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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year ago

Text

Proposal

Part One of Three Years

Masterlist | Year One

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only.

Length: 4.3K

Notes: ....Hi! This is the first of 2-3 fic drops. I'm hoping to push all five chapters of this fic out this weekend. Also I started writing this before the current AI market explosion. Not beta-read. Never beta-read.

Warnings: Cursing; angst; enemies to enemies who fuck; tech-talk; angst (I know I said it before but really); Nathan being Nathan

Summary: He’s shorter than you thought he’d be.

Nathan Bateman isn’t unattractive, or short, even, he’s just…Shorter.

Of all of the things that you thought you’d feel about Nathan Bateman’s visit, surprised wasn’t what you thought would be first. Shit-scared, sure. Insanely nervous, absolutely. Surprised by his height? Not on your list.

“This could be huge for us.”

Jenn looks at once desperate and wild-eyed as she paces in her office. You watch her closely, taking in the dark circles under her dark eyes. Her typically California-tan skin is pallid from her recent late nights, and her days spent indoors. The company is running her ragged—and this potential seed money from Nathan Bateman is throwing her into the craziest tizzy you’ve ever seen. She sweeps her hands through her frizzed auburn hair before she raises her nails to her mouth.

“I mean,” She mutters, continuing to pace, voice muffled as she chews her nails, “If we get Bateman’s backing, that’d be great, but if I can get him on the board.” She stops finally, turning to face you, lowering her chewed nails from her mouth. “That would send us into the fucking stratosphere.”

“...Okay,” You sit up a touch. You don’t want to be a buzzkill, but you need to bring Jenn down from the fucking stratosphere. “Nathan Bateman has scheduled a meeting. Okay? A meeting. One,” You raise your finger.

“He’s having his team go over our numbers—”

“I know that. He’s doing the due diligence that anyone coming in would be expected to do. Just, don’t put all of your eggs in one basket when we haven’t even gotten the basket yet.”

“Come on,” Jenn groans. “I could be the next Steve Jobs!”

“Yes, you absolutely could. But if you keep putting your focus on the idea stuff and not on the structure and application stuff, you’re going to be the next Elizabeth Holmes. And honey, I love you, but you do not look good in orange.”

Jenn deflates just a little, slouching back against the windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling.

“...It clashes with my hair,” She grumbles.

“I’m not saying don’t be excited at all," You insist, "I’m just saying…We’re bringing him in to talk about financing. How freaked out would you be if you went on a first date with someone and instead of asking for a second date, they said, Hey this was fun, let’s get married.”

“...Pretty freaked.”

“Right. And asking someone to join the board is like a business-y 3.5 carat pear cut diamond on an infinity band. So. Let's schedule an All Hands, give the team a heads up, get them prepped. Before that, though, we need to get you some fucking lunch and some sunshine.”

“You’re my sunshine.”

“Awww,” You coo before you get up, adding, “Seriously. Get your phone and your sunglasses, we’re going out.”

“But I have an email from prod—”

“Production about the user profile settings set to drop at the end of the week. I know, I answered it already. Phone. Sunglasses. Lunch. Let’s go.”

"You'll be here, right?"

You frown, shaking your head in slight confusion, and Jenn clarifies: "For his tour. You'll be here?"

You consider, glancing at your phone. If you can get the time off—but that's no guarantee.

"I'll try."

When Jenn started Sc(ai)le three years ago, you’d had no idea that it would take off the way it would. You knew that Jenn was brilliant, you’d never had a doubt about that. But you couldn’t have anticipated how quickly varying industries moved to scale AI. Jenn had assembled a team of engineers, scientists, and sales reps. She trusts her teams, and they work hard to keep the company in motion.

But Jenn still insists in being very much hands-on everywhere she possibly can, sometimes to hers and the company’s detriment. She needs a Chief Knowledge officer, a Chief Information officer, and a Chief Marketing officer. She has a Chief Tech officer, a Chief Financial officer, a Chief Compliance officer, a Chief Data officer—all incredibly knowledgeable in their fields. She wants a board, too, but you’re worried that the company may still be too young for it.

You work with the SVP of Marketing now and again, helping her to manage the way marketing materials are created, where they’re stored, and how they’re distributed. You’re working with Sc(ai)le part-time, on a temporary basis (though it’s technically been ‘temporary’ since the company started). Jenn needs an official team, with people that can work with her full-fucking-time. You have a full-time job at a separate tech company, one that’s well away from the AI space. You’d been worried their hackles would be raised when you informed them that you’d be taking a part-time position elsewhere, but they hadn’t even flinched.

Hell, your manager had asked you if you’d be able to get them an employee discount. You may just have to take a few days off for Bateman’s visit.

You don’t blame Jenn for being so excited, or so nervous.

Nathan fucking Bateman? This is huge.

But if both of you have your heads in the fucking clouds, neither of you are gonna make it out of orbit. So you’ll keep yourself grounded, and bring Jenn back down to Earth if you absolutely have to.

He’s shorter than you thought he’d be.

Nathan Bateman isn’t unattractive, or short, even, he’s just…Shorter.

You glance over at Jenn to find her tipping her chin up, slapping on her I Should Be On the Cover of Forbes smile. It’s the smile that’s brought every other investor on board. It’s the smile that’s brought on every single team member in the company. Now, you can only hope that it’ll bring Nathan Bateman into her coffers.

Where you’d typically leave Jenn to finesse any other investor, you stick close by. You trail Bateman and Jenn by a few steps as she directs him around the offices, and the facility.

He asks a fair number of questions. A few are unexpected, but for the most part, they’re things that you and Jenn had anticipated. The three of you come to a stop overlooking a row of engineers. You don’t want to appear nonchalant, but with Bateman and Jenn focused elsewhere, you allow yourself to lean back against the wall, eyeing the room. It’s then that you see an engineer flagging you down, a harried look on her face. You glance toward Bateman and Jenn’s heads and make sure they’re distracted before you push yourself off of the wall, skirting around the two and walking over to her as calmly as possible.

“What’s up?” You ask, crouching down beside the engineer’s desk.

“The marketing team sent through a brief about the user profiles—”

“Uh-huh—”

“And there’s an error regarding the, uh—The functionality.”

“Okay. Where’s the problem, what’s the fix?”

“Our systems are starting at Mac- or Blue-OS compatible.”

“But not Windows?”

“Most of the companies we use don’t touch Windows OS anymore.”

“But we have got a few clients that do.”

“Yes, we’re—We’re working on it. But this can’t go out like this, it’s not correct.”

“Okay,” You nod, mind racing through the possible, necessary fixes. “Okay. Could I use your laptop for a second?”

“Sure.”

The engineer starts to stand, but you wave her back into her seat, just turn the laptop toward yourself. You hurriedly log into your email on a web page, and tap out an email to the marketing SVP.

“Mac and Blue only,” You reiterate as you type.

“—But not Windows, yep.”

“Do we have an expected date on Windows functionality?”

“Q2 of next year—Maybe Q1, but—”

“We don’t wanna over-promise and underdeliver,” You shoot the engineer a smile. “I appreciate the honesty.”

The engineer nods hurriedly. You feel her casting a glance behind you, but you’re already turning back to the laptop, practically hammering the keys as you send out the message. You lean back, reading and rereading the message before you CC your work email, Jenn’s, and the engineer in question. Then you send it, straighten up, and sign out of the email.

“I’ve put myself and Jenn on the email, we will take it from here. Thank you so much for flagging that—And if anything comes up, please text, email, slack me. Anything.”

“Thank you!”

“No, thank you,” You insist, patting her shoulder. You straighten and turn, and freeze immediately at the sight of Jenn and Bateman standing just behind you. You swallow thickly, fighting to keep a straight face.

“I didn’t mean to hold up the tour,” You apologize. “You guys could’ve moved on, I would’ve caught up.”

“Everything alright?” Bateman asks, nodding toward the engineer.

“Yes. Just a little communications update.” You give them both a reassured smile. “Why don’t we continue?” You add, nodding down the hall.

“What are you doing for dinner tomorrow?”

It’s a question that he should be asking Jenn, and that’s why your mouth works wordlessly, your brow furrowing heavily. It’s a bad look—Nathan Bateman has asked you a simple question, and you’re floundering like a landed fish.

“Uh—Shoving something in the microwave, probably?” You manage with a shaky laugh as you put your laptop into your bag. You haven't been able to take the time off as much time as you’d hoped, and you’ll have to make up what time you have taken to keep yourself on track. “I’m working a double, so, I’ll get off shift around one in the morning.”

“A double.”

“...Yes? It’s when you work two shifts at—”

“I know what a double is.”

Jeez, of course he does.

“Right. Sorry. You seemed—...Anyway.”

“I seemed what?”

Confused is the wrong word to use with this man.

“Inquisitive?” You offer. Nathan’s brows tip impossibly higher, his chin angling down to gaze at you over the tops of his glasses.

“One,” He finally confirms. “How’s 1:30 for you?”

“For what?”

“For dinner.”

“I—I don’t think I’ve ever eaten dinner that late in my life. I don’t even go out that late anymore.”

“But you’ll make an exception?”

“Do I have to?”

When he smiles, you know that you will have to.

“I’ll send you the details.”

That’s it. He breezes away from your desk space. He doesn’t offer to walk you to your car; he doesn’t ask you any questions about what you want to eat, or what you like to eat. He just walks away. You look after him for a moment before you look down, taking up your laptop chord and wrapping it with a mutter of,

“Dinner at 1:30 in the morning? Not in fucking college anymore…What’s even gonna be open that late for fucking dinner?”

You think, and then giggle.

Maybe Nathan Bateman is going to take you to McDonald’s.

“You ever been here before?”

“Uhh…” You peer down at the menu. It’s timeworn, and splattered with what look like gravy stains. At least—well, you hope it’s gravy. “Nope, can’t say I have.”

The diner has a vintage bent to it. The seats are all coated in robin’s egg blue vinyl; the floor is tiled like a checkerboard; the walls are pepto-pink. There’s a jukebox in the corner, but the oldies being played in the diner are coming from a few recessed speakers in the ceiling. You glance up again as you hear Bateman shifting in his seat. He’s lounging back in his seat like he owns the damn place.

…Maybe he does own the damn place.

It could explain why they’re open so late, at least. There are a few other people in the diner, a ways away. Now and again, an explosive swell of cackling laughter will pass over your way before one of their party hurries to hush them. You glance back curiously as you hear one of them add,

“Dude, you’re gonna get us kicked out again.”

“So how long have you known Jenn?” Bateman asks.

“Oh, gosh,” You turn back to him. “Since Kindergarten. She’s my oldest friend.”

“You two seemed pretty close during the tour yesterday.”

“Did we?”

“Insomuch as you were her shadow.”

You close your mouth, reaching for your water. You had shadowed because Jenn had asked—but you’re in no position to quibble with this man. You’ve no need, either; he goes on:

“How was your double?”

“It was fine.”

“What are you working on?”

“I work at a company that produces technical books and longform guides for—”

“I know where you work, that wasn’t my question. What are you working on.”

The bored, irritated tone in his voice raises your hackles, and it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. But you swallow your annoyance in favor of giving a straightforward answer: “Right now, a quantum software engineering roadmap.”

“Are you enjoying it?”

“The writing can be a little dry, but the subject matter is interesting.”

“Hm…” Bateman nods, his eyes sweeping your face curiously. You fight the urge to shift or fidget under the scrutiny of his gaze.

Can you ask questions? Are you allowed? Why does this man make you feel like you’re in a damn interview? Your gazes break as a waitress comes over, a pad in hand and an expectant smile on her face. You instinctively offer her one in return as you order. You don’t really hear what Bateman orders; you’re too busy wracking your mind for things that came up on yesterday’s tour—pain points, questions that Jenn promised she’d get back to him on.

“So,” Bateman’s voice snaps your focus back to him, and you arch your brows as you meet his eyes again. “In your opinion, what’s the company lacking?”

It’s a slap of a question. Your brows manage to inch higher. Oh…God. No wonder he didn’t want to do this with Jenn around.

“Uh…” Is your initial succinct answer. You clear your throat, taking your glass up for another sip, gathering yourself. You could say that Jenn has everything she needs, save for capital. You could say that the team is rowing as one one, your little unsinkable ship, the Sc(ai)le.

But Nathan Bateman is a genius, and a billionaire, and a man with a low tolerance for bullshit.

“She needs a complete C-Suite,” You admit firmly as you set your glass aside. “She needs a solid, knowledgeable team behind her. We’re doing the best that we can now, and the Chief positions that she has filled are pushing the company in the right direction, but the ones that she doesn’t are slowing down growth. We need a CMO and a CKO and a CIO, like...Yesterday. We have a lot of data, and we have a lot of marketing materials—and the seniors VPs in those positions are doing the best they can, but you can only fill a leaky bucket so many times before the handle breaks. The company doesn’t have the capital to bring those positions on, and until it does, the company’s going to continue to grow at half-speed because the plane’s being flown while it's still being built."

Bateman doesn’t react for a moment. His silence makes your stomach twist with nerves; your palms are sweating.

“I didn’t think you’d say that,” He finally says. You can’t help but laugh a little.

“Look—I could tell you that we’re all one happy family, and that the only thing wrong is the fact that bluebirds don’t land on our shoulders and code for us—” Your stomach flips as Bateman’s lips twitch with a smile, “But you’ve already been inside. You’ve looked through our books, you’ve seen the facility. And if you’re going to go in on investment, you’re going to see the dirty laundry anyway. I may as well show you where the hamper is.”

“You like your metaphors.”

“It’s the writer in me.”

Bateman’s brow quirks a touch as he nods.

“...Why aren’t you full time?” He asks. That question throws you for a loop. You shake your head a little—like it’ll knock an answer loose. But the answer—the truth—is that you and Jenn haven’t worked well together in the past. Sure, you’re part-time now, but you hardly ever interfere with her day-to-day unless it’s to coax her out of her office to get some air or a meal. You prefer to take your time with a project, and Sc(ai)le is in a growth period where time is of the essence.

“...It’s not…” You start, brow furrowing as you grapple for a reasonable answer, “What Sc(ai)le does, it isn’t what I do.”

“The company has technical writers.”

“...Yeah—”

“It needs someone that knows how to compile the information, translate it for the average consumer—”

“But—”

“Just tell me they can’t afford you.”

Your chest twinges with indignation.

“That’s not true,” You insist.

“So they can afford you.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Which one is it?”

“You’re twisting my words, and I don’t appreciate that.” It leaves you more harshly than it should, and you damn your tone immediately. There’s no way scolding this man is gonna bring him on board. You realize that your shoulders have scrunched defensively and risen toward your ears, and you force yourself to relax them. But Nathan’s lips just twitch again, his eyes bright with amusement.

“...Why aren’t you full-time?” He repeats.

“I told you. This isn’t what I do.”

“It could be.”

You don’t want to make the concession, but the look on Bateman’s face tells you that he’s got you pinned. So you give a small, begrudging nod.

“Hypothetically.”

His smile widens at your confirmation. You want to smack him.

But that really won’t bring him on board.

You expect Jenn to grill you for your time with Nathan the second you get in, but she’s grabbing your hand and hissing, “He’s here, and he’s waiting.”

“What?” You ask dazedly, pulling your sleeve back to eye the watch face where it rests on the inside of your wrist. “He’s not supposed to be here for another two hours! I didn’t see an email—”

“He didn’t send one! He just showed up!”

You pull Jenn to a stop in the hall, slowing her with a gentle, “Whoa, whoa—Okay. Look at me.”

Jenn stops, eyes wide, head shaking minutely as she tries to continue walking toward the conference room, insisting, “We’re already late—”

“Slow down!” You urge. She looks stricken, and you immediately feel guilty. You take her hand in yours, giving it a squeeze before drawing in a deep breath. Jenn hesitantly does the same, pushing it out when you do. You draw in another, and are relieved as she copies you, some of the tension melting from her face as she closes her eyes. You watch her pull in and push out one more deep breath before she opens her eyes slowly, nodding.

“Thank you,” She breathes, patting your hand before she tugs down the hall again.

“I like what I’m seeing.”

Bateman’s assertion shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. Sc(ai)le is a good company, something that would make sense in his portfolio. But he’s so steady and calm as he peers out of the office of Jenn’s window.

You don’t like how he’s commandeered the space behind her desk. She shouldn’t be sitting on the other side of it with you; she should be behind it, with him—or he should be on your side.

Still, Nathan pushes himself off of the window, turning to face Jenn. His gaze flickers to you before he looks down at something laid out on the desk.

“Your initial proposal was…Whadda we got here…” Bateman tuts as he turns a page. You think he must be dragging it out for suspense—there’s no way he doesn’t have those numbers memorized. Sure, it must be chump change to him, but it’s still a big fucking number. “One million for a fifteen percent stake in the company.”

“That’s right,” Jenn nods.

“I’ll give you four.”

“...Four?” Jenn repeats dazedly.

“Four million for what percent?” You ask before she can leap up, kiss the man on the lips, and accept.

“Fifteen,” Bateman affirms. Your eyes narrow at him. This doesn’t feel right. He adds, “I have one condition, though.”

“Name it,” Jenn nods. You glance at her nervously. You’re certain that if he told her to strip naked and run through the office covered in spray cheese, she’d do it right this second.

“You come on as CKO, CIO, and CMO.”

Your brow furrows as Jenn turns to you. Who comes on? Jenn? She’s already CEO for fuckssake—

And then Jenn turns to you, eyes wide and insistent as she nods toward Bateman. Your head snaps to him, stunned. He’s waiting with that same patient, bored expression that he'd given you with all throughout dinner.

“You want me to take on three C-Suite positions?” You ask, brows raising. “Are you that strapped for cash that you won’t spring for two more people?”

Jenn hisses your name in warning. You know it’s the wrong thing to say, but to your surprise, Bateman just smiles and leans against Jenn’s desk.

“Hear me out,” He waves your irritation off. “I want to roll the positions of CKO and CIO into one. Chief Knowledge and Information officer.”

“And add Chief Marketing officer on top of them.”

“That’s right. You’re much quicker on the uptake than you were the other night. No, it’s alright—I’m sure the double shift and the late dinner had you off your game.”

You want to argue, but Nathan is already turning his attention to Jenn.

“Four mill for a fifteen percent stake,” He reiterates before nodding toward you. “And her.”

What would Jenn get if you didn’t come on? One million at fifteen? Two million at thirty? Nothing at all? You can’t bring yourself to look at Jenn just now—you know you’re getting a pleading expression. So you keep your eyes on Bateman, and his expectant expression. He knows he’s got you backed into a corner.

“...Does this condition have a term limit?” You ask. Bateman purses his lips, seeming to think for a moment. Then he levels you with an ungodly answer:

“Three years.”

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. You only just manage not to double over with it. Three years. Three years inhabiting two positions that you never wanted or asked for. Three years working with your oldest friend on her passion project, knowing that you will lock horns on approach. Three years of Nathan Bateman hanging over your head.

You can’t face Jenn. One look at those hopeful, doe-like eyes and you’re going to fold like a house of cards. You can’t look at Bateman. One look at him and you’re going to lunge in, slap him silly, and ask what the fuck is wrong with him.

You look down at your lap.

Three years. Three years or what? Nathan pulls his backing? Asks for repayment? That could level the company, and everything that Jenn has worked for would disappear overnight.

Three years.

You don’t ask about the pay. You don’t care about that. You’re not doing badly as it is. Two C-Suite positions (well, three) would surely pay you more than you make now, but still.

Three years.

You’ve been considering leaving your current job. You’ve been chugging along happily, though you’ve started to get too settled, too bored. Too complacent. But you've been ducking away from management positions at job after job because you just don't want to be in charge of people. You want to be fully in the action, working on the words, not floating above them and giving them a thumbs up or a thumbs down. This isn’t like anything you’d consider throwing yourself into.

Three years.

This is bigger than you and Jenn. Pumping more money into this company would give Sc(ai)le the chance to expand its staff, upgrade it's tech, bring on a more comprehensive QA team.

You draw in a deep breath, giving a small hesitant nod.

“Alright,” Leaves your mouth before you can talk yourself out of it.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Bateman bats back without missing a beat. You can hear a note of triumph there, one that makes you want to reach into his throat and rip out his layrnx. Jenn is springing out of her seat, pumping Bateman’s hand enthusiastically and telling him that he won’t regret it. You’re staring down at your hands, your head and chest feeling hollow, like you’ve just been jailed for three consecutive life sentences.

Three years.

Bateman’s hand enters your field of vision, outstretched and patient. You eye it for a moment.

You could still tell him to go fuck himself. But you glance up at Jenn, and find her beaming down at you. Her eyes are bright with joyful tears; her hands are clasped to keep from visibly shaking.

You can’t tell him to go fuck himself, and he knows it.

So you suck in a deep breath and raise your hand, shaking Bateman’s without meeting his gaze.

“We should grab a drink to celebrate,” He insists. You let go of his hand and push yourself up shakily.

“I—Have some things I need to sort out. You two go on,” You add, slapping on an encouraging smile and turning to Jenn.

“Sure,” Bateman concedes. “You have a letter of resignation to write.”

You pat Jenn’s shoulder on the way out, hardly meeting Bateman's eye as you go. You get into your car, and drive back to your apartment. You mechanically unlock your door, drop your keys in the bowl by the entryway, kick your door shut. You don’t bother to turn the lights on. The sun is streaming in through your front window with a vengeance. You walk over to your bar cart and take up a bottle of whiskey. You don’t bother with a glass. You just plop into your favorite armchair and curl up. You don’t cry. You don’t scream. You just stare blankly at the wall.

Three years.

Next Part: Year One

Tag list: @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 ; @aellynera ; @writefightandflightclub ; @thedukeofcaladan ; @beepboopyoda ; @foxilayde ; @revolution-starter ; @rachelwritesstuff ; @queen-of-elves

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Nathan Bateman fic #Nathan Bateman imagine #Three Years

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antifainternational · 1 year ago

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How are you helping the women's liberation movement? Such a access to abortion clinics and so on... I rarely see you post anything that has to do with women unless it's about trans women and other non-binary afabs...

Hey there Anon, we are an anti-fascist social media collective consisting of ten people in eight countries. We've been doing our thing since 2014. In that time we have: -been documenting and tracking hate-motivated violence targeting women. -provided legal defence funding to 100 feminists arrested in Germany for stopping a fascist march against abortion access (via The International Anti-Fascist Defence Fund) -provided additional support (via the Defence Fund) to this teacher, this other teacher, this woman, this community college staffer, this PNW woman, this waitress, Louise Thundercloud, two moms in SC, this victim of the 2017 Charlottesville terror attack, this BLM defender, Lina, Alissa Azar, Kita and Xvedia, Tabitha, and this Filipina activist, among others. -profiled anti-fascists like Marina Abiol, Hedy Epstein, Jane Elliot, Leah Feldman, Giovanina Berneri, Zora Neale Hurston, Ida B. Wells, Yuri Kochiyam, Natalie Tran, Elizabeth Mironova, Lyudmila Pavlichenko, Magda, Arundhati Roy, Anastasia Baburova, Zinaida Portnova, Marina Ginestà, Heather McGhee, Akilah Green, Fanya Schoonheyt, Sophie Scholl, Tina Anselmi, Faye Schulman, Hanna Bohman, Viola Liuzzo, Joan Trumpauer Mulholland, Maria Kislyak, Maria Dimadi, Georgette Kokoczinski, Irma Bandiera, Franceska Mann, Rebecca West, Lepa Radic, Giovannina Caleffi, and Audrey Hepburn, among others. Still, we could be posting more, of course! Why don't you tag us on posts from your tumblr you think we should reblog/signal boost? (finally, we get a whiff of "all lives matter/TERFishness from your objections about us not posting enough about "women" except for "trans women" - we hope that's not how you intended your msg!

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lizdonnelly · 8 months ago

Text

Second Circle, Ch. 1

Pairing: Elizabeth Donnelly x f!reader, shades of Alex Cabot x Olivia Benson Warnings: Smut, violence, references to alcoholism Summary: “We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.” Based on a request for Liz/f!reader's first time, and my own desire to write a series about Liz navigating romance amidst chaos. Loosely inspired by the events of 2x21 'Scourge' and a few details from 10x8 'Persona'.

---

Although the wind rattled against the windows of the banquet hall and the pinprick lighting of the chandeliers overhead flickered, the murmur of the gala continued on.

The air vibrated, alive with the weight of the tension that had wracked the city in the past few weeks and no doubt fueled by the media machine cranking out headline after headline, each more sordid and gruesome than the last.

Melinda's grip tightened on your elbow as another group approached. Your heart quickened at the sight of short, gelled back blonde hair and the heady perfume that wafted over. Anxiety tore at your stomach with molten claws.

"Doc Warner, glad to see you've made it," a bloodhound of a man said, leading the pack. He gestured towards you with his whiskey glass. "Elliot and Olivia give you enough time to make friends outside the morgue? I must not be pushing them hard enough."

Melinda patted your back. Heavily lined brown eyes scoured you from behind the bloodhound, appraising the manner in which Melinda had touched you. A cold bead of sweat slid down the back of your neck.

"Always glad to see you on the right side of the concrete, Captain," The medical examiner teased. "Especially these days. But yes, believe it or not, I do have time to run in other circles." A man with a voice as calm as the creek that ran beside your childhood home piped up. "Pleased to finally get the chance to meet you," he said with an easy smile and a tip of the head. This man carried himself with a centeredness that was hard to come by, even across the crowd of New York City's top professionals that had congregated that evening. "I've heard about your efforts at Mercy General. I can't imagine what you've had to deal with as of late." It was a line you'd heard plenty of variations of recently, but his sincerity seemed completely genuine. Although his eyes were warm, inviting pools of black ink, you couldn't shake the feeling that somehow he knew. Melinda turned to you with a smile, oblivious. "As you can probably tell, Dr. Huang is our resident psychiatrist," she said. "And a fed, at that," came that harsh, staccato voice you had become attuned to. You bit at the inside of your cheek. The psychiatrist-fed's gentle smirk grew. Thankfully, a pasty, bird boned blonde intruded, reaching out past Huang. "Alexandra Cabot, assistant district attorney," she said, wasting no time.

You shook her hand, surprised at the strength of her grip. Studying her gaze, you got the sense that events like this were easier for her to navigate than they were for other members of the party. She sipped at her champagne lightly and looked around, her stare lingering on the elevators as if she either wanted to leave or wished for someone else to arrive.

"Can't forget her royal highness," the bloodhound Captain joked, gesturing to the woman you'd been struggling not to address.

Dr. Huang spoke again in earthen tones and an air of alacrity. "There's no need to bother, Melinda. The only reason the Bureau Chief wouldn't have led the introductions," he paused, "is if this isn't a stranger to her." Liz rolled her eyes. You subconsciously tugged at the sleeve of the sweater that hung a little past your fingertips. "If you're so perceptive, Agent, then why did a sixth girl show up gutted like a fish at Grand Central this morning?"

---

Liz Donnelly hated courtroom restrooms. She had since the 70's, in fact.

On this occasion, though, she tolerated the lavender soap and the lukewarm water as she used the mirror to study the other woman.

The younger woman next to her scrubbed underneath her nails with a precision so adroit it had to be practiced. "If you're trying to scrub away evidence," the Bureau Chief piped up, "do me a favor and be less obvious." The woman's eyes widened, eyebrows rising. Liz leaned over and tugged playfully at the name tag dangling from the pocket on the woman's scrubs. The woman paused. "If you're trying to flirt with me," she finally whispered, "do me a favor and be more obvious."

The bathroom door swung on its hinges and in strode Olivia Benson, the SVU detective clearly in a tizzy and blind to the way the Bureau Chief and her conversation partner jumped apart like two opposing magnets. The strands on the back of her glossy brown pixie cut stuck up. As the detective ran a nervous hand through them again, Liz understood why.

"Got tired of listening to Cabot try to grill a child? Don't tell me she needs me back in there." Benson shook her head, slumping against the paper towel dispenser. "He got another one."

The detective muttered a quick apology, shifting aside to let the woman in scrubs dry her hands. Liz swallowed thickly.

"Sexually assaulted as well, I take it?" Benson eyed the prosecutor. The detective nodded exasperatedly. "She was an architect. Single, wasn't a user, friends are all model citizens." Benson sucked in her bottom lip and bit at it. "No vengeful ex-boyfriend, at that. Seems she had a gambling habit, but I've know plenty of girls who play the ponies, and all of them are still very much alive."

"However disparate these murders seem, there has to be a connection. Better make good use of that overtime, or you'll have more blood on your hands," Liz jabbed, gesturing towards the sink. The detective's brow furrowed.

"So this is the support we're going to get from our new Bureau Chief? How the hell are-"

Benson paused awkwardly as the woman in scrubs shuffled out the door, paying no mind to the quick finger waggling wave she threw at the prosecutor.

Liz managed a brief smile.

Benson looked towards the door, then back at the wiry woman before her in the starched black pantsuit.

Had there been a window in this particular courtroom restroom, Liz had half a mind to climb out it herself.

---

The bloodhound, whom you now knew as Cragen, thumbed the facets of his whiskey glass at the sound of the announcement.

A gentleman in a well-pressed suit and white gloves had called out across the banquet hall. The gala wouldn't be ending at its scheduled time, due to "inclement weather conditions", meaning the whole ordeal was to proceed for who knows how long. Fortunately, the waitstaff were headed back with fresh bottles and hor d'oeuvres as an apology for the inconvenience.

"I don't mean to pry, but does this have anything to do with-"

He cut you off with a somber shake of his head. He turned to face you, the capillaries webbing along the corners of his eyes swollen.

"This is news to me."

Cragen turned and headed back to the bar with a sniffle.

"They're doing a reasonable job of keeping everyone occupied, at least," came an even voice from behind you. Huang joined your side. Jet black pools still held a mirthful twinkle.

"Tell me something. How long have you and the prosecutor been involved with each other?" "This is the first time Ms. Cabot and I have met," you stammered. "You know that's not who I meant," he countered with a soothing grin. "Forgive my intrusion. You don't have to answer, if you don't want to."

The psychiatrist's musings were an unexpected relief to you. You felt the dam within your chest begin to burst, allowing you to finally speak on something you had kept locked up to yourself these past few weeks. "I'll forgive you, but only if you tell me how you knew," you laughed, tension evaporating from the edge of your voice. Huang nodded to himself.

"That's not your sweater."

You lowered your glass. "It's too long in the arms," he said, gesturing freely. Huang was one of the few who had not been drinking.

"It's not like I have much time to see a tailor," you tried to riposte. "True, but the odds that you and Donnelly wear the same perfume are not favorable," he said with an air of one revealing a royal flush. "My guess is that either she gave the sweater to you, or you're wearing it out of convenience. Alternatively, she could've asked you to wear it, knowing you'd cross paths tonight. She appears to be rather domineering, so that would not surprise me if it were the case."

It took everything in you to fight back the heat that rose in your cheeks at the bounce of his eyebrow.

"You make a hobby out of judging women's perfume?"

"I was a profiler in another life. It was more than a hobby to judge everything about a person." Huang's gaze followed Cragen as he made his way through the crowd across the room.

"Makes for a good party trick, I'll give you that."

Huang paused before turning back to you. His expression held an odd seriousness to it now. "I get the sense that I'm not the only one playing party tricks tonight."

---

Alex Cabot hadn't known Elizabeth for long, but she already didn't care to know the woman much longer.

The younger prosecutor checked her Cartier watch once more, eager for any distraction at this point. Somehow, neither clock hand had so much as budged. She squeezed her eyes shut amidst the bubbling conversation of the crowd in the godforsaken hall and thought of wide, chocolate brown puppy dog eyes and pixie cuts, of handcuffs and coffee cups.

"Alexandra, that look is not becoming on someone like you," an airy tone wafted over.

Lena Petrovsky, New York Supreme Court judge. Fuck. At this rate, she half expected Barry Moredock to round the corner and lecture her about some constitutional disservice she also happened to be encouraging this evening.

"Running all-nighters with the SVU shouldn't be taxing on someone from Harvard Law. But really, you look like hell, try to get some rest after this circus," Petrovsky said, gesturing around them. "You won't be of any use to the city if you keep burning the candle at both ends."

Alex opened her mouth to speak, but a harsh voice speared through her.

"From what I've seen so far, Ms. Cabot is no stranger to circuses," Donnelly jeered.

Alex was certain some snide joke about her courtroom performances was incoming, but she paused, shrieks cutting through the crowd behind them.

---

"This just in: at approximately 11:07 tonight, NYPD discovered the body of a young woman in Central Park. The cause of death? A large wound along the victim's neck, a similar M.O. to the recent string homicides that have shocked the city this past month. Although signs of sexual assault were present, no information is available yet as to the identity of the perpetrator. Investigators have identified the victim as local self-portraitist..."

Liz looped her arm around your shoulders, tugging you out of the bar and onto the street.

"I am not ruining one of the rare nights we both have to ourselves with more of that fear-mongering," she said. You shifted under the weight of the fur coat she shared with you, pressing yourself against her side. Although her voice was firm, you could tell she was rattled. She led you past throngs of men and women in pressed shirts and cocktail dresses, club promoters, and a man stumbling toward you with a box of pamphlets.

"They didn't call me in," you mused. Your brows knitted in confusion. Liz grabbed hold of your chin.

"And they won't," she seemed to command into reality through sheer force of will alone. She brushed her thumb across your lips. Rain gently began to fall overhead. The lights of the cabs clogging the street blurred.

You leaned forward, slipped her thumb into your mouth, and lightly sucked on it.

The prosecutor smirked. You were pleased with the fact that she appeared slightly taken aback by your boldness.

"Come on," she said with a gaze that told you she was a thousand miles away already.

You felt her breath hot against your ear as she tugged you into the back seat of a nearby town car.

"I have something else for you to suck on."

---

"Top her off," Cragen said to the bartender, tilting his glass across the counter.

Across the room, the band still played. The peeling notes of the saxophone reverberated across the inside of his skull. A dull throb continued to pound at the back of his eyes.

Looking down into the amber liquid, Cragen studied the panes of glass that stretched across the ceiling. More rain, more wind.

He couldn't kill in this.

Cragen took a swig.

Elliot and Olivia were still at the station, sifting through tips and folders full of supposed eyewitness accounts. Munch was no doubt trying his best to hold down the fort, but even his endurance, battle-tested over years in Baltimore homicide, was waning.

The brass thought maintaining appearances would comfort the public, although the Captain wondered how all of this pomp and circumstance could reassure anyone but those New York elites with the most fragile of egos.

He took another sip, turning back to watch ADA Cabot and Dr. Huang engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument. At least, heated on the blonde's end. Nearby, Doc Warner was caught in Judge Petrovsky's line of fire. He chuckled into his glass, thankful not to be in the good doctor's shoes.

Further off, Donnelly and the woman Melinda had introduced the group to were headed towards the restrooms. Cragen squinted. The Bureau Chief, with all five foot something's worth of bluster, was leading the other woman hand in hand. Something Arthur Branch had told him once made him chuckle.

Cragen went to take the final swig of his whiskey to finish off the glass, but noticed it was still full.

---

You stumbled through the doorway of Liz's brownstone, her hands quick to pull down your skirt. The door slammed shut. Her mouth pressed hot kisses up the side of your throat. Deceptively strong hands gripped at your ass.

"Upstairs," she husked.

Something fluttered in your stomach. Although you had gotten used to the feeling of the prosecutor's clever tongue in your mouth after a couple coffee dates, the two of you had yet to cross the threshold, so to speak.

Her hands guided you around the corner and up the flight of stairs, toying at the back of your bra. The sensation of her fingers trailing down your spine broke your brain. There could be no anxieties at this point, no thoughts for that matter, only Elizabeth Donnelly and her teeth at your throat and her pillows now pressed up against the back of your head.

The prosecutor leaned over you, nudging your legs aside. She began to drag her knuckle up and down the rapidly dampening fabric that clung to your slit. Heavily lidded brown eyes met yours.

"God Liz, I need you...I need it..."

You were embarrassed at the whine, embarrassed with how wet you already were for the woman.

"Need what?" her voice came coolly. She paused her ministrations to press a finger up against your hole. "This?"

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Please..."

Liz chuckled and hiked up the sleeve of her blazer.

"Since you beg so pretty," she said, "I guess I'll have to oblige."

You felt her tug your panties to the side, the sensation of her pressing a few quick kisses all across your mound and lips sending your heart into a spiral. Shortly afterwards, she helped you kick out of them, and her hands slid up to caress the insides of your thighs. Liz dragged her tongue up through your folds, praising how good you tasted. You moaned unabashedly now, desperation rising to a fever pitch.

"So impatient," she teased from between your legs as she lapped at you. You fought back another whine, the cry dying in your throat as you felt her climb up the bed and tug your body against her. She snaked a hand between your legs and slid a finger into you.

"Fuck, you're tight," her voice strained against a few strands of hair matted against your ear.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to reply. "Speak up, sweetheart," she cooed, easing another finger into you.

"I want you to stretch me," you panted, clinging to lucidity.

She bit at your earlobe with a growl, a third finger slipping inside you now. Your head spun at as you felt yourself adjust to take even more of her. The air was now thick with the wet, wanton sounds of her pumping inside you. With each thrust, she stroked at a spot inside you that brought you closer and closer to your peak.

"I-I can't last much longer," you sputtered. You pressed back against her, hips rocking up into her palm. She sucked at a patch of skin underneath your jaw.

"Then cum for me," Liz said, beginning to stroke her thumb along your clit. She curled her fingers inside you and allowed you to roll your thighs against her hand.

The tension gripping your body snapped, your mind careening into the darkness as waves of pleasure rushed over you. Liz kept up her pace, pressing light kisses across your face. She talked you through your orgasm in crisp, honeyed tones in a manner you'd spend the next few days dwelling over.

When your heart finally calmed, she withdrew her hand, savoring the taste of you as she rose up off the bed. You watched her with a confused look, eyes straining against the shadows that cloaked the bedroom.

Her hand threaded into your hair, cupping the back of your scalp. Suddenly, she met you from the side of the bed.

You felt her pull you towards her, your face soon nuzzling up against the fabric of her slacks.

She tugged her zipper open with her free hand.

You wasted no time in starting to cover her panties in kisses, rewarded with a groan as she lolled her head back.

"That's a good girl," she said, voice straining. "Keep it up."

You reached up and tugged them down, lips wrapping around her clit. She laced both hands in your hair, pulling you closer. You leaned up, catching a glimpse of her through heavy lashes.

A thumb caressed your cheek.

"I can't wait to cum all over that pretty face."

You sucked harder.

---

Liz led you towards the restrooms, which were just outside the banquet hall in a hallway not so generously lit. The darkness served the mood well, though. Her mind wandered to thoughts of herself draped over your back, your legs parted wide enough for you to try taking her strap, her hips rutting into you with a ferocity that'd leave you with bruises she was proud to give you.

She wasn't sure if it was the booze or the fatigue calling the shots at this point, but neither prevented her from noticing your hand tugging free from her grasp.

The prosecutor turned in time to catch sight of a white glove cover your mouth.

#elizabeth donnelly #elizabeth donnelly x reader

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 11 months ago

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Queer Books Coming Out January 2024

🌈 Good morning, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

❤️ Tentacle Wonderland by Reese Morrison 🧡 Cupid’s Revenge by Wibke Brueggemann 💛 Okay, Cupid by Mason Deaver 💚 Soren by Miranda Page & Lina Ganef 💙 Just Happy to Be Here by Naomi Kanakia 💜 Stars and Soil by Dax Murray ❤️ Deep Sounding Chaos by Adrian J. Smith & Neen Cohen 🧡 Minor Disturbances at Grand Life Apartments by Hema Sukumar 💛 Evergreen by Devin Greenlee 💙 Matsdotter and Adrastus (Adventures in Levena #2) by Aelina Isaacs 💜 Thousand Autumns: Qian Qiu Vol. 3 by Meng Xi Shi and Me Mimo 🌈 Destined by Jen Carter

❤️ Her Spell That Binds Me by Luna Oblonsky 🧡 Her Mechanic Bear Mate (Crescent Lake Bears #3) by Arizona Tape 💛 That Bitter Sting by Melissa Polk 💚 Bioluminescence by Toni Duarte 💙 Lucky Bounce by Cait Nary 💜 Don’t Want You Like A Best Friend by Emma R. Alban ❤️ Bachelorette Number Twelve by Jae 🧡 How to Share a Cat and Other Life Lessons by Evelyn Fenn 💛 A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing by Amy Allen 💙 Bound by Kate Hawthorne 💜 Moonbreak by Lise MacTague 🌈 Falling All In by Laina Villeneuve

❤️ Murder on Castaway Island by Alicia Gael 🧡 The Butler's Vessel by S. Rodman 💛 Tadek and the Princess by Alexandra Rowland 💚 Escaping Mr. Rochester by L.L. McKinney 💙 Amid Our Lines by Zarah Detand 💜 Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa ❤️ A Doctor’s Touch by A.A. Fairview 🧡 So Let Them Burn by Kamilah Cole 💛 Never Be a Saint by Mark Runte 💙 Maude Horton's Glorious Revenge by Lizzie Pook 💜 Eli Harpo's Adventure to the Afterlife by Eric Schlich 🌈 City of Laughter by Temim Fruchter

❤️ Enthralled by Her by Chelsea M. Cameron 🧡 Knight of Staria by Iris Foxglove 💛 The Storm Gathers by Maelan Holladay 💚 Stars of Chaos: Sha Po Lang Vol. 2 by Priest 💙 Fence: Redemption SC by C.S. Pacat and Johanna the Mad 💜 Dreamer by Kris Bryant ❤️ Not Just Friends by Jordan Meadows 🧡 Winter's Spell by Ursula Klein 💛 Two is a Pattern by Emily Waters 💙 All Things Beautiful by Alaina Erdell 💜 Curse of Souls by Niranjan 🌈 Voyage of the Damned by Frances White

❤️ The Principle of Moments by Esmie Jikiemi-Pearson 🧡 Curse of the Dragon Shadow by Selina A. Fenech 💛 No Shelter But The Stars by Virginia Black 💚 Shards of Trust by Fox Beckman 💙 My Fair Brady by Brian D Kennedy 💜 The Summer Queen (The Buried and the Bound #2) by Rochelle Hassan ❤️ A Luminous Heart by Cailee Francis 🧡 To Cage a God (These Monstrous Gods #1) by Elizabeth May 💛 Out of Our League by Dahlia Adler and Jennifer Iacopelli 💙 Earth and Water by J.L. Gribble 💜 Rend Me, The Wayward Knight by Mary Vanalstine 🌈 Prince of Endless Tides by Ben Alderson

❤️ Sweet Wicked Thing by Jessie Walker 🧡 Ocean’s Blood by Thelma Mantey 💛 Breeze Spells and Bridegrooms by Sarah Wallace and S.O. Callahan 💚 A Reckless Oath by Kaylie Smith 💙 Fallen Thorns by Harvey Oliver Baxter 💜 Faded Moon by T.L. Morgan ❤️ Game On by Amy Aislin 🧡 The City of Stardust by Georgia Summers 💛 The Invocations by Krystal Sutherland 💙 Spark of Wrath by E.M. Lindsey 💜 Honeybloods by I.S. Belle 🌈 Love Me At My Worst by Adrian J. Smith

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moistvonlipwig · 4 months ago

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supercorp 1 8 9 16 20

right on 🫡

What is my absolute favorite of their scenes and why do I love it so much?

Oh I don't know...there are many good classic scenes. For the sake of spicing it up I'll talk about a moment that I don't often see people discuss and that is actually from an episode that I otherwise don't really like, namely: the scene in 5x19 where Kara is on the ground with kryptonite coursing through her veins and then Lena's anti-kryptonite device flies in and attaches itself to her suit and before it's even started working, Kara smiles and laughs. Just...the fact that Kara is in (if we are to believe her assessment in S3) incredible pain and that doesn't even matter to her because Lena's on her side again. I think that's a really sweet moment and it captures a lot of what I wish S5 & S6 had been about for them lol.

8. Am I most interested in fics about them that focus on fluff, angst, humor, smut or actual plot?

Angst, humor, & plot are all good with me. Fluff & smut tend to bore me.

9. What is my ideal endgame for them?

Hm, I could envision several good endgames for them (none of which include Lena being a witch or Kara becoming editor-in-chief or revealing herself to the world lol). I think ideally Kara would eventually become known as Superwoman and maybe would become more of an independent freelance journalist, while Lena would run the Lena Luthor Foundation which presumably funds Good Things. Lena would keep kryptonite on hand in a secret vault in case of emergency and Kara would be cool with it, and Lena would also design all kinds of suits & accessories for Kara (sorry Brainy but your Supergirl suit design was not very good). I like the idea of Kara having a longer, more stately cape especially as she grows older and more confident.

I do think they'd both want to get married, probably in a Kryptonian or Kryptonian-inspired ceremony. I think they should get a cat or a dog or both. I like lena-in-a-red-dress's fic where Lena adopts Dex-Starr the Red Lantern cat so let's say their cat is Dex-Starr. And their dog can be Rex from sango-blep's comics. Rex is cute.

I like the idea of them having kids, though I also think they'd be OK without them. If they did have kids I think the kids would be Luthors, not Danverses or Luthor-Danverses. They would also probably be created via birthing matrix or a similar technology invented by Lena because I can't imagine either Kara or Lena wanting to get pregnant lol. I like Leo Alexander as a name for a boy. I'm less sure about names for girls (maybe Sasha? Elizabeth? Linda?) but I don't like Lori, I know that's popular because of an old comic where Lena has a daughter named Lori but I am not a fan.

16. What are three of my fic recs for this ship? And (in the event that I’ve written something for them) one of my fics involving them that I’m most proud of?

Catfishy Business by whythinktoomuch is an iconic and deeply funny fic.

lena dies on a wednesday by karalovesallthegirls is a GREAT time loop fic that ingeniously puts us in the shoes of someone who doesn't know they're in a time loop. I think you've said you've read it? Still, it bears re-reading.

There are so many other great fics I could rec but I'll rec one that is a little bit lesser-known, since I've already named two very well-known fics. Which is and darling (is there a cure for this hunger?) by m_oliverfan, aka There Are Consequences To Sending Nyxly To Eternal Torment Land, Actually.

I've only finished one fic for SC so far which is laid in thine enemy's grave? - in truth, i dig it, which I believe you've also read. ^_^

20. How and when should they have gotten together?

I think in a better S5 where they started talking to each other sooner -- end of 5x13 would've been a good time -- and had some time to work through some stuff, I could see an end-of-S5 confession or kiss working. In terms of the actual show, which was never very good at writing romance, I think a Korrasami-style 'they end up together or are implied to end up together as part of Kara finding herself' would've charmed me.

#me? saying something positive about 5x19? it's more likely than you think #sideguitars #up up and away #duck's impeccable fic recs

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disco-elysium-via-polls · 10 months ago

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"We should hit one of those flaming tubes sometime."

KIM KITSURAGI - "How about we 'hit' the crime we came here for instead. And by 'hit' I mean 'solve' it. Solve it *hard*."

"Besides, those days are long behind me."

2. "You know I have to take this to Internal Affairs, don't you, lieutenant?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Of course. Here's my gun and my badge." His hands reach out empty. "They'll put me in the chaise for this, but it feels good to have it off my chest."

"You're serious right now?"

"Very funny, lieutenant."

"Let's move on. This has been enough of a detour."

"You brought this on yourself."

KIM KITSURAGI - "All I ask is the chance to close this final case so I can go to the chaise with a clean conscience." His voice is filled with mock pathos. "Let's hurry, I'm living on borrowed time."

Ok, let's cut directly to the chase.

TITUS HARDIE - "It's you again..." He acknowledges you gruffly. "What is it?"

4. "Klaasje says she wasn't raped."

TITUS HARDIE - "Fuck!" The big man's eyes and veins bulge. "I knew that fucking whore couldn't be trusted!"

Task complete: Speak to the assault victim

+10 XP

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - You've hit a nerve. Titus is furious -- no, more than that -- the loyal Titus feels *betrayed*.

ELIZABETH - "For the record..." she steps in, forcefully. "Titus Hardie did not explicitly specify the *victim* as a whore. Nor did he say anything about trusting her."

TITUS HARDIE - "Oh, shut up and stay out of this, Liz!" He turns back to you. "He raped her. He was out of his fucking mind. You have no idea!"

ALAIN - "She's just in denial, asshole. You don't understand the *traumatic experience*. She's shutting down. And she doesn't fucking trust you."

SHANKY - "Yes, she's crazy, you know," the rat-faced man says carefully. "A crazy-bitch -- you know the type. She's fucked up."

"Crazy? What are you talking about? She was very lucid."

"I did think that, yes -- that she's a *little* crazy…"

"Cut the bullshit. She told me the truth."

KIM KITSURAGI - "She wasn't raped." The lieutenant's voice is beginning to betray his agitation. "The witness' statements were very clear."

TITUS HARDIE - "Lawman..." he says through clenched teeth. "... I am at the end of my *goddamn* rope with you. I fucking told you not to push her!"

"And you went and pushed her." Something breaks in him. He takes a step closer and says: "I am going to… fucking…"

ELIZABETH - "TITUS HARDIE!" Her voice rings through the room like a warning shot.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - Success. Titus backs off. Fists down, everybody.

ELIZABETH - "Evrart *personally* sent me to take care of this. If this goes south we'll all be in the shit -- but you, Titus Hardie, are going to be buried. Am I understood?"

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The rest of the cafeteria has gone quiet too.

SUGGESTION [Trivial: Success] - Someone has to rush in to break the tension. The second in command.

ALAIN - "Look, copper." The tattooed man snaps his fingers to get your attention. "We know the dead fuck was a rapist and a killer. We got him confessing to it on tape."

"Show it to him, T." He turns to Titus, who's still breathing heavily. "What's the harm, right?"

TITUS HARDIE - "Here, jerkwad!" He slams an audiotape on the table. "Listen to this shit, and then come back and tell me the *Soldier of the Apocalypse* was an innocent man."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - This is their last play -- this tape. Their story is in tatters, a mess. It might be nice to listen to -- but at this point, you don't need to.

"Why should I care about the tape? You lied to me."

"So what's on this tape?"

"Where did you get this tape?"

"Where can I listen to this?"

"That's enough for now. I'll get back to the investigation." (Conclude.)

TITUS HARDIE - "You don't care about *evidence*?" His eye twitches. "The fuck are you a cop for then?"

ALAIN - "Pigs, T -- they don't care about getting the truth, they care about getting convictions. They're fucking keeping score on their bulletin boards."

TITUS HARDIE - "I won't be on your bulletin board. If you don't listen to the tape we got *nothing* to talk about."

2. "So what's on this tape?"

TITUS HARDIE - "What's on it? We call it the Doorgunner Megamix. You'll know why, once you listen to it."

3. "Where did you get this tape?"

TITUS HARDIE - "You think we go into this shit deaf and dumb? You RCM aren't the only ones who know how to bug people -- there's no university degree for that."

"So you've bugged them? How?"

TITUS HARDIE - "We have machines." He nods. "We're in logistics -- how do you think a harbour works? It's advanced stuff."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Understood -- you've listened in on their communications." He takes a little note. "How long?"

TITUS HARDIE - "Since way before their chief started taking swing lessons."

SHANKY - "Things got nice and quiet after that."

"Which one of you is doing this advanced radio work then?"

"I think I get the picture."

FAT ANGUS - "It's not advanced," the heavy man wheezes. "You're just holed up in a coop all day, writing down what they say. It gets hot as hell in there."

TITUS HARDIE - "Don't put yourself down, Angus. It's important work." The chief picks his beer back up -- to offer a silent toast.

EUGENE - "Yeah, man, you're like a radio genius or something. Those notes are some in depth stuff. Indexes and shit."

4. "Where can I listen to this?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I'm sure we can find a tape player," the lieutenant whispers.

SHANKY - "'Where can I listen to this?'" he mocks you. "Why don't you try shoving it up your ass, genius?!"

GLEN - "Yeah, play it with your ass, COCKSUCKER!" His voice echoes like thunder in the small room.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I'm sure we can find a tape player. It's not a problem," he repeats calmly in a hushed voice.

INTERFACING [Easy: Success] - Your room had one, or maybe it's too broken...

5. "That's enough for now. I'll get back to the investigation." (Conclude.)

TITUS HARDIE - "Don't forget your tape, lawman." He pushes the little tape toward you with his giant hand. "Compliments of Titus Hardie."

(Take the tape.) "Fine. I'll listen to it."

(Leave the tape.) "No thanks, Titus. I can get this wrapped up better without it."

Item gained: "Doorgunner Megamix"

New task: Doorgunner Megamix

TITUS HARDIE - "You do that," he says, adjusting his belt buckle. "Oh, and keep it -- maybe you'll need a reminder of human ugliness some day."

4. "I'm going to take off now." [Leave.]

TAPE "DOORGUNNER MEGAMIX"

A magnetic tape acquired from Titus Hardie. It supposedly holds a recording of the mercenary task force radio communications recorded via a de-encryption station. Not a good omen. Requires a boombox to play.

>INTERACT

THE GREAT DOORGUNNER MEGAMIX - You stare at the Great Doorgunner Megamix. If only you had a boombox, you would be able to play Titus' tape.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - The tape feels ominous... Upon it, the dead speak. Respect the tape!

Well, let's check that tape deck in our room, then.

Kim tries not to look at your broken down bathroom door.

STEREO 8 PLAYER - The compact tape player is still and silent. Seems it has completely broken down now.

KIM KITSURAGI - "This would have been *very* helpful with the 'Megamix'." He stares at the tape player. "But it isn't anymore."

"Yeah… any ideas?"

"It's not *my* fault."

KIM KITSURAGI - "My Kineema only comes with a radio," he ponders. "Let's try to find a new tape player. Perhaps we should talk to Roy at the pawnshop -- he has stuff."

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #titus hardie #elizabeth beaufort #hardie boys

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midnightsun-if · 3 months ago

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Does Elizabeth thinks something of her granchild becoming part of the voltaire coven? After so many ages being their inquisitor she must know a lot of said family and their dark secrets

She certainly has opinions about it, correct. Will she actually share them? Probably not. Elizabeth is possibly one of the few people in the world that King Alaric actually respects — it’s why he honored her family by petitioning their house to be brought into the Etheric Court — and he’s also one of the few people in the world that truly understands what she’s capable of. And all the things that she has done have been her simply holding back.

So, yes, Elizabeth knows many secrets but Alaric knows many too… Mutual destruction at its finest.

#midnight sun #asks #midsun: the etheric court #midsun: house voltaire #sc: king alaric #sc: elizabeth

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 6 months ago

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By: Julian Adorney and Mark Johnson

Published: Jun 10, 2024

There’s a sense that the liberal order is eroding.

What do we mean by that? By “liberal order” we mean three things: political liberalism, economic liberalism, and epistemic liberalism.

Politically, it’s tough to shake the sense that we’re drifting away from our liberal roots. Fringes on both sides are rejecting the liberal principle that all human beings are created equal and that our differences are dwarfed by our shared humanity. On the left, prominent activists are endorsing the idea that people with different immutable characteristics (race, gender, etc.) have different intrinsic worth. For instance, in 2021, Yale University’s Child Study Center hosted a psychiatrist who gave a speech titled, “The Psychopathic Problem of the White Mind,” where she compared white people to “a demented violent predator who thinks they are a saint or a superhero.” In response to Hamas’ brutal attack on Israeli civilians on October 7, Yale professor Zareena Grewal tweeted, “Settlers are not civilians. This is not hard.” Across the political aisle, Dilbert comic creator Scott Adams called black Americans a “hate group” whom white Americans should “get the hell away from.”

If a core component of political liberalism is that all human beings are created equal, then many prominent voices are pushing us rapidly toward an illiberal worldview where one’s worth is determined by immutable characteristics.

Increasingly, members of both parties seek to change liberal institutions to lock the opposition out of power. Their apparent goal is to undermine a key outcome of political liberalism: a peaceful and regular transfer of power between large and well-represented factions. On the right, prominent Republicans have refused to concede Trump’s loss in 2020, and many are refusing to commit to certifying the 2024 election should Trump lose again. “At the end of the day, the 47th president of the United States will be President Donald Trump,” Senator Tim Scott (R-SC) said in response to repeated questions about whether or not he would accept the election results. On the left, prominent Democrats advocate for abolishing the Electoral College, partly on the grounds that it favors Republicans; and for splitting California into multiple states to gain more blue Senate seats. Senators Elizabeth Warren (D-MA) and Tina Smith (D-MN), among others, have called for expanding the Supreme Court explicitly so they can pack it with Democrats.

This disdain for democratic norms isn’t limited to political elites on right or left; it is permeating the general populace. According to a 2023 poll, only 54 percent of young Americans (aged 18-29) agree with the statement, “Democracy is the greatest form of government.”

Economic liberalism is also under attack. In 2022, Pew found that only 57 percent of the public had a favorable view of capitalism. Those numbers are even worse among young Americans; only 40 percent among those aged 18-29 had a positive view of capitalism. By contrast, 44 percent of the same age group reported having a positive view of socialism. Faced with the choice of which system we should live under, it’s unclear whether young Americans would prefer economic liberalism over the command-and-control systems of socialism or communism. And while young people typically hold more left-of-center views and often become more conservative as they age, the intensity of young peoples’ opposition to capitalism should not be discounted. From 2010 to 2018, a separate Gallup poll found that the number of young Americans (aged 18-29) with a positive view of capitalism dropped by 23 percent.

Epistemic liberalism is on the ropes too. As the Harper’s Letter warned, “The free exchange of information and ideas, the lifeblood of a liberal society, is daily becoming more constricted.” In recent years, even prominent intellectuals have been terrified of being canceled for daring to write outside of the lines set by a new and predominantly left-wing orthodoxy, adversely affecting out discourse. Again, this disdain for liberalism is more acute among young people: a 2019 survey found that 41 percent of young Americans didn’t believe that the First Amendment should protect hate speech. Furthermore, a full majority (51 percent) of college students considered it “sometimes” or “always acceptable” to “shout down speakers or try to prevent them from talking.”

As Jonathan Rauch argues in The Constitution of Knowledge, a necessary precondition of epistemic liberalism is that everyone should be allowed to speak freely, a precondition increasingly unmet in recent years.

In their book Is Everyone Really Equal?, Robin DiAngelo (of White Fragility fame) and Özlem Sensoy even challenge the foundation of epistemic liberalism itself: the scientific method. This method mandates that hypotheses be tested against reality before acceptance. “Critical Theory developed in part as a response to this presumed infallibility of scientific method,” they write “and raised questions about whose rationality and whose presumed objectivity underlies scientific methods.” Of course, once we jettison the principle that ideas should be tested by holding them up to reality, all we have left are mythologies and accusations. One of the great triumphs of the Enlightenment was giving us the scientific tools to more accurately understand the world, but those tools—like other facets of liberalism—are increasingly under attack.

So, what went wrong? Why do so many Americans, particularly young Americans, harbor such disdain for our liberal order? Why have we seen the rise of widespread social censorship, and why do books telling us that not all humans are created equal become mega-bestsellers? We believe a key reason is that too many proponents of the liberal order (ourselves included) have failed to defend our ideals vigorously. In the face of our complacency, a small but impassioned minority intent on dismantling the pillars of liberalism has been gaining ground, both within institutions and within the hearts and minds of the younger generation.

Why haven’t many of us stood up for our ideas? We posit two reasons. First, there is a sense of complacency: a lot of us look at illiberalism and think, “It can't happen here.” The United States was founded as an essentially liberal country. We were the first country to really seek to embody Enlightenment ideals (however imperfectly) from our birth. Throughout our 250-year history, despite fluctuating levels of government intervention in Americans' social and economic lives, we have never lost our political, economic, or epistemological liberal foundations. This long track record of resilience has led many of us to overlook the rising threat of illiberal ideals, assuming our liberal system is too robust to be torn down.

Adding to this complacency is the fact that many threats to our liberal social contract are largely invisible to those outside educational or academic circles. Cloaked in the guise of combating racism, Critical Race Theory takes aim at the liberal order; however, most people who haven’t been inside the halls of a university in the last 10 or so years may not be aware of this aspect. Critical Theory—including Critical Race Theory, Queer Theory, Post-Colonial Theory, and others—generally opposes Enlightenment thinking, but its arguments are wrapped in jargon and mostly live in academic papers. For example, the book Is Everyone Really Equal? criticizes political, economic, and epistemic liberalism, but it’s not a mainstream bestseller; instead, it’s a widely-used textbook for prospective teachers. What begins in the academy often seeps out into schools and eventually permeates the broader society, and many teachers and professors of these ideologies explicitly describe themselves as activists or as scholar-activists whose goal is to turn the next generation onto these ideas. The threat is real, but the more anti-liberal facets of these ideologies aren’t exactly being shouted by CNN, which makes it easy to miss.

Second, as humans, we often abandon our ideals in the face of social pressure. Consider an organization consisting of ten people: one progressive and nine moderates. In 2020, each member starts to hear about Black Lives Matter (BLM). The progressive enthusiastically supports BLM, and loudly encourages his colleagues to do the same. What happens next illustrates how prone we are to jettison our ideals if doing so brings social rewards.

The first moderate faces a choice. He could thoroughly research BLM by investigating police violence nationwide, examining the evidence of systemic racism or system-wide equality, exploring BLM’s proposed program and what they actually advocate for, and making an informed decision about whether or not he supports the organization. But that’s a lot of work for not a lot of return. After all, his job doesn’t require that he understand BLM; the only immediate consequence is his colleague’s opinion of him. Consequently, he engages in what Nobel Prize winning economist Daniel Kahneman calls “substitution.” As Kahneman explains in Thinking, Fast and Slow, “when faced with a difficult question, we often answer an easier one instead, usually without noticing the substitution.” For example, when participants were asked how much money Exxon should pay for nets to prevent birds from drowning in oil ponds, they did not perform an economic calculation. Instead, what drove their decision-making process was emotion: “the awful image of a helpless bird drowning, its feathers soaked in thick oil.”

Thus, the moderate engages in substitution. Instead of tackling the complex and difficult question “What do I think of BLM?” he asks himself an easier but more emotional question: “How much do I care about black people?” For any decent person, the answer is “quite a lot”—and so he signs on with his progressive colleague. The fact that he’s now supporting an illiberal ideology—one of BLM’s co-founders said in 2019 that “I believe we all have work to do to keep dismantling the organizing principle of this society"—never occurs to him.

When the next moderate is asked the same question about whether he supports BLM, he has the same incentive as his colleague to engage in substitution, but with added social pressure: now two of his nine coworkers support BLM, and he risks losing social capital if he does not. As humans, we are social animals. Sociologist Brooke Harrington explains that we often value others’ perception of us more than our own survival, as social ostracism in our distant past often meant death anyway. As she puts it, “social death is more frightening than physical death.” And so, motivated by the social rewards for supporting BLM and the fear of social punishment if he does not, one coworker after another agrees to support BLM.

Adding to our social calculus is the fact that we all want to be seen as (and, even more importantly, see ourselves as) empathetic. In the example of BLM, we don’t want to be perceived as racists. If this means going along with an organization that says that police “cannot [be] reform[ed]” because they were “born out of slave patrols,” then that’s a small price to pay. This same desire to be seen as empathetic (again, especially by ourselves) holds when we are called to cancel a professor for saying something insensitive, or to condemn cultural appropriation, or to read and praise books and articles claiming that liberalism has failed marginalized people and that a new, totalitarian system is necessary for their salvation.

But why shouldn’t we be complacent? Why shouldn’t we go along to get along, and let our values bend here and there so we can fit in with the new illiberal crowd? One reason is that the stakes are no longer trivial. There is nothing magical about the liberal order that guarantees it will always triumph. History shows us that liberalism can give way to totalitarianism, as it did in Nazi Germany; or to empire, as in ancient Rome. In England, new rules regulate what people are allowed to say, with citizens facing fines or imprisonment for saying something the political establishment does not like. In Canada, a new bill supported by Prime Minister Justin Trudeau would criminalize speech that those in power consider hateful. The United States is not immune to these dangers. Our Constitution alone is not a sufficient defense, because laws are downstream from culture. The Constitution and the Bill of Rights can be interpreted by illiberal justices (and have been in the 20th century); and when this happens, our rights can erode very rapidly indeed. Our freedom is sustained not by our geography or even our founding documents, but by our willingness to fight for liberalism—to defend it in the court of public opinion.

If we’re going to preserve the freedoms we cherish, that is what it will take. We must find the courage to stand up for our ideals—to speak and act based on principle alone. We must be open to new evidence that might change our views, but at the same time resist having our minds changed for us. We must prioritize truth over popular opinion.

In essence, we must think and act more like August Landmesser.

[ Source: The Lone German Man Who Refused to Give Hitler the Nazi Salute (businessinsider.com) ]

About the Authors

Julian Adorney is the founder of Heal the West, a Substack movement dedicated to preserving our liberal social contract. He’s also a writer for the Foundation Against Intolerance and Racism (FAIR). Find him on X: @Julian_Liberty.

Mark Johnson is a trusted advisor and executive coach at Pioneering Leadership and a facilitator and coach at The Undaunted Man. He has over 25 years of experience optimizing people and companies—he writes at The Undaunted Man’s Substack and Universal Principles.

Whatever its flaws, every alternative to liberalism is a nightmare.

#Julian Adorney #Mark Johnson #liberalism #liberal values #liberal ethics #liberal society #secularism #secular liberalism #classic liberalism #Enlightenment #Enlightenment values #The Enlightenment #political liberalism #economic liberalism #epistemic liberalism #epistemology #religion is a mental illness

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hebby-arts · 2 months ago

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anyway, read under the cut for my fnaf au where William is obsessed with Henry YIPPEEEEE!!! these are taken from an rp ask blog i run so pardon the jankiness

WARNINGS FOR: DEATH, MURDER, IMPLIED GORE, CHILD DEATH, ABUSE, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS, DARK IMAGERY, VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

🎠 in this divergent universe, william began his murders after the death of his son, dave. he and Henry were extremely close back then, having pursued a secret love affair unbeknownst to their families. with dave's death (while under his elder brother micheal's supervision), william would begin losing his sense of self, determined to find some way to bring his son back, in order to soothe his wife's sorrows, though really to soothe his own. he would also become dangerously possessive of his remaining children, and anyone he was close to, leading his wife to leave him. frustrated and desperate, william would go to his fellow robotics expert and dear friend Henry Emily, asking him to rebuild Dave as an animatronic. Horrified and concerned, Henry would reject the idea entirely and recommend that William get help. feeling betrayed, William would take Henry's daughter, Charlotte, away from him one rainy night... of course, he'd keep it a secret.

🎠 now Henry was just as distraught as he was, he figured, and was more persuasive. but that all changed when Henry's wife threatened to leave him. recalling his own pain of his wife leaving him, William decided that Mrs Emily was causing Henry too much pain. He'd kill her, too, and find this death exhilarating.

🎠 henry would produce a robot of dave, who mimicked the behaviours of William's late son. William, horrified by how uncanny the creation was, beat it into pieces and pushed Henry away, who felt even more lost than before, and rising guilt over his creations causing William pain. Afton would go on to enact more murders, this time on 5 children at he and his best friend's restaurant chain, Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria; stuffing the bodies into the animatronics' suits in order to hide them... but word would get out of the murders and where they were found.

🎠 henry only grew more and more suspicious, especially with William's growing mania and desire to open more locations. Circus Baby's Pizza World, dedicated to his daughter, Elizabeth, was William's next attraction. Henry, fueled by nightmares, paranoia and suspicion of his friend, would find his ex wife's jewellry hidden inside William's workstation, along with a tube of her lipstick.

🎠 in a fit of paranoid jealousy, believing william and his ex wife were having an affair, henry would sabotage Circus Baby's ice cream dispenser, so that it would malfunction around William and teach him a lesson...

🎠 ... except it killed his daughter, Elizabeth, instead.

🎠 Overtaken by horrific guilt and grief, the two men would get into a fight, accusing one another of every paranoid thought, only for William to joyously confess that he wasn't sleeping with Henry's wife, but rather, he'd killed her to cheer him up! And that he was going to bring back every kid he'd killed, he'd use his daughter's death as proof of his theory; of what remnant could do.

🎠 HORRIFIED and ENRAGED, Henry would kill William and hide his body in the Spring Bonnie costume that he'd used to murder those 5 kids... except he didn't account for the springlocks to activate from being jostled so much, and was trapped inside the suit with his best friend's corpse, in excruciating agony...

🎠 but neither died.

🎠 decades later, a rotting springbonnie would be found... and it smelled terrible. Curiously, only one corpse seemed to remain inside...

🎠 WILLIAM mainly interacts by projecting his spirit forward. his spirit can take many forms, but mainly projects as SPRINGTRAP. sometimes, on very rare occasions, he will appear as a SCARECROW, or a STRAWMAN... that one may not be william at all. These projections are known as PHANTOMS.

🎠 THE PHANTOMS can't hurt you, but they can frighten you. They will pass through you, and they can speak to you. They project like this because of where their bodies actually are... in a secret room in a museum somewhere.

🎠 not only did william kill henry's wife, but he would also dress up as her in secret, wear her lipstick and kiss pictures of henry. it was still illegal to be gay in the 80s, and so william had to hide his prior relationship with henry, but that didn't stop his obsession and possessiveness. eventually, nothing would keep them apart.. NO OBLIGATIONS, NO FAMILY, NO CHILDREN, NO WOMEN, ONLY US, ONLY US, ONLY US, ONLY US

🎠 I WANT TO BE REMEMBERED AS AN ARTIST. MY CREATIVE VISION WILL ALWAYS LIVE ON. I WILL BE IMMORTAL. IMMORTALITY AND IMMORALITY GO HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND IN HAND NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI ᗡN∀H NI

#repetition cw #hebbyarts #my writing #fnaf #fnaf au #william x henry

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elizabethwill · 4 months ago

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Lasciamo scegliere Elizabeth: risposta alle obiezioni più frequenti di chi tifa per la coppia Jack-Elizabeth (J/E)

Premessa: se pensi che Jack Sparrow sia il miglior partner per Elizabeth Swann e sei particolarmente sensibile alle critiche rivolte alla tua coppia ideale, anche se argomentate, ti sconsiglio di leggere questo post. Non offendo le persone né giudico i loro gusti e non m’interessa prendere parte alle “guerre tra fan”; inoltre, mi ritengo capace di esprimere la mia opinione in maniera civile e rispettosa. Tuttavia, so anche quanto possa diventare suscettibile e “protettiva” la gente nei confronti del proprio personaggio preferito e delle proprie coppie del cuore. 🙂

In sintesi: no agli insulti gratuiti, sì alle critiche costruttive. Se la vedi così anche tu, allora leggi pure il resto del post, indipendentemente da ciò che pensi della coppia J/E. Se, invece, tendi a evitare qualsiasi tipo di critica alle tue coppie del cuore, ti suggerisco di fermarti qui e non proseguire la lettura. Fan avvisato, mezzo salvato! 😉

Post molto lungo ⚠️ 🚧

Parte 1: La libertà di Elizabeth e la libertà di Jack

Uno degli aspetti essenziali del personaggio di Elizabeth Swann è il suo desiderio di libertà. Sin dal primo film di “Pirati dei Caraibi”, Elizabeth ci viene presentata come una giovane donna intraprendente, audace e volitiva: protesta con il Commodoro perché lui arresta Jack Sparrow; si appella al Parlay per negoziare con Barbossa, nel tentativo di proteggere l’intera città di Port Royal; brucia il rum per richiamare l’attenzione della Marina Britannica, affinché recuperi lei e Jack intrappolati sull’isola; fugge dalla Dauntless per andare a combattere nella grotta dell’Isla de Muerta. Insomma, Elizabeth pensa con la propria testa e agisce di conseguenza, mettendo anche in discussione le convenzioni sociali e il decoro.

Nel secondo episodio della saga assistiamo a una sorta di suo “flirt” con Jack Sparrow, il quale, nel corso del film, dimostra di essersi quantomeno invaghito di lei, se non addirittura innamorato. I due hanno una conversazione interessante, che mette a nudo una debolezza di Elizabeth (gli impulsi egoistici). In un certo senso, si riconoscono simili e ammettono di avere delle affinità, mentre un’innegabile tensione sessuale aleggia fra loro. Da qui l’attrazione di Elizabeth nei confronti di lui (forse rafforzata dall’entusiasmo che una giovane attrice deve aver provato recitando al fianco di Johnny Depp, all’epoca considerato un mito e non ancora gravato dal peso degli scandali che l’hanno colpito negli anni recenti).

Il personaggio di Jack incarna la libertà del tipo più assoluto, che non conosce regole, schemi o confini. Come Elizabeth, anche lui agisce sempre di testa propria, ma è ancor più spregiudicato: mente, manipola le persone per i propri scopi personali, cerca di rigirare ogni situazione a proprio vantaggio. È una sorta di prestigiatore che trasforma la vita in un trucco e può contare su una lingua svelta, una mente acuta e un sorriso carismatico. Cosa potrebbe fare Elizabeth, che fin dall’inizio ha una visione “romanticizzata” dei pirati, se non scoprirsi attratta da lui?

Ora, che tale attrazione non sia sfociata in amore è, a mio avviso, palese: Elizabeth non è mai stata innamorata di Jack. Essere affascinati da qualcuno e provare desiderio sessuale nei suoi confronti non equivale ad amarlo. Non c’è dubbio, tuttavia, che fra i due si fosse stabilita una certa complicità che invitava il pubblico a riflettere sul loro rapporto.

L’argomentazione preferita dei sostenitori di quest’ipotetica coppia (dico “ipotetica” perché i personaggi non si sono mai messi insieme e ciò va riconosciuto per ragioni di onestà intellettuale) sembra essere la seguente: Jack è un pirata e un uomo libero, Elizabeth desidera la libertà e l’avventura, perciò stando con lui potrebbe avere e fare tutto ciò che vuole, lontano dalle costrizioni della società. Talvolta, nel tentativo di portare avanti questa tesi, si menziona la scena del primo film in cui Jack salva Elizabeth dall’annegamento, strappandole il corsetto per impedirle di soffocare; il corsetto rappresenta le convenzioni sociali che limitano la libertà di lei, e Jack viene considerato l’unico uomo in grado di offrirle una via di fuga da esse.

In tale ottica, Jack viene inquadrato come portatore di libertà, mentre Will Turner – l’amico e amore d’infanzia, il giovane che a lungo ha detestato i pirati – diventa l’emblema del conformismo che manterrebbe Elizabeth legata alle restrizioni della società, spingendola ad accettare il ruolo di moglie e madre tradizionale. Inoltre, è un dato di fatto che alcuni tra i più fieri sostenitori della coppia J/E vedono la relazione fra Will ed Elizabeth come una “favoletta” irrealistica, la cui unica ragione d’esistere risiederebbe nell’abitudine della Disney di proporre coppie e lieti fini inverosimili. Secondo queste persone, far finire insieme Elizabeth e Jack sarebbe stata la soluzione più credibile, auspicabile e coerente con i caratteri dei personaggi.

A ciascuno le sue convinzioni: personalmente non credo affatto che Elizabeth sarebbe stata meglio con Jack che con Will. Soprattutto, però, non ho mai creduto, nemmeno per un istante, che il tipo di libertà che Jack avrebbe potuto offrirle fosse ciò che lei desiderava veramente, nel profondo.

Quella di Jack è una libertà che non ammette relazioni stabili e durature, né assunzioni di responsabilità. È la libertà a cui potrebbe anelare un ragazzino, una sorta di eterno Peter Pan che rifugge dagli impegni e dai sacrifici. È la libertà di chi è capace di perseverare per sé stesso e non per amore degli altri.

Elizabeth, che persevera nel suo amore per Will quando ancora lui non si è dichiarato e non c’è garanzia che, un giorno, loro due possano stare insieme – anzi, è molto più probabile che non possano perché sono di classi sociali diverse; Elizabeth, che per salvare la vita di Will accetta la proposta di matrimonio di un uomo che non ama – un brav’uomo, certo, ma pur sempre uno di cui non è innamorata; Elizabeth, che per un anno intero, dopo che suo padre ha dato la propria benedizione a lei e a Will, ha modo di riflettere sulle difficoltà che le causerebbe sposarsi con qualcuno privo di ricchezze e di titoli nobiliari, ed è comunque decisa a sposarlo; Elizabeth, che dà Jack in pasto al Kraken perché sa che, sacrificando il Capitano, potrà salvare il resto della ciurma, ma poi si sente in colpa per quel gesto estremo; Elizabeth, che nella cella dell’Olandese comprende il desiderio di Will di aiutare il padre e capisce il peso che lui porta sulle spalle; Elizabeth, che nel ruolo di Re dei Pirati parla di sudore, forza e coraggio, lasciando chiaramente intendere che non c’è libertà più grande di quella che viene difesa combattendo, anche a prezzo della vita, e trova il suo primo alleato proprio in Will; Elizabeth, la cui gioia nel pronunciare il suo “sì” durante il matrimonio rocambolesco (ma romanticissimo!) sulla Perla Nera è quasi palpabile… Davvero il destino di questa donna, mi chiedo, è stare con qualcuno che la cosa che sa fare meglio – a parte servirsi della propria intelligenza e capacità di portare gli altri dove vuole lui – è scappare?

Con questo non intendo sminuire Jack, che in più di un’occasione si dimostra capace di atti di coraggio e di altruismo non indifferenti. Sia Will che la stessa Elizabeth lo definiscono “un brav’uomo” – e penso che abbiano ragione. Ciò non toglie che la vita di Jack sia paragonabile a un continuo girovagare senza una meta precisa, con i desideri e gli impulsi momentanei come principale guida (non per niente la sua bussola cambia direzione proprio in base ai desideri!). Sinceramente credo che Elizabeth meriti qualcosa di diverso: la possibilità, oltre che di viaggiare per mare, di avere una casa, un saldo approdo a terra. La possibilità di uscire dai rigidi confini del ruolo di figlia del Governatore senza finire col condurre una vita randagia, che include giusto qualche sosta occasionale a Tortuga e in altri posti simili. La possibilità di trovare una sua via per costruirsi un futuro, senza rischiare di vivere all’ombra di un Capitano tanto affascinante e carismatico quanto in balìa del vento dei propri desideri. Perché mai Elizabeth dovrebbe seguire lui e stare con lui, quando nel corso del terzo film ottiene una sua nave e un suo equipaggio?

Alla fine della storia, Elizabeth non ha bisogno della libertà che potrebbe offrirle Jack. È già una donna libera – e lo è soprattutto grazie alle proprie scelte, in relazione alle quali si comporterà di conseguenza, senza sottrarsi agli impegni e alle responsabilità. Ha scelto di opporsi alla Compagnia delle Indie Orientali e di combattere contro Beckett? Dovrà guardarsi le spalle e tenersi preparata ad affrontare eventuali rappresaglie. Ha scelto di sposare Will? Lo aspetterà e custodirà il suo cuore. Non è una prigioniera, è una donna adulta che ha preso delle decisioni consapevoli. Nei dieci anni che separano la partenza di Will dal suo ritorno potrà andare dove riterrà più sicuro, per mare o per terra, e avrà tutto il tempo di costruirsi una vita, una casa e una nuova routine. Nessuno le sta chiedendo di confinarsi su un’isola… tanto meno l’uomo che ha sposato.

Fine Parte 1 🚧 [continua…]

Immagini tratte da: buffysummers, Sparrabeth Dead Mans Chest GIF Tenor, mylovewithdamon, G Lee Pinterest, rikrgif, ceeyoutea, lady-arryn, Google Immagini.

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