In a game of firms you merge or you die. A parody in which everyone, except Mike, watches/reads A Song of Ice and Fire.
this contains numerous things that are relevant to my interests
Oh so did you guys hear about that joke where Harvey Specter doesn’t have feelings? Yeah i know right?
Jessica: Daniel is the reason why I’m here. He plucked me from the bullpen when I didn’t know my ass from my elbow.
Harvey: He saw a star to hitch his wagon to.
#CAN WE JUST #I JUST NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE FACT #THAT SUITS WAS WILLING TO GO THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE #JESSICA IS EMPRESS OF NEW YORK AND SHE WILL SLAUGHTER YOU WITH A SMILE #BUT SHE HAS TO PUT UP WITH SOME BASIC BULLSHIT #SHE IS CONSTANTLY AWARE THAT THE WHITE MALE PARTNERS FEEL LIKE SHE’S INTRUDING#AND THAT SHE NEEDS TO BE PUT IN HER PLACE #like okay last week when daniel announced he was going to call for a vote #and all the partners were standing in that room #and it was like 90% white dudes #i was like i bet jessica has spent her ENTIRE CAREER waiting for them to come for her like this #because she is not only brilliant and creative and insightful and ruthless and sneaky and loyal #she is also a stunningly gorgeous black woman who is taller than most of those bastards in her stocking feet #SUCH A THING CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO EXIST!!!!! #i can’t even imagine how she must have felt #to have trusted hardman and to have felt that she owed him #(because she probably kept hitting that goddamn glass ceiling despite her own extreme competence) #and then to be expected to turn him in for her own gain#and to have her own loyalty rewarded with such BULLSHIT #no fucking wonder jessica takes loyalty so seriously #no wonder she is so serious about saving harvey#and no wonder she expects WORLDS and WORLDS of the same from him #JESSICA MY QUEEN #MY DEAREST DARLING #MY BEST BELOVED #jessica pearson takes no prisoners
Someone please write me this story about Jessica. I need it because of REASONS.
The suit cost $600 and change – it’s not the most expensive suit Jessica owns, or even the one she likes best, but it does the job she needs it to do. She steps into the pants and thinks of Jameson, Whitman, Brodbeck, their smiles of condescension even now; the way they look at her as if she’s a science experiment they’re willing to indulge until it stops amusing them, an inside joke to which only they know the punchline (it’ll come at her expense). They’re foolish, she thinks – swaddled, stupidly, in the comfort of their pale, pale, skin, imagining she doesn’t have what it takes, what they have, what she needs; unable to understand that she already earns five times their salary, that she’ll earn yet more before they’ve drunk their espresso and dabbed at their mouths with their pocket squares. Idiots, she breathes, and she smoothes a silk camisole over her breasts, shrugs into the jacket that fits almost as it should, reaches for the pearls that will sit at her throat, a light, elegant pressure, the manifestation of a thousand raised eyebrows, double-takes, and open stares. The heels at least feel right – the heels lift her up, let her look down, just as Hawkins and Ballard and Jarvis deserve, Bradley, Jessup, Clifton, and Walker, too.
Jessica glances at her reflection, smiles at what she sees, turns her foot to the right, to the left. In her heels she’s the beginning of who she’s meant to be, the woman she’ll be by afternoon, the managing partner, Daniel gone. It’s the last time she’ll wear this piece-of-shit suit, the last time she’ll acquiesce to the way those bastards want her to look, the lie they want her body to tell. She saunters back to her closet, touches the skirt that hangs on the rail, the blouse she’ll wear in twenty-four hours. She’s no one’s dress-up doll, and those assholes don’t know power and prestige. They’ll learn, tomorrow, she thinks with satisfaction, and they’ll wonder how they didn’t see this was always the way it was going to be.
PERSONALITY IN SPADES
Emma Stone for Vogue
Mike smokes his last joint on a Thursday; he doesn’t know it’s his last, doesn’t know the weekend will bring a beer and a bong and too many bowls, doesn’t know next week will bring Harvey. He rolls it messy, long practice and shaking hands, money he doesn’t have and promises he can’t keep, Trevor’s latest request hot on his heels. Red-eyed an hour later, the world is smoothed out, round-edged, the halo of his desk lamp the most fascinating thing he’s seen in years, and people don’t live forever but the buzz might, just this once, just for now.
Harvey rolls in like darkness does, like darkness always has, blowing Mike’s pupils and studded with stars. Mike follows him because it’s easier, because he wants to, because he can; Mike follows him because that’s what Mike does, when push comes to shove comes to the ever elusive truth. Harvey talks about addicts and Mike doesn’t correct him, and Harvey talks about change and Mike doesn’t argue. Harvey talks about Mike, and Mike listens, listens, listens, lets himself believe the latest lie.
“Okay, hotshot. Fire up the PASIV. I’m gonna show you what the best extractor in the business can do.”
gyzym: YOU KNOW HARVEY IS SECRETLY PRYING INTO MIKE’S LIFE WHENEVER HE FEELS IN ANY WAY
gyzym: A) SUSPICIOUS OR
gyzym: B) AFFECTIONATE
postcard: HE HAS A FILE CALLED
postcard: DEFINITELY NOT MIKE’S FILE
postcard: IN HIS CUPBOARD AT HOME
gyzym: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THAT IS THE…