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lavender-annd-lilac · 2 years ago

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You scurry around the kitchen, whipping yourself up a hot chocolate

A HOT CHOCOLATE U SAY?? 👂👂👂

So like, if Milo is “the best”, why isn’t she making herself a cup of that instead of hot chocolate, huh?? 🤨🤨🤨

The past few weeks have been… Interesting, to say the least, from having the cutest little men accompany you to a giant monstrous man devouring you

Lmao reader really goes with the flow 😂 like, some people are picky I guess but she’s like I’m cool with anything from gnomes to Bigfoot!!

slowly make your way to your lounge room, prepared to watch one of your favourite Christmas movies

Your mind is too focused on not spilling your drink that you don’t notice the older man sitting in your chair

Reader has negative zero observation powers she’s literally this doggo

Ari’s hand lifts to his thick greying beard, wondering if you will ever look up

She literally walks through him and that’s when he realizes… he’s a g-g-ghost!! 👻👻👻 and that’s why she can’t see him 🙀🙀🙀

Oh wait this isn’t a Halloween story? ☹️😾🎃

“I never expected your favourite Christmas movie to be How The Grinch Stole Christmas”

Ok that was going to be my third guess, after Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Mean Girls

Your grip is tightly wrapped around your cup, ensuring the liquid doesn’t spill.

Reader’s secret superpower… She could be like the best waitress!!

Your brows furrow as the pieces begin to fit together, the outfit, the greying beard, the red hat with a white pom pom on top

Wait… is it Waldo from “Where’s Waldo”?? (Or “Wally” for some reason in the UK)

“You’re Santa?”

Me, a skeptic: ok if u are the REAL Santa, what did I write on my Christmas list when I was 8 years old and what colour crayon did I write it in 🤨🤨🤨

“Mmhm, and you’re my little hoe… hoe… hoe.” His joyous chuckle fills the room at his pun,

Dude u literally have the whole year every year to come up with better puns and this is all u got?? Hire a speechwriter or something lol

Slowly he moves to stand, but a loud humph escapes him when you land roughly onto his lap.

But is the drink ok??? Did it spill?? 😬😬😬

The smell of Christmas fills your nose, warming your insides.

Ngl, this sounds like it could be an allergic reaction lol

“Now, what’s a little girl like you want for Christmas? I mean… It shouldn’t be a lot seeing as you’ve had my elves and even the big bad Grinch.” Ari’s grip tightens on you.

Lol I’d be like “I’d like a FUCKING RESTRAINING ORDER u peeping Tom😠. Or maybe a PS5? 🥺”

“I can explain… I… They…” Your brows furrow as you begin to pout, not knowing what to say.

Lol she’s like what?? I wasn’t even awake for half that shit

“Don’t worry about it, darling. Now, what do you want for Christmas?”

Haha this is like when the server comes back to your table too early and asks what u want to order and ur like “ummm, can u give me more time pls idk yet😭”

“hmm? I am Santa. I can get you anything your heart desires. All you have to do is tell me.”

Me: can we get another season of Rome??

Santa: …wait, u mean that HBO show that was cancelled after 2 seasons bc of budget issues in the mid 2000’s???

Me: duh 🙄what, do u like, not have TV in the North Pole???

“I… I want to be loved… and not just for one night but for eternity.” Both you and Ari can feel your heart speed up, how your breath hitches after you’ve spoken of what you truly desire. “B–But… If that’s too hard, I would like a pet. Nothing too big, maybe just something small.”

Lmaooo, she’s like “ya could I get like an eternal soulmate?? Or if you’re all out of those guess I’ll take um… a small pet? Like a hampster or something?”

(Meanwhile, little elf Ransom getting scooped up out of nowhere to be gift wrapped like “hey, what the HECK? UNHAND ME! 😡😡😡”)

“I think I can do both, but only for you.” He spins you around in his lap, causing you to face him. “But, for the first one. You do have to give yourself over to me. It’s the only way it’ll work.”

Me: I don’t do handshake deals. Can we get this in writing? And I want my lawyer present with at least one witness or notary. AND I want all the original cast in their roles for season 3 of Rome. AND I want an executive producers credit.

“I’ll do anything!” Tears are brought to your eyes as you think of finally getting your wish. No longer will you be alone or unwanted.

Girl, u are literally never alone lol u have no privacy 🤣🤣🤣

“Anything?” You nod again. Ari smirks at how eager you are. “Will you keep Santa warm even after I’m done breeding you?”

Quickly standing, Ari continues to fuck into you as he lies you down on the couch.

Can we get a status update on the drink? Is it like on the table now or did it spill?🫣🫣🫣

“You’re going to carry my children! Walking around the North Pole, swollen and glowing!”

Lmao why does this low key sound like a curse tho hahaha 🤣

It’s very god punishing Cain for killing his brother by saying, "Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground…. When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth" 😂😂😂

“Everyone!” thrust “will!” thrust “know!” thrust “your!” thrust “MINE!!”

What do u mean “everyone”? Who the fuck else lives in the North Pole??? 🤨

and snapping his fingers, causing himself to look as good as new before he looks around the room

Ok this is some Sabrina the Teenage Witch shit. Like I would love to be able to get a wardrobe refresh at the snap of my fingers

With a wave of his hand, everything in your house disappears.

Wait WHAT?? Why did he take all her stuff? It’s not like this is an episode of what not to wear when they make u dump all your old fugly clothes 😭😭😭 what if she had like, sentimental items in there?

Me, 2 min later: ooh, it disappeared bc she was being transported haha

he lays you down onto his soft, red and green silk sheets and glances down at you with a soft smile.

Why do u need ur home to be xmas themed. No civilians are even allowed there. Why must u make it so tacky all year round??? 😒😒😒

Can’t u just do like some nice neutrals??

“Welcome home, Mrs Claus.”

Ok so they are like married now?? Hahah sucker, he didn’t even get her to sign a prenup. 😏😏😏

Girl, divorce and take him for all he’s worth!!!🤑 (U can still hook up or whatever when u drop off the kids to stay w him)

𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂… 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏

🎄christmas masterlist🎄

warning - smut, oral sex, sex, stalker behaviour, breeding kink, maybe a bad pun?, human reader, santa male, reader may be a bit of a whore, but I can't blame her, slight angst, slight fluff, maybe a bit of kidnapping? (but, like... what's really considered kidnapping? especially if it's by ari)

18+ only please, christmas present for you all but mostly for @royalsweetteaa, the gif and header aren't mine. merry christmas!🎅🏻

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You scurry around the kitchen, whipping yourself up a hot chocolate. The past few weeks have been… Interesting, to say the least, from having the cutest little men accompany you to a giant monstrous man devouring you. Your mind was fuzzy, wondering if you’ll ever see them again. Grabbing your drink, you slowly make your way to your lounge room, prepared to watch one of your favourite Christmas movies.

Your mind is too focused on not spilling your drink that you don’t notice the older man sitting in your chair. His legs spread, thighs and bulge straining against his red pants. Darkened blue eyes glare at your small form as you walk in his direction. Ari’s hand lifts to his thick greying beard, wondering if you will ever look up. Not that he will complain if you sit on his lap and tell him what you want for Christmas. “I never expected your favourite Christmas movie to be How The Grinch Stole Christmas” A charming grin makes its way onto Ari’s face when he watches you jump slightly. Your head snaps up, and you stare at him with wide eyes. Your grip is tightly wrapped around your cup, ensuring the liquid doesn’t spill.

Your eyes take in his tight red and white outfit, subconsciously licking your lips as your eyes trail down his body, loving how it fits his form perfectly. Your brows furrow as the pieces begin to fit together, the outfit, the greying beard, the red hat with a white pom pom on top. Your eyes slowly move back up his body before connecting with his blue ones. “You’re Santa?” You slowly place your drink down, becoming curious about the man you swear you’ve seen before.

Ari chuckles, leaning back into the chair. “Mmhm, and you’re my little hoe… hoe… hoe.” His joyous chuckle fills the room at his pun, and you giggle as well, feeling your heart warm at the sound of his laugh. A small smile takes place on Ari’s face as the laughter dies down, and his large veiny hand pats his thigh. “Come sit and tell Santa what you want for Christmas.” Ari watches you hesitate, worrying your lip as you think. “Unless you want to be named Naughty.” Slowly he moves to stand, but a loud humph escapes him when you land roughly onto his lap.

You look up at Ari, eyes slightly fluttering as his warmth seeps into you. A calming feeling washes over you as you take in his scent. The smell of Christmas fills your nose, warming your insides. “Now, what’s a little girl like you want for Christmas? I mean… It shouldn’t be a lot seeing as you’ve had my elves and even the big bad Grinch.” Ari’s grip tightens on you.

Your cheeks turn rosy pink, and you stare at him with wide eyes, chewing on your bottom lip as you try to think of an explanation. “I can explain… I… They…” Your brows furrow as you begin to pout, not knowing what to say.

Ari grins as he watches you struggle, pulling your small body closer to his larger form. “Don’t worry about it, darling. Now, what do you want for Christmas?” Ari rests his chin on your shoulder, his eyes slowly closing as he takes in your sweet scent, humming as he waits for a response. Ari can feel you begin to squirm against his throbbing member, holding back his groan as you continue. His thumb rubs the exposed skin on your hip, “hmm? I am Santa. I can get you anything your heart desires. All you have to do is tell me.”

You relax into his body, feeling anxious about what you really want. “I… I want to be loved… and not just for one night but for eternity.” Both you and Ari can feel your heart speed up, how your breath hitches after you’ve spoken of what you truly desire. “B–But… If that’s too hard, I would like a pet. Nothing too big, maybe just something small.”

Ari’s breath against your neck sends shivers down your body, “I think I can do both, but only for you.” He spins you around in his lap, causing you to face him. “But, for the first one. You do have to give yourself over to me. It’s the only way it’ll work.” Ari stares at you with his big blue eyes, his gaze flickering down to your plump lips as a soft smile spreads across your face, your head nodding rapidly.

“I’ll do anything!” Tears are brought to your eyes as you think of finally getting your wish. No longer will you be alone or unwanted. You give Ari a bright smile when he grins at you, his hand coming up and resting on your cheek while his thumb strokes it. Subconsciously grinding down onto the large bulge in his pants, feeling the pool of slick building between your legs.

“Anything?” You nod again. Ari smirks at how eager you are. “Will you keep Santa warm even after I’m done breeding you?” The nod you give sends shocks of pleasure straight to his thickening cock, the member nearly breaking through the material as he hardens. Ari lifts you slightly, pulling his cock free before settling you back onto his lap. A grunt leaves him when your soaked core touches him, “Aren’t you a naughty girl, wearing nothing underneath this whole time while sitting on a stranger’s lap? You were expecting this, weren’t you?” The shy look you give him answers his questions.

Biting your lip, you slowly begin to rub yourself against him. Soaking Ari’s giant cock, soft moans escape you when his thick mushroom tip hits your swollen clit. “Please, Santa! I’ve been a good girl!” A scream falls from your lips when Ari thrusts himself deep inside, not giving you any time to adjust as he grips your hips and fucks you down onto his cock. Your head falls back, eyes rolling to the back, mouth hanging open. “F–Feels good! So good! Please!”

Ari growls, his eyes fluttering as he feels your juices soak his pants. His hips thrust rapidly, hitting your sweet spot perfectly as his heavy sacks tighten. “Good fucking girl! You’re so fucking tight!” Quickly standing, Ari continues to fuck into you as he lies you down on the couch. His large form covers you as he pounds deep inside your tight little hole. The girth of his cock stretches you perfectly. “You feel so good, darling! You’ll forever be mine once I fill you up!” Ari buries his face into your neck, planting kisses and marks along your flesh. His grunts and your moans fill the room, and the feel of your walls fluttering around him causes Ari to bite down on your neck before he grunts into your ear. “You’re going to carry my children! Walking around the North Pole, swollen and glowing!”

“Everyone!” thrust “will!” thrust “know!” thrust “your!” thrust “MINE!!” With a rawr, Ari’s hips stutter roughly into you, his balls tightening, and his chest heaves as he cums deep inside your cunt. Spurts of warm white cum shoot out of his swollen tip, overfilling your womb. He continues to thrust until your back arches, walls squeezing and milking his throbbing member as your orgasm hits hard, your sweet juices squirting out of you and soaking his uniform. Ari falls onto you, trying to catch his breath as you wrap your tiny arms around his muscular body. He pulls back and looks deep into your eyes with a dazed smile. “You’re my good girl, understand?”

“Yes, I’m your good girl.” He slowly pulls out of you before moving down your exhausted body, opening your legs so that he can see his cum leak out. He groans, his thick fingers moving closer to your quivering hole and pushing it back inside. He leans forward and takes your swollen clit between his lips, beginning to suck. His fingers thrust and curl as he laps at your cute little button. “Santa! Oh! Fuck!” A slap fills the room, and your back arches as pain and pleasure shoot through your cunt and up your spine.

“Bad girl! No swearing!” He growls into your cunt, burying his face deep into your sweet honey pot. “You taste so fucking sweet! I get why my elves and The Grinch are so fucking obsessed!” His tongue and fingers move fast against your sweet cunt, and the groans that leave his lips add extra vibrations to his movements, causing pornographic screams to escape you. When Ari curls his fingers into the correct spot, black spots cover your vision as your back arches, your eyes roll back, and your juices squirt out of you and directly into Ari’s mouth. He groans as he drinks your sweetness up, not missing a spot.

Ari pulls back, sitting on his legs as he looks at you. His greying beard is covered in your juices, and his hat has fallen off, causing his long hair to stick to his sweaty forehead. His darkened eyes peer down at your blacked-out form, a smirk making its way onto his face as he glances down at your puffy red pussy. Standing, Ari fixes his uniform, tucking his cock back in and snapping his fingers, causing himself to look as good as new before he looks around the room. With a wave of his hand, everything in your house disappears. Ari leans down, picking you up bridal style before disappearing back to the North Pole. As you both appear in his bedroom, he lays you down onto his soft, red and green silk sheets and glances down at you with a soft smile. “I can’t wait for you to be full with my children.” Ari gently kisses your forehead, and his hand comes up and strokes your cheek. “Welcome home, Mrs Claus.”

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

#ari levinson x reader

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queenofir · 2 years ago

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astralaffairs · 4 years ago

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concept: first lady mc reads of fotp!tjeff’s speeches and edits them for all the things she thinks are stupid or unethical. and he’s like “sweetheart, my party isn’t ready for universal healthcare. i can’t be pissing people off within the first month of my presidency.” but she couldn’t give a fuck and continues marking up his speeches with a red pen all while insisting he gets a new speech writer.

y'all need 2 STOP hitting me w concepts i like this much i have 0 self control and WILL write every damn one of them. there are like 4 sitting in my inbox rn smh.

(by which i mean pls keep sending me concepts like this i love writing fotp drabbles)

---

"What're you still doin' up?"

Y/N's eyebrows shot up as she looked up; a small, tired smile graced her lips as Thomas entered their bedroom, shaking his blazer off as the door fell shut behind him. "Hey. I'm glad you're back," she said softly. "I've just been tying up a few final loose ends with what I've been working on before I go to sleep."

"Can it wait until the morning?" he asked. He laid his blazer on the back of a chair at the side of the room before immediately starting to loosen his tie. "It's gettin' late. And I miss spendin' time with you. You work too much."

She scoffed, but her smile was only growing at his words. "Did you, the President of the United States, just tell me that I work too much?" He rolled his eyes as she spoke, just discarding his tie on the floor beside their bed. "That really is rich coming from you."

"Yeah, yeah, make fun all you want," he said, crossing the room to join her on their couch, "but you always overwork yourself, and you know it. You've been doin' it for as long as I've known you."

"Alright, I'll come to bed in a few minutes." He took a seat behind her, and when he rested his hand on her inner thigh, it sent shivers rippling across her skin. She looked up. "You go get some sleep. I'll finish this quickly. I promise."

"What're you workin' on, anyway?" She didn't protest when he withdrew the paper from her lap, glancing over it, and the corners of his lips quirked up. "Is this the address I'm givin' on Friday?"

"The very same."

"You shouldn't be losin' sleep over this," he said matter-of-factly, turning his head back toward her as he squeezed the top of her thigh lightly. "Either lose sleep spendin' time with your dear, sweet husband who's fucking sick of thinkin' about legislation, or just come to bed, hm?"

He passed her back the paper, instead looping an arm around her waist as he kicked his legs up onto their coffee table, and when he pulled her in to rest against his shoulder, she put up no protest.

"Just five more minutes. I promise." The barely-concealed yawn in her voice made Thomas look down at her skeptically.

"Alright, but I'm holdin' you to that. If you're still working in five minutes, I'll carry you to bed myself."

"No complaints here." She turned her head to kiss the corner of his mouth gently before she turned back to her paper, fidgeting with her red pen as she reached the last page of the document. Thomas's eyes had fallen shut; he was more than content to just sit there with her until she finished, as he had no desire whatsoever to think anymore about pushing his healthcare bill through Congress.

He opened his eyes when Y/N scoffed. Her pen ran down the page in a long slash, and she was pursing her lips as she jotted notes in the margins, but it made Thomas furrow his brow.

"Hey, now, what was so wrong with that paragraph?"

"Seriously?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow, glancing back at him. "You keep treating healthcare like it's some privilege that poor people should have to grovel at the feet of the rich to have access to. It can't be conditional like this."

"I'm not actin' like that," he defended. "I'm just sayin', hiking up taxes threefold isn't a sustainable way to fund this. It'd be an overreach from Congress. We've gotta use money efficiently."

"You fucking libertarian," she muttered. "The part of the bill about work requirements is gonna get killed in Congress. There's no way the House Democrats will vote to pass it unless you get rid of that."

"What's that got to do with my speech?"

"You're misrepresenting the legislation if you keep that paragraph," she said, proceeding to scribble out a sentence in the paragraph after. "And get rid of this. If you're trying to implement a public option, focusing on the private sector will get you nowhere. You're just gonna make people angry."

"I'm not 'misrepresenting' anything." He scowled. "Both those things are important for the bill."

"But this isn't a bill, Thomas; it's a speech," she huffed. "Anyway, the legislation needs to be universalized, or you can't 'mitigate poverty' how you claim to. Do you have any idea how many of the people who can't meet the work requirements on healthcare are going to end up in poverty because they can't afford the care they need?"

"I hear you," he started, "but this is the best way to make it more affordable without tankin' the economy."

"Have you even considered capital gains taxes?"

"That's gonna kill entrepreneurship."

"You're so full of it sometimes," Y/N scoffed. "'Entrepreneurs' won't be affected. It only affects, like, Jeff Bezos and Mark Zuckerberg, and they have so many assets that it literally doesn't matter."

"I'm not gonna sit here and argue with you about this. I'm not sayin' you're wrong, but I am sayin' this bill needs to be somethin' I can convince the Senate to pass," he said, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Then write a new bill that doesn't mean the people who are the worst off don't get coverage," she said, jotting that down on the side of the paper, "because this doesn't resolve the issue."

"I'll bring it up when I get the chance," he assured her, and she glanced back at him with a grateful smile. "Can I ask why this is so important to you?"

"Because I'm an empathetic person, and I care about people?" she replied, tone scathing, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Woah, there. That wasn't an attack, sweetheart," he said. "What's got you worked up?"

"I'm not 'worked up,'” she bit back, but when he gave her an apologetic look, gaze soft, her annoyance began to subside. “This is just a sore subject for me." Y/N finally lowered the paper in her lap, turning her head toward Thomas. "I know I've told you about how long my parents spent in the hospital before they passed."

"Yeah. Yeah, you have," he said softly. He turned, orienting himself in Y/N's direction so he could pull her into his lap, and while she sighed, she laid back against his chest.

"When they died, I was left with most of their healthcare debt," she continued. "I was living far below the poverty line for almost a decade because of it."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, and she laced her fingers into his with his arms around her waist.

"It was a long time ago," she replied. "I just don't want anyone else to end up in anything like the situation I was in. Nobody deserves that."

"No, they don't. I'll see what I can get past Congress." He kissed the side of her neck, and she hummed contentedly, squeezing his hands. "But I've still gotta discuss my plan for healthcare on Friday, so stop demolishing my speech."

"You asked me to look over it," she said frankly, and though her eyes had fallen shut when she laid against him, she cracked one open to glance at him skeptically. "These are my edits. Change the bill."

"That's an awful weighty edit, sweetheart."

"Hey, I also improved your phrasing," she went on, holding his paper up where they could both see it. "I'm making your speech better, don't complain about it."

"You cut my section about deductibles?"

"No one wants to talk about deductibles, babe." She tapped the paper with the back of her pen. "They want to know whether they'll be insured or not. They won't listen to the nuances of your bill in your public address. You're going to need a press release for that."

"And the part about family values?"

"It was useless." She shrugged. "I know you're just pandering to your party and all, but it sounded stupid in the context of the speech."

"Harsh," Thomas said, and the offense in his voice was mostly dramatized. Y/N pursed her lips. "But I can't be breachin' party lines in this speech. I'm not gonna get anything done if I turn the Senate Republicans against me."

"Listen, I'm not a political strategist, so that's your prerogative," she said matter-of-factly. "But if you don't like my feedback on your speeches, then hire a damn speechwriter, Thomas."

He hummed reluctantly. "But havin' you review my speeches gives me an excuse to spend more time with you. I don't have a whole lotta interest in having even longer meetings with White House staffers."

"Then take my edits to heart." She pursed her lips. "You know very well that I'm the only reason you have bipartisan support. If I didn't pick fights with you once a week about green energy, all the Democrats would still oppose all your stances on it."

"I'll look back over the speech in the mornin', then," he decided, and she shifted on the couch to face him, legs still draped over his lap. "I trust you."

"Good," she replied, and she looped her arms around his neck as she pulled herself up to kiss him. "But stop exploiting my degree in journalism."

"I'm not exploitin' it."

"Then what do you consider asking your wife to edit your speeches pro-bono to be?"

"A nice li'l side effect of managin' to convince someone so smart to marry me." She laughed as he pulled her back in to kiss him, but she gasped when he bit her lip teasingly, and his mouth drifted down her neck. "I love you," he murmured against her skin.

"I love you, too."

With that, Thomas hooked his arm up under her legs, and his smile widened against her neck when she yelped as he picked her up. "Now, I seem to remember sayin' something about carryin' you to bed if you were workin' for more than five minutes, so you don't get to negotiate anymore."

She squirmed in his grasp, but any of her efforts to get out of his arms weren't in earnest. She huffed. "So much for respecting personal liberty. Just wait until your voting bloc finds out all that rhetoric was just a lie."

"Oh, hush, let's not pretend you mind," he said as he tossed her down onto their bed, and she bounced when her back hit the mattress. He didn't hesitate to climb on after her. Though she tried to pull herself up to rest on the throw pillows, Thomas was on his hands and knees above her; she didn't have much of a range of movement when he dipped down to kiss her. "If you did, you wouldn't have married me."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Jefferson," she grumbled, despite wrapping her arms around his neck. "Talk all you want, but I dunno how smug you're gonna be when I up and leave you one of these days."

He grinned. "You know I don't buy that for a second." She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched upward when he kissed her forehead. "You love me too much."

Despite everything, Y/N could feel herself flush. "Just go put on some pajamas so we can go to sleep."

"Alright, if you insist," he huffed, rolling off of her. "Be right back."

"You'd better hurry, or I might run off with Dolley and elope," she called after him, and Thomas laughed.

"'S cute, but we both know you aren't goin' anywhere."

"And why not?"

He raised a confident brow. "I'll tie you down if that's what it takes to keep you here, sweetheart."

"Wouldn't be the first time," she mumbled, turning to discard the throw pillows from the bed onto the floor.

When she looked back at him, his grin was still wide, smug, but the look in his eyes was soft. She pursed her lips as her own smile broadened. "Now go change. I'm not going to sleep without you."

"Fine. You need some rest.”

“Yeah. So do you.”

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palukoo · 3 years ago

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also toby, will, and sam

ooh interesting... hm. dramatic writer boys.

toby and sam are... so good. i will never be over "who's your favorite writer" "toby." or the batman and robin of speechwriting. or “you’re gonna lose and you’re gonna lose huge. they’re gonna throw rocks at you next week, and i wanted to be standing next to you when they did.” the way that they both trust and respect and admire each other is really good, and like, them writing together and just being a team when they can come across as super different people in terms of. general disposition. is just something i really enjoy.

will and sam are like. sweet! idk, i love that sam just says he’ll do it because he likes will and the campaign and feels bad and wants to do the right thing. i like that he sends him to toby to take his job, and i like that will continuously worries about sam’s campaign even when it’s really not his job anymore (i think it’s at least as much about all the work he put into the race, but still). they’re also set up to be really similar, with will being sam’s replacement, but i like that he’s a little more... pragmatic, i guess? and awkward in some ways? idk, i like that they didn’t just replace sam with sam.

will and toby are an absolute mess, because toby doesn’t like him at first because he doesn’t like new people and he doesn’t like sam being gone and he doesn’t like sam’s replacement, but then he does like will, or at least believes in him and his abilities, and can work with him, and i like how they argue and push each other at first, and i kinda hate will’s intern plot, but i do like that toby at first says he fired all the speechwriters and like. tries to protect will, who at the beginning there is so nervous and desperate for approval, at least at first. and then, once they’ve figured out how to work together, will leaves, and toby just hates him so, so much for it, and will kind of hates toby’s utter contempt for himself and russell, his lack of understanding for why will would ever work for russell. which i get, because i don’t really like russell either, but will’s also got a point in that someone needs to think about the next election and russell is the presumptive frontrunner, and kinda... why wouldn’t he take the opportunity to sort of shape russell and his campaign and potentially administration into his image? why wouldn’t he want that kind of access and influence? plus like... i think toby sort of forgets that bartlet isn’t everyone’s guy. like, will didn’t run him, ever, will didn’t pick him. will got hired halfway through for a speech, of course he’s not gonna have the same loyalty to him that toby does. anyways, like, it’s really just their scene in no exit.

i think... what's interesting to me is that toby doesn't get upset with sam when he leaves, and he does get upset with will. which... it's honestly more surprising that he (and josh, and sorta leo) don't get upset with sam (another thing where i get upset about the dichotomy when they all were upset with cj when she was gonna quit but that's okay) when he leaves than that he does get upset with will, because... okay, like, toby has his insane loyalty to other people and holds them to that same standard a lot of the time, and he also really, really doesn't like being left, i think. i think the difference is like, sam is leaving to do something different, to be his own guy, and partially out of party loyalty, and will is leaving for the other guy (who toby happens to have a lot of disdain for and is... kinda the exact type of guy that toby criticizes a lot).

#asks #answered #tww #claudiasjeancregg #toby ziegler #will bailey #sam seaborn #i answered this out of order and it probably shows whoops. hmm i sure do write a lot about characters who don't like each other

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hookedonapirate · 4 years ago

Text

Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States.

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again.

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?”

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?”

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right?

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase.

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender.

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table.

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league.

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman.

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists.

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?”

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does.

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away.

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him.

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior.

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter.

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell.

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape.

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner.

“Hey, babe, ready to go?”

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips.

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat.

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart.

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

“We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups.

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes.

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust.

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning.

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words.

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.”

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem.

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing.

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, “Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.”

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.”

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.”

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this.

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments.

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.”

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.”

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum.

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties.

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress.

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile.

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship.

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away.

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other.

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually.

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years.

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke.

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd.

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.”

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her.

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss.

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television.

#cs ff #long shot au #captain swan

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ckret2 · 4 years ago

Text

Gigan Invades Earth

I got a request on ko-fi for “something Gigan-Ghidorah,” and I don’t have any freestanding Gigan/Ghidorah fic plans right now, all my current plans are from farther forward in the chronology of the fics I’m currently writing.

So I was like, okay, I’ll just write a few scenes from, uh... like, sixteen fics ahead of where I am right now.

So here’s a few scenes from way ahead of where we currently are! I haven’t edited it because this fic ain’t done and ain’t gonna be for a long time, but enjoy the preview.

###

First contact was made on a Monday at exactly ten in the morning, local Central Zone time—as convenient a time as any for first contact to happen: late enough in the morning that just about everyone was up and about but early enough to ensure the arrival would dominate all but the early morning news broadcasts; and at the start of the work week so that all of the white-collar governmental sorts who were going to have to deal with this were rested from the weekend.

He'd planned it that way.

One moment, the sky above Constitution Plaza in Mexico City was clear; the next moment, a smooth object hurdled down from the sky so fast that passersby didn't even have time to send out panicked messages about their impending doom before it stopped, hovering, seeming to glower down on the National Palace. A thunderclap followed in the wake of its sudden stop, traveling out as a deep rumble across the city.

It sat there, a dark grey and black mass of machinery thrumming in the air, for exactly five minutes: long enough to attract the attention of damn near half the continent but not long enough for the panicking politicians inside the National Palace to start rallying the troops. Then a deep, slightly synthesized-sounding voice boomed out of the ship. It was clearly audible for blocks around in every direction:

"Buenos días. Vengo en son de paz. Llévame hasta tu líder."

Good morning. I come in peace. Take me to your leader.

Astute observers noted two things about the new arrival:

It had a sense of humor.

And it had done its research.

###

"On behalf of Monarch," Serizawa said, his Spanish stilted and slow over the video call, "I am honored that you have invited us to witness this historic occasion. But I don't understand what place Monarch has in a moment of... of interstellar diplomacy."

The video conference was cut into four windows: Serizawa Ishiro, who'd pulled on a button-up shirt for the call but who beneath the frame of the camera was sitting up in bed, still on bed rest from his near-death experience during the Titans' mass awakening; Xochitl Flores Rosales, scientist at Outpost 56-B monitoring Rodan and Ghidorah, and Monarch's official liaison to the Mexican government; a representative of the Mexican government, a stern-looking middle-aged woman with deep frown lines creasing her brown face, someone whom Monarch had never worked with before but who had been available to get on the line with them; and a live feed of the interview being conducted between the flustered Mexican president and the alien.

The alien took up most of Constitution Plaza; even sitting, it towered over the four-story National Palace, and every other nearby building. Footage taken of it standing when it had descended from its ship put it at fully a third taller than Godzilla. It was recognizably bipedal, seemed vaguely avian or reptilian, and called to mind comparisons to penguins, turtles, chicken, and lizards. Fully half of its body was covered in metallic-looking prosthetics or armor—unless that was how its body naturally looked? It was far too soon to know. They didn't even know what planet it came from.

"Unless you called us because of the size of our visitor?" Serizawa ventured. In the fourth screen, muted, cameras set atop the National Palace craned back to look at the alien's head. Its face was shaded beneath the spacecraft the loomed over several city blocks; only the glow of the red goggles-like visor that seemed to serve as its eyes helped illuminate its face. "Despite its scale, I don't think it's wise to count it as a titan."

"But it's already counted itself as a titan," the government representative said.

While Serizawa raised his eyebrows in surprise, Xochitl hurried to pull up a video clip—she'd been in the call longer than Serizawa and had watched more of the interview. "Here," she said. "One of the first questions he answered."

The president's voice was tinny and small as he asked through speakers, "What is your name?"

"Nothing you can pronounce," the alien said, then launched into what was clearly a prepared comment: "But the largest citizens of your planet—you call them 'titan' because they're titanic? I have the most in common with them, and since I'm gigantic—call me Gigan." His metal beak seemed to curve into a smirk.

Serizawa watched silently, hand over his mouth in concentration. Somewhat abashed, he said, "Gigan speaks better Spanish than me."

Xochitl laughed weakly. The government rep barely managed to crack a smile.

"And called the titans citizens of our planet," Serizawa went on. "Not animals, or residents—citizens. As fluent as Gigan is, I doubt it's a mistranslation."

"Maybe it misunderstands their status on Earth," the government rep said.

Serizawa said, "Or maybe Gigan is trying to tell us that we misunderstand their status."

The clip continued as Gigan answered another question: "I don't have a gender. I don't reproduce like species on your planet do. But most of you humans respect men more, don't you? So you can refer to me with male grammar."

Serizawa nodded slowly. "Yes, I think he understands how things work on Earth just fine."

Xochitl laughed harder.

"So that's why we thought Monarch should be involved," the government rep said.

"I understand now. We'll offer whatever assistance we can." Serizawa nodded at the clip. "Should we return to the live interview?"

"In a moment," the government rep said. "To get a full understanding of the situation, you should know why Gigan says he's come to Earth."

Serizawa nodded and focused on the clip again.

The president was asking, "Why have you come to Earth? Diplomacy? To trade resources?"

Gigan said, "I want to purchase some real estate."

###

He was in the market for a few acres near the gulf coast of Mexico—"just enough space for me to put my ship down and stretch my legs," he said.

He didn't represent any worlds or governments. He wasn't setting up an embassy. To his knowledge, no one else would be following after him. It was just him, a lone traveler in a lonely part of the galaxy. Most of the major population centers, he said, were way to heck and gone on the other side of the galaxy—and then he moved the conversation onward without elaborating on these alien civilizations.

He wanted to get his land the legal way—the human way. With currency. He reassured them that he understood currency, money, markets, capitalism, yes, all that—they all existed other places, with minor variations. He dealt in money most of the time. He had a job. He said he was an interstellar freelance mediator. When two parties had a conflict, one hired him to resolve the dispute.

He didn't intend to sell the fabulous secrets to interstellar space travel. He had a ballpark idea of how much that info was worth to humans, and he didn't need near that much to buy a few acres. He offered raw materials: enormous hunks of raw iron and gold. He'd harvested a few asteroids on the way into Earth. Effortless for him, impossible for humans.

Yes, he could accept money from the deal. He had a bank account. Or PayPal or Venmo, if they preferred. He also had accounts on YouTube, Twitter, Reddit, and Weibo. When he gave his usernames, the accounts were immediately flooded with thousands of new followers. He mostly lurked, retweeted titan pictures from Monarch, trolled flat earthers by informing them he was an alien currently orbiting Earth, and three weeks ago got in a heated debate on a M*A*S*H subreddit. He started responding to messages from new followers while still speaking with the Mexican president with no outward change in his demeanor or visible Internet connection.

By early afternoon, they had agreed—in concept—to Gigan's proposed sale of metals and purchase of land; in three days they would meet again to give Gigan a list of potential properties for him to choose from.

"And on behalf of the people of Mexico and the entire human race," said the president, reading off a statement that a speechwriter had prepared for him two hours earlier, "I would like to thank you for this peaceful and mutually fruitful first contact—"

"'First contact'?" Gigan cut in.

The president stammered to a stop. After a moment, he said, "Yes, that's... that's our phrase for our first meeting with intelligent alien life."

"I know what it means," Gigan said. "But I'm not your first contact. Some of my friends are already here."

Flabbergasted, the president asked, "Are—are they? Where?"

"I'm sure you've already heard of them," Gigan said. "We're former coworkers. What is it you've been calling them—Ghidrah, Gidora?"

as he asked the question.

And suddenly the entire meeting looked different.

There was something sadistically delighted in Gigan's glowing visor as he basked in the humans' stunned silence. "Speaking of, I meant to visit them before I headed back to orbit," he said. "Do you know if they're at home?"

###

It had been eons since Gigan had last seen the triple threat.

Eons since he'd grabbed himself a space ship and taken off across the galaxy to attempt to track them down.

Eons spent combing back and forth over the same five hundred cubic light-years where their trail went cold, trying to figure out where they'd vanished to—if they'd left that patch of space, or if they were still drifting through space in the heart of an unfallen meteor, or if they had died on some lonely planet...

Until now. Until he'd found traces of their signature in this little solar system. Until he'd found the one populated planet, jacked into the primitive locals' communication system, and found it riddled with pictures and recordings of the trio.

It had been so long since Gigan had seen them, the material of the only physical photo he had of them had long since corroded and crumbled. He'd digitized, reprinted, redigitized, and re-reprinted the image dozens of times, maybe hundreds. He was afraid his own electronic memories of them might have also decayed over time, byte-sized glitches switching 1s for 0s and 0s for 1s until the memories distorted, the images changed, and he forgot what they looked like.

But when he saw them through the humans' news feeds, they looked exactly how he remembered. Even compressed through humans' primitive sound recording processes, they sounded the same.

It had been eons—and now he'd be face to face with them in just a few minutes. He'd left his ship in orbit and was flying down to the island they'd been hanging out on under his own power.

And now he couldn't put off asking himself the question he'd been trying to avoid for millennia:

What if they didn't want to see him?

They were the ones who'd run off, after all—and he'd never found out why. Maybe they hated the sight of him. Maybe they would to try to kill him. Maybe by now they'd completely forgotten about him.

He could see a glint of gold on the island below. Sparks sizzled through his system.

No time left for doubt. He waited until he was low enough to be within hearing range, and bellowed at top volume, "Hey! You worthless, spineless, heartless featherweight! What's the big idea, bailing on me like that?!"

They started, shifting from reclining on top of their folded-up wings to crouched anxiously, long necks whipping around to search for the unexpected noise. It was Lefty who looked up first and spotted Gigan; and faster than Gigan could react, they were launching straight up to meet him in midair.

He'd definitely forgotten how fast they could take off. "Whoa, wait—"

they crashed into him, getting him in the gut with a double head butt; and then tried to grapple him with their claws while he was stunned. He barely managed to weave out of their way.

"You damn loser!" One jaw snapped at him, and another demanded, "Did you come all this way to ride on our coattails some more?!" Lightning crackled over their wings with every flap, the sky quickly clouding over.

"You wish! How's business been without me to handle finances for you, huh?"

They butted a forehead violently against his, static crackling back and forth over their skin. The rattling of their tails was nearly lost in a crackle of thunder.

They were happy to see him.

#godzilla #fanfic #my writing #(not stuffing this in all the usual tags since I haven't finished this yet)#(but if I don't stick this in ONE tag I'm not gonna find this later)#(if you try to read this and you don't know what's going on... it's because there's like 75 fics of context you haven't read)#(including 15 I haven't written yet)

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smallblueandloud · 4 years ago

Note

📂

send me a 📂 and a fandom/ship/character and i’ll give you a random headcanon!

leo met toby for the first time after cj left for california, which means he originally knew toby as this ornery guy who rarely got along with anyone and would only lighten up when andy was around. he hires him for the bartlet campaign anyway, of course - everyone knows toby’s one of the best speechwriters out there. more importantly, everyone knows toby backs good people, not good politicians, and that distinction is gonna give some much-needed ethos to this dark horse campaign that leo is running through stubbornness and love for jed bartlet and not much else. this all goes to say that leo is pleasantly surprised to see toby getting along with the campaign staff, and making friends with them, and even laughing with them sometimes. he’ll even lighten up without his wife around as long as cj is there.

(in retrospect, leo will think it’s his own fault for not realizing about cj and toby and andy sooner.)

#loudwithlaughter #the west wing #tww headcanons #toby ziegler #leo mcgarry #cjandytoby #andy x cj x toby #leo and toby #you didn't specify a fandom but i Knew lmao #I WROTE A WHOLE RESPONSE FOR THIS AND THEN IT GOT DELETED #[screams]#sb and l rambles #sb and l answers

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isocrime · 4 years ago

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Hey, if you're feeling up to it, I would love to hear more about smart!Tony

hmmmmmmmmm let me think

just really good at chemistry. has been stirring chemicals together and applying heat until they go boom since he was a child; has a very efficient mental model of how to pick chemicals a, b and c to mix to obtain chemical d, and also to predict what annoying chemical x will be produced as a side product and how to make that not happen

actually understands what a supercritical fluid....is

also has an intuitive understanding of optics and the qualities of light

same for fluid dynamics

have i mentioned before his skills as a materials scientist? powerful aptitude for inventing new alloys, polymers, ceramics, textiles -- you name it.

less scientifically: an adept speechwriter. he understands audience and impact and when to make a joke. he’s good at reading from a teleprompter.

also has very careful facial control that’s based in some hilarious + obsessive research on micro-expressions where he spent a week sticking needles in all his face muscles and electrocuting them just a little until he knows how to make them move on purpose. spends a lot of time practicing faces in the mirror like a psycho (or a liar)

absolutely impossible to fool with magic tricks. the only person who has fun going to a magic show with tony is tony, because he likes feeling clever. everyone else has to decide if they want to ask him how it works and be disillusioned and/or agonize that they could know how it works if they wanted to but don’t.

maybe equally important are the things i think tony is NOT good at

languages. i know it’s a smart person thing to be spectacular at languages and i expect that tony can learn vocabulary and grammar theory like a pro, but languages only follow systems so much, and eventually you just have to practice for hours and hours, which -- tony does not have hours and hours. i expect he can speak...english, non-fluent spanish, some norwegian to appease thor, little mandarin, little japanese, and schoolboy latin.

really high-concept mathematics. he’s an engineer. why. why is this math happening. no.

no taste in decor at all. somehow understands fashion (some universes) but not interior design. doesn’t get the difference between what makes a car nice and what makes a house nice. please hire someone to help you with this, tony

no taste in art either. everything tony buys is either lobby art, an expensive status symbol/investment, or unbearably sentimental

interpreting his own damn emotions. tony has a clear system for exactly how much every event in his life should affect him, and if it does more or less than he expects it is confusing. lab explosion: 15 minutes heart-racing adrenaline recovery, 1 hour sulking plus 30 extra minutes for every important thing ruined, 3 weeks slightly elevated caution. team dinner: warm feelings until bed, 50% easier to eat a normal human amount of food all at once. this is not how emotions work and that’s hard for tony.

i am having to think harder for these now, it is rly a challenge! long live a stupid genius man, let him be a dumbass in some ways but brilliant in other

#mostly now i'm just over-identifying #dull!#ah well what can you do!#Anonymous

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creampuffqueen · 5 years ago

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A Promise

Word Count: 1227

An anon requested a fic where Kai and Cinder comfort their daughter, so here it is! I really really like this one. A tiny bit of angst, if you count kids crying angst. And to the wonderful anon, I hope this cheers you up!

~~~~

“Peony, are you excited for the Peace Ball in a few weeks?” Cinder asked, brushing out the princess’s hair with long, soothing strokes. “I know Iko is excited to help you design your dress.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Her daughter said with a shrug. She sat in front of the large mirror on her vanity, toying absentmindedly with the silk hem of her nightgown.

“Your aunt and uncle will be coming.” Cinder offered. “I know you’ve been missing your cousins.”

Peony hummed noncommittally, another shrug falling from her shoulders.

Cinder pulled the hairbrush through her daughter’s hair one more time, then put it down and began to braid it. She never thought she’d be good with hair; she always had Iko do hers, but she’d learned how to do a pretty good braid, if she said so herself.

Threading strands of Peony’s thick, dark hair, Cinder hummed a song quietly, letting herself fall into her usual rhythm. She tied the braid off, and finished with a kiss to her daughter’s cheek. Peony didn’t even squirm away, like she often did.

“You’re very quiet tonight.” She said softly.

“I’m tired.” Peony protested. “I just want to go to bed.”

Cinder stood up, and pulled her ten-year-old daughter into a quick hug. Peony relaxed into it for a moment, before pushing away and then hopping into bed. Cinder fluffed her pillows and tucked her in, trying not to feel too worried over her abruptness.

“I’ll send Dad in to say goodnight.” She promised. Peony huddled further down into the bed and nodded absently. Cinder walked out of the room and then down the hall, letting herself in quietly.

Kai was relaxing on the bed, reading glasses and all. He was in sweatpants and a t-shirt, reading a second-era book. Cinder drifted over and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Your daughter needs you to come and say goodnight.”

“Alright.” Kai marked his page and stood up, returning the kiss before he left. Content, Cinder started moving around the suite to get herself ready for bed.

When Kai returned a few minutes later, she was taking her hair down, running her fingers through the mousy locks. She turned to her husband, only to find him with a concerned look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“I’m worried about Peony.” He responded. “She seemed worried about something.”

“I noticed that too. I asked her, but she said she’s just tired.”

Kai sighed. “Maybe. If she’s still looking down in the morning I’ll ask her what’s really up. Or maybe I’ll ask Torin to do it; she tells him everything.”

Cinder crawled into bed, patting the mattress so Kai would sit. “She’s getting older, Kai. She’s not going to be the bubbly little toddler anymore.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make it any less difficult.” He muttered. Deciding against opening the book again, Kai took off his glasses and relaxed into bed beside his wife.

“Lights off.” Cinder whispered. The lights flicked off, one by one, sending the suite into darkness.

She rolled over, so she and Kai were facing each other. She kissed him one last time before closing her eyes for sleep.

And then woke up to the sound of crying.

Cinder fumbled around a moment, her head feeling fuzzy and confused. She felt Kai wake beside her, and they both struggled out from under the heavy comforter.

“Beside lights on.” She managed, still blinking away sleep. The two lamps on the nightstands flicked on, revealing who the crying was coming from.

Peony.

Their daughter stood in the doorway, arms held around herself, tears snaking their way down her rounded face. Her hair, which had been braided, had come undone and was frizzing up.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Cinder murmured, hopping off the bed and hurrying to her little princess. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

“I had a bad dream.” She whimpered, sniffling. “Can I sleep in your bed?”

Cinder pulled her close as she led her to the bed, where Kai was waiting for them anxiously. Peony crawled under the covers and snuggled close, still sniffing.

“What was your dream about?” Kai asked softly, stroking a hand soothingly through her messy hair. Peony was silent for a moment, and Cinder wondered if she wanted to talk about it at all.

“I was dreaming that I was at the Peace Ball.” She started quietly. “And I had a whole speech prepared for everyone, and I was so excited. All my friends were there.”

It was hard to tell in the dim lighting, but Cinder could have sworn she saw the tips of her ears starting to turn pink.

“But when I opened my mouth to speak… no words came out. I could see myself on the reporters’ screens, and I looked like one of Dad’s koi fish, just gaping at everyone.”

“I’m so sorry.” Kai said. “But it was just a dream, and I know that if you do a speech at the Peace Ball it will be amazing.”

Peony broke into another sob. “But what if it’s not?! What if I forget what I’m going to say, or I mispronounce a word, or I say something stupid or offensive or-”

“You don’t have to make a speech if you don’t want to.” Cinder assured her. “You don’t even have to attend the ball if you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to.” Peony sighed. “I’m just so scared, I don’t want to do anything wrong.”

“We can help you write something. Or Iko or Torin can. We could even hire you a speechwriter if that’s what you want.” Cinder whispered. “We’ll do anything to help you.”

“But I want to be like Dad.” Peony cried. “When he was my age he was so good at public speaking and, and he was a natural and I just want to be like he was-”

She started sobbing harder, shoulders shaking with the force of it. Cinder’s mind fumbled desperately for a way to help her. But then Kai beat her to it.

“Peony.” He murmured. “I would never expect you to be like me. You’re only ten, I didn’t even start making speeches till I was like twelve. And you’ve done this before, you’ve been making amazing speeches since you were little.”

“But in my dream,” She protested, wiping at her eyes, “When I couldn’t speak everyone started to laugh at me. And Iko and Grandpa Torin were laughing, and all my friends were laughing, and…”

Peony’s lip trembled again. “And then you two started laughing.”

Cinder squeezed her daughter tighter, wishing she could take away everything that was causing her this pain.

“I thought you were disappointed in me. And so was the entire Commonwealth.” Peony was shaking from trying to hold in her tears.

“It was just a nightmare, sweetheart.” Kai whispered. “And it could never be real.”

“But I might forget my lines or-”

“No.” He said with emphasis. “Peony, your dream could never be real because there is not a single universe, alternate or real, where your mother and I could be disappointed in you.”

“We may be upset.” Cinder added. “But I can promise, my amazing little princess, that we will never, ever, be disappointed in you.”

Peony sniffed. “Even if I mess up my whole speech and embarrass myself in front of the entire Commonwealth?”

“Even then.”

#the lunar chronicles #tlc #marissa meyer #kaider #linh cinder #prince kai #kai x cinder #tlc gen 2 #gen 2 #kids #nightmares

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crookedbigbang · 4 years ago

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ARTIST CLAIMS ARE HERE!

TIMELINE:

Artist Sign-Ups: May 22-August 7

Artist Claims Open: August 6

Final Check-In: August 30

Final Drafts Due: Sept 18

Posting Begins: September 21

THE BASICS:

One of the unique aspects of a big bang challenge is the combination of fic and fanart. Artists are welcome to create art in any medium they choose, including but not limited to: mixes, videos, podfics, gifs, drawings, paintings, graphics, edits, comics, physical crafts. Art is impossible to quantify, but we do ask that artists put in a significant effort in recognition of the work that the writers are doing on the fics. Authors will be writing their fics all summer and will be expending significant time on the project. A good benchmark for artists is about 15-20 hours of work, including brainstorming and planning.

The final product should be a collaboration between author and artist. What that collaboration looks like is a highly individual process: if you get a clear artistic vision, run with it; but you should also feel free to ask your author any questions you have along the journey. Artists and authors should share drafts with each other as they go so that when the final products are posted, they complement each other well.

We have 5 wonderful Big Bang fics. Click the Read More for their summaries!

Fic 1: Take Me Out to the Ballgame Tentative Title: (not the title) take me out to the ballgame Pairing(s): Jon Favreau / Tommy Vietor Characters: Jon Favreau, Tommy Vietor Ao3 Rating: E Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: Baseball AU ; Coming Out ; Bisexual Characters ; Dating ; Alternate Universe - Different Meeting Summary: Jon and Tommy meet playing baseball in high school and start to fall for each other, then Tommy moves away. Their epic love story continues when they end up on the same Minor League baseball team. The big question is, will they end up with a World Series ring or an engagement ring? Fic 2: Spirits that I’ve Cited Tentative Title: Spirits that I've cited Pairing(s): Tommy/Lovett; background Emily/Jon, Alyssa/Erin Characters: Tommy, Lovett, Favs, Emily, Alyssa, Erin, Dan Ao3 Rating: tentative M (for psychological horror and possible sex) Warnings: a non-consensual kiss under the influence of possession might happen, this scene is not yet written Additional Tags: paranormal investigators, slow burn, reluctant colleagues to friends to lovers, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, accidental internet stars, bed-sharing, coming-out, road trips, witches getting married, demonic possession, ghosts, mythical creatures, Monster of the Week, psychological but non-graphical horror, slightly unreliable narrator, intoxication, magical mind control, themes of bodily and mental autonomy, (past) abusive relationships (not between main characters), possession induced mental health problems, worldbuilding, happy ending Summary: It’s a cold day in November when Tommy meets Lovett and his life turns upside down. Which shouldn’t be the worst thing, looking at it objectively.

Because, objectively, Tommy’s life already sucks. He is lonely, depressed, and Crooked Medium, the agency for paranormal investigations he co-owns with his ex-boyfriend Jared, is falling apart. Besides the shitty fact that he and Jared broke up, they constantly operate in the red, despite their best efforts. And it’s just the garbage cherry on top of the dumpster sundae that Jared and their only other core member, Jon, hate each other’s guts. Jon is Tommy's friend, but more importantly, he is Crooked Medium's exorcist par excellence, and for a former priest Tommy thought he might be better at the whole 'turn the other cheek' thing. He supposes that probably explains the 'former' part. So of course he panics when Jon unexpectedly buys out Jared’s shares in the company and offers Lovett a one-year apprenticeship as a medium and buys Jared shares of the agency. Suddenly Tommy’s faced with training a person who is not familiar with magic in one of the most dangerous jobs in the world, instead of relying on the experience Jared had. Despite the help from magical professors Alyssa and Dan, witch and shop-owner Erin, and their whole team—to Tommy it feels like Lovett’s credentialing next November is ages away. However, after a bonding experience involving ghost mice, Tommy slowly but surely discovers that Lovett isn’t an inconvenience at all. He is charming, attractive, hilarious, and way more talented than Tommy originally anticipated. Even their business improves, especially when they become an overnight internet sensation due to a malfunction. Instead of operating only in Boston, people across the country are now booking them to handle their mystical and paranormal problems. With each new case, Lovett learns more—and Tommy learns more about Lovett. This is unfortunate, given that Lovett is technically Tommy's intern, and the last thing Tommy needs is a harassment scandal. Tommy, naturally good at ignoring things, decides to ignore it. Which works out fine, thank you very much. At least up until Alyssa and Erin’s magical wedding in the woods. Or up until Lovett has a life-changing experience with a mirror. Or maybe even up until Lovett (plus Lovett's friend/household spirit Spencer) moves in. And just when Tommy thinks falling in love with his employee is his biggest problem, it turns out much more nefarious forces are at work. Fic #3: The gentle outline of the country we are building Tentative Title: The gentle outline of the country we are building Pairing(s): Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor, Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett, Jon Favreau/Tommy Vietor, Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor Characters: Jon Favreau, Jon Lovett, Tommy Vietor, Dan Pfeiffer, Alyssa Mastromonaco, Cody Keenan, Michael O' Neill, Spencer Wong, Andy Favreau, Tanya Somanader, Travis Helwig Ao3 Rating: E Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: DC era, LA era, pining, wrong number AU, polyamory, threesomes, jealousy, slow burn, friends with benefits, angst with a happy ending, getting together, smut, fluff, blowjobs, anal sex, rimming, dirty talk, sexting, drinking, marijuana, sex under mild influence of alcohol, friends to lovers. AO3 (working) Summary: It takes spending the night in one room with a king-sized bed for Jon, Lovett, and Tommy to finally get it right after nearly a decade of trying. AKA A story about Jon, Tommy, and Lovett getting together, aided and abetted by Jon’s technological ineptitude, misunderstandings, love, friendship, and longing. Expanded summary: Jon and Lovett embark on a charged, text-based flirtation without knowing the other after Jon texts the wrong number during the 2008 general election campaign. It feels like a summer fling that wouldn’t end, just like those times Jon had slept with Tommy back in Chicago. But both of them do end, but at least Jon’s going to the White House with a new speechwriter and his best friend in tow. Jon thinks, not the right time then with Tommy, not the right time now with you, Lovett. They write speeches and policies and learn lessons on how to build a country and a friendship. The first summer at the White House, Tommy starts taking Lovett to bed almost every night. Two years later, he stops, because Lovett knocks on his door one day and says, “I am leaving.” Not quite the right time for you and me. Lovett spends his days in LA writing things very different from what he used to but thinking thoughts about Jon and Tommy that aren’t all that different. Jon and Tommy skype him from Chicago when his show gets canceled, and Lovett thinks about how right they look together on the screen, like they belong to each other. Jon comes to LA and doesn’t leave. Tommy moves closer, but not close enough. They lose everything when November 2016 dawns and then build an empire from the ruins, and over the next few months, they think, maybe it wasn’t the right time then, and maybe we did not do this before because we were always meant to do this together. All of us. Fic 4: Loving Him was Red - Azure Title: loving him was red - azure Pairing(s): Jon Favreau/Dan Pfeiffer, background Michael/Elijah Characters: Jon, Dan, Tommy, Lovett, Alyssa, Michael, Elijah Rating: E Warnings: No major warnings apply Additional tags: alternate universe, actors, hollywood, tabloids, love at first sight, BDSM, like lots of BDSM, spanking, flogging, humiliation, painplay, safeword use, failed scene, alcohol, alcohol abuse, drug use and abuse, divorce, bad at communication Summary: Rising star Dan Pfeiffer meets grown-up child actor Jon Favreau on the set of the movie that just might be their big break. It's a good old-fashioned Hollywood story. Boy meets Boy. Boy falls head over heels at first sight. Boy marries Boy. Boy ties Boy up and fucks him til he screams. But the Hollywood lights hit every dark shadow too and as the tabloids stir up gossip; as Jon spends more and more time at the club; and as Dan starts to wonder what comes next, the faultlines widen and their marriage falls into the abyss This is the first of a three fic arc chronicling the beginning, end, and re-beginning of an epic love story. Fic 5: Invisible String

Tentative Title: Invisible String Pairing(s): Jon Favreau / Tommy Vietor Characters: Jon Favreau, Tommy Vietor Ao3 Rating: Explicit Warnings: NO WARNINGS Additional Tags: affection, holding hands, chase sequence, shaving (face), mention of pod sponsors, wills & estates, cartoon villains, clothes sharing, Boston, plane flights, current day/LA era,Summary: Human boatshoe Tommy Vietor discovers he can claim a huge inheritance if he can prove he is married. If he does not, the $40 million fortune will go to the National Rifle Association. Best friend Jon Favreau steps up to help Tommy out. The NRA hires investigators to find information in order to break the will, chasing our boys all over Boston at one point.

#come create art for these amazing fic!#crooked big bang

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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oh, my sunlight, chapter one (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 2505

AN: Was I going through Game of Survival withdrawals? Possibly. This fic is going to be a short little one, but I’ve missed this verse way too much to leave it forever. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think. Title from ‘Sunlight’ by Hozier. Thank you Writ for betaing <3

“Perimeter secured. Firebird’s room flanked by Rollans and McCrae, while Wilson and Qiao already positioned in the crowd. Rodriguez and Byrne across the street at 900 m, on the seventh and twenty fourth floor balconies respectively.”

“Thanks, Lee.” The all clear from the other Secret Service agent helps Brooke’s heart to unknot itself a little, knowing that the pre-G20 summit event is secure, that Vanessa is protected on multiple levels. She leans against the wall in the tiny meeting room, watches as her wife practices her speech with A’keria. Or at least, is trying to, judging by the way that A’keria’s head is in her hands.

Brooke may be Vanessa’s immediate detail, but having an entire team is useful in countering the ever-present anxiety that pulses through her veins, around her own safety, Vanessa’s safety, their well being. Sure, the days of sniper rifles and late night hits are long gone from Brooke’s life, but their safety has only become more prolific.

As expected, when Brooke’s wife is none other than the President of the United States.

“Lemme try again. I got it this time, Kiki.” Vanessa’s holding up her cue cards, pacing back and forth. Brooke has to resist a smile at the way Vanessa’s perfectly styled hair and pantsuit contrast with the slight frown on her face as she squints at the cards.

“Vanj, I swear to god. Imma have to hire you a proper speechwriter eventually, ‘cause you’re the sole cause of these wrinkles on my face.” A’keria’s feet are propped up on the chair beside her as she lets out a sigh, and Brooke’s glad that it’s just the three of them in the room, reporters and summit participants from other nations gathering in the larger conference hall, where Vanessa will be giving part of the opening remarks.

“Why do you gotta put all of these difficult words in here, anyway? My brain has forgotten all of this shit from college.” Vanessa sighs as she flops into a seat on A’keria’s other side, spinning around so that she’s facing Brooke. She pouts, and Brooke can’t help but blow her a small kiss.

“You can do it, baby. I believe in you.” Vanessa smiles at Brooke’s words despite her slumped shoulders, blowing a kiss back at her. “You’ll dazzle them like you do every single time.”

“You have to say that. We’re married.” Vanessa says the words with a sliver of marvel in her voice, as if it hasn’t been four years of marriage for the two of them already, as if they’re not well into Vanessa’s second term as president.

Brooke gets it. It still amazes her too, sometimes, the way her rings glint on her finger, sparkling in the light whenever she lifts a hand up to her earpiece while she’s on the job. That the woman she’s in charge of protecting, of keeping safe is her wife. All these years later, they’re still doing this. Surviving. Thriving.

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” Brooke walks over to Vanessa and presses a light kiss to her lips, lifts her thumb to wipe the faint transfer of her lipstick that contrasts with the one that Vanessa’s already wearing.

“Save that for later.” A’keria waves a hand in their faces, making both of them crack up. “You gotta learn to pronounce words like ‘ratification’ first.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass, Kiki.” Vanessa drops her cue cards on the table as A’keria sighs in the same tone commonly used by an elementary school teacher.

“Yes you do. Now, we got fifteen minutes until you’re up in front of all of those cameras and other world leaders. You want them to think you’re a fool?”

Vanessa shrugs. “I’ve met most of them, how many times? Too many times. Except the new President of Mexico, he was just elected last month. I’ll be fine.”

Brooke watches with an amused smile as Vanessa pats A’keria’s shoulder as she drops her head onto the table. “There, there. From the top?”

“Firebird in position. Rollans, take the east aisle. Qiao, the west. McCrae, I want you in the media box.” Brooke mutters softly into her earpiece as clapping erupts when Vanessa steps on stage, takes her place at the podium. Her mind’s running at a million miles an hour, mapping out routes along the convention hall, looking for points of vulnerability, anything that can put Vanessa at risk.

“Roger that.” The voice of a fellow agent reverberates in her ear, followed by the other members of the team in turn. Secure. As they should be.

Brooke lets her mind pause its process for a second when Vanessa begins to speak, the pin on her lapel sparkling under the flashing lights of the cameras around her. She doesn’t spare a glance at her cue cards, letting the words roll off of her tongue almost effortlessly. Brooke would be impressed if this wasn’t Vanessa’s norm, pulling herself together at the last minute, but perfectly so. The rapt attention of the other attendants at the summit, following Vanessa’s every move like they’re being pulled in by a magnet as she steps away from the podium, is electrifying to watch.

Vanessa’s good. So, so good at what she does, and it hits Brooke every day how lucky she is to witness it.

“…look forward to productive conversations with my international counterparts over the next few days, specifically on the risk mitigation of…”

Brooke tunes out Vanessa’s speech, having heard it at least twenty times before she had stepped on stage. She lets her eyes roam around the crowd, noticing the way that the Argentinian president seems to be doodling on a napkin on his table, his Finance Minister furiously elbowing his side.

Sometimes, the international meetings truly make Brooke feel like she’s in high school again. Still a fly on the wall, watching the chaos unfold in front of her.

“Hytes? You spot the server in the second aisle? He looking a bit suspicious to you?”

Brooke cranes her neck to look at the far aisle, sees the man that her fellow agent is talking about. Narrows her eyes at the ill fit of the server’s uniform, the way his eyes are darting around the conference hall.

“Get him d-”

Brooke doesn’t get to finish her sentence when the man lets off a smoke bomb, because she’s taking one, two steps up to the podium to reach Vanessa, a protective arm around her as she pulls through the back doors behind the stage.

“Shit.” Brooke’s arms around Vanessa tighten when state sanctioned police swarm past them into the conference hall, nearly knocking them over. She recovers quickly, though, tugging Vanessa back into the meeting room where she had practiced her speech with A’keria, locking the door behind them.

“Hey. You okay?” Brooke can’t help the way that her eyes flit over Vanessa’s face, looking for any sign of harm, of damage. Her hands brush Vanessa’s hair out of her face, pat down her shoulders and arms as if the motion is going to help her find any hidden injury.

Vanessa lets out a shaky breath, one that is nearly drowned out by the sounds of chaos on the other side of the wall. “I’m okay. Wait.” Vanessa’s brow furrows, her hand reaching up to brush against Brooke’s forehead. “Why are you bleeding?”

“What?” Brooke’s wondering if Vanessa herself has hit her head until Vanessa pulls her fingers back, sees the way that they’re dripping in blood. “Oh.”

Huh. She’s confused by the sight, not being in any pain. She’s not quite sure when it had happened, either. Maybe the way her head accidentally hit the podium as she reached Vanessa? Or maybe when the police had knocked against her?

Still, doesn’t matter since it’s not hurting her. And because Vanessa’s safe in front of her, uninjured and in one piece.

Things are okay.

“Shit, baby.” Vanessa’s tone differs from Brooke’s appraisal of the situation as she grabs the tissue box from the middle of the conference table, folds it up and presses it to Brooke’s head biting her lip all the while. “I’m no doctor.”

“It’s fine, V. Head lacerations tend to bleed. Probably just a surface scratch.” Brooke’s had her fair share of cuts and bruises throughout her life, and remains unfazed, reaching for her earpiece to quell the incessant requests for updates from her fellow agents.

“Firebird is safe with me.” The sighs of relief over the comm system as soon as the words leave Brooke’s lips are comically in sync. “Updates?”

Another agent starts talking about the takedown of the man, about how he had attempted to pull out a weapon before being brought down, but the words are becoming a little softer, a little bit more muffled. Brooke watches as Vanessa grabs another tissue, pressing it to her forehead after pulling the other one back, and is she really bleeding that much? Huh.

Come to think of it, Vanessa’s getting a bit blurry in front of her, too.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, if you faint on me in this meeting room while there’s an actual stampede happening outside these doors, I swear to god-”

“Don’t be embarrassed, B.” Vanessa’s giggle only makes Brooke groan, lifting a hand to cover her face underneath the fluorescent lighting overhead. The bandage on the side of her forehead feels overbearing, squeezing her temple just a bit too tight.

“I really fainted? Fully fainted?” A nightmare. A true nightmare, one that Brooke thinks Vanessa is finding a little bit too funny as she sits on a chair beside her ER bed.

“Why else would we bring your dramatic ass here? The on site medic was worried about blood loss. Wanted you to get checked out, with some stitches. Silk got them to shut down half of the ER in the process, while tryna get me here with you on the down low and all.”

“Ugh.” Brooke wants to disappear. The last thing that she should be doing at her job is drawing attention to herself. She’s supposed to be protecting Vanessa, but instead has created an entire debacle for the both of them.

Vanessa squeezes her hand. “It’s not like we’re missing anything at the summit. Ended for the day after all that chaos. Resuming tomorrow.”

“Good.” Brooke lets out a breath. The last thing she wants to do is pull Vanessa away from her job.

“‘Sides, everyone’s worried about you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” Brooke groans louder at Vanessa’s statement. She doesn’t like drawing the focus. Even if their delegation is worried, she knows that her security team is going to make fun of her like there’s no tomorrow once they head back. She’s not ready for the roasts about her penchant for injuring herself in hilariously dramatic ways.

“Mrs. Hytes-Mateo?” Vanessa and Brooke both look up at the doctor who’s poked his head into the room, past the security detail stationed outside the door.

“This is she.” Brooke’s statement is ignored as the doctor does a double take at Vanessa, who diplomatically stands up to shake his hand.

“H-hello, Madame President, I was wondering why there was so much security in my ER, it’s beginning to make sense now-”

Vanessa cuts off the man’s rambling. “Is my wife going to be okay?”

“What-oh. Yes, a couple of stitches and she’ll be good as new. Now, concerning the pregnancy, as it is quite early on there should be no lasting issues-”

Huh?

Brooke can feel her own mouth drop open as Vanessa holds up a hand to pause the doctor. “Pregnancy?”

“Yes, as you probably know-”

Pregnancy.

She’s pregnant.

Actually pregnant.

Sure, they had an appointment scheduled for after the summit to follow up after the embryo transfers, but after so many failed attempts, Brooke hasn’t had her hopes up that this time would be successful, and has tried to prepare herself for the worst-

Pregnant.

The word echoes around her brain, replaying over and over and over again, and she can’t have imagined the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth because Vanessa’s face is equally flabbergasted, equally in shock as she grips the armrests of her chair.

“What’d you say, Doc?” Vanessa’s voice comes out in a squeak.

Brooke looks up at the doctor, her eyes wide as the blood rushes through her veins because the words haven’t quite sunk in yet (she’s pregnant, she’s pregnant ), and he takes a step back.

“Oh? I’m sorry, I thought you were already aware…” He trails off, and Brooke thinks it’s just as well, because she can’t focus on any coherent conversation right now because she’s pregnant.

But then suddenly there’s a weight on her chest and it’s Vanessa, hugging her midsection before she lifts her teary face up towards hers to kiss her. Vanessa’s eyes are alight when she pulls back, a grin on her face so bright that it’s damn near about to knock Brooke over.

“Oh my god.” The words leave Brooke in a gasp, because it’s surreal, it’s not happening, not after so many disappointments and so much trying and they were going to give up after this one last attempt, but now they don’t have to, because-

“We’re having a baby.” Vanessa chokes out a sob, sniffles and Brooke pulls her closer, shaky hands on either side of her face and kisses the tears on her cheeks. She’s dreamed about this, they’ve dreamed about this for so long, this moment, this one moment that’s turned out to be a bit different from what Brooke had imagined it as but she doesn’t care, because it’s real. It’s happening.

Vanessa spins suddenly to face the doctor, holds up an accusatory finger that nearly makes him take a step backwards. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

“W-well, we’d done a blood test earlier to test her iron levels to see if that had a factor in her collapsing, and a certain hormone was elevated in her blood, one that is indicative of pregnancy-”

Brooke doesn’t even hear the rest of the doctor’s explanation because Vanessa’s kissing her again, resting a light hand on her stomach and holy fuck , she’s growing a baby and they’re having a baby, and-

Vanessa pulls back, grabs both of Brooke’s hands, squeezing them. The touch grounds her, bringing her attention back to the room, the ER room that feels almost ridiculous to be sitting in, because who cares about a small scrape on her forehead when they’re going to have a baby?

“Your First Lady is knocked up.” Brooke lets out a little giggle with the words, one that Vanessa mirrors because it feels surreal. Everything is surreal, and for a second Brooke forgets that Vanessa’s in charge of one of the most powerful nations on the planet, that her being in her second presidential term is going to make this process all the more public, put even more of a spotlight on them.

It doesn’t matter.

They’re going to be parents.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #game of survival #oh my sunlight #holtzmanns

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