rim...?"
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The Buddhist cosmology says the world is made out of 9 mountains (Mount Sumeru [the axis mundi], 7 golden mountain ranges and 1 outermost iron mountain range [maybe the withered buildings here are made of rusted iron, buried in stardust]) and 8 seas (7 freshwater and 1 saltwater), with 4 continents within the salt sea who's inhabitants each have a little something extra (except the South I guess, that's where *we* are. well apparently all Buddhas appear here actually, so you know. that's a something).
For an interesting example, the north continent called Uttarakuru is said to house the wealthy, owning no private property, where their food grows by itself and they live in the skies (Iterator cities, nudge nudge).
The name of this region could point to the Buddhist cosmological map being a physical fact for this world. I'd like to think that the dimension hopping aspect to the Watcher's worming through the space-time is at least limited to 4 continents(/realities?).
Also a fan fact: in Chinese mythology it is said the waters flow and stars fall slowly, because a water god with a bad tamper, Gònggōng, broke one of the pillars supporting the sky. Combining this fun nugget with the established lore in a pearl that everything is once eaten away by the Void down below, I'd say it is safe to assume on 89% that the dust mentioned in that pearl comes from the heaven itself and creates a sort of a cycle of the physical matter.
Suppose stardust is what creates everything, powers everything (just as is said in science). Suppose the Starcatchers are superstructures made for conversion of it into desired forms, these ones perhaps in the West of the world specifically, because of their circular shape.
(Meaning Signal Spires are perhaps of the South, while original game- aka Pebbles and Moon- are in the North of this world.)
• I find it fascinating and validating that Spinning Top needed some sort of an Embrace from one of the Five Urges/Hindrances (the third one, companionship) to be able to pass on.
It points to my idea of what the religion is Really supposed to be about: the Five Urges are what they are- urges- and they cannot run rampant. The point isn't to absolutely *eradicate* violence, pleasure, companionship, hunger and desire to live from oneself. The point is to be able to control these things and not cling on to them.
Because if one clings on to something, they stagnate, they cannot progress, they rot and they *fear* losing the something more than they can truly enjoy it or they get far too lost in it to feel it right anymore. To cling on to life means being afraid of taking risks, trying something new and really Living.
But now that doesn't mean going for the opposite is the correct way to go about it- that still creates a desire, a clinging- an urge for death is just as good as urge for life. It binds. It's extremism without careful consideration for what is really the best to do, feel and think in any given situation.
(This goes for love, too, it is GOOD to love, but going too far becomes unhealthy obsession instead of love. Going the other way results in hatred, another utterly useless and harmful thing to harbor. Same as indifference - that is stagnation again, that isn't picking up something, working with it to move forward. Love is a forward motion that is required, but cannot be overdone because as so it would be bastardized into something else, possessive and caging.)
Spinning Top could move on only when she knew that the flipside of the Third Urge- a sickening loneliness- wasn't something to fear anymore.
• Yeah, I don't think we can count on backgrounds too much when it comes to size calculating on the basis that they are probably shaped around gameplay. Specifically thinking about how the spinning top toy changes sizes between it's in-game model and the art. When it comes to Ancients, I'd say the best one can do is do what feels right.
• The Rot Prince is some sort of a boosted up Preta, I swear to heavens. Hungry guy. Maybe the Rot as a whole is a Preta stand in, just way more physical.
• Can't believe my ,,Respawning is real" headcanon has been officially given the thumbs down... The *Strand* Theory is real. (Even though DP is separate from the Watcher, this at least explains why Artificer didn't just go back to the last shelter she slept in when her cubs were still with her. They went to a different strand, where a different Artificer managed the situation better and we are stuck in this reality without them.) (We see them in her Void ending either because they are the one thing her heart wishes for [the Void gives comfort to those who are passing, as far as I am concerned], or because the Void is where all the reality strands and times coincide into one another.)
• On that note, no Fucking wonder the Ancients wanna bail - we don't really know to what extend they were aware of reality's unwounding nature, but assuming it is Pretty Thorough, I too wouldn't wanna live with the knowledge that in one reality I might've died on my loved ones, leaving them broken, while in the other everything is just fine and dandy.
The endless wondering of ,,Did I die in a different reality at any point in my life? Did I leave these people I love behind to hurt, alone, and I can't do anything to help them? I can never know, I'm not allowed to comprehend..." would slowly kill anyone with a heart, I think.
• I wonder if the Prince is a puppet/the Rot made itself a puppet, - because the Starcatchers were Iterator-esque biomechanications with a different directive than iterating on the Big Problem and this is a consumed Starcatcher (something about its budding dialogue feels to me like there was a sense of a Self beforehand that was drowned out by the Rot and then was pulled forward again with additions) - because the Rot is at the edge of the universe (humming a tune) where a messed up slugcat decided to start ripping holes in the reality, therefore connecting different strands including to places where the Rot already existed as a plague upon Some Iterator, which gave spark to sapience and inspiration to a new mind
• The new karma set is definitely a droplet and the ripples it leaves behind. Makes sense, too, there's more ,,movement" within it the more Spinning Top yanks the Watcher around in time-space (accidentally, I'd guess. or the ,,blame" is more on Watcher *somehow*), messing up their physical existence more and more.
Maybe the karma symbols or the imagery itself have something to do with a combination of an axis mundi and the strand form of existence.
Something about there being a main timeline in which each action and decision creates a new ripple, a new strand.
• I wonder if the Watcher could've come across Spinning Top and effectively latch on/follow her, - because they were already dead/echoed (the dream sequence upon reaching the final karma level could mean they did go to the Void Sea and swam pretty deep but turned back and that resulted in Echo-ification? then again why can a lizard bite me. Spinny's laughing at me for it. Goddammit.) - because of their nature as someone who's so damn hesitant about things, who hangs in the backlines, only observes and learns. Very Echo-esque personality - because of their desire to have someone there
• Just realized that we have a canonical design for Spinning Top's mask, hot damn. ,,How do children's masks look like?" answered.
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I don't know why, that kind of creeps me out.
• The portals existing outside of us are made by Spinning Top, I'm pretty sure. She's always over them.
Is it normal for Echoes to leave tears like that? I think if the Rot Prince met her and knew she's the one who started this whole journey that resulted in him coming to exist as a consciousness and to bloom, he'd see her as a friend the same way he sees the Watcher.
• I wonder if his approach to the Rot Triple Affirmitive is ,,it's going to get worse before it gets better". He has suffered, too- while he normally speaks gently, calmly, orderly, when he is a flowerbud he seems frantic to me. Like someone breathing through death before getting better.
• Is the concept of the Rot Prince created for the first time in all existences' or is he a repeating pattern, too? The Rot in the least seems to be a pattern, because of what Spinning Top says when we meet her in one of the original regions, eaten through by the Rot.
,,You shouldn't have come here. It's too far." Does that refer to this strand's/ripple's distance from the axis mundi/the water drop creating all these realities? The further out the little wave carries out, growing smaller and weaker, the more rotten through it is? Is it because still water is stagnation, just as the Rot is?
So the Cycle is change and movement, life and love, that exists in a hurtful matter not out of its design, but because it has to contend with absolute stillness/stagnation/the Rot? Or it's all part of the same system, truly designed like this?
Could a Mass Ascension be seen as an escape plan from a ripple growing old? Man...
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• A quick attempt at illustrating the previous thought:
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Some Pepe Silvia level nonsense going on here.
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read-marx-and-lenin · 6 months ago
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Are you a Tankie?? Do you think the USSR was a good nation? Do you maybe even defend Stalin somewhat, not just Lenin? Do you support Mao or ''commuist" nations in the modern age like China or North Korea? I think Commuism is a good ideology, but anytime it's been attempted alongside a government, it's been used as an excuse to control and oppress people. I think it can only work feasibly under anarchy because a government will never release control of its citizens.
I used to be an anarchist myself. I'm not going to say there's some magic phrase that will convince you to become a "tankie" like me, but I will say that if you haven't read some of the core works by Marx, Engels, or Lenin, you should give them a try sometime. "State and Revolution" especially. There is no magic "abolish the state" button that can be pressed to do away with all authority in one stroke. The material conditions must be changed first before the state can disappear.
I would also recommend checking out Pat Sloan's "Soviet Democracy", and pretty much anything by Anna Louise Strong but especially The Soviets Expected It, The Stalin Era, and In North Korea. On the subject of North Korea, you should also watch the democracy "Loyal Citizens of Pyongyang in Seoul".
There is a lot of propaganda surrounding actually existing socialism in the West, and it is important to separate truth from fiction. People do not fight in revolutions only to turn around and accept new oppressors. Every currently existing socialist state is democratic, and that includes the DPRK. Democratic does not mean ideal, but it does mean that people have a say in who is running the government. Even more than that, in every existing socialist state the people have the right to recall elected officials at any time, something which is not guaranteed in most bourgeois democracies, including the US.
Can you imagine members of the ruling party meeting with the people directly on a regular basis to discuss and debate the issues that matter most to the people in the US or any other bourgeois democracy? Can you imagine government officials whose top priority is the material welfare of the most disadvantaged citizens? You look at government meetings in China, in Cuba, in Vietnam, in Laos, and in North Korea, and that is what you see time and time again. That is the crux of politics in these countries, the material conditions of the people and how to improve them. They are dictatorships of the proletariat and thus the proletariat are the class for which the state exists to benefit.
Finally, you should read the 1986 paper "Capitalism, socialism, and the physical quality of life" by Cereseto & Waitzkin. While it is nearly 40 years old, it used World Bank data (clearly not a source biased in favor of communism) to demonstrate how on average socialist economies outperformed capitalist ones at similar levels of economic development in terms of actual material conditions for the average citizen. Being 40 years old, it also has the advantage of comparing data at a time when the number of socialist nations was at its highest. If you want to see more recent examinations that take a similar approach, you should read any papers by the economist Jason Hickel, but especially his 2016 paper "The true extent of global poverty and hunger", where he demonstrates that capitalism has by and large failed to improve material conditions outside the imperial core, and that the only nations that buck the trend in the developing world are the ones who have rejected neoliberal economic policy, most notably China, whose socialist economy has been responsible for the vast majority of people lifted out of poverty in the last decades.
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alicearmageddon · 1 year ago
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"The North Korean regime in the ‘50s developed a series of remarkably effective torture techniques, techniques that were so effective, in fact, that they were able to make captured American airmen admit to all sorts of atrocities they had not in fact committed, all the time, being convinced they had not, actually, been tortured. The techniques were quite simple. Just make the victim do something mildly uncomfortable—sit on the edge of chair, for example, or lean against a wall in a slightly awkward position—only, make them do it for an extremely long period of time. After eight hours the victim would be willing to do virtually anything to make it stop. But try going to the International Court of Justice at The Hague and tell them you’ve been made to sit on the edge of a chair all day. Even the victims were unwilling to describe their captors as torturers. When the CIA learned about these techniques—according to Korean friends of mine, they’re actually just particularly sadistic versions of classic Korean ways of punishing small children—they were intrigued, and, apparently, conducted extensive research on how they could be adopted for their own detention centers.
Again, sometimes, in Palestine, one feels one is in an entire country that’s being treated this way. Obviously, there is also outright torture, people who are actually being shot, beaten, tortured, or violently abused. But I’m speaking here even of the ones that aren’t. For most, it’s as if the very texture of everyday life has been designed to be intolerable—only, in a way that you can never quite say is exactly a human rights violation. There’s never enough water. Showering requires almost military discipline. You can’t get a permit. You’re always standing in line. If something breaks it’s impossible to get permission to fix it. Or else you can’t get spare parts. There are four different bodies of law that might apply to any legal situation (Ottoman, British, Jordanian, Israeli), it’s anyone’s guess which court will say what applies where, or what document is required, or acceptable. Most rules are not even supposed to make sense. It can take eight hours to drive 20 kilometers to see your girlfriend, and doing so will almost certainly mean having machine guns waved in your faces and being shouted at in a language you half understand by people who think you’re subhuman. So you do most of your dalliance by phone. When you can afford the minutes. There are endless traffic jams before and after checkpoints and drivers bicker and curse and try not to take it out on one another. Everyone lives no more than 12 or 15 miles from the Mediterranean but even on the hottest day, it’s absolutely impossible to get to the beach. Unless you climb the wall, there are places you can do that; but then you can expect to be hunted every moment by security patrols. Of course teenagers do it anyway. But it means swimming is always accompanied by the fear of being shot. If you’re a trader, or a laborer, or a driver, or a tobacco farmer, or clerk, the very process of subsistence is continual stream of minor humiliations. Your tomatoes are held and left two days to rot while someone grins at you. You have to beg to get your child out of detention. And if you do go to beseech the guards, those same guards might arbitrarily decide to hold you to pressure him to confess to rock-throwing, and suddenly you are in a concrete cell without cigarettes. Your toilet backs up. And you realize: you’re going to have to live like this forever. There is no “political process.” It will never end. Barring some kind of divine intervention, you can expect to be facing exactly this sort of terror and absurdity for the rest of your natural life."
-David Graeber, Reflections from a Visit to the West Bank
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soltwent · 3 months ago
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I LOATHE YOU
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SUMMARY : fbi agent! vi ; fbi agent! reader. 15k word count one-shot! (sorry if you dislike longer fan-fiction) ; the secrets of highland parks are kept under lock and key, never to be whispered beyond its borders. “whatever happens in highland parks, stays in highland parks.” — you’re a registered, licensed FBI agent who's made a name for herself in the world of crime-solving. working alongside a team of sharp-minded professionals, apart of what's become New Jersey's go-to crew for getting things done. their reputation? polished, and trusted. then, there’s vi west: your work partner, equally sharp but just a step ahead in some ways. almost too close for comfort. who would've thought work partners could be this competitive? the irony? they’re unstoppable together, but neither is quite the same without the other.
WARNINGS : eventual smut. modern fbi! au. inaccurate descriptions of the profession! i’m not a professional. this is for fun. work rivals (one sided beef) to lovers. SORRY I YAP. female reader with female anatomy. y/n is sort of used. “thorne” is your last name. vi’s last name is “west”. you refer to her by her last name mostly. reader is sorta mean. reader is an overachiever and insecure. vi and powder aren’t related. tons of banter. bottom! reader & top! vi. spitting. a bit of sexual praise. fingering r! rec. pussy eating r! rec. crime scenes mentioned.
A/N : also i’m not that great at writing and my english isn’t spectacular, so i apologize for any confusion! this was previously started as a fic with OCS. if you see the name 'audrey', ignore it! This isn't my best work ever (i was sick writing it), but it's something.
MINORS + MEN DO NOT INTERACT.
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"Great," you muttered, rolling your eyes at the red light like it had personally offended you. One hand gripped the leather steering wheel, while the other balanced a bagel slathered in thick cream cheese and peppered with everything seasoning. You took a bite, savoring the soft, fresh bread—a far cry from the jaw-breaking bagels they served at the headquarters.
No need to spend the rest of your shift nursing a sore jaw, right?
South Jersey always gave you this weird ghost-town vibe. It was like all the real Jersey energy got stuck up North, and down here? It was all tumbleweeds and out-of-towners. And the drivers? Somehow even worse.
"Dude, go!" you groaned, smacking the horn with your free hand.
The truck in front jolted to life at the sound of your obnoxious horn, hesitating like it couldn't decide if it actually wanted to move. But you were late for work, and patience wasn't exactly on the menu today. The light had barely turned green when the Ford finally screeched forward, turning right without so much as a flick of its blinker.
Not even surprised.
Okay, maybe calling this place a 'ghost town' was a bit dramatic, but it wasn't exactly buzzing with life either. A population of five thousand? It wasn't tiny, but small enough that you pretty much knew everyone, or at least recognized their faces.
You rip off another chunk of your breakfast, chewing thoughtfully as you kept her eyes on the road ahead.
The headquarters sat smack in the middle of town, like the town's claim to fame. Not that it had much else going for it, anyway. The place was known for one thing and one thing only: a team of agents who dealt with crime and shady stuff, navigating the waters of illegal activities with professional ease.
And you were one of them. FBI agent—living the dream. Except for mornings like this, you weren’t so sure. Some days you questioned all of it. Why didn't you go for Wall Street like every other uptight, middle-aged guy who loves his over priced suits and has a receding hairline? But, of course, you were not a man. And would never be a man. So, that was that, unfortunately.
Other days though? Absolutely loved it. The thrill, the purpose. It kept you going.
You slammed your car door shut, the headlights flickering as if saying goodbye. Your boots clicked on the pavement as you tossed her brown paper bag with trash into a nearby bin, finishing off the last bite of the bagel while juggling your bag and keys in one hand.
(Y/N) Thorne. Not exactly the name that struck fear into anyone's heart. You were, after all, everything someone would want in a woman: totally normal. And boring as hell.
"G'morning," you called out, voice rippling through the main office full of her co-workers as you scanned your ID and pressed the door open with your forearm. Inside, it was warmer — nothing fancy, just your typical government building. Functional, plain, and definitely not the kind of place that got decorated for Thanksgiving.
November in Jersey wasn't exactly charming. Sure, it had its cozy moments but it was mostly cold, wet, and kinda depressing. You shrugged off her trench coat, and tossed your bag onto the desk, just as Jayce swiveled around in his stool, that annoying smirk plastered across his face.
"Wow. You're late," he teased, his eyes darting to the clock behind her.
"Like, late-late. Late as hell."
You then shot him a look, knowing full well that you was over half an hour late. Unlike everyone else who was seated and working as usual.
"You think I don't know that? I got caught up in traffic," you say, the lie slipping out as easily as it always did on mornings like these. The truth? There was almost never traffic in Highland Parks. Maybe during the holidays or when something big was going on, but never on a random weekday morning.
You started unloading your personal bag, pulling out the essentials: a still-steaming insulated cup of coffee, pens, some files you’d taken come to look over, and your planner. Everything else was digital of course, but you liked having these things on hand. It just made you feel more grounded.
Jayce raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying her excuse. "Traffic? Don't tell me you're coming down with schizophrenia, (Y/N)."
You then rolled your eyes, brows pinching together. "You don't 'come down' with schizophrenia, Jayce. It's not a cold that comes and goes." You didn't bother looking up at him, already used to the back-and-forth banter. They both were close enough for this to be just another day in the office.
"That still doesn't explain whatever you've got smeared around your mouth," Jayce quipped, pointing at you like he'd just caught you in some criminal act.
You halted, then swiped at your lips, just now realizing the cream cheese from the bagel you were eating earlier had betrayed you. "Shut up."
Jayce spun back around to his dual monitors, both lit up with the usual chaos. One screen was a mess of opened unnamed files, highlighted sections jumping out at him like some kind of fucking neon nightmare. The other? A classified CIA document he probably shouldn't have access to but, hey, Jayce was Jayce. A pain in the ass sure, but damn good at what he did, and you could respect that at least.
You plopped into your chair and rolled it forward, the familiar hum of the workspace coming to life. Resting your head in your hand, and letting out a sigh that felt as if it had been building up for days on end. Sleeping through your alarm again. It was becoming a pattern, and you was starting to seriously think about just camping out here at headquarters.
At least then you wouldn't have to rush to work every other week because of your growing habits.
You glanced around the room. Everyone else was locked in, focused on their screens, their tasks. A hushed few conversations floated in the background — just the usual work chatter between people you’d known for years now. They were solid. Resilient. You felt lucky to be surrounded by a team you could count on, even on days like this where your brain felt like it was running dry.
You wiped away the last remnants of cream cheese from your lips, still mildly annoyed that Jayce had been the only one to point it out. Not that you wanted everyone in the office to make a big deal out of it, but seriously, not one person gave you a heads-up?
Jesus Christ. It was way too early to care about that kind of stuff, especially right now.
Outside, the sky hung heavy with thick clouds, the kind that obviously promised rainfall later — great just what you needed. You moved your hand over the cursor, pulling up the files for the marriage fraud case you’d been slogging through. It was equally as exciting as watching paint dry on a fence. But a job's a job, and no one ever said working for the government was supposed to be fun.
Your eyes scanned the screen, index finger clicking away as you moved through the organized files. Your routine, monotonous. It was keeping your hands busy, at least. If nothing else, the day had nowhere to go but up from here.
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"The money transferred to the spouse was unlabeled, and we're talking a decent amount. Anywhere from a grand up to five grand. Normally, separate bank accounts wouldn't draw too much attention, but in this case it's a red flag." You say, half to yourself as you rummaged through the stuffed file drawer. One folder was delicately tucked under your chin, held in place as you flipped through files with your manicured fingers. Brows furrowed in concentration as you searched for a similar case.
Tax fraud cases were like the PP&J to your workload, with a few shady marriage fraud scenarios thrown in to mix things up. Sometimes the scandalous ones were entertaining enough to break the pattern, but this one? Torture.
Jayce stood nearby, leaning back against the spruce-wood counter, which was digging into his lower back. He took a slow sip of his iced oat-milk latte, listening to you work and ramble through your day's work. It had been a quiet morning, with nothing dramatic or exciting happening, which should've been a good thing.
Still, it left you with that uneasy feeling — like the calm before a storm.
You were never relaxed for this long. Clocked in for almost three hours and had surprisingly plowed through a solid amount of work, even with a fried brain that was practically begging for a nap. That was another thing you found weird. You were usually a mess by now, half-distracted or complaining about some new crisis.
The files slapped onto the counter with a loud thud as you set them aside, hands brushing together like you were dusting off the whole ordeal. Jayce’s eyes flicked to your bare hands: no ring, no sign of marriage or any serious relationship. You were always all work, never any talk about a significant other or anything personal.
You slowly sighed pushed your hair back from your face, shutting the file cabinet with a firm click and locking it for good measure. Sliding your personal key into your pocket, ready to move on from whatever boring task awaited you next.
"This Wren Staples woman is kind of smart. I mean," Jayce held up a hand before you could even start to question his logic, giving you that familiar look. "I'm not saying it's right, but if someone offered me five grand a month to stay silent and just show up to some fancy business dinners? You wouldn't have to ask me twice."
He paused, waiting for a reaction, but you just stared at him, face scrunched up like you couldn't decide if you was more irritated or confused. Clearly not amused. Jayce let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes like this conversation was nothing but a lost cause. Adjusting his belt, he gave it one last go, this time sounding more defeated than the first time.
"Forget it." He waved it off dismissively, taking a long sip of his drink while you mentally rubbed a hand down your face in pure frustration.
"Yeah, I will forget it," you say dryly. "Because if anyone heard you say that, you'd be stuck at the front desk while a janitor took your place. Or," you added, picking up your files, "you'd just be fired."
Jayce smirked, a dimple creasing his cheek. "You're obsessed with the idea of me getting fired, but who else would have your back when West over here starts breathing down your neck?"
At the mention of West, your mood took a nose-dive. Violet West — the co-worker from the literal pits of hell. If you had to sum her up in three words it, was be easy: haughty, a know-it-all, and self-indulgent.
You’d like to say you didn't hate West, but that would be a lie. And sure, lying wasn't illegal, but pretending to tolerate Violet felt criminal. The woman was all sharp words, choppy hair, and superiority complex wrapped in a suit.
"Yeah, you mean 'she-who-must-not-be-named'?" you mutter as you both walked down the dim hallways, the usual morning light blocked out by the overcast skies. Jayce snorted.
"What? Is she a forbidden topic now, Ms. Thorne?" Jayce raised an eyebrow, teasing as they headed back to the main room. You shot him a long side-glance, silently telling him to knock it off as they neared West's usual... territory.
You scanned your ID at the door, unlocking it with a beep and pushing it open for the both of them. Your expression blank, and voice deadpan.
“Just very, very taboo.”
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You rip a piece of tape off the roll with your teeth, holding it between yours lips for a moment before carefully sticking it onto the document you were patching up. The team had already gone through a ridiculous amount of ink today, and printing another copy of this page would be a waste. A little tape, and it was good as new. Well, good enough. No one would notice unless they were trying to be a detective about it.
Smoothing the tape down with the pad of your thumb, you stood up and pushed your chair back with a small scrape. So far, this week wasn't too bad. It was only Tuesday, but still better than the disaster that was yesterday. Not that it mattered much — work was work, and that was that.
"Lunch started ten minutes ago, (Y/N)."
You turned to see Mel, stirring honey into her ginger tea, the spoon gently clinking against the glass. The smell hit you, and seconds in you were already fighting the urge to grimace. Tea wasn't your thing. It always left this weird aftertaste, like lukewarm juice that had been forgotten in a car on a hot day. Gross, but you get it.
Mel wasn't bad, though. Laid-back, easy to deal with, which was more than you could say about most people at the HQ. In your mind, everyone had something annoying about them, and you weren’t shy about digging for it. Nobody's perfect, why pretend?
You laid your stack of papers down, giving Mel a tight, thin-lined smile with a small shrug. "Who else is gonna organize our cases by date, importance, and agent?"
"You do know there are six other people working in this office, right?" Mel raised an eyebrow, amused but not surprised by your martyr complex.
You knew you were not technically responsible for everything. You weren’t dense. But every time someone else tried to handle the file-work, things ended up in a chaotic mess, and that drove you crazy. You’d rather just do it on your own, your way, even if it meant taking on more. Loosening your tie, slipping a finger into the knot and giving it a tug as you got back to sorting through the paperwork.
Policy guides? Tossed onto the pile on her left. Investigation files? Those got dropped into a drawer with a firm hip-check to shut it. Personnel records? Neatly tucked into a black folder. You had a system, and it worked.
"Exactly," the words came out as a drawl, not really in the mood for chit-chat as you worked through the stack. You still needed to collect some files, but that could wait until later, maybe even tomorrow. The week had been more relaxed since most of the tasks were in-office, which was honestly a relief. The days when public affairs or training sessions were on the agenda? Those were the ones that pushed you to the edge of madness.
As you started to walk away, Mel called after you, "Tell Jayce his phone's rung fifteen times in the past twenty minutes!"
Of course it had. Jayce avoided work calls like the plague.
You shut the door behind you and slipped a hand into your right pocket, pulling out your cellphone. It was mostly your work phone — you kept your personal life strictly separate. The idea of mixing the two was a disaster waiting to happen. Scrolling through your contacts, you found the number you were searching for, and tapped it. You needed to update the attorney general. Your boots clicked softly against the floor while stroding down the hallway, phone pressed to your ear.
It rang a couple of times before a voice answered. "FBI Legal Division."
You inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly to gather your thoughts before responding. Tone direct, professional. "Thorne, (Y/N), speaking. Just calling to update you. We've covered all files and documents this past week. Fingerprinting is being handled by Shimes, and the lab services are currently in progress. Everything else looks good for now. If anything changes, I'll let you know as soon as possible."
You kept it short and to the point, just the way it needed to be.
A satisfied hum came through the line. "Great work, I'll review the details and let you know if I need anything else."
You thanked your attorney, lowering the phone as you pushed open the doors to the lounge. You had about twenty minutes to eat which was more than enough, though the thought of food didn't exactly thrill you. When your mind was full of work, your stomach didn't have room to complain. Sliding your cellular device into your pocket, you noticed a few co-workers giving you a glance.
"Where've you been?" Powder asked, nosy as ever. Powder Shimes was hunched over, chewing on what looked like the remains of a sad, microwaved breakfast burrito —probably from hours ago— and washing it down with a can of Dr. Pepper that looked far too room temperature. Was that ketchup on her burrito?
Ekko tilted his head, giving her a once-over. "Probably the HQ. She looks pretty pissed."
You rolled your eyes and yanked open the lounge fridge. Taking your time to riffle through the bagged lunches, each marked with large initials to avoid any office food theft drama. You grabbed your pre-prepped Caesar salad —the one you didn't have time for the day before— and a small bottle of water.
"Where's Jayce?" you asked, settling into a chair a seat away from the two of them. You ignored their commentary about your supposed "pissed off" look. It wasn't like you were mad, but your resting face had always given off those vibes. "Matter of fact, where's everyone at?"
Powder and Ekko were always together, so their presence wasn't exactly surprising. Mel was eating at her desk while taking phone calls. Jayce was MIA for reasons unknown, even though he was usually first to hog the entire couch in the break lounge. Caitlyn popped in sometimes after training, but you hadn't really expected to see her today.
You popped the lid off the salad and grabbed a plastic fork from the tin holder nearby. As for West? Well, she wasn't here either, which was a relief. Lunch without Violet West around was a small victory in itself. It wasn't like seeing her would brighten your day. If anything, the distance was a blessing.
You stabbed at the Caesar salad, spearing a few leaves and bringing them to your mouth. A quiet lunch was all you really needed right now.
"Caitlyn went to grab some stuff from Home Depot. Something about the sink breaking. Something with the piping. I don't know," Ekko shrugged, digging into his half-full peanut butter cup ice cream with a plastic spoon. Meanwhile, Powder took another horrific bite of her ketchup-slathered burrito, opening yet another packet of ketchup like it was a delicacy.
You uncomfortably clenched your jaw, doing your absolute best to ignore Powder’s obnoxious eating habits. She gulped down her food with an unnecessary loud sigh and crushed her soda can with a loud crack. "Like Ekko said, Cait’s at the store. Jayce? Off doing whatever, said he'd be back after lunch. Vi?" Powder raised her hands once mentioning the girl in mock surrender, a crumpled napkin in her palm. "No idea where she is, and honestly? Don't care."
You picked at the chicken in the Caesar salad, chewing slowly. You really needed to up your protein intake, especially with how grueling training days had been. But Caesar salads? The only kind you could enjoy without wanting to throw the bowl out the window. "So, it's just you two?"
"Yup," Ekko confirmed, licking his spoon clean.
Spectacular. Stuck with these two for the next fifteen minutes. Not that long, but in moments like this, you found herself wondering how they were the same people she did real-world investigations with. Ekko, a grown man, devouring ice cream like a five-year-old, and Powder, well.
"That's disgusting, Shimes," you deadpanned, eyeing the ungodly amount of ketchup Powder was consuming. Ekko barely stifled a laugh, grinning against his spoon. You rubbed your temples, trying to ease the headache that had started creeping in. Who knew the break room could actually make things worse?
Powder scoffed, leaning back in her chair, her work jacket tossed aside. Now just in a wrinkled button-down, she looked far too comfortable for someone whose eating habits were under fire.
"Like I care. That was delicious. I'd give it like an eight out of ten— only because it was kinda cold in the center."
That earned a grimace from you. You did not need to know how cold her burrito was or how much she enjoyed it in great detail. As much as Jayce could be a pain, you’d trade this scenery for his company any day. At least Jayce wasn't… this.
Just as you were starting to imagine a more peaceful lunch break, a gruff female voice broke through your thoughts. "Thanks for saving me a seat."
The sound of the chair scraping against the floor made you freeze. Ekko shot you a knowing look, and Powder’s shitty grin only widened.
"Surprise guest!" Powder announced with a clap, running a hand through her hair like she was prepping a show.
Surprise guest? More like surprise loss of appetite. Because who else would be sitting next to you, shoulder to shoulder, than Violet West herself. No invitation, no polite "is this seat taken?" just West, plopping down like she owned the place.
Your fork hovered above your salad, chewing coming to an abrupt stop. You stared down at the greens, the moment of peace you had been savoring now utterly ruined.
You've got to be kidding me.
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Three shots rang out. You adjusted your earplugs with one hand and tightened your grip on the Glock 19M with the other. The gloves were pulled snug over your hands, and you squeezed the gun a little harder than usual. You didn't bother with safety glasses during training. What was the point? You didn't wear them on the job.
Agents like you often practiced shooting all kinds of targets — stationary, moving, from cover to cover, on the move. The whole deal. Training days like these were crucial for staying sharp, and even though they ran these drills once a week, you always tried to push yourself, especially with your Glock. The gun had a way of making your skin crawl every time you fired it, but you had to be good with it. You hadn't had to use it much in the field, thankfully, but when you did, it never felt great.
"Not bad, Thorne," Caitlyn muttered as she patted your wrist, adjusting it slightly and motioning for you to fix your posture. You hadn't even realized you were holding the gun so close to your body until she gave that look. A lump of saliva slid down your throat and you nodded. Caitlyn was a solid instructor. She didn't sugarcoat anything, if you were doing something wrong, she told you straight up, step by step, how to fix it.
You deeply appreciated that.
The days rotated every week. Monday meant outdoor training, Tuesday indoor, then back outdoors on Wednesday, and so on from there. Weeks of drills. Not your personal favorite, but it was part of the job, and you had to be ready to reach for your waist when things went sideways.
You bit your cheek, thinking about how unpredictable this town was. The citizens too. Not that you were any better — you weren't exactly a poster child for predictability yourself. You let out a breath, firmly holding the handle of the Glock as if it could settle your nerves.
Caitlyn handed you a pair of safety glasses, breaking your focus. "You need to wear these. None of that 'I'm too good for this' nonsense. If you lose an eye because you're being stubborn, you're not touching a firearm again. Take them."
Irritable but not wrong. You weren’t offended. Rumor had it someone lost an eye once because they ignored safety, though that was before her time here at the HQ.
"Thanks," you say, slowly taking the glasses from her hand. She stomped off, her heavy boots thudding against the ground as her vest shifted with each step. You put on the glasses and popped your knuckles, already feeling that strain in your hands that would stick until the end of the month.
Nearby, Powder was lounging with her legs spread, while Jayce gnawed on a marshmallow-studded protein bar. Powder’s face was slick with sweat as she gulped water, some strands of her azure hair sticking to her forehead. Ekko was swapping out his gun, peeling off his thick vector gloves.
You placed your weapon down and rolled your tense shoulders, feeling a knot in your neck release. The relief was short-lived, though, she glanced over at Caitlyn, who was now standing in front of West. Another knot formed in your gut, this one a mix of annoyance and envy. You clenched her jaw unconsciously.
Of course, Caitlyn was probably praising the hell out of West. She was the best with the weapons out of everyone, aside from Caitlyn herself. Powder was more into forensic work, Ekko handled lab services, and Jayce was a crime-solving machine, and you?
Just... good. At a little bit of everything. You were organized, which was great, but that was also Mel’s job. A deep inhale filled your lungs, and you sighed heavily. You were useful — a great help, a mix of skills, but nothing extraordinary.
Ekko’s voice snapped you back to reality. "Dude, instead of choking back a hundred protein bars, try starting with eggs in the morning. Those are food, but God damn."
He was talking to Jayce, who was hunched over, elbows on his knees. You resisted the urge to critique his posture. You didn't, but that was primarily because it would make you a hypocrite. Caitlyn had just corrected yours. You slipped off your own gloves, then decided to stand and stretch your legs, feeling more awake on your feet.
"Eggs are nasty as hell," Jayce waved Ekko off, and he shrugged, half agreeing as he lazily sipped his water.
"Cottage cheese? Tofu? Greek yogurt?" Ekko continued, trying to offer solid protein options, but Jayce’s chewing slowed at his suggestions. Even though Ekko’s advice came from someone who clearly knew what he was talking about, Jayce’s eyes narrowed, his tanned skin glistening under the fluorescent lights.
A firm smack on your back snapped you upright before you could even think about it, body reacting on instinct. Caitlyn’s voice echoed in your mind, reminding you about your posture, and for a split second, you wondered if you'd hunched over under the weight of your responsibilities again. But when you turned to see who had hit you, it wasn't Caitlyn and her sharp, fine eyebrows. Instead, you were met by a different pair — thick and scarred along the edges.
West.
Your stomach dropped. Caitlyn, you respected. Caitlyn had the right to correct your posture, whether in training or in office. Violet, on the other hand, had not. Jayce could get away with being a little touchy sometimes, and Mel, if it was educational, but Violet? No. Never.
"You aren't a Pilates teacher," you say in a calm, yet perfectly passive-aggressive tone. Your brows furrowed as you tried to smooth out the back of the suit jacket you had on, trying to ease any trace of Violet’s unwanted touch. In another timeframe, you might've smacked her hand away, but today you settled for being politely firm.
Violet, of course, gave you another pat, this one being more condescending than the first. "Another profession? I'd be making bank. Every housewife would be in my classes," she replied, her voice smug and dripping with fake charm.
Your skin prickled with irritation, patience running thin by the second. You would've given everything for earplugs at the moment. The sound of Violet’s voice was enough to make your head throb. Meanwhile, Jayce, ever the opportunist, chose this exact moment to stay silent, focusing more on his marshmallow protein bar than on you, who was clearly about to bite down hard enough to crack a molar.
"You'd be making below minimum wage. No one would willingly attend those classes," you dragged out, voice flat and uninterested, though the tension in your jaw spoke volumes. Violet didn't have to do much to get under your skin, and honestly, she didn't even have to try. She was the walking embodiment of something that made your veins itch.
"Realistically, that is."
Violet studied your face, noticing the way your expression had tightened, a visible vein of pure irritation. It wasn't like you abhorrd Violet — if you did, you would've moved locations a long time ago. But there was a fine line between tolerance and whatever the hell this was. Tolerable, in your world, meant zero contact. Silence. Absolute distance. And right now, West was far too close for comfort.
"Realistically, a business run by someone confident in their growth is more likely to succeed than someone who's just a follower."
Violet’s smug response hit you like a match to gasoline. You could feel the heat of your frustration under your skin, a familiar sensation that always seemed to bubble up during your rare, but tense interactions. Most days, you two kept your distance, sticking to cold, judgmental glances. But on days like this, when they were forced into the same space, it was inevitable snarky exchanges, backhanded compliments, and that thick, suffocating air of competition.
You bit back the flood of insults threatening to slip out. Pressing your chapped lips together, irritated by the dry, rough feeling but too focused on the current situation to care. "You can't speak from experience," you finally muttered, knowing full well that it was a weak retort. You weren’t in the mood to come up with anything smart. Keeping it safe was the safest bet for your sanity right now.
Violet, naturally, didn't miss a beat. "I'll have that privilege one day." she flicked her ID badge with a cocky flourish, the engraved letters of her last name catching in the light. Her face was twisted into a self-satisfied smirk, the kind that made you want to roll her eyes so hard they'd get stuck.
There was nothing motivating about Violet’s arrogance. Only aggravating.
You cleared your throat, forcing a thin smile.
"Fun talking to you, as always," you said, determined to get the last word in, as usual. Your exchanges were like a never-ending thumb war, both of you pushing for dominance without truly getting anywhere. Two years of this, and absolutely nothing had changed.
Violet smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "I'm flattered, but I can't help wondering if you're considering stand up comedy for those with lobotomies." She punctuated the remark with a firm hand on your shoulder.
Your stomach churned at the touch, and you shrugged off Violet’s hand like it was a spider crawling on you. Resisting the urge to vomit right then and there, you reached down for your Glock, thumb brushing over the magazine release as it could somehow end this insufferable conversation.
You needed to reload, which at least gave you a reason to focus on something else.
"Be my guest," you said flatly, eyes fixated on the gun, not on the smug asshole hovering over you.
Her lips quirked again in amusement, but she stayed quiet, watching as you methodically reloaded the 19M, clicking the slide back in place with more force than necessary. You were hyper-focused now, anything to block out Violet’s presence.
You slipped the gloves back on, fastening the Velcro tightly, mentally preparing yourself to get back to training.
"Training's over for the day, you know," Violet said, casually reminding you. She was annoyingly familiar with your habits on the range, probably because she always kept an eye on you, just waiting to see if you messed up.
You didn't bother looking up. "I'm aware everyone else is gone. I prefer extra training."
"You hate training," Violet replied, her tone laced with smug knowingness. She clearly enjoyed pushing your buttons, and right now, you kinda wound tighter than the Velcro on your gloves.
"Like you'd know know." you simply say, cocking your head to crack your neck.
Your raised the Glock and fired at the nearest dummy, ending the conversation with a bang.
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The sweet relief of coffee never failed to satisfy Violet, even on days when everything else seemed to fall apart. She let her calloused fingers linger on the coffee maker as it hummed, her other hand twiddling a packet of sweetener absentmindedly. With nothing pressing on her mind or plate today, she pulled the pitcher from the machine and dragged her New York embroidered mug forward. The coffee poured steadily, just below the rim, and she tore the sweetener packet, dumping it in with practiced precision.
But before she could savor a sip, her forearm nudged open the lounge door, and—splash. Hot coffee cascaded over her freshly pressed suit, drenching her work pants and top in a scalding, sticky mess.
What—the fuck?
Violet's eyes slowly drifted down to the damage, the burning liquid stinging her skin beneath the fabric.
Her grip tightened on the mug as she looked up, fury already simmering behind her eyes.
And there, frozen in shock with wide eyes, was none other than you. Of course. Violet could see the words forming in your head before they even left your mouth; you never missing an opportunity to make things worse.
"Watch where you're going next time," you grumbled, tone dismissive, like the whole thing was somehow Violet’s fault. You had also whispered something under your breath, and it couldn't have been good. The coffee dripped silently between them, pooling on the floor and marking its territory on Violet’s ruined clothes. She had managed to get through the rain this morning without so much as a spot, but your clumsiness had managed to wreck her in mere seconds.
Violets’s scarred upper lip twitched in irritation. Was she being blamed? Really? "What are you in hurry for, the last few munchkins in the fridge? You don't exactly look busy, Thorne.”
Your eyebrows drew down slowly, eyes narrowing in offended disbelief. Violet might've found it amusing to mess with you in any other circumstance, but right now? Right now, it really irked her. She was being blamed for this, and she wasn't going to let it slide.
"If you've got time to throw insults, why don't you go and do Mel’s job again? After all, you went to school for years to play assistant at headquarters, right?" Violet’s words were sharp, deliberately cutting. It was a bitchy move, but she was indeed not in the mood.
You’d had been riding her nerves all week.
Monday, you’d shredded Violet’s files by "mistake," chalking it up to be tired. Tuesday, you’d nearly wrecked her Glock 17M and tried to convince Caitlyn it was just a mix-up. Wednesday, there were dirty looks and backhanded compliments in the middle of a meeting. And yesterday? You’d almost derailed an entire investigation with your impatience.
Two years of this, and it was finally pushing Violet to her limit. It wasn't just competitive banter anymore — it was real animosity. Violet had always tried to keep things light, a little teasing here and there, but you? You downright hated her or something, and it was getting mutual.
You, ever so unfazed, didn't even glance at the mess you’d made. "Who pissed in your coffee this morning?" you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And don't worry about how I handle my tasks around here. Why don't you go cozy up to Caitlyn while I keep things easy and simple for you? Sound good?"
Violet clenched her jaw, her fingers tight around the now empty mug. This woman...
"You've got a lot of nerve," Violet snapped, her voice low but sharp, each word deliberate. "I don't have an issue with you, but for some reason, you're always trying to get on my bad side. I try to be halfway decent with you, but you always find a way to ruin that too." Violet stepped closer, exaggerating her words, hoping it would hit you harder. For someone who walks in heeled boots everyday, the shorter woman still hadn't quite figured out how to own them.
Before you could fire back, Violet cut you off.
"And if you want to accuse me of cozying up to Caitlyn, then take a good look at yourself, Thorne. Your surname fits you precisely. You're like a thorn to someone's side."
You let out a sharp huff, clearly caught off guard by Violet's sudden willingness to stand her ground. You weren’t used to being confronted, especially by someone you considered to be an annoyance. Violet could see the gears turning, the effort you put into keeping your voice steady as she shot back.
"At least I have a good relationship with everyone. You pick and choose who you talk to. You're not down to earth, (Y/N). You're just a shitty person."
You felt your blood simmering, but you kept your expression neutral, even as the insult landed. By habit loosening your tie, fingers trembling just slightly with adrenaline, and tossed your now-empty mug into the trash bin by the door without a second thought.
The satisfying crack of glass echoed through the room, but she didn't care.
Not about the mug, not about your words. Not now.
She brushed past you, not sparing a second glance as she headed toward the restroom. The coffee was already soaking into her clothes, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to her skin. She peeled off her ruined pullover as she walked, letting it fall down her arms before she entered the bathroom, where she was greeted by her reflection.
Violet stared at herself for a moment, hair falling messily over one eye. It had grown longer than she liked, brushing just past her nose slightly. She pushed it away impatiently and leaned over the counter, scrubbing at her button-down with frustration. It was practically see through at the stain.
"Come on," she muttered through gritted teeth, working at the larger stains with more force than necessary. The top had cost her over fifty bucks, and the thought of it being ruined because of your clumsiness made her blood boil. If it had been some cheap shirt, she wouldn't have lost her cool like that, but it wasn't.
"Fucking come out, Jesus." Violet’s voice cracked slightly as she scrubbed harder, knowing full well she was only making it worse. But she couldn't walk back into the HQ with this mess on her. Not after what had just happened. She wasn't about to give you the satisfaction of seeing her like this.
As the stains slowly faded, her mind raced. Were you insecure? Violet didn't know, and frankly, she didn't care. The woman was a confusing mess of contradictions, and Violet had no desire to decipher her. All she knew was that you got under her skin, and made her head throb with frustration. An impatient groan escaped her lips as she managed to get some of the deeper stains out, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
Violet stared at the shirt, feeling like the whole situation was ridiculous. And yet, here she was, scrubbing out coffee stains and stewing over someone who should've been nothing more than an office inconvenience.
The urge to tell you off bubbled up again, but Violet bit it back. Sure, she was pissed, but wasn't trying to escalate this any further. She had done the right thing by standing up for herself, like anyone else would. There was no point in pushing things to the point of no return, where they might both end up fired and jobless.
She slung her ruined pullover over her shoulder and walked out of the women's restroom, her steps heavier with the weight of her lingering frustration.
She wasn't about to let it go, not completely, but she wasn't going to make it worse either.
If nothing else, she thought, I'm not worse than her. That was for sure. Violet had rattled her pride a little with the teasing, but it wasn't like she'd gone overboard. In fact, if you had any sense of humor, they could've had some fun with the back-and-forth. But no, the hostility from you felt different, like it was more personal. You ribbed Ekko and Powder too at times, but with Violet, it felt deeper, like there was something else fueling it.
As she exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping, she made her way down the hallways of the HQ, her mind still buzzing with the aftershocks of their argument.
"That was my favorite shirt," she muttered under her breath, glancing down at the faint coffee stains that still clung to the fabric.
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You grimace, hesitating before fully letting your eyes take in the crime scene photos clipped to the case folder in front of you. One side is filled with notes detailing the body discovered, the evidence collected by officers and K-9 units, while the other holds the photographs. It’s never easy looking at the dead, but this case in particular —one involving children and animals— settles like a weight in your stomach.
Just suck it up and focus.
Jayce is out today, which means his ridiculous pile of files is now your responsibility. For someone who jokes around constantly and eats while reviewing these kind of things, he’s got a stomach of fucking steel. You, on the other hand, find yourself letting out a quiet, uneasy strings of grunts as you shuffle a set of dated photos into an envelope hastily. You barely register your own signature as you scrawl it across the front before tossing it into the small brown box beside you leveled on Jayce’s chair.
The barely touched coffee on your desk doesn’t help your mood. Mel had been nice enough to bring drinks from the local coffee shop for everyone, but yours? It tasted watered down, and the undissolved brown sugar left a grainy texture that made it hard to enjoy. You had set it aside, already planning to let it get cold so you could toss it out without feeling guilty.
Bad coffee is worse than no coffee. You’d rather suffer through exhaustion than force yourself to drink something made by a barista who clearly didn’t know a basic coffee rule: to stir the damn sugar while it’s hot.
You bite the inside of your cheek, inhaling deeply, forcing yourself back into work mode.
Outside, thunder grumbles in the distance, and the printers rattle beside you, filling the silence of an otherwise empty space. The office is quieter than usual, the seat next to you noticeably unoccupied. Rainy Novembers are typical in Highland Parks, but in all honesty you don’t have much of an opinion on the weather. You spend most of your time indoors anyway.
Working.
Your stomach interrupts your train of thought, rumbling loudly in protest. You unconsciously glance at the digital clock near Jayce’s empty desk, its red numbers flickering back at you. Lunch passed a while ago. Not that it mattered. After spending hours handling Jayce’s case files, your appetite had somewhat disappeared. Your meal, along with your Diet Coke, was probably still sitting untouched in the lounge fridge.
Powder and Ekko are out training one-on-one with Caitlyn. Not your business, but you’re curious anyway. You always are. Why didn’t you ever get one-on-one training? Everyone else did.
Are you lacking something?
You chew on your thumbnail, the thought making an unwelcome home in your head. This always happened.
A sudden tap on the top of your head yanks you from your inner turmoil. You glance over your shoulder, expecting Viktor, the guy who fixes the printers and every other broken thing in HQ. Jayce is good friends with him, so, you are as well in that case. But instead, it’s Mel. Your shoulders loosen slightly. You’ve been tense all week.
“Not exactly the best way to get my attention, Mel,” you say, stacking some of the finished files on your desk, head still heavy with lingering doubt.
“Lighten up a bit. You’re such a pessimist,” Mel hums, dropping the stack of documents onto your desk. “You should go eat. I saw you skipped lunch. Plus, Jayce can finish the rest tomorrow. You’ve done more than enough.”
You exhale, considering her words. Why didn’t you just work a role like Mel? She had a clear job, an essential purpose. Meanwhile, you felt like you spent most of your time quietly filling in the gaps — like a seat filler, temporary, replaceable. All that school for what?
A stubborn voice in your head protests the comment about your pessimism, but your hunger wins out. You push back your chair and stand, rolling your shoulders to shake off the stiffness.
“You can take the file box then. I’ll be back.” Grabbing your ID lanyard, you stride out of the office, making your way through the mostly empty space.
The walk down the same hallway you’d been pacing for two years somehow felt longer every day. Realistically, nothing had changed. It was the same damn stretch of floor, the same fluorescent lights buzzing above. But lately, the need to move your feet, to just get to where you were going, had started to feel like a chore.
You had three keys to this building: one for the main office where the bulk of the work happened, another for the lounge, and the third just to get into the damn building in the first place. Underwhelming. Your pay was the same as Jayce’s, even Ekko’s. You were making more than both Powder and Mel combined.
So why did it still feel like you were scraping for something?
You pushed open the lounge door with your elbow, only to immediately regret it.
Violet.
A grumble of annoyance rumbled in the back of your throat as she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at you. Her cool, ashy-blue eyes flicked to you for only a moment, but it was enough to make your skin prickle uncomfortably.
It felt like every time a coworker looked at you, it was out of pity, not respect. As if all the work you put in was just something to be tolerated, not acknowledged. The thought made your heeled boots feel loose, like you were one wrong step away from rolling your ankle under the weight of Violet’s occasional, unimpressed glances.
Why was she even here?
Yes, this was the employee lounge, but she never lingered here long. And yet, here she was. You weren’t even sure if she had food, and she definitely wasn’t making coffee.
You ignored her gaze, forcing yourself toward the fridge. Your hands were already clammy before you saw her, but now they were straight up sweaty. The cool air from the fridge was a small relief as you reached for your neatly labeled chicken and lettuce wrap, along with your untouched sealed Diet Coke.
It had been this way ever since the coffee incident. Ever since you’d —“accidentally”— ruined an entire month’s worth of her research.
West had actually stopped making jokes around you.
At first, that satisfied you. But now? Now, it made your gut feel like a crumpled-up sticky note.
Had you actually liked the attention? No. Absolutely not. Jayce spoke to you every day, cracked his ridiculous jokes around you, so it wasn’t that. And it wasn’t about communication. You and Violet didn’t even work in the same department. You weren’t exactly friends, either. Strictly coworkers. Two people who knew just enough about each other’s flaws to be annoying and pick at them.
So why was she bothering you so much?
Your flimsy fingers tightened around your wrap as Violet finally looked away. But she didn’t move. Didn’t eat. Didn’t make coffee. Just existed. Silently.
Judgment was awful, but silent judgment? That was even worse.
“Can you quit watching me like that?” you snapped before you could stop yourself, your voice sharp with the bitterness that always seemed to linger between you two. “It’s weird. And aren’t you supposed to be working?”
Violet barely reacted, she just blinked at you, unimpressed.
“Lunch ended three hours ago,” you added, “unless you’re digging for Caitlyn’s crumbs.”
Your jaw clenched as you unwrapped your lunch, your teeth sinking slightly into your torn up bottom lip. Uncalled for. You knew that. And Violet knew exactly how to weaponize the moment.
“Thanks for the reminder, Thorne,” she said, her voice steady but laced with something biting. “But I actually don’t have to make that effort. Cait pays attention to me without me having to act like some crazy addict who thrives off her validation.”
Your fingers stilled.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t said worse to her before. The difference? Violet never hid behind her words. She always said them looking you dead in the eye, unwavering, direct.
The comment shouldn’t have hit a soft spot, but it did.
You exhaled sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to play it off, pretending it didn’t get under your skin.
“You know me so well,” you muttered with a strained chuckle, though your jaw ached with the effort of keeping it together.
Because deep down, you knew exactly where your problem with Violet had started.
It wasn’t out of nowhere.
You’d been intimidated by her from the moment she got the job —without even needing an interview. She made more than you right off the bat. Caitlyn warmed up to her almost immediately. It wasn’t like Violet had ever rubbed it in your face, but envy was something you never handled well.
Do this better. Do that better. Finish this. Try harder. Ask to do more.
Violet ran a hand down the front of her work suit to smooth out the cotton. Ever since the coffee incident, she’d switched to wearing black button-downs under her blazers, likely to avoid another purposeful coffee disaster.
“You don’t exactly make it hard to read you,” she mused, her voice irritatingly casual. “Especially when you have a vein bulging from your forehead every time you see me.”
Your first instinct was to snap back. Who wouldn’t be irritated when you think everyone is your friend? But you knew better. And honestly? You didn’t have the energy for another round of verbal sparring this week either.
Jayce was out. Your workload was heavier than usual. You hadn’t had coffee, and you hadn’t eaten all day.
So, instead of feeding into it, you focused on your food. You took a bite from the edge of your wrap, careful not to let the contents spill from the sides. It hurt to open your mouth too wide. Your lips had been painfully chapped for a month now. February was creeping closer, and with it came dry skin, exhaustion, and the growing desire to sleep at your desk instead of work.
Your bottom lip had split more times than you could count in the past week, but you hadn’t done much to fix it either. No time for chapstick when you could barely keep up with everything else.
Violet had noticed.
You always got like this in the winter; pushier, more irritable. You weren’t as unbearable when the weather warmed up, but your attitude toward her never thawed either. You were always on edge around her, always competing, always watching.
She had caught you staring the day Caitlyn pulled her aside to discuss a raise, the same day you had taken on extra side gigs and hadn’t gotten so much as a mention. She had seen you fist your hair at your desk after downing your fifth cup of coffee. She had been on the receiving end of your little retaliations, the way you’d ruin her things in ways so small they could almost be called accidents.
Violet had always noticed.
“A chicken wrap with a side of blood,” she mused lightly, resting her hip against the counter.
Your chewing slowed for a beat before resuming, brows furrowing just slightly. You still curled and coated your lashes every morning for work with an older tube of mascara you couldn’t seem to let go, still maintained some things about yourself, but you weren’t oblivious. You knew you looked rough lately.
“You seriously need chapstick,” Violet continued, eyeing your lips with something between amusement and concern. “That’s gotta hurt.”
It was the first semi-joke she’d made around you since November. It wasn’t even really a joke, but it was… easier to hear than the usual biting remarks.
You swallowed your food and huffed. “My lips are none of your business, nor your concern. I’m applying chapstick just fine. It’s allergies.”
Wrong.
Allergies were the least of your problems. You had been biting your lips raw and were probably vitamin deficient in more ways than one. Even Jayce had commented on it the other day, asking if you were cosplaying as a grumpy vampire or some other nonsense.
Violet scoffed. “Are you looking to eat your lunch or the skin off your lips?” She rubbed her own lips absently, likely remembering the thin scar that stretched across her upper lip from training. “You’re running on nothing but caffeine. Have you forgotten what real food tastes like?”
You scowled, cutting her off before she could continue. “Why are you in here?”
Violet blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the abrupt change in conversation.
“I mean, I could be just as annoying, but I’m not in the mood, West.”
She raised an eyebrow, then shook her head with a small smirk, arms crossing over her chest. Your eyes hesitated for just a second, catching the way the layers of her uniform —button-down and blazer— did nothing to hide the toned muscle beneath them.
What kind of moron actually wore both their blazer inside HQ?
“Why?” she taunted. “Because you’re finally getting a taste of your own medicine? Or because Jayce isn’t here today to defend you?”
Your jaw clenched.
“Are you fucking serious?” you huffed, your voice laced with disbelief. “You think Jayce not being here affects how I feel?”
The defensiveness in your tone was embarrassingly obvious, and Violet knew it. Her lips quirked upward, her smirk deepening.
“Well,” she dragged the word out in fake thought, pursing her lips in a way that made your eye twitch. “Can you blame me? Your only real friend isn’t here, and now you’re just moping around HQ. Moping around with your head down, and your ass up.”
“Do not say that,” you snapped, your irritation spiking.
Violet grinned like she had just won a prize. “Really? You draw the line at a simile?”
Your brows furrowed. “A what? That’s a metaphor, you slow beet.”
Violet should have been offended. I mean, you had just called her slow, but instead, she froze for half a second, her expression shifting to something almost amused.
“…Did you just call me a beet?”
“Yes,” you deadpanned. “A beet-root. For a choppy haircut, you’d think you’d at least change the color to redeem yourself. You look like a damn beet.”
Audrey’s lips twisted into a half-smirk, half-grin.
“Wow, (Y/N),” she murmured. “Did you just make a joke?”
Your stomach dropped.
Your pride plummeted.
She thought you were joking. Violet—Violet fucking West—thought you had joked with her?
The realization made your grip tighten around your soda can, your lips pressing inward as if disgusted by yourself. You wanted to grab the words back, throw them out, insist that you meant that as an insult, not a joke.
But you couldn’t.
And that grin on her face? That damn grin? (that damn grin...😼)
It made you want to rip your hair out.
“Never-fucking-mind.”
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Violet undid the cuffs of her button-down, rolling up the sleeves until the fabric no longer restricted her movements. Tattoo work peeking out. The uniform was fine. Professional, sleek, practical, but nobody actually liked wearing it. Not in the HQ.
Across the office, Jayce’s voice rang out, louder than necessary, pulling her attention. She glanced up briefly, watching as he bantered with one of the techs. Jayce was easy to get along with. Smart, good with computers, and a complete slacker when given the chance. She had no issue with him personally. When the two of them worked together, they wasted time more often than not, but when Jayce worked with you? Somehow, he managed to joke around and get things done. Maybe that’s why Caitlyn didn’t mind having his desk right next to yours.
Violet exhaled in amusement but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t in the office much, her job kept her busy elsewhere. Restocking gear, replenishing ammunition, training the interns who wanted to join the department someday. It was a privilege, but it was also pretty exhausting. Still, she knew she was the favorite around here, and that privilege came with its own set of complications.
Caitlyn had once commented on it —on you and her— during a routine weapons inventory.
“Everything good between you and Thorne? You don’t seem close, but your work styles mesh well. You’re both dedicated.”
The statement had been so off-base she almost laughed. Close? Not even remotely. But that wasn’t on Violet.
You had been different lately. More distant.
No spilled espressos on her desk, no mysteriously shredded files, no petty, one-sided beef getting in the way of the workday. Odd.
Then again, you had been odd lately in general.
The banter had lessened. Sure, a few snide remarks here and there, but the tantrums, as Violet fondly called them, had also significantly decreased. She wasn’t sure if she found that concerning or relieving.
Casually, her gaze drifted across the office until it landed on you.
You sat with your legs crossed, the tip of your heeled boot absently twisting under your desk. Your trench coat hung over the back of your chair as it normally did. You only wore it when the building’s heater was busted or if you had gotten caught in the rain.
Pencil skirt. Off-white ironed button-down. Navy tie. Black pantyhose.
Mel didn’t always bother with the extra layers or formalities, but you did.
Violet huffed at the realization. You had fashion preferences, apparently.
Funny. And a little uncanny, imagining you caring about anything other than being annoyed, irritated, or outright pissed. That’s all you were to her: a tightly wound ball of something pent up and ready to just snap.
Though… she did sort of pity you at times. Emphasis on 'at times'.
You turned in your chair, handing Jayce a stack of printed files, speaking lowly to him before refocusing on your own work.
Violet continued watching, still as an observer. Bored. You, Jayce, Mel, and Viktor held the office together while she spent most of her time outside of it. She only came in once a week, just enough to notice that, despite all your efforts, you were stretching yourself too thin.
You made things harder for yourself. She knew that.
Her gaze dropped, almost unconsciously, to your legs.
She blinked.
Weird.
She had never really looked at you before, not past all the other stuff; the petty rivalry, the constant need to one-up her, the way you made every little thing a competition.
It wasn’t exactly easy to look beyond that.
And yet, she hesitated before glancing back, this time without moving her head, just her eyes.
You weren’t… unattractive.
Her fingers tensed slightly against the armrest of her chair before she shifted, leaning into her palm instead.
You had good facial symmetry. Nice skin — tired, sure, but even Jayce had made jokes about you cosplaying a grumpy vampire lately. It was funny, but to you? You were furious, but hey, you started to apply chapstick more often throughout shifts. Your makeup was always neatly applied, and your uniform fit well—not too tight, not too loose.
You also cared about appearances. Not just your own, but others’.
Violet silently grinned at the memory of your voice echoing through the office just a few weeks ago:
“So unprofessional. It’s embarrassing. Don’t wear a badge and walk around in saggy pants. You went to university for what? To not know how to measure your own waist? Gosh.”
You’d aimed it at Jayce after he had opted for a more relaxed fit, but your commentary extended to everyone who slacked off in dress code.
Violet exhaled slowly.
Then, unfortunately, you caught her staring.
Her body tensed as your gaze flickered to hers, and she immediately cleared her throat, shifting to cover her mouth like she had just zoned out. Definitely not like she had just been looking at you for longer than necessary. Longest than she had ever looked at you, really.
You furrowed your brows, shook your head slightly, then returned to work.
Violet sighed, pressing further into her palm.
Her eyes shifted to Mel as she strode across the office, posture perfect, heels clicking at a steady pace, files balanced in one arm. A sweetheart. Objectively, Mel was a beautiful woman, but Violet didn’t know her too well. Certainly not as well as she knew you.
When Mel passed, she caught sight of you again, now looking down at paperwork with those stupid reading glasses perched on your nose. Looking like you were gonna pop a blood vessel.
They looked ridiculous on you, far too big for your face, because Jayce had so helpfully gotten you the wrong size.
“Didn’t know they’d be big on you, man. Relax, relax.”
Indeed, you did not relax. You had thrown a fit.
It was… kinda cute.
Violet blinked, her lips parting slightly.
What? No.
She must be losing her mind. She straightened in her chair, biting the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t blind, she could admit when someone looked good — but this was you.
You, of all people. The epitome of stress and irritation in her damned life. So what if you were pretty? Every woman was pretty in their own way. It didn’t mean anything.
Violet forced her gaze away, focusing on the stack of paperwork she had been handed—a rare task for her, but one she had to do nonetheless. Maybe she was just stressed. Maybe her cycle was about to start. Definitely not you.
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Another week passed. Your workload was heavier than usual, keeping you out of Jayce’s business, out of Mel’s, even out of Viktor’s. Caitlyn had given you a detailed to-do list. You. Not Jayce, not Ekko, not West. Agent Thorne.
You had come into work on Thursday morning already exhausted, having snoozed through all three of your alarms. You almost knew this week was going to end badly. Your track record with jinxing yourself was near flawless. But for once, it didn’t.
Your hands hovered over the case file on your desk. A fresh case. Not one of Jayce’s hand-me-downs, not something already combed through a dozen times. The seal along the side was still intact, a loud, physical reminder that no one had read this yet. Your heartbeat thrummed against your ribs.
Your fingers tensed as you looked up, scanning the office. Everyone was busy.
Was this actually meant for you?
The doubt crept in before you could stop it. Was it bad that you questioned this? That you questioned being given your own case? Mel's voice echoed in the back of your mind — “You’re too hard on yourself. Just take the opportunity.” You wanted this. You had been waiting for this. Caitlyn was trusting you with the first glance, the first look, the first opinions, the first impression.
You exhaled, shaking off the nerves as you sat down. The file was thin, because you were the one who would be passing it around, not the one receiving it after five other agents had already picked it apart.
“Soft tacos,” Jayce whistled in pure delight, stretching his legs out under his desk.
You didn’t even have to look up to know he was grinning like a damn idiot. No one but Jayce would be eating soft tacos at eight in the morning. And not even the good kind, these weren’t the ones he brought back after holidays at his mom’s house. These were microwaved, doused in sour cream, and inhaled like he was running late to something.
Jayce plopped into his chair beside you, lifting the taco to his mouth, but he barely got a bite in before his body jerked forward, his eyes going wide.
You turned, brows pulling together. “Jayce, it’s a Dollar General taco. You—”
“No way! You got a case?”
Jayce cut you off, speaking through the mouthful of scalding hot taco, eyes glued to the file in your hands. You grimaced at the sight. He hadn’t even swallowed before rushing the words out. But then, you realized that’s why he had burned himself. He had been so excited to say something that he hadn’t waited for his food to cool.
Pride? Your heart picked up slightly at the thought. Jayce, your desk partner, your closest ally in this damn office, looked genuinely excited.
“Oh, yeah. I— I think I did?” you said, unsure. “I mean, Caitlyn could’ve meant to leave this on your desk for all I know.”
Jayce raised his brows, leaning back in his chair. His taco hovered in his left hand, airing out now that he’d learned his lesson. “Mel was right. You are a pessimist.”
“What?” You put the file down carefully. “It’s not pessimism. It’s called being realistic.”
“That sounds boring as hell,” Jayce mused, clearly amused. He was a realist too, but unlike you, he had an open mind when it came to cases. You treated every file like it was life or death, like one wrong note would collapse the entire operation.
“Whoever highlighted the third section word for word is an absolute idiot. No one is reading that. It doesn’t support the evidence or the tax fraud either.” You had once scoffed, tearing open a fresh pack of sticky notes.
Or: “Let me guess. Whoever started this case let an intern do the honors. Jesus. What is happening.”
“I’d rather be boring than wrong,” you countered, turning back toward your desk, firing up your computer. You draped your coat over your lap for warmth. Your office chair was always too cold in the mornings.
“You’re often both of those things.”
“Sorry—? Oh. It’s just you.”
Your voice flatlined the second you spotted Violet standing behind Jayce. Your face dropped, irritation slipping in as she leaned against the back of your chair, one hand perched on her hip.
Jayce twisted around, his face lighting up at the sight of her. “West! Cool to see you, as always. Even if Cait put us on opposite ends of the HQ.”
You blinked in confusion as the two of them exchanged a ridiculously complicated handshake, your stomach twisting slightly.
Of course Violet was buttering up Jayce. He was your closest friend in HQ, and yet here they were, shaking hands like they had some kind of inside joke you weren’t a part of. Not even you had a handshake with Jayce.
“Yeah, yeah,” Violet brushed it off. “I’ll talk her into putting me right between you and grumpy over here.” She nodded toward you.
“You wish,” you scoffed, clicking through your unread emails. The blue light from your screen reflected on your face, making your eyes narrow slightly as you read. Your legs pressed together under your coat, absorbing what little warmth you could get.
Violet teasing you in front of Jayce wasn’t new. Not even close. But something else was.
This wasn’t the first time you had caught her looking at you differently.
It wasn’t just the usual watching to make fun of you anymore.
It had happened in the lounge, on the training field, even when she thought you hadn’t noticed. She was good at eye contact —everyone knew this— but lately? Lately, she had been slipping.
Apparently, you had also grown an extra pair of eyes on your uniform. Violet had been staring at you more than usual.
You didn’t know what to do with that.
Unfortunately, Jayce kept talking.
“Thorne got her first case,” he grinned, pointing at you with his thumb. You felt your fingers tighten around the mouse. Jayce. Seriously? Why was he telling her of all people?
Violet tilted her head, attention shifting fully to you. “Cool. I can give her a few tips and tricks, as someone who’s gone through a dozen or so.”
The last thing you needed was Violet West handing you advice. If she did, she’d rub it in your face for weeks. She’d take credit for half the investigation. She’d never shut up about it.
You snapped your gaze up, meeting hers.
“I’m good,” you said, your voice flat. “I don’t need your help.”
You barely moved, but there was a twitch, something small, something almost unnoticeable. Violet’s eyes flickered from yours, down to your tie. Your fingers moved automatically, adjusting it. She reached for her own and tugged it into place like she was mirroring you.
Was she taunting you?
“My desk has enough room for two,” Violet said, pivoting on her heel. As she turned, you caught a glimpse of that Roman numeral tattoo under her left eye, barely concealed beneath a thin layer of lazily blended concealer. It didn’t concern you. Why would it? Who the hell got a tattoo on their face?
So unprofessional.
“Yeah, I bet it does. Call a therapist.” You muttered the words just loud enough to be caught in the silence of the HQ. Violet didn’t miss a beat, letting out a laugh that shook her shoulders slightly. Your eyes flickered to the way her body moved with it, a ripple of motion.
“Not what I meant, but alright, Thorne.”
Jayce, still chewing, raised a brow and looked between you and the door as Violet exited, then turned back to you.
“Is there something going on, or…?”
“Always,” you said, voice rough but not nearly as irritated as it should have been. That realization bothered you. Normally, you’d be clenching your fists, itching with irritation, but the usual sneer wasn’t there. Jayce definitely noticed, blinking at your quick response.
“…Ooookay then.” He dragged the word out but shrugged, returning to his disgusting breakfast taco.
Still nasty.
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Never in your life had you thought you’d enjoy working on a murder case. It sounded strange from an outside perspective, but getting your first solo case had been something you had wanted —had waited for— for three years. And it was worth it. You had spent overtime in the office, completely immersed.
Highlighting sections, sticking tabs on documents, writing down key notes. By the time you finished, two markers had dried out, and a busted pen had leaked ink all over your palm from how hard you had pressed it against the paper. But it was done. You finally dropped the completed file on Caitlyn’s desk before clocking out.
Walking outside alone, the night air was cold, biting at the skin of your legs despite the sheer pantyhose you had layered under your knee-high boots. Practical, comfortable. You weren’t a fan of showing too much calf, it just felt better this way.
By the time Monday rolled around, you were dead on your feet. No one enjoyed a Monday morning, especially not in early March when climate change was kicking everyone’s ass. Walking into the HQ, the air inside was warmer than the entrance, and shrugging off your trench coat felt like a small relief.
“Finishing an entire case file in a day. That’s impressive.”
You almost jumped out of your boots.
Some idiot had breathed down your neck, not literally, but close enough. You whipped around, half-asleep daze completely shattered.
West.
Again.
You exhaled sharply, so close to snapping. “Can you not go around scaring people half to death for once?”
Violet didn’t even look sorry. She stood there, perfectly smug, like she had just told the funniest joke of the century. You wet your lips, easing the sting from the cold. Your jaw tensed before you finally said what had been lingering in your mind for the past two weeks.
“Are you okay?”
Violet tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Yeah, I’m all good. Perfect, actually. Woke up today, had breakfast for once. It was delicious. Had a cup of coffee, and—”
“I don’t care about your damn coffee,” you cut in, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Or how perfect and sparkly with unicorns your morning has been, West. You know what I’m asking. Don’t act dense.”
You weren’t the only one who had noticed.
The way you two spoke had changed. The fights were less. The banter was different. You had stopped arguing over stupid things; eye contact, for example. It had stopped feeling taunting and started feeling like…
Like something else.
Something you hated.
You scolded yourself for it, constantly. In meetings, when Caitlyn said something that involved Violet, your eyes automatically found her. You expected her to look back.
It made you uncomfortable.
And now, here she was, grinning like this wasn’t a big deal at all. “I think unicorns are pretty cool, though. Can’t lie.”
You inhaled sharply.
“This isn’t about unicorns—! You’re actually going to give me a headache.”
You dragged a hand down your face, exasperated. Violet laughed, the sound light and unbothered, as she toyed with her lanyard. Her ID badge swayed slightly, catching the overhead lighting.
You hated that grin.
Mostly because you had no idea what it meant anymore.
The air felt different. It wasn’t just the stares that carried a new weight — it was the shift in body language, the subtle shifts that were hard to ignore. Your temper had settled, your instinctive irritation toward Violet dulled. Her jokes still grated on your nerves, but the feeling in your chest wasn’t heavy anymore.
Humiliating. That’s what it was.
Not liking Violet was what kept you going. As terrible as it was to admit, hating her pushed you, forced you to be better, to work harder, to be faster than her. But now? Now, that loathing had soured into something sickly, something different. Interest. God, even thinking that word made you feel ridiculous.
You shouldn’t be this hung up on whatever unspoken thing was happening. It was probably a joke. Another way for her to get under your skin. Or maybe she was just bored, looking for entertainment at your expense. You needed to cut this off, now, before it spiraled into something even worse.
You turned, walked back to your desk, and dropped your bag beside your chair with a sigh that rattled through your chest. You weren’t stupid. You were looking for something, some kind of reassurance, confirmation that Violet wasn’t thinking the same things you were. But it wasn’t there. She was still watching. And when she got up, taking something of Caitlyn’s to the lounge, your body moved before your brain caught up.
Jayce didn’t even bother questioning it. You’d been making excuses to leave all week. Tugging down the hem of your skirt, you inhaled deeply and stepped out, boots clicking steadily against the floor. You swiped your ID at the lounge door, pushing it open, already knowing exactly who you’d find.
Violet did a double take.
She hadn’t expected you to follow. A conversation in the office? That was normal. You coming to her without Jayce nowhere nearby? Not so much.
“Had a feeling you’d follow me here,” she lied.
“Sure you did,” you deadpanned, dropping your ID onto the counter and leaning against it. Violet eyes flickered, hesitated. She was staring again, and you noticed. You both noticed.
This wasn’t the usual hostile tension between you two. It wasn’t irritation or resentment. It was something else, something you didn’t want to name. Something that made your skin burn.
“This needs to stop,” you cut in before she could say anything.
Violet's brows knit together, feigning confusion. But you knew she understood.
“Never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth, Thorne.” Her voice was slow, calculated. “You started this. All of it, I mean... picking fights, sabotaging me, making this job feel like a competition.”
You didn’t have an ego. That’s what you told yourself. But your pride? It had always been fed by approval. A nod from Caitlyn, praise from the department, respect from your coworkers.
But none of that ever filled the hole, did it?
You exhaled sharply, shifting your weight, irritation slipping into your tone. A familiar reaction. One Violet was used to by now.
It shouldn’t be her attention that made your chest tighten. It shouldn’t be her opinions that made your skin tickle. And yet, here you were. A few days ago, you had actually questioned whether thinner tights would make your legs stand out more. Whether a thicker lash would make your eyes more striking during those lingering glances. Whether she had noticed the slightly darker tie you had worn that day.
She had noticed all of it.
Violet’s gruff voice cut through your thoughts. “Do you hate me?”
Your breath caught. You stiffened. Yes. Yes.
But your lips pressed together.
“No,” you managed.
“No?” Violet repeated.
“Yes, I do,” you corrected, but your voice wobbled. It sounded weak, like even you didn’t believe it. Violet head tilted slightly, her maroon hair slipping over her face the way it always did.
How was she not dying in a suit like that every day?
“Yes, no, yes, no,” she mused, her tone deliberately teasing. “You’re stuttering.”
Your legs pressed together instinctively, your pencil skirt suddenly feeling too much, too tight, too revealing.
You were a pain in the ass. That was the best way to describe you. Someone who knew exactly what to say, what to do, to get a reaction out of you.
Violet was someone who never needed approval, who carried herself like she owned the room. And now, that smugness was focused entirely on you.
The room felt hot. You reached for your collar, but before your fingers could slip beneath the fabric, Violet voice stopped you.
“You don’t have to wear that tie if you have to keep loosening it.” Her voice was softer now, but still edged with something knowing. “But again, you have tons of bad habits. Can’t expect you to just stop.”
Your fingers froze around the fabric.
Then, she stepped forward.
Her presence was impossible to ignore. Broader frame, heavier stance, rougher edges. Her hands slid into her pockets, the motion easy, casual, like she wasn’t closing the space between you two on purpose.
She was.
You were still against the counter, meaning she had the height advantage now. Even though the difference wasn’t that much, standing above you like this, she felt taller.
Her fingers hesitated before brushing against the smooth white collar of your shirt. Your breath hitched. Your skin burned.
Your eyes flickered, searching for an escape — except you didn’t want to escape. Her thumb traced up and down along your pulse, slow and deliberate. Your stomach curled.
Then, she nudged your chin up. The silence was unbearable.
“Violet,” you breathed.
Her hand faltered.
Three years of strict last-name basis, and now you had just said it.
No one called ever really called her Violet. No one. It was always something shorter, sharper, less personal.
You sounded good saying it.
“Violet? So intimate,” she taunted, her fingers tapping against your cheek. It wasn’t meant to piss you off. But you wanted to piss her off.
Your fingers shot out, grabbing the tie between them, yanking her closer. Embarrassingly, your noses bumped. But that didn’t stop you. One hand fisted around the tie, the other gripping her bicep, steady, grounding. You felt the way her muscles tensed beneath your palm, felt the pause as her breath hitched.
You didn’t hesitate.
Your lips caught hers, firm, certain, and when she didn’t pull away —when she didn’t resist— you took.
You finally felt the scar along her upper lip, traced the curve of it with your own mouth, tasted the hesitation that melted into something hotter, something heavier. Mapping her out.
Violet didn’t know what to do with her hands at first. They hovered at your back, hesitant, but her eyes were barely cracked open, watching, waiting. Either you could stop here, or you could throw everything out the window.
Then you bit her fuller bottom lip, tugging and letting it ripple into place.
Violet groaned.
And suddenly, the second option sounded so much more appealing.
Violet hadn’t expected this ever.
You had always been untouchable. Not in the literal sense, but in every way that mattered. Unreachable, impenetrable, untamed in your own rigid way. You did what you needed to do: woke up, worked, excelled, then left the HQ like none of it ever touched you.
But this?
Violet barely had time to register it before her hands moved, gripping your hips, pulling at your pencil skirt with little care, silently begging, urging for things to move further.
Your knees buckled as Violet backed you against the edge of a table, the cool marble pressing into the backs of your thighs as she settled between them, crowding you and consuming every ounce of space.
Her fingers looped through the knot of your tie —that stupid, fidgeted-with-like-a-necklace tie— and with a single sharp tug, it came loose. Slipping down. Forgotten.
Then, her hand cupped the back of your neck, pressing her lips against yours with something so deep, so thick with years of this, years of tension, of misplaced resentment, of fuck, how did we get here.
And yet, neither of you wanted to stop.
Violet's fingers traced from the back of your neck to the front of your throat, just barely gripping. It was already hard to breathe, but the idea of that, of her taking it just a little further? It had your stomach twisting.
Kissing the woman you had despised for years was going to be hilarious to explain.
But later.
Not now.
“Is the door—locked?” you barley managed out, your glossed lips brushing against hers, voice raw, uneven. Violet shook her head, hummed, lips curling against yours.
“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, Her hands moving. She slid one down to your thigh, gripping and propping it around her waist.
Then her mouth descended.
Hot, wet kisses trailed down the slope of your throat, her tongue flicking out just slightly, savoring the mix of sweat and whatever faint perfume lingered on your skin.
Your pulse pounded beneath her lips, and Violet felt something deep in her tighten at the sound of your breath hitching, the way your body gave just slightly, as if caught between pure instinct and resistance.
Her palm landed against the underside of your thigh, firm, not particularly harsh, but a deliberate smack.
A sharp, raspy gasp broke from your lips, your body twitching against hers, bottom lip swollen from the way you had abused it between sloppy, desperate kisses.
Violet’s eyes flickered, catching the way you tensed, how your cheeks were burning, how your hands trembled against her chest.
Everything needed to come off.
Her fingers dragged up your thigh. Rubbing in slow, lazy circles before moving up, slipping beneath the first few buttons of your work blouse.
One by one with one hand.
Meticulously.
You slowly sucked in a breath, your own hands fisting the fabric of her blazer.
Violet let go of you entirely, her fingers deftly working the rest of your buttons open, sliding the blouse off your shoulders before carelessly tossing it onto the chair beside the table. Her gaze swept over you, dark and unreadable, before she bit her bottom lip, teeth smoothing over it as she exhaled through her nose.
She didn't know what was better: finally having you, the woman who had spent years making her job hell, unraveling beneath her touch, or the sheer fact that you looked this damn good doing it.
Her hand moved instinctively, fingers splaying across the lace covering your chest, feeling the warmth of your skin through the fabric. She pressed a kiss between the valley of your breasts, slowly before trailing up, tongue flicking over your collarbones.
The sounds leaving your lips sent something sharp through her, something she had never allowed herself to acknowledge before now. Your legs tensed around her hips, a burning heat building between them. Your pussy was drenched.
Then, she moved. Rolling her hips forward, pressing herself against you, the friction earning a shaky grunt from your throat.
You felt good.
Her hand traced down your spine, unhooking your bra with ease. The straps loosened, fabric slipping from your body, and Violet took a step back to let her eyes drag over you.
She dampened her lips. "I'm so lucky to see you like this. You're so gorgeous.”
Her voice was lower now, rougher, hands returning to you. Thumbs circling your nipples, before sliding down to your waist.
She sat you up, lips grazing your jaw, before murmuring, "What happened to that mouth of yours?"
Her fingers flicked over your erect breasts, and your breath hitched, body arching slightly before you could stop yourself. The sound you made earned a knowing chuckle from her, and before you could snap at her for it, she was moving again, pressing you back against the table.
Her hands slid down your thighs, rolling your skirt up at an agonizing pace.
Violet huffed, giving your knee a light tap.
"Is the pantyhose really necessary?"
You exhaled sharply. "Yes, It is."
She rolled her eyes, but there was something amused behind it, something fond — before her fingers traced slow circles over the thin, black fabric covering you.
And then, without hesitation, she hooked her fingers through the material and tore it.
A sharp gasp left your lips. "Vi! Those were expen—"
She silenced you with another sharp tug, the ruined fabric giving way enough to give her the space she wanted. She could have pulled them down, but this was much better.
The sight of you like this, obedient beneath her, legs trembling slightly, breath uneven.
She wanted to ruin you further.
Jesus.
Her hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting and adjusting them until they rested over her shoulders.
Your breathing hitched, erratic. You knew what was coming, felt it before it even happened, but when her lips finally met your pussy; wet and painfully slow. You gasped, your spine curving inward, nails curling into the marble beneath you.
A broken sound left you, high and breathless. "That’s so good."
Violet huffed a quiet laugh against you. "I haven't even started yet."
She hooked your panties aside, her mouth pressing against you fully, tongue dragging slow, then flicking, savoring, sucking on your swelled clit. She worked like she had time, like this was something to be unraveled piece by piece, something she could take apart and put back together again.
Your clammy hands flew to grip the edge of the table, your body shifting under her touch, her mouth sending sharp waves of pleasure coursing through you.
"Fuhh—ck, Vi." Your voice cracked.
That only spurred her on, hands gripping your thighs tighter, nails pressing into your skin as she curved her tongue, shifting her movements, searching, memorizing what made you fall apart.
She had spent years watching you, knowing exactly how to get under your skin. It was fun to put it to use.
Violet’s mouth worked you over with hungry desperation, her tongue sucking every inch of skin she could reach. Your folds, pulsing clit, labia — every so often, she flicked her gaze upward, watching you writhe against the table. Back arching, lips parting in helpless, breathless sounds.
If she had known this was the key to shutting you up, to finally silencing that sharp mouth of yours, she would have done this sooner.
Her lips curled against you, satisfaction lacing her voice as she murmured, “Good girl. How’s this? Yeah? So good?”
Her breath was hot and damp against your skin, sending a shudder through your sopping core.
Your only response was a whimper, your hand sliding up to your chest; grasping at yourself, desperate for anything to ground you. But the moment you tried to regain control, Violet sucked on your clit once more with enough force to break it.
Your spine arched off the table. Another sharp, wrecked gasp slipped past your lips. Violet’s grip tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer, forcing your legs to stay apart as she devoured you like you were her last damn meal.
The pleasure was too much —too sharp, too overwhelming— but stopping now wasn’t an option.
“So—” your voice trembled, barely coherent, “so, so good, Violet.”
Your hips rocked against her mouth, helpless against the way she was working you over, keeping you open, keeping you hers.
This was insane.
Doing this in the employee lounge? Absolutely wrong.
“Keep your legs around my shoulders,” Violet ordered, voice rough, edged with something close to command. “If you move, I’m stopping.”
Your breath hitched. Before you could protest, she lifted her hand to her lips, sucking two fingers between them, coating them with her own spit. Saliva moved down the digits in thick beads.
Then, she thrusted them inside of you. Wet enough to take them in one go.
Your body jolted, your nails scraping against the table as the pressure spread you open, slick and hot and perfect. You were definitely breaking a nail today.
Violet whistled lowly, amused, before curling them just right—
“My—God!”
The sound ripped out of you raw and shameless.
Violet hummed, the vibration shattering against you, her fingers sinking deeper, curling again, chasing that sound like it was her new favorite thing in the world.
The sound of your squelching pussy that sucked her in and tightened when she moved even just a second too quickly. She loved it.
“You’re a mess, baby.”
Violet’s voice was thick with amusement, her palm coming down to deliver a second sharp smack against your reddened thigh. Before you could react, she spit. A slow gesture. Watching as it mixed with the release already dripping down your swollen, aching core.
Her right hand never stopped, fingers still working in and out of you, dragging along every sensitive spot. Rough, but slow. Just enough to make sure you felt everything — every curl, every drag, every time she pulled out just to push deeper. Your insides protested, torn between needing a break and wanting more.
She smirked, tilting her head. “Look at you.”
She blew a soft stream of air over your glistening cunt, watching the way your body twitched in response.
Your head was somewhere else. Your hips moved on their own, helpless to the sensation coursing through you. Strings of moans and profanity fell from your lips, your body tightening around her fingers, pulsing — begging without words.
“Vi,” you whimpered. Your lashes damp with unshed tears.
She hummed in response, but didn’t let up, her fingers keeping that same relentless, torturous pace. A shaky moan ripped from your throat, your thighs trembling over her shoulders.
“I think—I think I’m going to come.”
Violet’s ashy eyes flicked up to you at your words, dark and heated, before her lips curled.
“Yeah?”
She then went faster.
Your gasp turned into a cry, body jolting at the sharp, intense pleasure flooding your sensitive nerves. There was no way no one had heard you two—not when you were here, back arched, lips parted, begging for her, falling apart because of her.
“No—! I—Vi! I can’t—!”
Your legs snapped shut around her head as your body tensed, spine bowing as the orgasm hit you. Ripping through your system, spilling over Violet’s fingers and dripping onto the marble beneath you.
Your breathing came in heavy. Overstimulation setting in as your body shuddered through the aftershocks.
Violet finally pulled her fingers from you, gaze flickering between your spent, trembling form and the slick coating her hand. Then, without hesitation, she brought her fingers to her lips and gave them a slow and greedy suck.
Your back falls flat on the cool marble.
Vi had won, again.
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shukraastro · 4 months ago
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Direction of your spouse
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With this technique you can find out from which direction your future spouse will come from. This means in which direction they are located/living as compared to where you are living.
For this method you look which planet rules over your 7th house in your D1 chart and you can also include your Darakaraka in this technique, I have seen that it work as well.
Your 7th lord planet and your Darakaraka planet will tell you the direction of your spouse. Each planet stands for a specific direction. And you basically find the mutual point of those directions or the mutual direction of which these two planets tell you. I hope you know what I mean by that.
Do not include Venus and Jupiter as traditional wife and husband planets because that would mean for everyone that their wife or husband comes from the same direction as everyone else's wife/husband. Only take Venus or Jupiter if they are your actual D1 7th lord or Darakaraka.
With your 7th lord and Darakaraka if you end up getting all directions or completely opposing directions in the end, because some planets give mid-directions, it will be either one or the other of those planets that will be significant (that's the tricky part there). You also look at the house number where your 7th lord and Darakaraka is placed in.
The 1st, 4th, 7th and 10th house indicate that you will/need to initiate some sort of movement to meet your spouse, like when you go to another city for work or family/friends trips, visiting relatives in a different city or whatever the circumstances are.
The 2nd, 5th, 8th and 11th house indicate that your spouse is fixed to your location, so they will be local to you, from the same place as you live and you could basically bump into them randomly at a bank/school/restaurant/cinema/club/social meetings and such.
The 3rd, 6th, 9th and 12th house indicate that you have to travel (truly travel) to foreign places in order to find your spouse, crossing boundaries of land, seas and even borders. The 3rd and 6th houses typically indicates short-distance travel, while the 9th and 12th houses indicate long-distance travel, journeys to faraway places involving cultural/religious and geographical differences.
In most cases you will end up getting two different houses, one where the 7th lord is placed and one where the Darakaraka is placed. This means that universe will offer you two different possibilities for meeting your future spouse, you will have choices and free will. It can be either in the ways of one house or the other house.
Now the directions of each planets:
Sun is East
Moon is North-West
Mercury is North
Venus is South-East
Mars is South
Jupiter is North-East
Saturn is West
Let me give an example:
Someone I did a reading on had this alignment. She had her 7th house in Cancer, so Moon was her 7th lord and it was in her 4th house. She went with her family to visit their relatives who live 2 hours away from her city and her husband was also a guest there and she met him through them on that day. She was traveling to the North-West direction compared to her local place. And her husband was from the same city as her relatives, who were living 2 hours away from her. The husband was a work colleague of the relatives son. So she was the one who initiated movement and it happened with her family and through the connections of her family.
Let's do a predictive example:
Before I get hundreds of requests on him let's take Jungkook straight forward. His 7th Lord is Mercury and his Darakaraka is Moon. Mercury is North and Moon is North-West that combined makes North-West. Both planets are placed in his 9th house. So he will have to travel to culturally/religiously/geographically foreign places and cross borders in order to meet his future spouse. And compared to his current location he has to travel to the North-West direction.
🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺
I hope this was helpful, I hope I could explain it in an understandable way.
Thanks for reading. 🌺
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yunsound · 3 months ago
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Chinese Mythology: The Four Dragon Kings
Does anyone remember Ao Guang? Or the other three Dragon Kings? Or did anyone watch Ne Zha 2025?
You may then know of the Four Dragon Kings of Ancient China (四海龙王). 
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Historically all four of them are male- some recent adaptations will show one (or more) of them as female just for fun. China, even in ancient times, did not have four seas around it- the four dragon kings each correspond to a body of water in the cardinal directions. 
Ao Guang
The big guy, Ao Guang, the Dragon King of the East, does have a “sea”: the East China Sea. 
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A carving of Ne Zha fighting Ao Guang (we all remember how that went, right?)
We know and love Ao Guang since he’s the one who got Ne Zha killed (after both he and his son got their asses beat) and is also the guy who gave Sun Wukong his mythical weapon, the Ruyi Jingu Staff (maybe will make a post on mythological weapons at some point).
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His third son, Ao Bing, is famous for getting his tendons plucked out by Ne Zha.
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Subtitles: I'll pull your tendons out, see if you can still hurt anyone after this! (sorry for Ne Zha being kind of naked, he's a kid who was just taking a bath)
Ao Guang is the biggest, most powerful Dragon King.
In the Fengshen Yanyi (Investiture of the Gods post here), he’s a big dickhead who forces people to give him offerings or he’ll bring them drought and disaster. He’s very powerful, and is the leader of the Four Dragon Kings.
He’s also the sexy dragon dilf dad in Ne Zha 2. 
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I just cannot get over this character design, oh my goodness.
Ao Run
Ao Run, pronounced Ow Rwen (also sometimes called Ao Ji) is the Dragon King of the West. 
He does not have a “sea”: in fact, he rules over the biggest lake in China, Qinghai Lake. It’s big enough that we consider it a sea, I guess. It used to be considered an actual sea (like, connected out to the open ocean) probably because it’s huge, but it was probably never actually a sea. 
Lake Qinghai has shrunk a lot. You can tell in this picture: right now it’s about the size of Trinidad.
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See all that dry land? Used to be lake.
It’s very blue, which is why it’s called Qinghai 青海 (blue sea). Qing generally refers to a bright blue-teal shade. 
Ao Run’s son, Ao Lie, is the dragon that is sentenced to death by the Jade Emperor for setting fire to Ao Run’s palace accidentally and destroying a whole bunch of stuff. In the end, Guanyin Pusa spares Ao Lie’s life and sends him on the Journey to the West with Wukong, Tangsen, Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing. You may recall that Tangsen had a big fancy white horse- that’s Ao Lie!
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You may notice in this picture everyone else's names are labeled except for the horse. It's kind of sad- he's a little irrelevant.
A huge downgrade, from being a fancy dragon prince to a horse, but you can’t say he didn’t deserve it. 
He's also featured in Fei Ren Zai (a very funny comic/animation series about mythical figures in modern-day also featuring Ne Zha, Wukong and Erlang Shen).
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You may remember Ao Run from Ne Zha 2, 2025 as the sexy dragon lady with the killer sky-splitting manicure. 
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Sorry, she did things to me when I first saw her appear in her human form.
Ao Shun
Ao Shun, pronounced Ow Shwen, is the Dragon King of the North.
He also does not have a “sea”, like Ao Run. His patron body of water is what’s now known as Lake Baikal (Wikipedia better not fail me, I actually had no idea where the North China Sea was supposed to be). 
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Lake Baikal is the deepest lake in the world, it’s right up there in the south part of Siberia. North enough for you?
Back when the Han dynasty was fighting the Xiongnu (the Huns in Disney’s Mulan, basically), they beat the Xiongnu in a battle here. They saw this huge-ass lake, and decided they’d refer to it as the North China Sea. Lake Baikal is larger than Belgium. A little scary, no?
In Ne Zha 2, he was the freaky purple-green guy with blades all over his body. You may remember him fighting Ao Bing in a very exciting battle sequence. I’m not aware of any myths where he’s of any significance. 
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A hard pass. Sorry, second uncle. Your big brother and younger sister are much hotter.
Ao Qin
Ao Qin, pronounced Ow Chin (敖钦) is the Dragon King of the South.
The South China Sea of recent geopolitical tension fame is in fact a sea. Other than Ao Guang, he’s the only one with an actual sea. There’s not much to say about Ao Qin, he’s not that relevant.
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If you remember him from Ne Zha 2, he’s the big red one who’s dumb as bricks..
The Four Dragon Kings are really not that important aside from Ao Guang and Ao Run. Ao Guang is a key mythological figure- he appears in many myths, and is a semi-major character in Journey to the West.
Ao Run contributes mainly by giving Tangsen a horse in the form of his son. Poor Ao Lie. 
In the 1979 Ne Zha Conquers the Sea, they are all seen briefly scheming with Ao Guang to go Karen-style and ask for the manager (Jade Emperor).
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They're all siblings (since they have the same last name, Ao), with Ao Guang being the oldest brother. The order of ages past that is a little harder to figure out- from what I know, their ages are
Ao Guang
Ao Shun
Ao Qin
Ao Run
I actually don't know where Ao Run is in the ranking, I just know Ao Qin is younger than Ao Shun. As such, Ao Run could be either the youngest, the second youngest or the third youngest.
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satorusugurugurl · 7 months ago
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The Incantation
Summary: You’re bored on a Saturday night with a book of spells? Might as well try to summon an Incubus, but your world is turned upside down when it actually works!
Pairing: Incubus!Gojo Satoru X AFAB!Reader
Warnings: incubus, witch craft, spells, demons, sex, unprotected sex, creampie,
Word Count: 2.7K
A/N: Kinktober day twelve! Incubus! If I could summon incubus Gojo I would drain him like a succubus!! 💚💚💚
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The chalk was a stark white against the wood flooring of your bedroom, only illuminated by the glow of the candles that had been placed north, south, east, and west. You kind of felt stupid, like this was a waste of time, but when you found this old Latin book in the bookshop you worked at, you figured it was a Saturday night; you didn't have a date, so why not try to embrace the Halloween spirit?
Besides, it wasn't like anything would happen with this phony spell in an old book!
You sat on the outside of the circle, humming as you flipped through the pages of the book. “Alright, magic circle, check. Candles are in each direct; check, check! And last but not least, an offering.” You looked around your room, pursing your lips together, thinking of what you could use as an offering. A can of Coke and a bar of chocolate caught your eye.
The coke and chocolate were meant for a little treat after work. But you got so caught up in this book that you hadn’t touched it either. The thought of going downstairs to grab a raw steak wasn't appealing. Especially when you knew deep down, this wasn't going to work.
“Fuck it!”
Grabbing them and putting them inside the circle before flipping back to the book. “Alright, so let's see. With the offering placed, I can now say the incantation and summon an incubus.” You took a deep breath, holding the book in front of you. “Latinam ignore, ideo simulare carmen magicum vocare Gojo Incubus calidum!!” You chanted as you stared at the circle, waiting for nothing to happen like you thought it would. A minute passed before you hummed, looking back at the book. “Latinam ignore, ideo simulare carmen magicum vocare Gojo Incubus calidum?” Again, nothing happened. “Hmm, maybe my pronunciation is o—”
Blue flames rose from the chalk, crackling and burning. You screamed in shock, sitting back and dropping the book as a dark form materialized out of the fire, standing over six feet tall. Smoke rose as a beautiful man yawned, stretching his hands about his head before he reached up, rubbing at the icy blue horns with white tips that grew from his head. His eyes were glowing a bright cerulean blue, framed by long white lashes.
He is so hot!? His hair looked soft, and his pristine white skin reminded you of fresh snow. His pale skin almost shimmered in the blaze of the candles around him. He was flawless in every way one could imagine, which was a stark contrast to the black tunic he was wearing.
“Hi~” His voice was a smooth ass, honey. “You called Sweetheart?”
“I-I—!!”
You were too stunned to speak as this incubus reached down, cracking open the Coke and chugging it down before he ripped open the chocolate bar. “Let me guess.” He skeptically, taking in your curves and the beautiful tone of your skin and your hair. “You found a book, didn’t think the spell would work, and now you’re too shocked to see me.” You watched as clawed fingers the same shade of blue as his eyes and horns worked at the wrapper of the chocolate bar.
“Y-You’re an incubus!” You flipped through the book you had called a fake. “A real-life incubus!”
“Uh-huh~ and I need to break it to you, but chocolate and soda will not satisfy my hunger.”
“O-Oh—“a nervous laugh rose from your lungs. “Uhm, I am so sorry, but this is a misunderstanding. I didn’t think this would work. I never meant actually to summon you.”
“Well, you did, and I used up a lot of energy getting here.” You squeaked as he bit into the chocolate bar, revealing sharp teeth. “Besides, I can smell how pent-up you are.”
You wanted to be disgusted with his assumption, but you were intrigued. Because you were pent up, it had been so long since you had been with anybody. If you were being honest, you weren’t even cutting it out anymore. The depth of your soul, you were hoping this would happen because how hot would it be to have sex with an incubus? The creatures you had read about in your smutty novels.
But now that an actual incubus was standing before you, you weren’t sure if you were as excited as you were at the prospect of it. You knew what incubus were. They were literal demons that feast off of the sexual desire of women. They fed off sex. Suppose you were to go through this, which was a terrible idea. Would you survive? Or would your roommates find you days later? Shriveled up like a raisin.
“I might be bent up, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna give it to you.”
“Oh, sure you will.” The demon said with a grin, taking another bite of the chocolate. “Because no one in their right mind would turn down a night with the infamous Gojo Satoru.”
You tilted your head to the side. “The Gojo Satoru? I’ve never heard of you before.” His forked tongue darted out past his lips, running over his bottom one.
“What do you say we change that then? I would love to get more acquainted with you and your body.”
You cross your arms over your chest effectively, pushing your breasts together. “How do I know you’re not going to kill me? Isn’t that what you’re humans until they’re nothing more than empty husks?” That had the demon licking almost insulted at your mischaracterization of him.
“I would never do that! If anything, this might turn into a regular business deal. So what do you say? Aren’t you tired of using those plastic silicone toys of yours? Wouldn’t you rather have the real thing?”
“I don’t know.”
Gojo hummed, finishing the chocolate bar and tossing the wrapper. “How about we make a deal?” Gojo could see the way your eyes brightened.
“A deal?”
“Yeah, I won’t kill you in an exchange. I get to use you every once in a while.” He crouched down, leg spread wide as he eyed you up and down. “I honestly believe it would be beneficial to both of us. You get to get dicked down whenever you do that incantation. And I get to feed from your lust and sex until I’ve had my fill of it.”
You still eyed him like you didn’t trust him all the way, which was brilliant because, as nice as he may be, he was still an incubus. A very hot delicious looking incubus. You sat on your knees, leaning in closer to him.
“You promise?”
“I cross my heart. He did exactly that: a blue glowing ‘x’ formed over his heart. “You have my word, mortal. So what shall it be?”
You continued to stare at each other, heat and tension rising as Gojo eyed your body up and down. Gojo couldn’t remember the last time he had a mortal woman. But he was growing hungrier as he eyed the woman sitting in front of him. He needed you, and he was going to eat you up. He just needed to use a little more of his charm.
In a sudden jolt, you were leaning over the manic circle, grabbing him by the black tunic and slamming your lips against his. They were so soft and sweet, tasting like the chocolate he had eaten minutes before. Your hand tightened around the silky fabric, pulling him closer towards you. The lust and desire flooded the room like a fragrant candle. Both of you lost yourselves in it.
Gojo reached up, cupping both sides of your face as he stepped outside of the magic circle, carrying you to the desk, sitting you down on your ass. In the process of doing so, however, he knocked the stacks of books off your desk, sending them clattering to the floor, which you couldn’t care about because all you wanted was him, this insanely hot incubus.
“Holy shit,” you whispered, pulling away from his lips and running your fingers over his smooth skin. He chuckled, running his fingers through your hair and tugging it gently.
“Oh, sweetie, we’re just getting started.” He was fucking smirking, causing your core to throb; he began trailing kisses down the side of your neck, causing you to shudder against him. His sharp teeth graze your skin. “Want to know the best part?” All you could do was hum in response as he cupped your breasts, long, sharp nails ripping at your t-shirt, “I’m going to be the best fuck you’ve ever had.”
You moaned in anticipation as you reached down, unbuttoning his pants, “Less talking,” you shoved your hand inside his pants, smirking at the hiss that liege his lips as you found his thick massive cock nice and hard, “and more of that fucking you keep bragging about.” You stroked his cock, winning a growl from him.
“Shit,” he stabbed his nail through the center of your shirt, dragging it down to rip off of you. “You’re one kinky mortal, aren’t you? Look like I’ll be enjoying a feast.” He reached behind you, unclasping your bra and dropping it to the ground.
“Oooh~ I’m a BookTok girlie; I think you’re going to find out you’re my feast.” You stroked him harder, moaning softly as his large hands reached down, cupping your breasts.
“Well, I can’t complain about that.” He cooed, a forked tongue darting out and flicking over one of your nipples. “ I may not know what a BookTok girl is by fuck you're beautiful.” He grunted as you twisted your hand softly around his shaft, “Fuck,” He growled, pressing his forehead against yours, “Are you trying to excite me?”
He trailed his fingers over the sides of your breasts, causing you to shiver under his touch, “Maybe,” you responded, gripping his cock tighter as he began kneading at your breasts, “Oh God, that feels so good.” He squeezed them harder, drawing a gasp from you, “Gojo.”
“Satoru~,” he whispered in your earth, teeth grazing your earlobe. “My name is Satoru~” The pads of his thumbs rubbed over the peaks of your nipples, taking in the way you jumped. “Try saying it while I play with your amazing tits.”
“Satoru,” you growled, pushing his pants down past his amazing ass, “fuck me, please.” Satoru could taste the sugary sweetness of your lust and desire. It made our mouth water as he pulled his cock out, stroking it quickly.
“I’m going to fuck you so good, Sweetheart.” You whined as he pulled your shorts and panties to the side, licking his lips, “Looks like this pretty girl is already wet for me.” He laughed, rubbing his fingers up and down your slit, watching your slick-coat his fingers. Your intoxicating scent makes his mouth water. “Fuck I can taste you. I need to be inside of you.”
He grabbed your hips, scooting you closer to the edge of the desk, forcing your legs apart., “I need you too.” Gojo’s fingers dug into the sin of your hips, pulling you towards him, allowing the head of his cock to rub against your slickened opening, “please hurry, I need you inside me.”
He slowly eased into you, growling as your walls clamped down on his thick long cock. Your walls twitched, stretching to accommodate his impressive length. You yearned for more, one of your hands gripping the edge of the desk while the other grabbed a handful of his glorious ass easing him deeper inside of you. The two of you were a panting and horny mess as you grew used to the other's body.
“Fuck,” he groans into your ear, his breath tickling your neck, “you're so tight.” He rests his head against the crook of your neck as he bucks his hips into yours.
You're moaning and writhing against him, desperate and hungry for more. His hips are snapping forward faster and harder with every slide of his cock inside of you. Your breasts bounce up and down with every thrust. Your nipples are rubbing against the fabric of his tunic, making them feel insanely sensitive with every brush against the fabric.
Digging your nails into his ass, you start bucking against him, “Faster, fuck me faster.” You tilt your head back as he growls deep from inside his chest as he thrusts faster, “Yeah, just like that, fuck me, Gojo.” and he does as you tell him to do.
He fucked you harder and faster against the desk to the point where it was shaking violently. Sending more books and pends falling to the ground. You should be concerned about your laptop falling to the ground, but that's the last thing on your mind. All that's on your mind is Gojo and his FUCKING monster cock inside of you, stretching you like you've never been stretching. Bringing out a new burning desire you’d never felt before. He was fucking you like you'd never been fucked before.
“You taste so good,” he whispered as he planted kisses against your flushed skin, “your lust is so tasty~ and you. Fuuuck, you’re so beautiful and hot,” he chuckled and growled as you tightened yourself around him, “oh and you’re sexy as hell. “Trust me~ I know.”
“You're,” you whimper, “one,” more whimpers slip past your swollen lips, “to talk.” you finally manage to get out before a scream of absolute pleasure rips through your throat as he slams into you. He was hitting every sweet spot with each thrust, bringing you closer and closer to a lovely yet intense orgasm, “oh my fuck,” you whispered against his forehead, “Oh my fucking God, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum Satoru! Fucking I-I’m gonna,” your train of thought trailed off as he dug his fingers harder into your hips thrusting deeper inside of you.
He could taste it. Your desire was filling him up. Satisfying the hunger that was so deep, he never thought it would be fulfilled, but you, fuck, you were an exception. One he wasn’t sure he could give up. “Cum for me, pretty girl~,” he grunted, his voice hoarse and ragged in pleasure, “cum all over my cock, cum for me.”
“S-Satoru!” You screamed out loud as you reached up, holding his head flush against your neck as you threw your head back. Waves of pleasure rushed through you as that coil in your abdomen snapped, drawing out gasps and whimpers of pleasure from you, “Fuck, Fuck, fuck!” you whimpered, feeling him twitch inside of you as your inner walls squeezed and clamped down around him.
With a final snap of his hips, Satoru buried himself completely inside of your hot wet pussy. His body stiffened as he growled your name through his teeth. He continued to thrust and roll his hips as he filled you with his seed, and he didn't let up until both of you were gasping for air.
“Now that,” you inhaled deeply, stroking his head, “that's what I call sex.” He laughed slowly, still trying to regain whatever composure he could, “And having hot sex on my desk, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that for.”
He somehow managed to pull himself away from your body, his hands reaching up to cup your face, “Well, you have me for the rest of the night.” He growled, the sound causing you to clamp down around him.
“Oh, Toru~ I’m going to make sure you don’t leave here hungry.”
He blinked, tilting his head to the side as you pushed him back. He walked back until the back of his legs hit the bed, and he fell back against it. “Oof!” He huffed as you straddled either side of his face, your dripping pussy inches from his mouth. “O-Ooh fuck.” He whispered as you smirked down at him.
“Enjoy the meal, Mr. Demon.” Gojo swallowed hard before he brought you down in his mouth, starting to wonder if you were a succubus yourself.
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