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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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Familiar & Unfamiliar

din djarin x female!reader

warning: attempted sexual assault (not by our boy mando, and i don’t describe it in depth the furthest it goes is non-consensual kissing), light smut, angst then comfort, then fluff fluff fluff, identity theft, mentions of slave trade, canon violence, dom!din trying hard to be sub!din for you, he doesn’t succeed for long

word count: 4,174

Summary: You travel the galaxy with a Mandalorian who is much softer than his impenetrable beskar would lead others to believe. He leaves you with his son to search for a Quarry, but it’s not the Mando you’ve come to know and love who returns to you.

“It shouldn’t take long.” Mando hummed as he collected his gear from his weapon’s storage. You sat cross legged on the Razor Crest’s floor with the child in your lap. His small green hand played with the small, metal ball he seemed to always find. Your hand stroked his ears only stopping to push the ball away from his mouth when he began to try and chew on it. Mando turned around to stare down at you. “Will you be alright here?”

After traveling with the Mandalorian for the last two months, babysitting and completing repairs on the ship, you had finally grown accustomed to the silver beskar covered man. Initially it had been difficult for you to even look at the man for longer than a second⏤ too intimidated by the black t-shape visor that stared back at you. However, joining him had been your only option at the time, an act of self preservation, so you had to push your fear aside. Luckily, you had quickly learned that though the metal he was covered in was impossible to penetrate, the man underneath was as soft as they come.

You learned that the solemn, silent, and dangerous facade Mando wore was more or less an interpretation of what people saw. Yes, he was dangerous. You had seen him wrestle quarries three time his size and come out unscathed, but you had also seen him humming a song under his breath while giving the child a bath. You had seen Mando go out of his way to purchase you a new pair of boots in the market simply because he noticed your discomfort with your current pair. The brief times you felt his touch, a brush against your arm or a hand on your back, it was soft and comforting. His eyes were impossible to see behind his helmet, but you could feel the care in his gaze. Having Mando’s attention on you felt like safety.

Mando called out your name and you blinked in surprise. “Oh, um, yeah! We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I shouldn’t be gone long. Days at most.” He reassured before you could even ask. You stood up and Mando drifted closer⏤ his gloved hand reached out brush the child’s head. Mando chuckled when his son cooed and giggled in response. You heard a long time ago that the best judge of a person’s character was how they treated animals and children. Mando passed that test with flying colors. “You remember the rules?”

“Hmm, no running with scissors?” You joked. Mando tilted his head and you chuckled. “Don’t open the Razor Crest’s ramp for anyone but you, and if I do have to leave for some emergency, get to a crowded spot with plenty of witnesses and talk to no one. Not until you come for us.”

Mando nodded in approval. He gave the child’s head one last pet along the ears and as his hand pulled away you felt his leather covered fingers drag down the length of your bare arm. Heat crept up the back of your neck and you prayed to any deity that was listening that Mando hadn’t heard the hitch in your breath. You were not attracted to your metal armored Mandalorian employer and friend. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Without another word, Mando made his way to the back of the cargo hold. He opened the ramp before heading down and you called out for him to be careful. Mando glanced over his shoulder, at you and the child, and you waved. You stood at the cargo hold’s edge as Mando pressed a button on his gauntlet and the ramp began to rise. As the metal door rose, you stared at the mandalorian’s back until the ramp cut him off from sight.

Din was more distracted than usual and he told himself it wasn’t because of the newest addition to the Razor Crest. It obviously wasn’t because of you. No, he was just busy with all the bounties he was juggling and the stress of trying to find the child’s people. Then the added dilemma of his current quarry. Already he had been on the flesh trader’s trail for three days. Three full days. That was nothing in comparison to past hunts that would take him weeks on end, but Din found his patience wearing very, very thin.

“Are you ready yet, mate?” A voice asked through the closed door.

Din had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His only lead came from a mercenary who was hunting an Inner Rim politician that had come all the way out here to participate in the slave trade. It was the only access Din would have to get into the market to find his quarry and it came at a cost. Din glanced down at the helmet held in his hands. It was an oddly shaped red thing from Kaleesh culture. His new mercenary partner made it very clear that if he walked in as a Mandalorian everything would be lost. On any normal bounty Din would’ve risked it anyways. There was very little in the galaxy that could coax him out of his armor, leave him bare to the world, but a child in danger did it.

A mother had come to him after he searched for a lead in the local cantina on his first night. She had fallen to her knees in front of him and begged for his help⏤ she offered everything she owned and more in return. Her only child, an eleven year old little girl, had been stolen away from her. Dragged to the flesh market to be sold. Din swore to her that he’d bring her back. On his word as a Mandalorian, she would be reunited with her daughter. He just wasn’t allowed to do it looking like a Mandalorian.

“Seriously, mate, we’re going to be late!” Trigg, the mercenary, barked once more.

Din settled the helmet over his head and shifted uncomfortably. It didn’t fit quite like his real one did, but it was tight enough that he wasn’t worried about it falling off in the heat of battle. For a second, he just stared at himself in the mirror. Red armor of cloth and leather covered every inch of his skin, black gloves pulled on tight, and his oddly shaped helmet covered his face entirely. Din hated it more than anything. But, the sooner he saved the girl and caught his quarry, the sooner he could return to his ship. Return to the child and you.

“I’ll be right out.” Din called back. He settled all his beskar armor pieces into the tarp bag he had borrowed from the child’s mother. It was her home they were using as a base of sorts. Din hid the bag in the closet of the room behind a stack of boxes. It made him anxious to leave his armor behind, but he forced himself to step away and open the door.

Trigg stood in the hall wearing his own personal gear. The blond man had scars from a raking claw on the side of his head leaving those patches with sparse hair. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at Din in a mix of annoyance and impatience. “Finally. Did you have to do your hair?”

“It’s you we’re waiting on now.” Din replied dryly as he marched past the man to the door.

The sooner, the better.

Night had fallen for the third night of Mando being gone. It was too soon for you to be worried about him, but a ball of anxiety still sat in your gut. He had been away for longer periods of time before. The longest thus far being three weeks. You were mumbling a soft song under your breath as you rocked the child to sleep. When his eyes drifted close, you carefully set him in the hammock above Mando’s bunk and tucked a blanket around him.

When you were certain that the kid was settled, you drifted toward the fresher to get ready for bed yourself. You wondered what it would take to convince Mando to pick up a bounty on a planet with an ocean soon. Going from the lava plains of Nevarro to the deserts of Tatooine and now this dusty Outer Rim world was bleak. You missed water. You had grown up near a river on your homeworld and spent a decent amount of time there. It wasn’t until you saw dry planet after dry planet that you truly began to appreciate natural bodies of water.

You shrugged out of your clothes, tossing them aside, and slid into a pair of shorts and one of Mando’s shirts. It had been borrowed early on in your travels and now it belonged more to you than it did him. The dark shirt was large enough to cover most of your shorts. You had been in the middle of washing your face when you heard the tell tale sound of the ramp. Quickly, you grabbed a towel and dried your face while rushing out of the fresher.

Mando was walking up the ramp just as you entered the cargo hold and you shot him a smile, “Hey, Mando.” He came to a sudden stop. You glanced around but saw no evidence of a quarry behind or near him. Had they gotten away? “What happened with the quarry?”

The Mandalorian crossed his arms and a nervous energy settled over your skin. The way he stood just seemed…off. And, the silence that surrounded him wasn’t the usual comfortable quiet you had grown used to. Mando’s helmet tilted some, as if his eyes were raking over your form, and you tugged on the bottom of your shirt anxiously. This was an outfit you wore to sleep every night on the Razor Crest, but right now was the first time you felt uncomfortable having it on around Mando.

“Are you⏤Are you injured?” You asked.

Mando strolled closer to you. Another bit of him that wasn’t right⏤ his gait. As you tried to gather your thoughts, he came to a stop right in front of you. Nearly chest to chest. A lump had formed in your throat, mouth dry, and you tried to swallow it down. Being around Mando always made your stomach feel as if it were filled with butterflies, made your heart race out of your chest, made an addicting warmth pool in your core.

That was not how you felt right now.

Your hand reached out, as quickly as you could manage it, and slammed against the lock button of Mando’s bunk. The metal door slid down. It clicked into place, and the Mandalorian in front of you grabbed you by the throat and shoved you back until you slammed into the Razor Crest’s wall. You clawed at the familiar, gloved hand tightening around your throat as a low, unfamiliar chuckle rumbled through the modulator.

“What’s wrong, baby?” A voice that did not belong to your Mandalorian asked. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You were a minute ago.”

“Wh⏤Who⏤” You tried to spit out but you could barely breathe let alone form words.

“I’m your Mandalorian, baby.” The cruel laugh coming out from behind the t-shape visor you found comfort in felt so very wrong. He yanked you off the wall and released your throat. You managed to gasp a single breath of air before he backhanded you across the face hard enough to see stars. You fell to your knees and elbows roughly, a cry of pain leaving your lips, but you struggled to find a weapon of any kind. “That’s right. Crawl away, baby. Run. I’m a Mandalorian who likes to hunt, and now you’re my prey. How’s that sound?”

Your hand found a screwdriver, lying off to the side where you had been working on something under the floorboard earlier, just as he kicked you in the side to flip you over. The imposter knelt on the ground over you and you tried to stab him where only the flight suit sat. Unfortunately, he turned fast enough that the screwdriver struck beskar and did absolutely nothing. He laughed once more as you gave up the attack to try and slip away, but he grabbed your hands by the wrist and pinned you to the ground. The imposter sat on top of your thighs, kneeling over you, and you were forced to stare at your reflection in Mando’s armor.

It would be a bold faced lie for you to say you hadn’t daydreamed about having the beskar armor on top of you⏤ the weight of it pressing into you in every delicious way you could think of. But not like this. Not with a stranger inside of it.

“Who knew the ship came with such a pretty little whore.” The imposter hummed. He shifted your arms so he could pin both your wrists with one hand. With his other, he grasped the bottom of the beskar helmet and pulled it off. The man’s eyes were a piercing blue. Cold and cruel. Blond hair covered his scalp except on the side of his head where the scars of what looked like claw marks sat. He tossed the helmet aside and gave you a sickening grin. “Is that what you’re here for? You keep the Mandalorian’s bed warm? Let him fuck you when he’s done with a hunt?”

“Get the kriff off of me!” You struggled against his grip, against his touch, but nothing seemed to deter him from using his other hand to run over your body. You screamed until you were hoarse and when you cried out for Mando the man sitting on top of you just laughed. Faintly, you could hear frantic tapping behind Mando’s bunk door and fear struck you. Was the child awake? He wouldn’t be able to unlock the door from inside you didn’t think.

It seemed the imposter was too immersed in you to hear the sound.

“How about this,” The man leaned closer into your space, “I get a quick taste of you now, and then, once we’re up and in hyperspace, I’ll fuck you better than your Mando ever could, yeah?”

His lips crashed down on yours roughly. You tried to turn your face away, but the imposter bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Between the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue and the smell of his rancid breath you were going to be sick. You gasped in pain and he took advantage by shoving his tongue into your mouth. He pressed his hips down into you, grinding against your stomach now, and the feel of his erection pressing into you made a horrified sob slip form you. It seemed to only spurn him on further. He let go of one of your hands to grasp at the waistband of your pants.

The sound of sprinting footsteps made the imposter sit up and you were barely able to register what was happening when a body dressed in red leather slammed into the beskar covered imposter⏤ both men falling away. Taking advantage of your freedom, you scrambled back as quickly as you could. The stranger dressed in red, wearing an oddly shaped helmet that covered his face, had a hand wrapped around the imposter’s throat while his other fist pounded away at the man’s face. Grunts of anger filled the air with every blow thrown and the imposter fought back only for a moment before his body went slack.

You scrambled away further but your back hit a metal crate sitting in the cargo hold. It shifted slightly and the sound made the stranger sit up and spin around. You gasped⏤panicked. Heart still racing. The imposter laid motionless. His face bruised, broken, and bloody beyond all recognition. You were breathing hard, trying to suck in more air as the air you did get brought no relief. The stranger jumped up, motions smooth and agile, and rushed to you. A cry of fear left you as you tried to pathetically jump up, but his hands wrapped around you. Soft, but firm. A comforting weight.

“It’s me. It’s me. You’re safe, mesh’la.” A familiar voice came out of the unfamiliar mask. The bright red and angry shapes still jarring to look at and you tried to struggle away. He pulled away to rip off his gloves. One hand came to rest on the side of your face, while the other lifted the red helmet just enough to reveal a jaw covered in dark scruff and lips. “Listen to me, mesh’la. You’re safe. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s me. I’m here.”

You were still shaking, your entire body threatening to tremble into pieces, but your breaths were beginning to grow controlled. The warm hand on your face was grounding. It was familiar. You couldn't see the man’s eyes, but you could feel his soft gaze. Safe. You felt safe.

“M⏤Mando?” You gasped.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m here, mesh’la. You’re safe now.”

You broke into an uncontrollable sob, unable to bite it back, and Mando didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms. The coarse, red armor you buried your face into felt unfamiliar, but the strong arms that wrapped around you felt right.

For the first time, Din felt uncomfortable in his helmet. It smelled of the spice that Trigg disgustingly chewed on. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull his armor on. It left him in a pair of plain sweats and shirt. After setting you in his bunk, the child curled into your side, he had stripped the mercenary out of his beskar and thrown the piece of shit into the carbonite freezer.

The job had gone so well then so bad. Din found the young Rodian child and killed his quarry. He’d only get half the bounty with the flesh trader dead, but something was better than nothing. The moment he returned the girl to her mother his heart had stopped when he realized his armor was missing. Din had sprinted to the Razor Crest, faster than he had ever run, and still he hadn’t come soon enough.

Din stepped out of the fresher. The Razor Crest was in hyperspace and the cargo hold was dark. The only light spilling from the open door behind him. The sound of whimpering filled the otherwise silent space around him. Din hurried to the bunk to see you tossing and turning. He scooped the child up and set him in the hammock before crawling in to try and calm you.

He called out your name, bare hands on your shoulders, and when your eyes snapped open, thanks to his visor, he could see clearly the way panic and fear filled them. You screamed and began to swing at him. His helmet. It was his helmet. Without thinking, Din ripped his helmet off and threw it out of the bunk. Din pulled you into his arms again, pressing your face to his shoulder, and whispered reassurances.

“It’s me, Mesh’la. It’s me. I’m sorry. I was wearing the helmet. You’re safe, I promise.”

“Mando?” You breathed. He buried his hand in your hair and pulled you tighter into his chest. As if the two of you weren’t already tangled together in the small confines of his bunk. “I’m sorry I hit you⏤”

“It didn’t hurt. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Din didn’t know which emotion waged in him the most⏤ guilt or anger. They were neck and neck. You took in a deep shaky breath and your hot breath on his neck made him sigh in relief. You were safe in his arms. Din rubbed your back and the question fell out before he could hold it back. “Did he… Mesh’la, did⏤”

“No.” You whispered. “You got here just in time.”

Din could feel tears soaking into his shirt. When the tears stopped, Din coaxed you out of the bunk and onto the cargo hold floor. He grabbed a first aid kit and rushed back so you weren’t left alone for too long. The only light still came from the open door of the fresher and he sat so his back was to it. The dim light illuminated your features and it was like a spotlight to the injuries you sported. He had told you that you could open your eyes. With the way you sat, it’d be too dim for you to see his face, but you said you didn’t want to risk it.

He let his fingers trace the forming bruise surrounding your right eye. It trailed down to brush against the torn skin of your lower lip. Dank farrik. That kriffing fucker had bit you. He could see the outline of teeth. Din’s jaw clenched. He grabbed a bit of bacta and rubbed it gently into the forming bruise. He was going to do the same for your lower lip when you stopped him.

“Did I hurt you?” He blurted.

“No, no. Not that.” You mumbled. “Can I… Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything, mesh’la. Anything.”

“Can you kiss me?” You asked. Din was certain he had misheard you. It was why he sat in silence. He was trying to puzzle out what it was you had actually said. You spoke again, nervous, “You don’t have to. I⏤I…”

“You want me to…kiss you?”

You nodded. Eyes still closed lightly. “I know it’s dumb. It⏤ I just don’t want to feel his lips anymore. I don’t want the taste of him on me.”

“That’s not dumb, mesh’la.”

Din settled one of his hands on the side of your face. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Din began to lean in. He didn’t want to startle you. He wanted to give you every opportunity to pull away if you needed to. Din would be lying to himself, again, if he said he hadn’t imagined the way your lips would feel on him. But not like this. He hated that these were the circumstances, but there wasn’t a single thing Din wouldn’t do for you if you asked.

His nose brushed against yours. Din was close enough that he could feel your lips part. He waited one second more before pressing his lips softly against yours. One of your hands lifted to tangle in his hair and a simple gesture shouldn’t make him feel so hot under his skin. The kiss was slow and tender. Din was terrified to press too hard and bring you pain. The injury to your lower lip still so fresh. And after what you had just suffered through, he wanted you to have all the control. If you needed to use him to rid yourself of that nightmare, to erase the memory that bastard left on your lips, then he would.

Your tongue brushed against his lower lip, tracing it, and he parted his lips for you giving you room to explore him. Maker, the taste of you was so sweet. It took every single ounce of Din’s self control to not deepen the moment even further. The kiss grew almost frantic. A hand in his hair and another at the back of his neck to pull him into you. You pulled back just enough to suck in a sharp breath before your lips was back on his and Din lost his battle for self control.

He wrapped his other arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. Din was caught off guard when you pushed down to press yourself against his already hard cock, but it was a welcome surprise. He grabbed your hips, hands tightening into the soft skin there, and grinded into you. You moaned into his mouth and Din pulled away briefly so he could press open mouth kisses along your jaw then down your neck until he reached your shoulder. Thoughtlessly, he bit down, wanting to leave evidence of himself on you, and you let out a sharp gasp while grinding into him again. Din ran his tongue against the bite soothingly.

Din’s hands slipped under your shirt and he desperately let his lips find yours once more. His tongue slipped past your lips, but then he tasted it. The sharp, metallic tang of blood. Din pulled back quickly realizing his plan to let you run the show had gone to shit. Both of you were breathless.

“Are you okay, mesh’la??” He pulled one hand away from your hip to touch your face. His thumb brushed against your lower lip and in the dim light he could see the tint of red.

“Thank you.” You breathed. You leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss that missed and only landed on the corner of his lips. Then you leaned your head on his shoulder and just took slow breaths. Din let his knuckles drag up and down your spine. He could feel your entire body going limp as you melted into his hold. You mumbled, “Thank you, Mando.”

“Din.” He replied, but he didn’t know if you had already fallen asleep or not. “Call me Din.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #female reader #reader insert #din djarin smut #dom!din djarin #trying real hard to be sub!din djarin #angst/comfort #fluff

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xhoneygirlxx · 1 year

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In My Feels

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

summary: Steve’s heart now belongs to the pretty woman who always comes in with her two adorable kids. When he finally decides to make a move, he’s shocked to find out she’s not their mom.

warnings: fluff. Barista!Steve. Reader and Steve are both in their 20’s. Nanny!Reader. Modern!au. Readers ethnicity/skin tone is not mentioned. Pictures above are used for aesthetic purposes only. Shitty writing/grammar errors, not proofread.

*if I miss anything please let me know.

a/n: day two of my birthday bash has finally arrived!! I’m so grateful for the amount of love and support you guys have given me. Although this is my birthday week, I wanted to spend it with you guys and give us both something we can enjoy :) I love every single one of you guys and I hope you like this!

Now I’m in my feels

Way up in the clouds somewhere now

Don’t know what’s real

Working at the Java Cup, Steve dealt with a lot of different people. Tired students, doctors and nurses coming and going from shifts, and everyone in between. During the six months of his employment there only one customer seemed to catch his attention, you.

From the moment you walked in he knew he was fucked. With one kid on your hip and the other in the stroller, you already had him in the palm of your hand. No matter what, rain or shine, you and your two kids always came in with bright smiles. Although a lot of your interactions were small talk or your older son trying to, his heart infatuation for you every single time.

You were so fucking beautiful and Steve was nothing but a fool for you. So many times he would go home and just pray that you weren’t taken, that maybe somewhere written in the stars there was a chance for him.

Steve wanted to ask you out but every single time he chickened out, throwing out multiple cup sleeves that had horrible puns written on them in the process. Ever since getting broken up with by Nancy, his self esteem and confidence dropped. No matter how many times his best friend and coworker, Robin, tried to talk some sense into him, he just couldn’t do it.

It was comical watching him stutter and blush scarlet every time you would speak, tripping over his words like it was his first time ever talking. Because he was so smitten with you, his insecurities grew and poking fun at him any time he would think about possibly asking you out.

Here you were, a pretty mom with two adorable kids that he adored, so sweet and kind to him, and so far out of his league. There was no pot at the end of this rainbow for Steve, but he continued to chase it in hopes that maybe, just maybe he was wrong.

Now it's been six months and Steve has run out of steam, his legs growing tired and his lungs burning with exhaustion with how long he's been running. So, he's decided that it's time to give up on his mission to of getting to the finish line.

There was no point to continue trying, not when you're probably more than happy with the father of your children, going home to your white picket fence and happy home. So he pulled back, watched from behind the counter, and continued to daydream about the life he's always wanted.

“You know you could just go talk to her, right?” Robin’s voice is louder than she thinks, the low music and hum of the espresso machine doing little to cover it up.

“Say it louder, why don’t you.” Rolling his eyes, Steve continues to wipe down the counter that he’s been working on for the past ten minutes.

“I’m just sayin’, it’s kind of pathetic and creepy that you’re always staring.” Shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, the brunette girl runs her hands down her black apron. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“What’s the worst-” Turning on his heel quickly, Steve stares at his best friend with wide eyes, “Robin, there is a laundry list of things that could go wrong.”

“Yeah? Try me.” Crossing her ankle over the other, Robin leans on the sink with a waiting look.

“Firstly, she could be married,” Steve starts counting on his finger.

“No ring on her finger.” Robin counters.

“Well she’s a mom with two kids, I doubt she has time for a twenty something, no good, barista that barely has his life together.”

“EEEEEEEE WRONG,” She makes a loud buzzer noise, “One you aren’t no good, you’re actually a really great person who needs to see just how amazing he is. Two, you may be a barista who can barely keep his life together but, you’re reliable and take care of yourself, not to mention you have your own car and place, more than other twenty somethings. And lastly, you’re also a mother to a group of teenagers, so it works perfectly.”

Dropping his hands down to his sides, Steve lets the words settle into his heart. He was a good person, he did have a good impression with the gaggle of kids he sometimes watches, and he did have some of his life together.

“Okay well, she could reject me and I will not only lose more of my confidence but I’ll also lose my favorite customer.” Sighing in defeat, he whips the rag that still sits in his hand over his shoulder. "Either way, I gave up on that dream a long time ago."

Robin shakes her head, stepping forward to the boy she calls her best friend and shakes him by the shoulders. “You are Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington! There was a reason everyone called you king Steve and it wasn’t just because you were a huge dick.”

“Hey!!” Steve raises his voice in defeat and she waves him off continuing her peptalk.

“Listen, I know that lady killer is somewhere in there,” She pokes at his chest, “So you’re gonna put your big boy panties on, walk up to her and ask her out! I’m sick and tired of watching you look all sad and depressing, so you��re going to do as I say or I’ll do it for you.” Smiling brightly at him, the girl taps him lovingly on the shoulder.

Robin may be a lot of things, including annoying, but a liar is not one of them. Steve knows that she will one hundred percent walk up to you, throw him under the bus, with a mega-watt smile as she does it.

Watching his friend walk around the counter with a broom and dust pan in hand, her head turns to wear your sat at a table by the front window, talking to your older son, rocking your baby in the stroller with your foot. Turning her attention back to Steve, she smiles wickedly and turns slightly like she’s heading your way. Anxiety rises in the back of his throat, heartbeat picking up and banging hard in his chest.

“Fine, I’m going just- fuck off.” It comes out through gritted teeth. Running a shaking hand down the front of his apron, Steve rounds the counter muttering something under his breath.

As he walks to the table, Robin gives him two thumbs up and an exaggerated smile to which he replies by simply throwing a middle finger up at her.

As he steps closer to your table the thought of turning back around and hiding in the back room comes into mind.

There’s no pot of gold here, only gray clouds and roaring thunder. He can turn back now and continue his sorrowful journey of pining.

But then he looks at you, smiling and laughing at something the young boy next to you said, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back. What a beautiful way to die, Steve thinks. The thunder and lightning is all worth it when he gets to see you as he takes his final breaths.

“H-hey,” His voice is wobbly, nervousness clearly showing as he speaks.

“Hi Steve.” Your eyes meet his, saccharine smile tugging on the corners of your lips.

“Hi steeb!” The young boy next to you waves while clutching a red crayon in his tiny hand.

“Hi Aidan. How are you little man?” Steve seems to loosen up a bit, the presence of your son lets him exhale just slightly.

“M’colorin a pixture.” The small boy’s tongue pokes between his lips, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he draws what looks like a demented stick figure.

“It looks good, little dude.” Steve encourages, cooing sweetly at him.

“Fanks.” Still focusing on his picture, the smaller boy grabs a different crayon from the box that sits on the table.

“What’s up, Steve?” You ask, still rocking the stroller back and forth with your tennis shoe covered foot.

“Oh-h yeah, um I was just gonna ask, ah what you were doing.” Just like a switch, he’s back to being a fumbling doofus.

You giggle at him and he feels his cheeks tingle with heat. Looking between the two kids, you look back up to the older man in front of you.

“Well, I’m enjoying a coffee while Aidan colors and Bella naps peacefully.” You nod your head slowly, eyeing the barista questioningly.

Steve wants to slap a hand on his forehead, embarrassed by the fact he can’t even formulate one sentence.

“Yeah, no I see that. Seems fun, I mean not fun but like ya know, seems-“ His stammering is cut off by your soft voice.

“Are you okay? You seem really nervous.” Your eyebrows are pinched together, worry painted on your features.

“Me? I’m great, fantastic!” It comes enthusiastic and way louder than he intended, so loud that Robin hears and instantly facepalms.

“Well, that’s great Steve.” You’re still eyeing him suspiciously and he really wants to jump ship.

“I’m just gonna go and do my ugh, my stuff.” Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, spinning on the ball of his feet leaving before he can say anything else embarrassing.

No, he can’t leave now, not when he’s made it this close to the finish line. This is what he’s been waiting for, the treasure he’s been searching for. It’s no or never and he can’t go back to praying the same prayer that somewhere in this universe you two were destined to be.

With a new found confidence, he turns right back into the eye of the storm and faces it head strong.

“Actually, I came over here because I wanted to know if maybe you’d like to go out sometime.” His chest is puffed out like, more sure of himself than he’s ever been.

The confidence that’s surging through him starts to falter when he reads your expression. You, and Aidan who has now stopped coloring, stare at him with bugged out eyes and gaping mouths.

“Only if that’s okay with you and all. If you want you can bring the kids along and we can go get ice cream and stuff but if you need it I have some friends who are great with kids and who will be willing to babysit for you.” He’s back peddling, trying to give you a way out in case you want to reject him it won’t hurt so bad.

“Oh Steve,” it’s said with pity and he knows the lighting strike is about to hit, “I-I’m not their mom.”

“Yeah no I get it, sorry if I- wait..” Stopping in his tracks, he looks back and forth between you and the small boy, connecting the dots in his head. “You’re not their mom?”

You and Aidan share a look before giggling together. Gazing back up at the flustered man in front of you, you smile kindly at him.

“No, I’m their nanny, Steve. Although I love them like they’re my own, they’re not.”

“Oh.” Steve continues to stare at you, his pretty pink lips in the shape of an O.

“Yeah, I just watch these little guys.” You shrug your shoulders.

“That’s still cool, I mean the offer still stands.” Even though he’s confused, his voice is a little shaky when he asks.

“Do the kids still have to come?” You ask and Aidan shouts an offended “hey”.

“I mean they can if you want, it’s all up to you.” He eyes you, waiting for your reaction but your expression doesn’t give him much to go on.

“Hmmm, I’m going to have to ask my trusted right hand man.” Holding a finger up at him, you leave over to the smaller boy next to you.

Aidan covers you hear with a small hand trying to cover the movements of his lips, even though Steve can still his his muffled whispers from where he stands.

Shaking your head, you repeat back uh huh’s to him, taking everything that’s being said seriously.

Moving back to your upright position, you stare at Steve with a serious gaze.

“Well, my counsel says I should go but you have to buy me ice cream. No buts about it.” Your straight face begins to falter when Steve’s white teeth shine at you.

“Yeah, I’ll get you whatever ice cream you want.” Steve bobs his head, cheeks flaring pink and eyes shining brightly.

“You can’t kiss, only mommies and daddies do dat stuff.” Aidan pipes in and Steve can’t help but chuckle with how the little boys face is scrunched up with intensity.

“Yes sir.” Steve gives the little boy a solute, while sending you a sneaky wink, and the kid quickly accepts.

“So, I’ll text you?” Steve asks

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth as you say it.

“Okay, cool cool. I’ll ah, see you later.” Steve nods his head, backing away from the table slowly.

Sprinting to the backroom, he sees Robin who pretends like she hasn’t been listening in.

“Robs, I fucking did it!” Steve whisper yells, still cautious knowing your still out there.

“I honestly thought you were gonna back out for a second! I’m so proud of you for hanging in there!”

The two of them start hopping around like jumping beans, beaming so brightly they can outshine any star in the sky.

“So you got her number?” Robin asks, heavily breathing from all their excitement.

“Fuck-“ stopping dead in his tracks, Steve bolts to the door and back out to the front.

That’s where he finds you’ve already left and he’s heartbroken. The only memory that you were even there is your lingering perfume that sticks to the air.

You’ll probably be back some time soon but he’s still a little let down knowing he didn’t fully seal the deal. Looking closely at the table, he notices Aidan left one of his drawings.

Picking up the paper, he looks at it closely realizing Aidan didn’t leave it, you did.

Steve,

You left before I could give you my number. I didn’t want to disrupt your little party or anything.

Can’t wait to get that ice cream.

-your favorite customer

683-027-9305

Folding up the paper, Steve sticks it in the pocket of his apron.

“Don’t worry Steve, she’ll be back.” Robin calls out from behind the counter, apparently not seeing the little not that was left.

“I know she will.” It’s said quietly but the smile on his lips isn’t.

It’s beautiful on this side of the rainbow, Steve thinks, the pot of gold was so worth all the work. Robin was right, he still had it.

Thank you all for joining me on this second day of my celebration!!! I hope you all enjoy!! Love you all ❤️

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington friends to lovers #modern!steve harrington

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edgeray · 7 months

Text

“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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tarotwithdanise · 2 months

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WHERE YOU CAN FIND YOUR LUCK?

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

send your donations here

Pile One

10oW + 8oP - your luck will come from the hard work and to your dedication you put in. while in the present, all i can see is that you feel your carrying all the burdens of the world perhaps your family which stresses you out so much. if not, you may thinking that you aren't lucky enough, even though no matter how hard work you put in something you do yet you still end up right there where you are now. this could also mean that your luck are yet set and ready to be with you. if you have been working for a long time and you just feel tired, busy and yet the salary was too low, it could be mean that changing job or self employment will be great for you. just continue what you are doing now cause all of it will be rewarded someday, you just need more patience about your luck and as well your success, you'll achieve it one day however it is yet in process. i'm also getting this thought of, if you desire to build a business perhaps a new business it can possibly bring you luck and if you already had then that's good. think you doubts about your future but the spirit kept saying you already gather all the info and plans for your luck and they know you are somehow aware that your luck will begin from it which can be true.

Pile Two

3oW and 2oW - you may find your luck when you travel by distance perhaps in the lands of hot and sunny climates or when you work in a team. despite of that you have the ability to choose which path you can take or a confirmation to focus on for, the first sentence is just giving a hint to take upon you. your luck also comes from within the inner you, from who you are totally. the more you believe in yourself, the more it becomes real and there are some parts of yourself that may be needed to uncover for example through talent you can the luck. your desires and dreams are manifested. you also have this energy that luck is always on your side buddy, you got the light. luck is a twin sibling of yours from the day you were born, this can indicate that you can get luck in many ways.

Pile Three

9oC + PoC - you are lucky when it comes to love. this person is willing to pour all of your empty cups, they have a strong care and love for your pile three. It's them wanting you to know more in a deeper way, they want to explore your feelings towards them. this person wants you to feel good about yourself, to feel pretty and appreciated in society. perhaps it may be hard for you to be open in new relationships because of the past experiences but you've learned from your mistakes. you are living rent free in this person's mind, you makes them feel crazy about love. this person is someone who wanted to spoil you the material things in life it can be because they view you as someone who takes life as serious matters.

#pick a card #tarot #pick a pile #free tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarot online #pick a card reading #tarotblr #divination #tarot witch #witch #witchblr

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

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More Than Enough

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Rating: T

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever. Technically part of my Men I Always Meant to Write For non-series series.

Length: 9.9K

Warnings: Angst. Angst angst angst angst, mentions of reader having anxiety, friends to enemies to lovers, has a happy ending

Summary: Mr. Ross (Mike, he’d insisted, but you knew that you had to keep the formalities up for your own sakes) introduced Beth first, giving you a chance to just—look. You’d never bothered to catch up with Harvey once he’d gotten a job in New York. You knew that he was there, of course. The few friends that you had kept in touch with from Harvard had told you. You’d heard his name every couple of months regarding some case that he had tried, some deal that he’d closed. But you couldn’t imagine what you’d say to him if you turned up, and you weren’t sure that you wanted to know what he’d say to you—if he’d have anything to say to you.

There were a lot of things that you remembered about Harvey. You remembered his dimples, and the freckles peppering his shoulders; you remembered the way his eyes lit up when he hit on something good; you remembered the casual, almost bored way that he answered questions in class. Most of all, you remembered how he looked at you.

Harvey used to look at you with warmth, and teasing. He used to watch you hunker over your books and notes, stare you down when he was determined to come out on top in an argument. He used to peer up at you as he tried not to fall asleep on your shoulder, sharing the train ride back to spend the odd weekend in New York.

You remembered the way his gaze used to send nervous butterflies swirling through you. The way his smile made your face go hot, and your heart pound in your chest.

You remembered so many things about how Harvey made you feel, things that you held on to for such a long time—and they were in direct conflict with the way Harvey looked at you when you walked into the conference room that morning.

Something funny had happened in your gut when you’d heard his voice, the way he was warning his associate that he would, “Handle this one, and we’ll be outta here in five minutes.”

As you rounded into the room, you could see that his associate wasn’t convinced; you couldn’t blame him. You’d put up a hell of an argument with Mr. Ross a couple of days before, which had no doubt prompted him to return with backup. Now, you felt the first stirrings of panic, faced with a past you'd tried to forget, but you were too close to the conference room to turn tail, and with Beth already two steps deeper inside, it was too late to bail out. You’d promised her that you’d stick to her side through this ordeal. She couldn’t afford a real lawyer, and the few that you’d spoken to about pro bono work just didn’t have the bandwidth to help her case. The rest of your coworkers had been overwhelmingly supportive, your boss included—you couldn’t think of any other employer that would let a lawyer come and speak with Beth at her workplace without raising a stink about it.

Mr. Ross (Mike, he’d insisted, but you knew that you had to keep the formalities up for your own sakes) introduced Beth first, giving you a chance to just—look. You’d never bothered to catch up with Harvey once he’d gotten a job in New York. You knew that he was there, of course. The few friends that you had kept in touch with from Harvard had told you. You’d heard his name every couple of months regarding some case that he had tried, some deal that he’d closed. But you couldn’t imagine what you’d say to him if you turned up, and you weren’t sure that you wanted to know what he’d say to you—if he’d have anything to say to you.

Harvey looked good. Self-assured, confident, wearing a bright, charming smile as he shook Beth’s hand. You could hear Mike introducing you, and had just a moment to brace as recognition his recognition swelled.

It took over his expression entirely as he met your eye.

Harvey’s gaze flickered, brow furrowing a touch. The dimples disappeared as his lips dropped from a smile to a stunned purse. You shook his hand where it had frozen, a quick, firm pump before you let go.

“Please,” You gestured to the small conference table before you set your things down. The space wasn’t at all grand, it was…Homey. Surely not the sort of spaces these two were used to, if the suits were anything to go by.

“I appreciate your persistence, Mr. Ross,” Beth started, tucking a stand of greying hair behind her ear as she tried to steady her nerves, “But my position hasn’t changed since the last time we spoke.”

You glanced from your elderly coworker toward Mr. Ross. Just out of the corner of your eye, you could see Harvey watching you closely. The feeling was at once familiar and foreign; it made your stomach turn.

“Ms. Owens, I recognize that our client has put you in a difficult position—” Mr. Ross started. You had to clench your jaw to keep from rolling your eyes as he went on, “But the valuation that we’ve offered for you to change the name of your LLC and sell the site is incredibly generous.”

You did smile, then. Hell, you couldn’t help it.

“You disagree?”

Your stomach lurched at Harvey’s question, and you looked toward him. Oh—you knew that expression. His eyes were narrowed; his lips were curled into a smirk that dared you to argue with him.

“Isn’t that obvious? If we didn’t disagree, none of us would be in this room right now,” You pointed out.

“We’ve spoken to our client,” Mike cut in, drawing your attention again, “And he’s authorized us to bump the offer up to $100,000.”

You let that hang in the air for a few moments, brows raising when Mike gave a small, encouraging nod.

“That’s it?” You retorted dryly. “You expect me to believe that a pharmaceutical company with a market value of over three hundred billion dollars is willing to drop a whole 100K? How overwhelmingly generous.”

“Do I need to point out that your cash-grab is standing in the way of medical progress?” Harvey argued.

“Oh, please,” You scoffed. “It's a dick pill, Harvey.” You tried to ignore the stunned, slap-shocked look when you used his name, pushing on—“And if you’d read the comparative studies that the company did, you’d know that it works with roughly a third of the effectiveness of the market leaders. This isn’t exactly going to blow the toupee off of Viagra, no matter what your client says.”

“We could bury you under fees and paperwork.”

“Whoa, Harvey,” Mike muttered beside him, casting him a wary look. You could feel Beth shifting nervously beside you as well. You forced yourself to be calm, and to smile a little, even as your stomach flipped. You’ve done your homework; you’ve prepped. You can do this.

“Yes,” You nodded, “You could. But you’d be doing so at the expense of a woman who has owned and operated a company out of her studio apartment under this name since 1995. What Beth has here isn’t just a little stumbling block for your client—it’s an institution, with hundreds of annual customers and testimonials speaking to the way her products have improved their lives. This may be a blip for your client, but it’s a significant part of Beth’s life. And considering the recent, sharp drop in the company’s stock price and the uptick in legal suits, I wouldn’t be surprised if you all need a win right now. If you railroad us, we will go public with your client’s intimidation tactics.”

“Intimidation—?” Harvey snapped.

“Oh, have they not mentioned the non-stop late-night phone calls, the people following Beth to and from home? The private investigators? The threatening letters?”

You watch Harvey’s expression mar with surprise. You can’t help but chuckle then.

“C’mon. You should know better.” You look down at the folder in front of you. “The fact of the matter is, my client has had to endure a mountain of shit for what is only a marginally effective aid for erectile dysfunction—one that’s projected to make your client nearly $18 million in its first quarter on the market. If you need to close anyone, it’s on your side, not ours. You either bump the offer up a mill, or we go to the press with what we have.” You drew two copies of an article out of your folder, sliding it across the table to them. “Just a little taste.”

“Excuse me?” You heard. The four of you turned your attention to the office secretary, who was lingering in the doorway. Right on time, just as you asked. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a call. I can have them hold—“

“No, that’s alright,” You shook your head before turning back to the men on the other side of the table, subtly waving for Beth to stand. “We’re done here. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ross. Harvey, always a pleasure.”

You led the way out, holding the door open for Beth. Vindication shot through you as you just caught Mr. Ross asking, “What the hell was that?”

She was all over the page. Harvey had given the article a couple of passes while he was in the car on the way back to the office, but reading it through again, he felt that even if she hadn’t handed it to him herself, he somehow would’ve known that it was hers.

The argument that Mike was having with Craig Philbrook seemed almost muted to him as he read it for a third time. It was a concise presentation of the facts, but it hit the exact emotional points that it needed to. It was beautifully balanced. Harvey could almost imagine her curled over her laptop, drawing up a draft, editing it with expert precision. He’d seen her work like that before. Sure, it had been a long time ago, but the sight of her hunkered down in Langdell Hall had never really left him—not even when he’d done his best to push it away.

“Harvey!”

He glanced up, brows raising. Craig’s face was the shade of a cherry tomato, and seemed just about ready to pop. His chest was heaving from what must’ve been a spirited bout of argument with Mike. Glancing at his associate, Harvey found Mike wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, at an equal fever pitch. He considered for a moment more before he tossed the article onto the table.

“We don’t have any choices here, Craig,” He admitted.

“A million dollars? That’s insane!”

“Actually, considering what the company expects to pull in almost a eighty mill in the first year, one million is pretty reasonable.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on yours, Craig. Look, if you wanna action your plan, we’ll sic the dogs on ‘em. But the press is never gonna side with a company that’s putting a little old lady through her extreme financial and emotional distress just for a landing page. If we settle outside of court, slap an NDA on top, none of this ever comes out. Keep it clean.” Harvey pushes himself out of his seat, standing and buttoning his suit jacket before taking the article up again. “Talk to who you need to talk to, but do it fast. Every incident that they noted is another ticking time bomb that we may have to worry about diffusing.” He rounded his seat, heading for the door before he paused and turned back. “Oh, and Craig? Quit having her called and followed. You’re just giving them more rope to hang you with.”

He turned away, tucking his hands into his pockets as he strode down the hall, Mike in tow.

“You think he’ll cave?” Mike asked.

“He will. He has to.”

“Okay—Question.”

“Is it related to the case?”

“Yes. What the hell was that?”

“That was me doing my job. The job you were supposed to handle, and you're welcome, by the way.”

“I don’t mean back there, I mean this morning.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit.”

Harvey cast an irritated glance back toward Mike as he walked into his office. It was no surprise that Mike followed; once he got something in his head, he couldn’t let it go. Neither of them could.

“She said seeing you was always a pleasure,” Mike added as Harvey settled behind his desk.

“Maybe she was just trying to get under my skin.”

“Seems like it worked, and I’ve never seen anyone but Tanner do that. How do you know one another?”

Harvey considered. He didn’t know her, not really. Not anymore.

“We went to Harvard together,” He finally admitted.

“She’s a lawyer?”

“No.” Maybe? He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t checked the bar for her name in a long time.

“So she…Did what with her degree?”

“As far as I know, she never got it. She dropped out, middle of our second year.”

“Why?”

“No idea.”

“Come on, you can tell me.”

“Don’t you have a brief to write or a motion to file.”

Mike was quiet for a moment, gaze sweeping Harvey’s face before his mouth fell open in slight surprise.

“...Oh, my god, you really have no idea,” He managed.

“Why are you still standing here?”

“Does Donna know?”

“Why would she?”

“Because she knows everything.”

“Well, I doubt she would know this.”

“You’re deflecting. She definitely knows.”

“Go ahead and ask her.”

Mike’s mouth works wordlessly again before he turns his head just a little.

“...She doesn’t know.”

“She does not.”

“Unless she does, and you’re trying to double psychy-psych me into not getting an answer.”

“Then go ahead and ask.”

“...She doesn’t know.”

“Are you asking?”

“If she does know—”

“You could be doing this on the other side of the door.”

“Okay.”

Harvey relaxed a bit as Mike leaned back in his seat, then smiled as he heard Mike call out, “Donna?”

He shook his head, taking up a baseball from behind his desk and turning his chair to gaze out of the window, turning the ball over and over in his hands. Mike wasn’t entirely wrong. If there was anyone in the city who may somehow know what happened, he was almost certain it was Donna. Harvey sure as hell didn’t know what had happened.

Harvey could still remember the shock of it—turning up to goad her into going to get dinner with him, only to find that her half of the room was completely cleared out. Her roommate had told Harvey that she didn’t know where she’d gone, didn’t have a number to reach her. Harvey had chased answers down within his means. He’d gone after phone numbers that he’d used and found them disconnected; he’d stopped by her apartment building and asked the doorman for information, even tried to bribe him, but the man hadn’t let a single word slip. Harvey had waited outside for hours in the hopes of seeing her, but had come up with nothing.

No call, no note, not a word of warning or explanation. Harvey hadn’t been worth saying goodbye to then, and he apparently hadn’t been worth saying goodbye to today.

His gaze dropped to the baseball in his hands, his thumb sweeping across the stitching as his chest fluttered with bitterness. Mike hadn’t come back in, so he was almost certain that Donna didn’t have the answers. Harvey eyed the article on his desk, frown deepening.

Maybe Harvey would have to get the answers for himself.

“Um—Did you happen to see Gerald’s email?”

“Nope,” You hardly looked away from your laptop screen as Beth sidled up to your desk. “What’s up?”

“He wants another SWOT analysis.”

You closed your eyes in irritation, drawing in a deep breath.

“Of course he does. Thanks for flagging.” You opened your email, glancing over when you realized Beth was still standing there. “Everything okay?”

“...Just, I haven’t heard anything yet, from…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I just wonder if we were too aggressive.”

You nodded a little, offering her a reassuring smile.

“If anything, they’ll counter, maybe for half a mill.”

“But…What that other man had said about burying us in fees, and paper—”

You turned your chair, taking Beth’s wizened hands in yours.

“He’s not going to do that,” You swore. “They’d screw themselves over if they did, and they know it. They’re probably just ironing out paperwork. It’s gonna be okay.”

Beth’s eyes darted between yours before she finally nodded. You gave her hands a gentle squeeze before you let go, turning back to your laptop as she walked away. You bit your lip, peering at your laptop screen. Your eyes scanned it, but you weren’t really taking anything in. You were just as panicked as Beth was that you hadn’t heard anything from the firm. It either meant something very good, or very bad. But you didn’t dare let Beth know how nervous you were. If it hadn’t gone your way—if the company decided to take Beth down—you would never forgive yourself.

You drew in a deep, shaky breath, curling your fingers into your palms and trying to shake off the oncoming shivers trickling down your spine. You’d always hated this feeling—the fear of loss, the swell of hopelessness. You hadn’t felt either so acutely in a long time. You’d been happy for it; you hadn’t missed them. Arguing with Harvey had brought you back to the contentious moments in law school, the panic of not knowing who the professor would call on next, the fear of tripping over your words in front of a dozen of your peers—

You closed your eyes for a moment, drawing in another deep breath and forcing your mind calm. You weren’t in law school anymore. You were a manager at a marketing firm. You did good work. You liked your job. The life that you led was more than enough. The people that you answered to were satisfied with your results—and whatever happened to Beth could be overcome. You were certain.

You opened the email from Gerald, reading it through before you CC’d Anne from finance, Jason from legal, and your boss before you typed out your response:

Hi Gerald,

Per our contract, we’ve completed the four SWOT analyses that we’ve been contracted for this year. Happy to take this conversation offline to discuss renegotiation.

“I’m going out.”

Donna sprang up at the warning, striding to catch up with Harvey.

“Going out where?”

“I need some air.”

“There isn’t enough air in your office?”

“I like outside air. The exhaust, the cigarette smoke, the waft of salt from the hot dog vendor.”

Donna arched a brow, folding her arms across her chest as Harvey hit the down button for the elevator.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the woman that Mike asked me about last week, would it?” She asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh no?”

“Nope.”

“Too bad. Her LinkedIn, Instagram, and Bumble profile were very interesting.”

Harvey arched a brow, glancing toward Donna before he stepped onto the elevator.

“Since when are you on Bumble?”

“I have a few profiles for research purposes.”

Harvey shook his head, smiling and casting his gaze toward the elevator floor as the doors closed.

When someone came to a stop at your desk, you assume that it’s Beth, or your boss—someone that you worked with. When they didn’t speak, you glanced up, and realized immediately that it was a mistake. Harvey was standing there, his hands in his pockets as he waited to have your attention. You dropped your gaze back to the screen, clearing your throat.

“I’m assuming if you’re here in person again, it’s bad news,” You commented. Harvey’s lips pouted as he seemed to consider.

“Depends on what you consider bad news.”

“I consider Beth getting screwed out of her fair share as bad news.”

“Well, then I have good news and bad news.”

“Okay.”

“The good news is, my client is ready to settle out of court for the requested amount, provided an NDA is signed.”

“I’d need to see that before she signed it.”

“Of course.”

Your brow furrowed.

“Then what’s the bad news?”

“There’s one more contingency to the deal being signed.”

“And what’s that?”

“Get a drink with me.”

Your gaze narrowed, and you couldn’t help but lean back in your seat, arms folding across your chest.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all.”

“If I refuse?”

“Beth will still get her settlement. But,” Harvey tipped his head from side to side, “It’ll probably take way longer.”

“How much longer?”

“Pff…Anywhere from a few months to a year. To be perfectly honest, my client doesn’t want to pay out. I mean, he will, because he knows that our advice is the right way to go, but I can gum up the works.”

You pushed out a stunned scoff.

“You’d seriously do that for a drink with me?”

“We each have something the other wants.”

“What the hell could I possibly have that you want?”

“Answers.” Harvey's critical gaze skimmed your rapidly heating face. “So? Are you busy tonight?”

You felt out of place. The bar was nice, and everyone seems dressed for it…Except you. Well, your workplace was fairly casual. It was rare that you met with clients in person. You dressed up in those instances, of course, but your day-to-day work wear is jeans and a nice shirt. You were trying not to shift uncomfortably, or fidget to adjust your cardigan, or the shirt underneath. You glanced up toward the waiter, offering a small smile as he set your drink down.

You picked up your glass, drawing in a long, slow sip. You’d spent the last five hours distracted at work, torn between trying to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Harvey, what sort of questions he could have. You already knew that this was more likely to be an interrogation than a friendly chat.

He was drawing it out, too. He was taking a slow sip of his own, watching you like his gaze could drill through your skull.

Maybe it could. He was certainly trying hard enough.

“So?” You pressed, unable to help the silence. His lips twitched. Ugh, he’d wanted you to cave first, and you had played right into his hand. Bastard.

“Did you ever finish your law degree?” He asked.

Embarrassment prickled your skin. The conversation was going to be a roller coaster if that was where he was starting.

“No.”

“Never went back to Harvard?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I had no reason to.”

“Not even to visit? Maybe pick up something you forgot?”

“I didn’t forget anything when I left.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Irrelevant.”

“I find it very relevant.”

“I disagree.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Move on.”

“Speaking of moving on, you seemed to do that very quickly.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You disappeared. No one could get in contact with you.”

“I didn’t want contact with anyone.”

“So you just dropped off of the face of the earth, for what? Fun?”

You shifted in your seat a little, fingers pressing into your palms where they were hidden in your lap.

“Trust me, nothing that happened to me then was fun.”

“Why should I trust you?”

Your stomach lurched; your hands tightened in your lap.

“Take my word for it, then,” You corrected.

“Your word isn’t worth anything to me.”

You averted your gaze, jaw tightening as you leaned back in your seat. Maybe you could just slam the drink back and go. You could hear Harvey leaning forward in his seat.

“Tell me,” He pressed, “What happened.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“This has been a giant question mark for me for a long time. You know I hate loose ends.”

You drew in a deep breath, leg beginning to bounce beneath the table as your nervous energy swelled.

“I couldn’t do it anymore,” You finally admitted.

“What?”

“I couldn’t do…Harvard Law. That environment, I couldn’t do it. Look, I loved it at the start, I loved the feeling of getting in, but once I was in, it was too much.”

You couldn’t meet his eye; his look was as heavy as ever.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” He asked after a moment. You scoffed a laugh, raising your brows as you finally brought yourself to look at him.

“Are you serious?…Harvey, you were allergic to feelings.” It was a little vindicating to see Harvey shift in his seat as you went on, “If I’d told you that I was struggling, you would’ve told me to buck up, that it wasn’t that hard, that I just needed to put my head down. You don’t respond weakness, you can’t fucking stand it.”

“You did just need to put your head down.”

Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, lips curling into a hysterical smile as you breathed, “Oh, my god—” Because there it was. There was the answer you’d expected years ago.

“You were top ten!” Harvey argued. “You were this close to knocking me off out of the top five.”

“I was losing my shit!” You lowered your voice, leaning in. “I couldn’t sleep. I was having panic attacks every time I left my room. I couldn’t handle it, alright? I’m not like you.”

“No, you’re not. I wouldn’t have given up.”

It was like a slap. You bit the inside of your cheek before you leaned back, nodding. You could feel your throat going thick as your eyes welled with tears.

“Okay,” You reached into your pocket, drawing your wallet out for a twenty as you stood. “Well thank you for this lovely trip down memory lane.”

“Sit down.”

“Fuck you.”

You didn’t even care that your language drew the attention of the other patrons. You just strode out of there as quickly as you possibly could, hands fumbling for your phone to get a car. Maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising that you heard his footsteps behind you moments later. It pushed you to walk faster, to keep him from seeing your watering eyes.

“Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that you’re turning tail and running,” He sounds almost bored, “You’re so good at it.”

“Leave me alone, Harvey.”

“You know, I had the wildest theories back then. Kidnapped by a foreign government, taken by aliens, activated sleeper agent. It’s a bummer to find out that you were just a coward.”

“Stop it,” You warned, shoving the door open and striding through it. You heard his palm hitting the wood behind you to keep the door from hitting him in the face, and you were desperate to escape it in the city noise. Harvey pushed on as if you haven’t said a thing:

“I used to think we were one and the same, but I would never have done what you did. I never would’ve just disappeared. Why didn’t you trust me—” His fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you to turn to him. His diatribe seemed to falter as he took in the tears slipping over your heated cheeks. You twisted your wrist out of his grip, tucking your arms around your middle and keeping your gaze anywhere but Harvey.

“...You could’ve talked to me,” Harvey finally said.

“You would’ve told me then exactly what you said just now, and that was the last fucking thing I needed back then. Frankly, it’s the last fucking thing I need right now.”

“Look at me.”

“No, you—You got your answers, alright? Get Beth her settlement.”

“You want me to get her settlement for you?”

“I want you to get it for her. Because she deserves it. So, get her the money, the money she’s earned, and just…Just leave me alone.”

You turned away from him again, getting just a little relief from the fact that you don’t hear him following you.

You spent the night worrying that your answers won’t be enough, that Harvey would go out of his way to bury Beth in paper, screw her over to the point where you had to go back to knocking on the doors of firms willing to take her case on a pro bono basis.

But when you turned up to work and Beth practically clobbered you with an excited hug, you knew that he hadn’t gone out of his way to fuck you over. You let out a sigh, patting Beth on the back and letting out a relieved laugh as repeated her thanks.

“Be nice.”

That had been your boss’s only warning as you’d headed into a conversation with Gerald. And you had every intention of being nice. But you also wanted to be realistic. You glanced from the finance rep to the landline in the middle of the conference table as Gerald groused, “There's no need to be unreasonable.”

“I don’t think us upholding our end of the contract is unreasonable," You argued. "We’ve done the SWOT analyses that you asked for in the past, and we’ll be happy to do them again. But we need to adjust the contract.”

“You can’t just do a one-off and bill me extra?”

“We could, but if we open that door, you’re just going to keep coming in, Gerald.”

“This is ridiculous,” He snapped. “I can cut this contract.”

“Yeah, you can,” You nodded. “You are absolutely at liberty to do that.” You heard the sound of a door opening to the conference room, but you felt your focus locked-in to the phone. “But if you cut this contract, that’s going to cost you a lot of time and a lot of money. We have a guaranteed pay clause regardless of termination, so if you cut us loose, you’re still going to have to pay us for the full year. While you’re still shelling out cash to us, you’ll have to pay to bring on another firm. You’d be better off negotiating the additional SWOT analyses instead of paying two firms off at once.”

You were quiet for a moment, brows raising as you and your associate waited in silence. You closed you eyes, holding your breath. Please, please please—

“How many SWOT analyses would I get with the increased cost?” He finally asked.

“That’s up for negotiation,” Anne hurried to reply. “As it is, you’re averaging one per month. If we push it to a dozen, we could work with you to discount them at 25%.”

Another pause. Another moment of you holding your breath, of please, please please please please—

“Send the revised contract.”

“It’s already in your inbox," You admitted. "Thanks, Gerald.”

“Yeah.”

You reached out, stabbing the button to hang the phone up before he could change his mind. You sighed, slowly leaning back in your seat and peering up at the ceiling. Christ, you felt dizzy.

“You can’t keep bullying our clients,” Anne grumbled.

“Our clients can’t keep bullying us. If we keep going the way we’re going, we’ll be the firm that does triple the work for half the pay. We’re too good for that.”

“She’s right.”

His voice made you whirl around in your seat, heart sinking into your stomach. Harvey stood just inside the room, his hands tucked into his pockets. Heat prickled along your neck. How long had he been there? Shit, you’d thought your boss had been the one to come in—

You glanced toward Anne with a guilty smile.

“Can we get a minute here?”

“Sure,” She nodded, pushing herself out of her seat. Harvey grasped the door handle, holding it open and shooting her a wide smile as she walked past. You stood as well, folding your arms across your chest before hurriedly lowering them to tuck into your pockets. You wanted to mirror him, look as nonchalant as he did, not all twisted up and shielded and defensive. Oh, you were cool as a cucumber. Definitely no reason to worry here, no way.

Harvey closed the door, stepping a little deeper inside.

“What can I do for you today, Mr. Specter?”

“Thought I’d come see how Beth’s planning on using her retirement check, how you’re going to use your fee.”

You frowned. “What fee?”

“You didn’t charge her a fee? Standard in New York is 40%.”

“I wouldn't take Beth’s hard-earned money.”

“You earned it, too, considering how hard you defended your client.”

“Beth was not a client. This was a favor for a friend.”

“That’s funny, because you called her that during our conversation.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You said that your client had had to endure a, what was it…‘Mountain of shit’?”

“Well, that is true,” You muttered. “It was a mountain of shit.”

“Could’ve been two mountains of shit.”

“But it wasn’t, so. I thank you for that.”

“It’s only fair. You did what I asked, you answered most of my questions.”

“Most?” You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. “What the hell else could you want to know?”

“You wanna do this here?”

“I don’t wanna do this at all.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Harvey.”

“I didn’t have a clue—”

“I am not doing this here.” You spoke more firmly than you felt. “This is my place of work.”

“Well when I tried to do this elsewhere, you walked out on me.”

“And yet you followed.”

“Because I had a chance to this time. I didn’t get the chance back then."

You shook your head, averting your gaze.

“Look,” Harvey stepped closer. “I’m just asking for a chance.”

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Well, it was for me. Hell of a flashback, just like old times. Same old Harvey, not knowing when to back off. Strong, direct, painful line of questioning—all gas, no breaks.”

Harvey was quiet for a moment, eyes skating over your face.

“It won’t be an interrogation again.”

“How can I know that?”

“I was angry last night.”

“And you’re not now?”

“...Not in the same way.”

“Oh, well. That’s a relief.”

“I just want to understand. Help me understand.”

“Understand what?”

“How one of the smartest people I’ve ever known changed her mind all that time ago, and then flexed the hell out of her legal muscles to get me to close in ten goddamn minutes.”

“People change, Harvey.”

“You haven’t.”

The two of you watched one another for a long, contentious, quiet moment before he said, “You need to come to my office.”

“What for?”

“To read over the NDA before Beth signs it.”

Fuck, the NDA. You’d forgotten about that.

“Fine," You nodded. "When.”

“How’s tomorrow work for you?”

“Tomorrow's a Saturday. You’re gonna do this on a weekend?”

“Gives us time to turn around any edits you need before you give it to Beth on Monday.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Goddamnit.

“Fine,” You agreed. “How’s seven?”

“Sure. We can grab dinner—”

“In the morning.”

Harvey’s brow jumped, his chin tipping down a touch.

“Are you serious?” He asked.

“Completely. You wanna get this NDA into your associate’s hands as quickly as possibly, right?”

“You expect me to be in my office at seven in the morning so you can read something.”

“You could’ve saved us both a trip and just brought it with you.”

“It’s still being worked on.”

“Well, you can have someone messenger it over tonight and I’ll drop it off tomorrow morning. Or is it long enough that you’re going to, um…Gosh, what was that neat little threat, again? Bury me in paper?”

You saw something flash across Harvey’s face. You didn’t know if it was remorse, or what—but it’s gone as soon as it appears.

“Fine,” He bit out. “Seven. In the morning.”

“Sounds good.”

“Don’t be late.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’m very punctual.”

“I remember.”

Your stomach flipped. Of course he did. He turned away, opening the door…And holding it open.

“What are you doing?” You asked, raising your brows.

“Are you coming?”

“Are we camping out outside of your office overnight? You strike me as a glamping guy.”

“I thought you were leaving the room.”

“I’m not.”

“Your meeting is over.”

“I have a quiet room and a SWOT analysis to work on.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t done it already?”

Your face went hot at the accusation, lips pressing to hold in your irritation at the way Harvey smiled. You were relieved when he finally turned away. It gave you a chance to sink down in your chair and parse through what the hell just happened.

“Oh, wow. You’re early.”

You raised your brows at the tone of surprise, eyeing the entrance to the building, and then turning your attention back to the young man that had just sprung up in your way.

“Yes, I am. Good morning, Mr. Ross.”

“Please, call me Mike. Not on the other side of the table anymore.”

“Well, until that NDA gets signed, yes, you are, so. Excuse me.”

You made to step around him, but he stepped into your way again.

“I just wanted to say,” He added, “That I really admire how hard you worked for Beth, and I completely agreed with your assessment of the company’s value.”

“...Thank you, I appreciate that. Now, if you could just—”

You side-stepped him again—and again, Mike got in your way, pressing:

“I honestly didn’t think they’d cave for a million, but you really showed them—”

“Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Did Harvey ask you to make me late?”

Mike’s mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, panic marring his features. You smiled sweetly.

“You know, I’m not sure what Harvey has told you about our past, but he probably didn’t mention that we were in an intramural dodgeball league. I can throw some mean elbows when I’m trying to get what I want, and you look like you bruise easily. So if you’d like to keep your ability to bend comfortably, please step aside and let me in.”

Mike pursed his lips before he nodded once, stepping aside.

“Thank you,” You cooed, sliding past him.

“I really do admire what you did for Beth!” He called out after you. You snorted, shaking your head as you headed to the lobby to get a visitor’s pass. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t more than a little antsy, glancing at your phone as you waited for the elevator, then waited in the elevator. When you stepped off, you found a stunning red-head standing there. Her eyes brightened at the sight of you, and she took a step back as you stepped off of the elevator.

“Mr. Specter’s office is this way,” She waved for you to follow. You raised your brows, falling into step.

“Was that a lucky guess, or did you know who to look for?” You asked.

“I knew. I don’t operate on luck.”

“Right. Did Harvey or Mike show you a picture of me?”

“Nope. I found pictures myself.”

“For what purpose?”

“Curiosity.”

“Sated?”

“Very.”

“Excellent. Do I get to know who you are, or do I have to go sleuthing on the firm’s site after this?”

“I’m Donna.”

“And what do you do here?”

“I just told you,” She stopped, waving you toward an office, “I’m Donna.”

You raised your brows before you turned, walking into the office. How the hell did he look pristine this early in the morning? Did the bastard sleep in a suit? His brow furrowed at the sight of you, shaking his sleeve back and eyeing his watch.

“6:59? What the hell did Mike do down there?”

“He made a valiant attempt, but I got past him.”

“How?”

“How did I get past him?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshitted him. Told him that we used to play dodgeball together, that I know how to throw a mean elbow. He crumbled like a bran muffin.”

“Damn.”

“You really should teach him how to lie. Second I called him on it, he blue-screened.”

“Trust me, Mike knows how to lie.”

“Whatever,” You shook your head. “Can I have the NDA so I can go?”

“Go? Oh, no. This doesn’t leave the office.”

“...Excuse me?”

“This document doesn’t leave the building until it’s ready to go to Beth.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before you snapped it shut.

“....Fine.”

Harvey took up the document, holding it out. You fought the urge to snatch it from him, instead taking hold of it before you sat down in one of the seats in front of his desk.

“Need a pen?” He asked.

“Nope,” You shrugged off your bag, rooting around in it before drawing out a red papermate felt tip pen.

“You hungry?”

Yes, you were. You’d been planning on getting breakfast and a massive coffee before going over the damn thing on your own, in your apartment, but no. Harvey had done what Harvey always does: turned the situation in his favor.

“No,” You answered, uncapping the pen.

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

You didn’t answer to that, you just tipped your head into your hand as you settled in:

THE PARTIES: This Non-Disclosure Agreement (referred to herein as the “Agreement”) created on__________, is by and between…

You were quiet for a moment, tipping your head to the side as you skimmed your finger over the pages.

“Harvey?”

“Sure, we can do bagels.”

Damnit, a bagel sounded so good right now.

“Why is this NDA…” You tipped your head to the side, flipping through the file, “Thirty pages?”

“Because it needs to be.”

“Ballpark, this should’ve been six, tops.”

“You’re dealing with a big company. They want to make sure their bases are covered.”

You shot Harvey a disbelieving look from under your lashes before you looked back down at the file.

“Besides,” Harvey added, “It’s not the length, it’s—”

“—It’s the content, yeah yeah,” You muttered. You heard him huff a soft laugh, but you forced the flutter of butterflies in your belly aside in favor of focusing. Hell, you needed to get through this, and fast. If you weren’t careful, your stomach was going to start grumbling.

“Here we go.”

You glanced up, doing a double-take at the sight of the coffee tray in Donna’s hand. You looked back down at your work, finishing a note that you’ve been jotting before you turn the page. You went still when Donna held a cup out to you.

“Sugar-free iced dirty chai with a double shot,” She offered. You raised your brows, taking hold of the cup.

“You’re good,” You nodded.

“I’m Donna.”

“I remember.” You couldn’t help but smile at her before you took a greedy sip of the iced chai. Oh man, that hit the spot. You’d been there a while, and you were starting to get a headache. You hadn’t tried to parse through legalese like this in a long time, especially not on an empty stomach.

“So? Are we doing bagels?” Harvey pressed. You glanced at where he was leaning back against an end table lined with basketballs. He arched his brows. “Come on, it’s been an hour and you’re only halfway through. You’re going to run out of steam if you’re not careful.”

“...You’re paying for them.”

“Of course.”

“Then yes, please. Bagels.”

“They’ll be here in five,” Donna warned, striding past you and back to her desk.

“She’s very good,” You commented, nodding after her as you turned back to your work, making another note.

“You really are gonna run out of ink.”

You fought the urge to mimic him, just going on about your business.

“I’ve got plenty of pens,” Harvey added.

“Law firm this big, I’d hope you’d have a few pens.”

“More than a few. Hundreds.”

“Mm.”

“Thousands, even.”

“If you’re not sure if it’s hundreds or thousands, then maybe you should go count them and get back to me.”

“You just want me out of the room.”

“I want you to stop watching me.”

“Why?”

“It’s creeping me out.”

“Did it always?”

“Objection: relevance.”

“If you allow me a little latitude, I can establish relevance.”

“No thanks.”

“Why are you going over this thing with such a fine-tooth comb?”

“I wanna make sure you don’t screw Beth over somewhere.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust your client. You work for your client.”

“I do what’s best for my client.”

“And I’m doing what’s best for my friend.”

“Your due-diligence.”

“I’m just reading, Harvey.”

“You and I both know it’s more than that.”

You ignored the comment, turning to the next page of the NDA.

“Food’s here,” Harvey spoke up after a few minutes of quiet.

“Thanks.”

You could hear the rustle of bags as Donna unpacked things before leaving again.

“...You gonna put that down?” Harvey asked.

“When I’m finished with it, sure.”

“What about the bagels?”

“I’ll take it to go when I’m done here.”

“Come on, I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

“My stomach isn’t growling.”

“Not at the moment, but it has been.”

“I’ll live through eleven more pages.”

“The bagel will get cold.”

“I’ll heat it back up.”

“You’re going to reheat a toasted bagel?”

“Yes, using the same apparatus that toasted it in the first place.”

“A twice-toasted bagel is gonna be hard as a rock.”

“Oh well.”

“And if you don’t eat now, I will use all of the scallion cream cheese.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“I mean all of it. There’s a ton here, and I probably couldn’t fit all of it on a bagel, so I’d have to go in with a spoon. You want me to do that?”

“Do whatever the hell you want, Harvey. You usually do.”

Blessedly, that shut him up for a few moments.

“So did you,” He countered after a moment. You didn't need a law degree to catch that insinuation.

“I didn’t leave Harvard because I wanted to. I left because I had to.”

“You chose to.”

“I made a decision that favored my mental and physical health over my career prospects. There's nothing wrong with that.”

“You ever regret it?”

You considered for a moment, gaze drifting from the papers.

“...Sometimes,” You admitted finally, glancing toward Harvey. “When this whole thing with Beth cropped up, yeah. It was a bummer not to have the full force of the degree behind me. But…If I had become a lawyer, I probably wouldn’t have met Beth, or had enough time to help her, so…” You shrugged, looking back down at the NDA. “It’s not as easy as just regretting it or not regretting it.”

“You regret leaving everyone behind?”

“...Yeah. I could’ve been better about the way I did it, but at the time, cutting everyone off felt like the right thing to do.”

“Even me.”

“Harvey,” You sighed heavily, “I’m not saying that what I did was right for everyone involved. If I had reached out to you, to Scottie, to any of our friends, maybe I would’ve gotten a different answer, but the way that you reacted to me the other day? When you told me that I was a coward?” You lifted your head to meet his eye. “That was exactly what I was expecting. And you know what, it hurt like hell last night, but there is no way I could’ve handled hearing that from you back then.”

Harvey’s jaw worked for a moment.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” He admitted softly. “I’m sorry.”

You hesitated before you nodded a little, turning back to the NDA.

“If it’s what you felt—”

“It wasn’t,” Harvey shook his head. “I was mad, and I let it get the better of me.”

“And you’re not mad now?”

“Not at you for that.”

“But you are mad at me.”

“For making me get up to be in the office at seven in the morning? Yeah, I’m outraged.”

You fought back a smile, shrugging.

“Didn’t mean to fuck with your beauty sleep, princess.”

You turn the page, twiddling the pen between your fingers.

“You’ll make it up to me.”

“Will I?” You arched a brow. “How exactly do you think I’m going to do that?”

“You’ll pay for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, we’re getting dinner?”

“I’m fully aware of the vast difference in our salaries, so I’ll pick somewhere with only one Michelin star.”

“What a generous smug asshole. Time really has changed you.”

“It hasn’t changed either of us.”

“I don’t know. I think you’re more of a dick than I remember you being.”

“I’m blushing.”

“Sure, Specter.”

“Put the NDA down and have a bagel.”

“Bossy.”

“It’s my office, I get to be bossy.”

“Fine. I’ll take the NDA to a conference room and give us both some space.”

“Keep your seat, have a bagel, and let me see what you have so far.”

You didn’t look up until you saw a plate lowered into your field of vision. You arched your brows before you raised the NDA, holding it out to Harvey as you took hold of the plate. You shifted in your seat, sitting up just a bit. Crap, you hadn’t realized how far down you’d slid in your seat over the course of the last hour. You set the bagel aside for a moment, capping your pen and tucking it behind your ear. You twist the top off of the bagel, lapping at the thick layer of cream cheese before taking a bite. You can’t even help the soft, relieved groan that you let out at the taste.

Damn, you were hungry.

You glanced across the desk, met by Harvey’s smug smile.

“Shuddup,” You mumble around the mouthful.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t have to.”

You took another bite as Harvey began to flip through the notes that you’d made in the NDA.

“You’re having fun with this,” He comments.

“I’m protecting my friend.”

“And you’re having fun doing it.”

“Sure, Harvey.”

“You are.”

“So you’ve upgraded from not analyzing your own feelings to telling everyone else theirs?”

“Not everyone. Just the people that I know.”

“Bold claim.”

“I told you—you haven’t changed. This NDA proves that.”

“How so?”

“Because so far, you have marked every single thing that I threw in there to trip you up.”

You nearly dropped the plate, and the bagel. You completely froze in the middle of your chewing. Harvey’s smug smile widened as he closed the NDA and reached out, taking up another, far thinner file from his desk, holding it out.

“Here’s the clean one.”

You reached out, setting the plate down on the desk. You flipped it open, embarrassment beginning to well up as you saw entire passages from the previous NDA—the very ones that you’d spent your time marking—omitted. You nodded for a moment before you muttered, “Okay.” You dropped it into your purse, slung your purse over your shoulder, and stood, taking the remainder of the dirty chai and the bagel with you.

“Hang on,” Harvey groaned.

“Nice meeting you, Donna,” You commented, ignoring Harvey as you passed her desk.

“You too!” She chirped over Harvey’s following, and his call of, “Would you wait a minute!”

“Why, so you can keep making a fool of me?” You bit out.

“I didn’t do it to make a fool of you, I did it to make a point.”

“And what point would that be?”

“That you’re a damn smart person—”

“I knew that already—”

“And that you would’ve made an amazing lawyer! You could still make an amazing lawyer!”

“That doesn’t mean that I want to be one!” You whirled around to face Harvey, face hot and close to his as he comes to a sudden stop to keep from ramming into you. “Just because my goals changed doesn’t make them any less important than yours. I am glad you’re a lawyer. I’m glad you have your corner office, your fancy fucking suits, your title, your position. But I’m glad that I have my life, the way I want it, without all of this. I get that what I did hurt you back then, and I am sorry. But I wasn’t fighting to knock you out of the top five when I was at school. I was fighting for my life. I know that I am smart. I know that I could’ve been an amazing lawyer, but I am happy just being myself as I am, right now. If that’s not enough for you, I don’t give a shit, because it’s my life, not yours.”

You left Harvey standing alone in the hall, his gobsmacked, stunned expression remaining as you turned away from him and strode to the elevator. He didn’t bother to chase you down this time, which was a relief. You managed to hold it together as the elevator doors slid open, studiously ignoring Mike as he stepped off and greeted you:

“Hey! Done already?”

You reached out, jabbing the lobby and door close buttons as quickly as you could.

Mike’s brow furrowed as she disappeared from sight. He turned away from the elevator, peering around the corner to see who might be nearby. There wasn’t anyone there for a few moments, and then…Harvey, standing there looking stunned and lost.

“Did she already finish her mark-up?” Mike asked. The question seemed to snap Harvey out of his reverie. He cleared his throat, straightening and turning away.

“She got halfway. I gave her the clean version.”

“What? I thought you were only going to give it to her if she caught 95% of the errors."

“She was on track to catch every single one. Spoiling the surprise didn’t seem like such a bad idea.”

“Is that because this whole endeavor has been a bad idea?” Donna piped up as the two neared her desk.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Harvey warned as he strode past her.

“I wanna hear it, but I don’t have time, I have uh,” Mike pointed down the hall, “A 10-Q filing to comb through—”

“Go,” Harvey nodded him away before he turned, heading back into his office. He reached out, taking up her half-marked NDA. His gaze skated over her notes, and it was as if he was transported back to Langdell, to the notes that she would scrawl in his margins, questioning his citations and methodology.

“...She’s happy as she is.”

“Donna."

“She said it herself!”

“She’s not working at her full potential.”

“Sounded like she preferred it that way. You’ve seen her at work. Is she bad at her job?”

“No.”

“Good at it?”

“What’s your point.”

“My point is,” Dinna leaned in the door frame, “That success looks different to different people. For you, it apparently looks like rubbing someone's skills in their own face. And I think if you keep harping on what might’ve been, she’ll just resent you for it—and if you lose her again, you’ll resent yourself for that, too.”

Donna raised her brows pointedly before she pushed off of the door frame. Harvey looked after her for a moment before he lowered himself into his seat, tossing the NDA onto his desk. What to do next?

Bringing her there hadn’t brought him much luck, but so far, going to her had been far more effective.

“I’m going to file a restraining order.”

“May as well do it on a full stomach.”

“I don’t have the NDA here, I sent it back with my edits.”

“I know.”

You glanced between Harvey’s calm expression and the bag of takeout that he was holding up. You sighed heavily. You thought you’d been able to shake Harvey, at least for the day. As soon as you’d gotten home, you’d double-checked the NDA, and hadn’t been able to find a thing wrong with it. You’d sent it back with a messenger, unwilling to step foot in that damn office again that day. You’d been certain that that would be in, but there Harvey is.

“I promised you dinner,” He adds.

“I thought you said that I’d be the one paying for it.”

“I take cash and Venmo.”

“Okay—” You drew your hand back to shut the door, but Harvey pressed his palm against the wood before you could.

“Wait a second.”

“Harvey, I can’t do handle a repeat of this morning.”

“I’m not asking you to. This morning, I wanted to understand what happened, I got that.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Harvey seemed to have to brace himself.

“The woman that I knew at Harvard…The woman that I thought I knew—”

“Thin ice, Specter.”

“—I had a different perspective of you then. I know we can’t blank slate this, but I’d like to get to know you properly, and I want you to get to know me. As adults. I wanna know what I’ve missed.”

You considered for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the bag of takeout. Letting him in wasn’t the greatest idea. If it went south again, you couldn’t just storm out—it was your apartment. But there were things about Harvey that you’d missed, too; things that you hadn’t been able to learn about through your mutual friends, and things that you couldn’t just get from googling the guy’s name.

“What’d you get?” You asked finally.

“Chinese.”

“Dumplings?”

“Vegetarian, fried.”

You sighed, stepping back and nodding over your shoulder with a concession of, “Alright.”

There were a lot of things that you had remembered about Harvey. But sitting on the floor of your living room, leaning back against your couch as you ate dinner and drank beer was bringing back so much more. Harvard had held so many bad memories that it had nearly crowded out the good ones, the warm ones. But now, as Harvey busted your balls, teased you, ribbed you as he nudged your knee with his, or your arm with his, or your shoulder with his, was bringing back memories of vicious butterflies.

Oh, you’d had the worst of crushes on this man. It had only been made worse by late nights spent in his dorm, all-nighters pulled at the library, nights spent dancing with him at parties. You’d been certain that there had never been anything there, and you hadn’t pushed it. Harvey had been your friend, a good friend. But now, with the way Harvey’s smiles softened and his gazes lingered, you found yourself wondering if there had ever been anything more, anything that the both of you had buried.

“...I was sorry to hear about your brother.”

Your admission came out of a quiet moment, and it sobered the both of you. Harvey nodded a little, lowering his head and looking at the beer in his hands.

“I would’ve reached out,” You added, “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me at that point.”

“I didn’t.”

You nodded at his confirmation, and it was your turn to look at the beer in your hands.

“You knew more about my life than I thought you would,” Harvey added, leaning back against the couch and shifting to face you a little.

“Well, some of our mutual friends kept me informed on the happenings of the great Harvey Specter.”

“Why didn’t they tell me about you?”

“I asked them not to.”

“Why?”

“Figured you hated me.”

You bit your lip as Harvey reached out, taking the beer out of your hands and setting it on the coffee table. Your stomach flipped as his hand raised, tucking two fingers beneath your chin to turn your head toward him. You hesitantly met his gaze, stunned by the warmth you found there.

“I never hated you,” He murmured. “I was upset, sure. I was angry, and confused. But I didn’t hate you.”

“Maybe you should’ve.”

“Couldn’t if I tried.”

“Did you try?”

“Yes.” Hervey’s thumb smoothed along your jaw. “But every time I got angry, I worried, too. I had no idea where you were. I didn’t know if you were alright, if you were at another school or dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“I’m sorry—”

“I know,” Harvey nodded, hand smoothing around to your nape. “But I’ve gotta say, if you ever disappear on me like that again—”

“You’re done?”

“I’m gonna send a hundred fucking Pinkertons after you.”

You scoffed a laugh, brows raising. “That a threat, Mr. Specter?”

“It’s a promise.”He shifted closer. “I’m not losing you again.”

“You did fine without me.”

“I would’ve done better with you.”

“You didn’t need me! You had Scottie, you had Jessica, you have your career and your suits and your—”

Before you could say another word, Harvey pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes went a touch wide at the sudden unexpected contact. It was a moment before you let yourself lean into him. You raised your hand hesitantly, resting it on his chest as he drew you closer. Your knees knocked against his as you cuddled against him, humming softly as Harvey sucked your lower lip between his. You leaned back a touch, smiling as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I want you around,” Harvey murmured. “Can’t that be enough?”

You nodded, sweeping your thumb gently under his collar.

“It’s enough. More than enough.”

Taglist: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @20th-centu-fairy-girl

#Harvey Specter x Reader #Harvey Specter x You #Harvey Specter/Reader #Harvey Specter/You #Harvey Specter fic #Harvey Specter imagine #More Than Enough

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probablyasocialecologist · 6 months

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John Barnett had one of those bosses who seemed to spend most of his waking hours scheming to inflict humiliation upon him. He mocked him in weekly meetings whenever he dared contribute a thought, assigned a fellow manager to spy on him and spread rumors that he did not play nicely with others, and disciplined him for things like “using email to communicate” and pushing for flaws he found on planes to be fixed. “John is very knowledgeable almost to a fault, as it gets in the way at times when issues arise,” the boss wrote in one of his withering performance reviews, downgrading Barnett’s rating from a 40 all the way to a 15 in an assessment that cast the 26-year quality manager, who was known as “Swampy” for his easy Louisiana drawl, as an anal-retentive prick whose pedantry was antagonizing his colleagues. The truth, by contrast, was self-evident to anyone who spent five minutes in his presence: John Barnett, who raced cars in his spare time and seemed “high on life” according to one former colleague, was a “great, fun boss that loved Boeing and was willing to share his knowledge with everyone,” as one of his former quality technicians would later recall. But Swampy was mired in an institution that was in a perpetual state of unlearning all the lessons it had absorbed over a 90-year ascent to the pinnacle of global manufacturing. Like most neoliberal institutions, Boeing had come under the spell of a seductive new theory of “knowledge” that essentially reduced the whole concept to a combination of intellectual property, trade secrets, and data, discarding “thought” and “understanding” and “complex reasoning” possessed by a skilled and experienced workforce as essentially not worth the increased health care costs.

[...]

By now you know what became of Swampy: He was found dead a few weeks ago with a gunshot wound to his right temple, “apparently” self-inflicted, on what was meant to be the third day of a three-day deposition in his whistleblower case against his former employer; his amended complaint, which his lawyer released last week, is the basis for much of this story. It is worth noting here that Swampy’s former co-workers universally refuse to believe that their old colleague killed himself. One former co-worker who was terrified of speaking publicly went out of their way to tell me that they weren’t suicidal. “If I show up dead anytime soon, even if it’s a car accident or something, I’m a safe driver, please be on the lookout for foul play.”

#Boeing #John Barnett #neoliberalism

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ofc-vi-writes-too · 2 months

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so all ive been able to think about is gotham for the past several days, and more specifically how gothamite culture has to be SO drastically different and jarring to literally anywhere else in the world. Like even other super cities like metropolis, or central city, or wherever else are at least KINDA normal. Like yea u have superman or wonderwoman or the flash but they dont really have to deal with the same level of bs as Gotham.

That being said here are a list of things that I think are extremely normal to Gotham, and other things that happen in thay horrible little city:

• the episode of Hot Ones with Brucie Wayne where no one thinks he’ll even be able to stand the 2nd or 3rd wing but he eats all of them with no reaction, and Sean Evans (or the in universe equivalent) just sits there like “wow no one has ever had literally no reaction before this is really crazy, and Bruce Wayne of all people?” Afterwards Bruce has second thoughts and realizes that maybe he should have played up his reaction to the spice a bit more. People Inside of Gotham are a little shocked because everytime he eats in public it is the most boring, bland, flavorless food imaginable. (he handled the spice so well because Batman is ready for all potential threats and forms of torture. Ridiculous levels of spice included)

• Gotham schools offer courses in self defense. In some school districts its actually mandatory, thats usually in old gotham or downtown gotham. In more affluent areas, self defense is still taught in schools, but most kids are sent to some ritzy trainer to make sure they can defend themselves.

• No one even blinks when theres a new vigilante by the time Damian comes around. Theres still a little buzz but by the time Duke shows up, people are like “Oh cool another one. HEY BRO WHATS YOUR NAME.” I saw someone post here about how when the Wayne kids get mad at Bruce, they go to Selina and make public appearances as Stray, Catwomans sidekick. I personally believe that Tim was the first one to do it but Dick does it the most, and gothamites didnt even need to get used to Stray showing up sometimes, nor did people really care that Stray was always wildly different heights, shapes, colors, etc. the additude is kinda like “I have taxes and job security to worry about. If a new vigilante is what were doing then so be it.”

• People tend to think that Gothamites aren’t smart, but that city is home to the Richest, smartest, most creative people alive. They mostly just lack morals. Like Dr. Freeze, Harley Quinn, hell even The Riddler are all insanely intelligent. Half of Gothams Villains have at minimum 2 Doctorates in something or other. Gotham generates a lot of cash as a whole, and small businesses thrive there. They have high employment rates, and most citizens have their associates despite everything happening around them. People who have never been to Gotham before expect to have to talk down to the citizens but Gothamites just kinda roll their eyes at them and carry on about their merriment.

• Gothamites CONSTANTLY says “because I’m Batman” when they don’t want to explain themselves. Kids hear it a lot from parents and they also get “If you don’t go to sleep, Condiment Man i gonna come and cover you in stinky relish.” Because truly what else is condiment man good for.

• Gothamites who work at BatBurger and typically work the night shift are used to visits from Batman, Robin, Red Hood, Cat Woman, Harley Quinn, etc. Sometimes they remember the workers and ask about their family, and how life is, and other things like that. Theres some barely 18 y/o who just graduated high school who worls at Bat Burger, and asked Red Hood to help him impress his gf by saying theyre friends. He like fuck it why not and tells the gf that the kid helped him save an old lady’s cat in a tree and now theyre bffs. She totally believes it. Score.

• I see the Gotham thinks Batman is Bruce Wayne’s boyfriend theories and raise you: Its pretty common knowledge that Bruce Wayne is Batman, just no one has the heart to tell him. Also theyre scared he will quit if anyone brings it up. So from this Gothamites created the joke that BW and batman are dating and when asked about it in an interview, dick grayson is like “……yes! My adoptive father is dating the guy who dressed up like a bat every night…!”

• this cuased and arguement between Bruce and Dick because no! Bruce isnt dating Batman! (stray was seen again that week) HE IS BATMAN! But fuck now the public thinks theyre a couple so now bruce gets asked about it and hes like “haha yes my spooky bat bf is who i love very dearly!” As punishment He makes Dick bring him flowers in the batsuit because “as far as he is concerned, this is his shithead son’s fault.” Thats a direct quote btw. Little does he know this somehow ties back to Tim Drake before they met.

#gotham #in my heart of hearts i believe these things to be true and real and canon #bruce wayne #batman #jason todd #red hood #batburger #brucie wayne #ofc vi writes too #dc #biblically accurate headcanons #believe me #source: trust me bro #tim drake accidentally started the batman and brucie wayne are a thing as a troll thing on reddit in his stalker era and it just kinda stuc #lol

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4dkellysworld · 23 days

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Some suggested practices or experiments from Robert Adams

Be totally silent for a day - Do you think you can do it? Just for one day, tomorrow, be silent. Do not say a word to anybody. Try to spend that day by yourself if you can. If you have to go to work for a living, if you have to go to work, be silent in your mind. Now here's how you work this: if you have to talk to your employees or your employer, talk to them but shut it out of your mind. Do not entertain what you say. Get rid of it immediately after you ﬁnished. If you talk about a work problem, resolve the problem and then go back to silence. In other words do not carry it with you. Do not carry it with you at all.

Sit in silence as much as possible for a week - Isn't it better just to sit still at home in the silence and stop the mind from thinking? That's the easiest way, it's the best way, it's the simplest way. If you don't believe me, try it. Try it for a week and see what happens. For one week I would like you to experiment. I don't want you to read any book. Think you can do it? Don't look at any spiritual literature. Just sit by yourself as much as you can. And watch your mind, watch your mind. Do whatever you have to do to slow down your mind and then you're going to be amazed. You will laugh at yourself. For when the mind becomes quiescent, reality will rush in. And you'll see it's so simple, it’s so simple. Why didn't I know this all the time? I used to believe by reading volume after volume I'll become enlightened. But it was so easy, I just had to quiet my mind.

Identify as I-AM as you wake up - If you ask yourself when you go to sleep, you tell yourself, "Tomorrow morning as soon as I open my eyes I am going to identify with my source, I-am," and you will, even if for a second, it will change your life. First thing when you open your eyes, ask yourself. “Who am I?” Just put this question and see what will happen to you. You'll feel something different. But you'll have to do it every morning. Just try it and see what happens. You'll see Oneness. Keep asking yourself, “Who am I? Who am I?” when you ﬁrst get up. As you keep on doing this every morning, every morning, every morning, the time between your awakening and the thought coming to you will become larger that space will expand, and expand, and expand until you are able to stay in the awareness. Of course at that time there will no longer be a "you". There will only be the awareness. Try it, you have to investigate. You have to intelligently dive deep within yourself and ﬁnd the source of your I.

I-AM meditation for one day - You relax your body and you inhale and you say "I," and you exhale and you say "am, I-am". You can do this while you're waking, while you're walking, while you're washing dishes, while you're resting. What it does is it makes your mind one pointed, so it'll stop thinking. If you can practice I-am for one day, just one day, all of your troubles will be transcended. You will feel happiness you've never felt before. You will feel a peace that you never even knew existed. As you keep practicing I-am, your thoughts will become less and less. Your personal self will go into the background and you will begin to feel an inner joy, an inner bliss. You will begin to feel that it no longer matters what I am going through. It makes no difference, because it is God who is going through this, not me. And God has no problems. You automatically become happy, just by using the I-am meditation.

Love your Self every day - Begin to love your Self. I know that's really hard for some of you to do. To really love your Self, to love the Self which is really you. Try standing in front of the mirror and giving love to yourself. Some of you will not be able to do this. I'll bet there are people here who look in the mirror and they don't even want to look at themselves. They can't look at themselves for a whole minute in the mirror. Try it and you'll see what I mean. For when you look in the mirror, see God, not the physical appearance. See light shining from you, see bliss, see pure awareness, see total emptiness, see your Self. Begin to practice this exercise. Looking in the mirror, begin for maybe a minute, then you go on to two minutes, three minutes, four minutes, ﬁve minutes. Look at yourself. Admit the truth to yourself. "I am Brahman. I am the ultimate reality. I am boundless space. I am the atman, the perfect intelligence, the one without the other, all-pervading, perfect self." What if you told yourself this everyday? What do you think would happen? If you looked in the mirror and did this every day, you would turn into the God that you are. And you will ﬁnd peace, total peace, total love.

Keep your mind on God all day - You will not think about your work or the food that you're going to eat during the day or what you're going to wear. But try to keep your mind clear, free. But you will watch yourself. You will see that you get up out of bed. You put on the right clothes. You eat your breakfast like you're supposed to. You go out into the world and do whatever you're supposed to do. But you're not part of it anymore, mentally. Your mind is on God. Your mind is on the absolute reality. Your mind is on perfection. Your mind is still and quiet. Yet you will continue to do what you have to do. You will no longer have to watch the clock or watch space and time. Leave everything alone and everything will happen by itself in a beautiful way. Try it.

Surrender completely - Perfect surrender is when you give up everything, everything to God including your body. Do what you want with me. Do what you want with my body, with my mind, with my affairs, with everything. Not my will but thine. If you can surrender like this you're already free. Try it, it's hard, because you're afraid what will happen after you do that. You believe everything will be taken away from you. This is human thinking. Stop being human. Surrender yourself and become totally free.

Be with your Sage all day long - When you're home, where you're working, think of the Sage. When you think of the sage's form, the sage's name, things will begin to happen to you. Find peace. Try it. Then you will be with the Sage continuously. Whenever you think of a living Sage, the Sage becomes part of your heart, it’s the complete heart and you feel the love of the Sage within you. So if you think of the Sage, the Sage will think of you. Whatever you think about, that you become ultimately. So you have to be very careful what you think about. Whatever you think about, you become. Think of the Sage, you become the Sage.

#excerpts #robert adams #practical #exercise #surrender

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cozycottagetarot · 5 months

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How Can You Manifest Your Wishes?

Notes:

This is not one of my favourite readings, but I hope you find something useful in it!These types of readings are always slightly difficult to keep organise but I tried my best. I'd love to know if you prefer paragraphs or bullet points as well! Shout out to the anon who recommended this reading!

‼️ This reading is in no way shape or form meant to act as or substitute professional advice of any kind. Please use your discretion, think carefully before you act and only take what resonates be it a little, some or none at all. ‼️

This PAC Includes:

This Might Resonate If Your Wish Is...

The Energy You're In

The Energy You Need To Be In

Extended Reading Includes

How Can You Open Yourself Up

What's Working vs What's Not Working

Additional Messages

Dividers From X

Reading Masterlist | Patreon | Paid Readings -- Open 🥂

PILE 1

This Might Resonate If Your Wish Is...

Wishes for a full-life makeover. If it’s a wish (or goal) you feel blocked or burnout pursuing. A wish you keep coming back to or feels like a ‘higher calling’. A wish of the heart. A wish around love (of any kind).

The Energy You're In

It feels like you’re in this bright, playful energy and you’re just absolutely ready to go! You see all the possible laid out before you and you’re getting excited about it. You could be coming out of a rough period and you’re trying to rebuild your sense of positivity. You’re trying to move on to the next version of you. You’re expecting the best (or you should be) and are in this very attractive and magnetic energy right now. You have a card here the Flamingo which is all about fun and the vibes of this section make me think of Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter. The vibe of the music video feels very playful and fun and the line “my give a f*cks are on vacation” reminds me of the energy you're in at the moment. It all feels very warm like I can almost feel the sun on my skin.

HOWEVER, you may be focusing on these possibilities through the eyes of others… living vicariously through others. What I mean by this is viewing people through social media, books, even in person and believing you can do what they do (which is fine) but through their experience or as them rather than you… I hope that makes sense. You may hold onto the super intense aspects of love or pleasure. This can be especially important regarding relationships! I will make a post on this a little later (it’s drafted), but the energy you’re in requires you to take a look at what ‘work’ you’re asking others to do for you. You need to focus on how you’re channeling the vibrant passionate energy you’re embodying at the moment.

The Energy You Need To Be In

As beautiful as your current energy is, you need to slow your roll a little bit here. Yes, hold onto the belief that things are going great for you— but you also need to ground yourself and savour the small moments too. Enjoy ALL the good things… right down to the perfectly crafted beverage. Take chances but double-check your trajectory first. Don’t just rush in, you’re in need of a balance right now. You’re in a phase of transition but divine timing is also at play. However, I feel like if you try to force things then you might end up bringing a 'tower moment' on yourself (if you’re about to panic, relax!) where you’re forced to take a look at what is truly important to you.

Thank you for making it this far! If you're interested in extended reading which includes how you can open yourself up, what's working vs what's not and more then you can check it out here!

PILE 2

This Might Resonate If Your Wish Is...

Of personal strength. Wishing your wish will come true. Balance. Employment (especially self employment). A wish to remove a known block or a wish for a solution of any kind. Relating to being in between phases. Something that will bring you a sense of safety or stability. Gaining your wings. Wishes involving social connections.

*Relationships are such a strong theme here, but it seems as though it maybe experience from childhood that come up a lot in this reading

The Energy You're In

I think you’re in an energy of waiting and surveying your surroundings... Like when someone’s wounded and retreats to regroup and tend to themselves. Main themes relate to boundaries, relationships and self care. You’re trying to find allies but I think it’s a little bit hard right now. Very analytical mind, trying to determine what stays and what goes. Things are definitely shifting and you’re just kind of keeping to yourself. Communication is such a big thing for you here. I feel like you’re really just on the sidelines taking things slow. You want to ally with others but you need to tend to yourself first or at least that’s your focus right now. You’re mainly in an energy of taking stock it seems… on alert in changing circumstances. You might be ruminating on how you communicate with others? There’s a suggest to look at how you experienced communication growing up? You might be stuck in your head… seeing “people” as not safe.

Idk guys, like are you good? Usually Pile 3 is the one that messes with me but the energies here feel sooo off. Kind of wondering if you're fatigued, hung up over someone even? Not necessarily romantically but someone who was/is supposed to have your back and you’re just hitting a wall or something at the moment. The energy literally disappearaed once I moved onto the energy you need to be in so take that as a positive sign!

If it ain’t me — Dua Lipa kept coming to me and disco balls stood out from the cards.

The Energy You Need To Be In

I feel like you need to be in an energy where, yes you’re surveying/assessing your surroundings, but you have to get up and do so instead of sitting around. You need to take action and expand your horizons. Be bold and go for it... I think you’ve got what you need. The consistent message is that doing nothing is not an option. Take a chance on what will fulfill your desires. Accepting endings is important and being able to move on. Allow yourself to transition to a fresh start.

Consider your image and how you show up as/interact with authority. Leadership. Especially emotional leadership. Parenting oneself and/or setting the example for how you want others to treat you. Create a safe home ‘base’ (internal or external) but don’t get stuck in it. Maybe ask yourself what creates home? Makes you feel safe/secure? You also could need to take a look at sibling relationships or any with a sibling like dynamic and factor in how you those affect how you show up is important to look at too. I think this could relate to blocks. But you need to place your roots first and then explore.

Trust yourself and make a move. Focus on your strengths and believe that you have gathered enough data to move forward. Structure and strategy are going to be your friends. Honor those ‘above’ you but hold onto your power. Set boundaries and hold other accountable (and yourself too).

Thank you for making it this far! If you're interested in extended reading which includes how you can open yourself up, what's working vs what's not and more then you can check it out here!

PILE 3

This Might Resonate If Your Wish Is...

Travel, adventure, family, community, friendships/found family, creative projects, diving intervention, exploring new interest, work-life balance.

The Energy You're In

Closing out cycles and actively transforming. Seeking out messages from the divine. You're open to receiving messages and guidance. Very calm and zen feeling. Maybe feeling like you're going through or have recently gone through a rebirth. You're ready to make moves. Strong willed. "What do you want to do?" is a question that should be potentially on your mind if it's not. Taking inspired action. Bring play into your life/how can you do so? This can even apply to relationships. Healing. Compare and contrasting how past events influence you and if how you're showing up matches your intentions. Heavy on the "level up" energy but this is a kind you're actively seeking. Exploring relationships, mentorships, ideas. Leaning on love ones. Generally being in good vibes.

Feels like a combination of pile 1 and 2 so if you were drawn to one of those as well I recommend checking them out.

This also feels like a very spiritual pile? I'm not sure how describe it but I kept saying 'the Universe' alot while I was doing this reading so of course just adjust it to whatever suits you and your belief best!

The Energy You Need To Be In

It's slightly hard to organise the messages here. There's a need to ground yourself. Don't stop working on healing, but also maintain your stability. Expansion & communication. Abundance is coming in. Remember you're worthy of abundance and your manifestation skills are heightened. Big things are coming for you. Expanding your perspective as well. Where do you need to speak up? You can and should try to lean on others. Open your heart... you don't have to have an armored heart. Cultivate your wishes, the things you want to grow. Nurture your wishes and your heart. Make sure you're clear on what you want to manifest. Keep your motivation up by focusing on short term steps. Look to mentors for guidance.

Thank you for making it this far! If you're interested in extended reading which includes how you can open yourself up, what's working vs what's not and more then you can check it out here!

PILE 4

This Might Resonate If Your Wish Is...

Nostalgia. Happiness. Needing motivation. Heavily charged emotional wishes. Something relating to others… not necessarily currently though. Like a wish that was formed because of someone years ago. If you have a vision board. Looking for a break. Or for a break to end. A wish where you’ve heard divine timing is at play. Direction. A waiting period to be over. Trying to break something you know isn’t good for you.

Pay attention to words, phrases or songs that come up often.

The Energy You're In

You’re very guarded. You’re wanting to break away from whatever is just weighing on you and you’re working hard at it but at the same time I feel like you just won’t let go??? Despite you working to break the chains or get a move on, it feels like they’re never ending but they are ending!! Don’t be fooled by appearances.

I think you’re very future focused and all about recreating yourself (I heard in entirety). You’re trying to expand your pov and I feel also kind of just nurture yourself internally. Very introspective trying to figure out who you are and what you want to do or who you want to be.

The Energy You Need To Be In

I didn’t really get anything specifically about money regarding wishes but I think it at least revolves around some kind of stability heavily. You need to be walking away from what isn’t serving you. Realise that you can create just about anything right now... anything goes.

You need to be doing what’s best for you regardless of if you hate it. Your day to day life is super important. I don’t know if rainbows are important to you but also I’m feeling like you need to fill your life with colour too. You need to become clear on resources and what they mean to you such as money, you body, other material possessions etc. get your financial life together. Do some deep cleaning. Like normally these readings are a matter of mindset and mental work but this pile feels very physical. Beautify your life and make it aesthetically pleasing without breaking the bank. How can you use art as well to make a masterpiece out of your feelings? How can you make your day to day life more enjoyable?

Thank you for making it this far! If you're interested in extended reading which includes how you can open yourself up, what's working vs what's not and more then you can check it out here!

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pac reading #pick a pile reading #pick a picture #pac #pick an image #cozycottagetarot #cozycottagetarot readings #tarotblr #free reading tarot #free tarot reading

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warrioreowynofrohan · 2 years

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A few different people have been observing that Scrooge begins to change more quickly in the book than is often shown in adaptations. The Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come isn’t the one crucial factor breaking his obstinacy, but rather a final message to drive home a point that Scrooge had already become receptive to. I want to trace the shape of Scrooge’s progress over the course of the book and see what it reveals. (There will be some ‘spoilers’ here, since the story seems fairly universally known even among those who are reading the book for the first time.)

After Marley’s appearance, he is disturbed and discomfited, but still trying to hang onto denial and not face what he’s been told.

With Chistmas Past, adaptations often treat it like a psych session - see, you hate Christmas because you were so miserable during it. But in the book, that isn’t the point at all. Scrooge sees times when he was unhappy as a boy, but he also sees what comforted him during those times - reading and imagination, which his adult self would dismiss asfrivolous and unprofitable - and recaptures his joy in those things. He sees times when he was happy, like at Fezziwig’s Christmas party. And he sees how he’s become the kind of person who made his younger self unhappy rather than happy, and how easy it would to be otherwise.

He sees himself asan unhappy child, and wishes that he’d been kinder to the young boy singing carols at the door. He sees himself happily employed with a kind, generous and personable employer, who could create a vastly more pleasant workplace climate at trivial expense, and wishes he’d been nicer to Bob Cratchit.

And then he sees Belle, and is shown that his unhappiness is of his own making and the consequence of hus own choices. His being the selfish, avaricious person he is is not the consequence of Belle breaking up with him; it is the cause of it. She saw him already becoming that person, and chose not to follow him in that path. Her choices left her a happy, loving and loved woman; his left him unhappy and alone. Scrooge cannot bear this, and rejects and fights the spirit rather than face it.

But he has nonetheless already begun to change. Whereas he initially did not want to go with Christmas Past (“a night of unbroken sleep would be more conducive to [my welfare]”), he willingly goes with Christmas Present and expresses the desire to learn and benefit. He sees people in all manner of circumstances, good and bad, choosing to take joy in each other’s company and the comforts, small or great, around them. Many adaptations fail in this, focusing Scrooge’s attention on the idea that people dislike him (Mrs Cratchit; his nephew’s joke) but in the book Scrooge clearly greatly enjoys his nephew’s party, the nephew is being good-humoured and generous and expresses his goodwill towards Scrooge, and Scrooge doesn’t mind the joke at all. He sees the Cratchits making the best of what they have, and how he is making their lives harder than need be. He sees, in many ways and places, how he could be making others happy and being happy himself, rather than making evrryobe miserable, and it is an appealing picture. And Present calls him out, several times, on his past words and sentiments, and Scrooge repents them.

By the time he meets the Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come, he is already willing and prepared to change, and making deliberate plans to do so. The thing that I think is emphasized through the scenes with Yet To Come, as a driving home of the point, is that Scrooge’s actions up to this point have not only made him and others unhappy - they are an utter failure at getting Scrooge the one thing he had prioritized: wordly security, respect, and dignity. In Belle’s words, his turn to avarice in his youth was in hopes of avoiding the “sordid reproach” that the world has for poverty. He was fine, and even pleased, with being feared rather than loved - what he did not want was to be patronized, despized, looked down on.

And now he sees where that got him! His business partners don’t even care to attend his funeral. Men whose respect he hoped to have gained don’t even give him a second thought, and for the brief moment they do, think ill of him (“Old Scratch” is Victorian slang for the devil). His chambers and even his body are plundered (tomorrow’s reading is even more graphic about this, in some lines, than most adaptations). He’s buried in an obscure, untended, weedy churchyard, because no one cares enough about him to make other arrangements. He has none of the worldly respect, regard, dignity for which he turned to money as a protector. Past and Present showed that he was wanting the wrong things; but Future shows him that he wasn’t even achieving the things he thought he did want, amd was in fact achieving their opposite.

The point of Future, then, is not to convince Scrooge to change. He has already chosen that he desires to change. Future alone, without the earlier spirits, would be supremely ineffective; showing Scrooge that his servant and the people around him hate him, without first showing him that he can be happy and make other people happy, would only make him more of a misanthrope. This is not a “scare ‘em straight,” as some adaptations play it. The point of Future is as a final guard against backsliding, against regret: you are losing nothing by changing, because your current path is losing you even the paltry things you sought to gain by it.

Also, I hadn’t really registered this on previous reads, but this is the very near future - the Christmas one year after the period of the book. This is never stated outright, but Christmas Present says of Tiny Tim, “If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my race will find him here” - meaning, no future Christmas. And, in the visions with Christmas Future, Tiny Tim has died only a few days ago. In the words of Dante (paraphrased) “the time was perilously short for turning.” The Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come doesn’t teach the lesson - that’s the previous spirits - but he makes sure it sticks.

#dickens december #a christmas carol #charles dickens #scrooge

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mostlysignssomeportents · 10 months

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The moral injury of having your work enshittified

This Monday (November 27), I'm appearing at the Toronto Metro Reference Library with Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen.

On November 29, I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."

This week, I wrote about how the Great Enshittening – in which all the digital services we rely on become unusable, extractive piles of shit – did not result from the decay of the morals of tech company leadership, but rather, from the collapse of the forces that discipline corporate wrongdoing:

https://locusmag.com/2023/11/commentary-by-cory-doctorow-dont-be-evil/

The failure to enforce competition law allowed a few companies to buy out their rivals, or sell goods below cost until their rivals collapsed, or bribe key parts of their supply chain not to allow rivals to participate:

https://www.engadget.com/google-reportedly-pays-apple-36-percent-of-ad-search-revenues-from-safari-191730783.html

The resulting concentration of the tech sector meant that the surviving firms were stupendously wealthy, and cozy enough that they could agree on a common legislative agenda. That regulatory capture has allowed tech companies to violate labor, privacy and consumer protection laws by arguing that the law doesn't apply when you use an app to violate it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

But the regulatory capture isn't just about preventing regulation: it's also about creating regulation – laws that make it illegal to reverse-engineer, scrape, and otherwise mod, hack or reconfigure existing services to claw back value that has been taken away from users and business customers. This gives rise to Jay Freeman's perfectly named doctrine of "felony contempt of business-model," in which it is illegal to use your own property in ways that anger the shareholders of the company that sold it to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Undisciplined by the threat of competition, regulation, or unilateral modification by users, companies are free to enshittify their products. But what does that actually look like? I say that enshittification is always precipitated by a lost argument.

It starts when someone around a board-room table proposes doing something that's bad for users but good for the company. If the company faces the discipline of competition, regulation or self-help measures, then the workers who are disgusted by this course of action can say, "I think doing this would be gross, and what's more, it's going to make the company poorer," and so they win the argument.

But when you take away that discipline, the argument gets reduced to, "Don't do this because it would make me ashamed to work here, even though it will make the company richer." Money talks, bullshit walks. Let the enshittification begin!

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/22/who-wins-the-argument/#corporations-are-people-my-friend

But why do workers care at all? That's where phrases like "don't be evil" come into the picture. Until very recently, tech workers participated in one of history's tightest labor markets, in which multiple companies with gigantic war-chests bid on their labor. Even low-level employees routinely fielded calls from recruiters who dangled offers of higher salaries and larger stock grants if they would jump ship for a company's rival.

Employers built "campuses" filled with lavish perks: massages, sports facilities, daycare, gourmet cafeterias. They offered workers generous benefit packages, including exotic health benefits like having your eggs frozen so you could delay fertility while offsetting the risks normally associated with conceiving at a later age.

But all of this was a transparent ruse: the business-case for free meals, gyms, dry-cleaning, catering and massages was to keep workers at their laptops for 10, 12, or even 16 hours per day. That egg-freezing perk wasn't about helping workers plan their families: it was about thumbing the scales in favor of working through your entire twenties and thirties without taking any parental leave.

In other words, tech employers valued their employees as a means to an end: they wanted to get the best geeks on the payroll and then work them like government mules. The perks and pay weren't the result of comradeship between management and labor: they were the result of the discipline of competition for labor.

This wasn't really a secret, of course. Big Tech workers are split into two camps: blue badges (salaried employees) and green badges (contractors). Whenever there is a slack labor market for a specific job or skill, it is converted from a blue badge job to a green badge job. Green badges don't get the food or the massages or the kombucha. They don't get stock or daycare. They don't get to freeze their eggs. They also work long hours, but they are incentivized by the fear of poverty.

Tech giants went to great lengths to shield blue badges from green badges – at some Google campuses, these workforces actually used different entrances and worked in different facilities or on different floors. Sometimes, green badge working hours would be staggered so that the armies of ragged clickworkers would not be lined up to badge in when their social betters swanned off the luxury bus and into their airy adult kindergartens.

But Big Tech worked hard to convince those blue badges that they were truly valued. Companies hosted regular town halls where employees could ask impertinent questions of their CEOs. They maintained freewheeling internal social media sites where techies could rail against corporate foolishness and make Dilbert references.

And they came up with mottoes.

Apple told its employees it was a sound environmental steward that cared about privacy. Apple also deliberately turned old devices into e-waste by shredding them to ensure that they wouldn't be repaired and compete with new devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

And even as they were blocking Facebook's surveillance tools, they quietly built their own nonconsensual mass surveillance program and lied to customers about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Facebook told employees they were on a "mission to connect every person in the world," but instead deliberately sowed discontent among its users and trapped them in silos that meant that anyone who left Facebook lost all their friends:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

And Google promised its employees that they would not "be evil" if they worked at Google. For many googlers, that mattered. They wanted to do something good with their lives, and they had a choice about who they would work for. What's more, they did make things that were good. At their high points, Google Maps, Google Mail, and of course, Google Search were incredible.

My own life was totally transformed by Maps: I have very poor spatial sense, need to actually stop and think to tell my right from my left, and I spent more of my life at least a little lost and often very lost. Google Maps is the cognitive prosthesis I needed to become someone who can go anywhere. I'm profoundly grateful to the people who built that service.

There's a name for phenomenon in which you care so much about your job that you endure poor conditions and abuse: it's called "vocational awe," as coined by Fobazi Ettarh:

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

Ettarh uses the term to apply to traditionally low-waged workers like librarians, teachers and nurses. In our book Chokepoint Capitalism, Rebecca Giblin and I talked about how it applies to artists and other creative workers, too:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

But vocational awe is also omnipresent in tech. The grandiose claims to be on a mission to make the world a better place are not just puffery – they're a vital means of motivating workers who can easily quit their jobs and find a new one to put in 16-hour days. The massages and kombucha and egg-freezing are not framed as perks, but as logistical supports, provided so that techies on an important mission can pursue a shared social goal without being distracted by their balky, inconvenient meatsuits.

Steve Jobs was a master of instilling vocational awe. He was full of aphorisms like "we're here to make a dent in the universe, otherwise why even be here?" Or his infamous line to John Sculley, whom he lured away from Pepsi: "Do you want to sell sugar water for the rest of your life or come with me and change the world?"

Vocational awe cuts both ways. If your workforce actually believes in all that high-minded stuff, if they actually sacrifice their health, family lives and self-care to further the mission, they will defend it. That brings me back to enshittification, and the argument: "If we do this bad thing to the product I work on, it will make me hate myself."

The decline in market discipline for large tech companies has been accompanied by a decline in labor discipline, as the market for technical work grew less and less competitive. Since the dotcom collapse, the ability of tech giants to starve new entrants of market oxygen has shrunk techies' dreams.

Tech workers once dreamed of working for a big, unwieldy firm for a few years before setting out on their own to topple it with a startup. Then, the dream shrank: work for that big, clumsy firm for a few years, then do a fake startup that makes a fake product that is acquihired by your old employer, as an incredibly inefficient and roundabout way to get a raise and a bonus.

Then the dream shrank again: work for a big, ugly firm for life, but get those perks, the massages and the kombucha and the stock options and the gourmet cafeteria and the egg-freezing. Then it shrank again: work for Google for a while, but then get laid off along with 12,000 co-workers, just months after the company does a stock buyback that would cover all those salaries for the next 27 years:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

Tech workers' power was fundamentally individual. In a tight labor market, tech workers could personally stand up to their bosses. They got "workplace democracy" by mouthing off at town hall meetings. They didn't have a union, and they thought they didn't need one. Of course, they did need one, because there were limits to individual power, even for the most in-demand workers, especially when it came to ghastly, long-running sexual abuse from high-ranking executives:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/25/technology/google-sexual-harassment-andy-rubin.html

Today, atomized tech workers who are ordered to enshittify the products they take pride in are losing the argument. Workers who put in long hours, missed funerals and school plays and little league games and anniversaries and family vacations are being ordered to flush that sacrifice down the toilet to grind out a few basis points towards a KPI.

It's a form of moral injury, and it's palpable in the first-person accounts of former workers who've exited these large firms or the entire field. The viral "Reflecting on 18 years at Google," written by Ian Hixie, vibrates with it:

https://ln.hixie.ch/?start=1700627373

Hixie describes the sense of mission he brought to his job, the workplace democracy he experienced as employees' views were both solicited and heeded. He describes the positive contributions he was able to make to a commons of technical standards that rippled out beyond Google – and then, he says, "Google's culture eroded":

Decisions went from being made for the benefit of users, to the benefit of Google, to the benefit of whoever was making the decision.

In other words, techies started losing the argument. Layoffs weakened worker power – not just to defend their own interest, but to defend the users interests. Worker power is always about more than workers – think of how the 2019 LA teachers' strike won greenspace for every school, a ban on immigration sweeps of students' parents at the school gates and other community benefits:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

Hixie attributes the changes to a change in leadership, but I respectfully disagree. Hixie points to the original shareholder letter from the Google founders, in which they informed investors contemplating their IPO that they were retaining a controlling interest in the company's governance so that they could ignore their shareholders' priorities in favor of a vision of Google as a positive force in the world:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

Hixie says that the leadership that succeeded the founders lost sight of this vision – but the whole point of that letter is that the founders never fully ceded control to subsequent executive teams. Yes, those executive teams were accountable to the shareholders, but the largest block of voting shares were retained by the founders.

I don't think the enshittification of Google was due to a change in leadership – I think it was due to a change in discipline, the discipline imposed by competition, regulation and the threat of self-help measures. Take ads: when Google had to contend with one-click adblocker installation, it had to constantly balance the risk of making users so fed up that they googled "how do I block ads?" and then never saw another ad ever again.

But once Google seized the majority of the mobile market, it was able to funnel users into apps, and reverse-engineering an app is a felony (felony contempt of business-model) under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a crime to install an ad-blocker.

And as Google acquired control over the browser market, it was likewise able to reduce the self-help measures available to browser users who found ads sufficiently obnoxious to trigger googling "how do I block ads?" The apotheosis of this is the yearslong campaign to block adblockers in Chrome, which the company has sworn it will finally do this coming June:

https://www.tumblr.com/tevruden/734352367416410112/you-have-until-june-to-dump-chrome

My contention here is not that Google's enshittification was precipitated by a change in personnel via the promotion of managers who have shitty ideas. Google's enshittification was precipitated by a change in discipline, as the negative consequences of heeding those shitty ideas were abolished thanks to monopoly.

This is bad news for people like me, who rely on services like Google Maps as cognitive prostheses. Elizabeth Laraki, one of the original Google Maps designers, has published a scorching critique of the latest GMaps design:

https://twitter.com/elizlaraki/status/1727351922254852182

Laraki calls out numerous enshittificatory design-choices that have left Maps screens covered in "crud" – multiple revenue-maximizing elements that come at the expense of usability, shifting value from users to Google.

What Laraki doesn't say is that these UI elements are auctioned off to merchants, which means that the business that gives Google the most money gets the greatest prominence in Maps, even if it's not the best merchant. That's a recurring motif in enshittified tech platforms, most notoriously Amazon, which makes $31b/year auctioning off top search placement to companies whose products aren't relevant enough to your query to command that position on their own:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

Enshittification begets enshittification. To succeed on Amazon, you must divert funds from product quality to auction placement, which means that the top results are the worst products:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

The exception is searches for Apple products: Apple and Amazon have a cozy arrangement that means that searches for Apple products are a timewarp back to the pre-enshittification Amazon, when the company worried enough about losing your business to heed the employees who objected to sacrificing search quality as part of a merchant extortion racket:

https://www.businessinsider.com/amazon-gives-apple-special-treatment-while-others-suffer-junk-ads-2023-11

Not every tech worker is a tech bro, in other words. Many workers care deeply about making your life better. But the microeconomics of the boardroom in a monopolized tech sector rewards the worst people and continuously promotes them. Forget the Peter Principle: tech is ruled by the Sam Principle.

As OpenAI went through four CEOs in a single week, lots of commentators remarked on Sam Altman's rise and fall and rise, but I only found one commentator who really had Altman's number. Writing in Today in Tabs, Rusty Foster nailed Altman to the wall:

https://www.todayintabs.com/p/defective-accelerationism

Altman's history goes like this: first, he founded a useless startup that raised $30m, only to be acquired and shuttered. Then Altman got a job running Y Combinator, where he somehow failed at taking huge tranches of equity from "every Stanford dropout with an idea for software to replace something Mommy used to do." After that, he founded OpenAI, a company that he claims to believe presents an existential risk to the entire human risk – which he structured so incompetently that he was then forced out of it.

His reward for this string of farcical, mounting failures? He was put back in charge of the company he mis-structured despite his claimed belief that it will destroy the human race if not properly managed.

Altman's been around for a long time. He founded his startup in 2005. There've always been Sams – of both the Bankman-Fried varietal and the Altman genus – in tech. But they didn't get to run amok. They were disciplined by their competitors, regulators, users and workers. The collapse of competition led to an across-the-board collapse in all of those forms of discipline, revealing the executives for the mediocre sociopaths they always were, and exposing tech workers' vocational awe for the shabby trick it was from the start.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

#pluralistic #moral injury #enshittification #worker power #google #dont be evil #monopoly #sam altman #openai #vocational awe #making a dent in the universe

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