PERFECTLY POLITICAL.

Julian Berkeley. 53. President of the United States. Democrat.

[senatorlucasxbennett]

"Then I am sure to come up with more interesting topic for sure Julian," he replied back. Lucas was someone who respected people's private life and he never dig, at least the people he respected. He himself was a private man, people often loved to dig and find something but he was great at covering things up.

"Thank you," he spoke as the male handed him a glass and he took it from them. "I am fairly confident. Got enough backing especially I might have included something that might benefit some of the senators and plus, I had so many favors to catch in too." he added. Lucas knew that people were selfish and many of his Senators would never support a bill that they did not get something out of it and Lucas knew how to play those people.

[berkeleys]

Julian had laid out the invite — propped the door wide open, and encouraged Lucas to sway the conversation into whatever he wished to. For a moment, Julian actually thought that the bait would be taken; but the senator avoids it instead.

At least for now.

"Favors is what politics is all about," he notes with an agreeable laugh. "So you're on the right path. But then again, those senators you benefit — their enemies will then see you in a negative light. Are you ready for that?"

[senatorlucasxbennett]

Lucas took the other's hand and shake it still with a smile on his face. Lucas had been meaning to stop by on non-business for awhile now but something always seem to change his plans but he was glad he had a moment to catch up with the male. They had met years ago when Lucas was working for the senator he replaced.

"I see but I feel like the papers only covers the surface level stuff," he chuckled as with a smile on his face before taking a seat and looking at the other. "The new policy would help reform the Forster system, providing more support especially for those who age out," he answered.

[berkeleys]

"That, it does," Julian agrees. "By all means, if there are any deep-cutting, unheard of aspects of my life you'd like to touch on — it would likely be the most exciting conversation I'll have all week."

The foster system. It isn't something brought to the spotlight as often as it should; the folders on his desk more frequently touching on environmental reforms, anti-crime initiatives, housing betterments.

"It certainly makes statement," Julian mentions, pouring them both a glass. He offers a fresh one to Lucas. "How are you feeling about it?"

[sankta-zoyas]

the newsroom (season 2) sentence starters. change pronouns as necessary!

Well, I don’t like to talk about it, but I know things. People have called it a gift, but it’s really more of a burden.

How much time do I have to formulate a comeback?

I make nerds look goooood.

For what it’s worth, I didn’t know you were gonna say it, but I was happy when you did.

I don’t want to go back to the way things were.

It’s only awkward because you want it to be.

Is it illegal? Yes. Is it immoral? You bet. Are we going to investigate it? Of course not.

I fear change and that should be respected.

A lot of better ideas are coming to me as I’m standing here, but why don’t we let the past be the past?

I’m able to hold as many as two thoughts in my head at once.

When you asked me why I was single and I said it was because you hadn’t asked me out… I thought it was my last day.

Honestly, it just sounded like a good line. I hardly ever land those.

I’ve got a 13-day streak going of being a good boyfriend.

You and I and God and everybody knows that.

Of course I’m upset. Are you kidding me? I’m flipping out! Holy shit. What the fuck did I do?

I used to be exactly the person that you wanted to see in these moments.

If there was a way to blame it on you, don’t you think I would have done that by now?

I’ll make you this promise: I’m gonna be with you all night. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.

Don’t misunderstand, I was moved that your first instinct was to impress upon me how hard you tried to lie.

Soon they’ll surely be in hell, though not soon enough.

It’s literally impossible not to mock this.

I’d tell you to call me and let me know how it goes, but I’ve got you on Google Alert.

While those are sentences and everything, they’re not a plan.

I am. I’m blaming you for trying.

Would it mean anything if I told you that was a terrible idea?

I think you got home and for a minute, just a minute, you forgot that you were mad at me. You forgot for a minute that you’d made a pledge to be mad at me for the rest of your life.

Sometimes, you’re not as cute as you think you are.

Am I about to be murdered?

I thought they were really good except for the parts that weren’t.

Is there somebody inside you operating you with controls?

You don’t meet me halfway. You meet me the whole way.

We know the questions. Why aren’t we insisting on answers?

Let me start with a really tough question and I want you to take your time and think about it. Are you ready? What’s your name?

We are going to expel or dismiss or expunge the notion that I am damaged.

You think I’m disposed to doing you a favour?

You said this stunt wasn’t gonna fuck anything up.

I saw Titanic for the first time. You know how I am about sad movies and the title suggested it wasn’t gonna end well.

Do you see how things are worse than they were before?

I don’t know how to predict his behaviour anymore. Or yours.

You should enjoy me while I’m here, ‘cause as soon as I leave, so does the attention.

Do you know that or are you guessing?

I really do think tonight is one of those nights when you should just do everything I tell you to do.

I know this isn’t your fault, but I really do hate you anyway. I don’t care that it’s irrational. It is what it is. Tonight I root for your failure.

I’d give anything to feel rage. It’d trump the humiliation and I’d be able to get up.

I’m saying you don’t have a very high opinion of yourself and I don’t get it. You’re impressive.

The thing is, I’m afraid to sleep alone at night, so sometimes I go out.

I also don’t believe in Santa Claus, but if I saw eight reindeer take flight… 

Being afraid of her is just good common sense.

I am not unskilled in the ways of courtship.

I haven’t read the whole thing, but I read from page eight to—well, I’ve read most of page eight.

I can’t say anything that would make you feel worse than you do right now.

I need some kind of sign from you. I need an indication, some kind of indication, that you fully understand the stupidity of this.

What kind of ambition? Congress, Dancing With the Stars?

'Cause you wouldn’t make it in jail. I’d survive, but you wouldn’t. In fact, I’d thrive.

How much of what you’re saying do you believe right now?

Why so glum, sugarplum? 

You will resign when I fire you out of petty malice and not before.

One’s enjoyable to me and the other would cause a lot of pain. It’s not even a choice.

I know it’s your first time, so don’t worry that you’re going to be bad at this.

Is there an ancient grudge between your two families?

You know I’m in no mood to be fucked around with, right?

I’m alarmed by how little sleep you’ve had.

You look like you were grown in an environment where it’s dark and damp.

This is the worst situation you’ve ever faced in your life, right?

You know what, hon? Can I just say fuck you?

King George forgave America in less time than it’s taking you to forgive me.

I wish I were less aware of the reality. I’d like to be stupid right now.

I think it’s commendable and pretty shocking that you want to do something just because it’s the right thing to do, but it’s not the right thing to do.

Look at my face. Does it seem like I want to be sassed?

It’s funny the things people try to control when they feel like they’re not in control.

If I was joking, you’d be laughing. Are you laughing?

What if I keep talking in rhetorical questions until you just can’t take it anymore?

I’m agreeing. Do I have to be happy about it?

He hates me, but if I only worked with people who liked me, I’d have to make my dog a partner.

There are principles of… principle here.

Look, I don’t want to kick you when you’re down, but you haven’t had the most awesome history of being right lately.

If I hadn’t told you, you’d never have known.

Are you sure you’re not just a massive bag of douche?

I brutally hurt you and that’s a fact. And facts don’t change. But in my lifetime I’ve never done it intentionally.

I’m smart enough to know that I’m not smart enough.

There is hardly anyone who’s good enough for you, including, it turned out, me.

Is there anything that’ll convince you it wasn’t your fault?

There’s a difference between being tough and wanting to be.

I believe, except for the things we did wrong, we did everything right.

And the laundry list of embarrassing things? I’ve got to tell you, I’m not embarrassed.

Will you marry me? And let me just say I really think you should. I think you should say yes.

No matter what you say, I’m gonna be in love with you for the rest of my life. There’s no way out of that. That’s just a physical law of the universe.

[berkeleys]

 HANS | JULIAN | ANAÏS | TRISTAN 

[senatorlucasxbennett]

starter for @berkeleys Location: Julian Private Office

"Hello Mr. Berkeley, I mean mister president. It has been awhile," the male said with a smile on his face as he walked into the male office with a whiskey in his hand. It had been ages since both male had spoken and had a moment. The last time that Lucas could think off was when he was an assistant to the former Senator, before he became a Senator and before Julian became president. "I believe I still remember you favorite drink," he smiled rising it up.

"How have you been?"

[berkeleys]

"Senator," Julian offers his hand for a shake. Only then noticing the gift, he smiles and takes the bottle into his hand, moving to set it upon the liquor cabinet. "Thank you, this looks fantastic."

Then, the question — it makes him laugh. "Not too shabby, I wouldn't say." He motions around the oval office. "Please, let's not talk about me. I feel as though my entire life is already on the papers. Tell me about you." Julian snaps his fingers. "What was that new policy you were working on?"

[alandietrich]

He falls for it every time — a small step closer and he's already welcoming Julian's lips against his, except they rarely come when he expects them to. Alan clears his throat and follows the other's gaze around the pantry, a loose arm hanging over the man's shoulder as if to keep him close. "Impressive," he nods with a quiet understanding.

These are the small moments where they are the most genuine versions of themselves — locked doors, enclosed spaces, drawn curtains, moonlight through the window, a mattress with the rperfect dents carved out. Luxury is not a need, they'll take what they can get.

"We don't have long," he reminds Julian, as if he could ever forget. The abandoned conversation won't seek him out, but surely Elena will wonder where they went. And that's if they're lucky. "Drink up."

[berkeleys]

"We have all the time in the world," Julian lies, right through the Colgate-white of his politician teeth.

The champagne pops, and while they manage to keep things mostly quiet, the foam bursts right over Julian's hand and down his wrist — streams of bubbly ultimately cascading down to the floor.

Drink up, Alan orders, and Julian's mouth aims not for the bottle, but for him. If the clock is ticking by, then a smart man should get his money's worth. "The glasses are behind you."

He eyes Alan, not entirely meaning it. "Do you think someone will come chasing after us?"

[alandietrich]

INCORRECT QUOTES ;; berkeley administration team

@berkeleys @elenaxserrano

credits:

josiah bartlet, the west wing [ julian ]

josh lyman, the west wing [ elena ]

sam seaborn, the west wing [ alan ]

bonus!!

- josh lyman, the west wing

[alandietrich]

context: new year's yatch party with: @berkeleys

It's just after midnight, after the fireworks, after the photos, after the obligatory hand-shaking and champagne-popping. After both of their official duties for at least the next few minutes. These are the minutes Alan claims.

"Mr President, can I speak with you for just a moment? I promise it won't take long." He's had this rehearsed for years, interrupting a conversation and stealing Julian away to a private room, a secluded area, a bathroom stall, anywhere they won't be seen or heard.

Tonight, the most romantic place in the world is a pantry off the kitchen. It's a little crammed but it will have to do. "Happy New Year," he says, smile appearing as soon as they are alone behind a closed door.

[berkeleys]

Mr President, can I speak with you for just a moment? A sentence heard twenty, perhaps thirty times a day. I promise it won't take long, a reassurance that only a few dare to make. It always takes long.

But it's the painfully mundane nature of the approach, the anyone could be saying this to you at any time aspect of those words, which doesn't mean they're in love with you.

Julian excuses himself, politely, as he always does. A sort of duty calls edge to it that always gets investors to perk up in interest, like he's going to take a call from across the world, or press a glowing red button with high implications. All their ideas as to what presidency is seem to come straight out of a cartoon. Instead the truth is much simpler, for Julian finds himself suddenly crammed against steel shelves — cans of this, jars of that.

"Happy New Year." The shell of his political mask starts peeling away slowly at that voice, that smile. Julian steps closer, but doesn't kiss him yet. Maybe a dance first, for old times sake. "You know, I ought to start taking you to nicer places," he jokes, looking around the pantry. "Ah, there we go." An array of champagne bottles, lined up in wait. Julian grabs it, then works on uncorking it free. "Petty theft. I'll pardon myself in the morning."

[alandietrich]

"I don't know, I delete his e-mails without reading them. He's going to repeat them word by word every morning anyway..." he trails off with a lazy grin, fingers still drawing circles on Julian's skin. Of course he's bluffing — but he has told Dave this lie before. It's entertaining to see how much the vein on his forehead can take.

Long legs stretch over the other's lap, a shift into a more intimate and domestic position. He ponders then — Julian's question he didn't anticipate. After a short, comfortable silence, he nods slowly. "Sometimes," Alan allows. "You could break the mold if you wanted," he assures him. Pause. "Do you want to?"

[berkeleys]

Julian shifts as to accomodate Alan's legs then, now draping over his. Those calfs beg for attention, and his hands give them it — running his touch mindlessly from Alan's knees down to his ankles. "...I do want to."

"...It's what I wanted, right from the start. When I was in the senate—" For a quick beat, he wonders how old Alan was when that was taking place. When Julian was unapologetic, and argumentative, and loud. "I was very forward with all the radical ways I saw as being the only ways to change this country for the better. Once I took my presidential aspirations more seriously, and once I met David — that all had to be pulled back some." He'd also pushed very heavily for marriage, but perhaps that's a given. "He taught me how I couldn't have my cake and eat it, too. That either I was going to speak my mind freely, or I was going to be President. That I could never have both."

[alandietrich]

"I saw the numbers," he nods. And they made sense to him. Of course women want to fuck him. Alan suspects that, if the men were a little more honest, Julian would have a similar advantage.

Fingertips keep toying with the slightly overgrown strands that tickle the back of the man's neck. He snorts in response — lover was always such a harsh word to describe what they are to each other — but he nods regardless as he's pulled closer.

"Leave it a little longer then," he suggests, trailing his digits down Julian's nape and sneaking them under the collar of his shirt. "Be the rebel president we deserve," he adds with a lazy grin.

[berkeleys]

"Really?" He raises a brow. "Was it on any of the fifty e-mails David sent about it? or elsewhere?"

Lover, if one were to ask Julian, derived from its mother word. Lover, one who loves. Nothing nefarious about it.

Julian laughs, oddly charmed by the idea. Now that his reign has settled into motion, such ideas could be tossed around without immediate panic. "Do you think I'm too proper?"

In other words: Am I playing too safe?

[alandietrich]

He nods slowly. Of course that's a side of Julian's existence that he's only known through tales. "You are still in competition," he, however, reminds the President, "... Even after you've won. But you'll keep winning." A brief pause, and then a shift so he can lean forward towards Julian and not the coffee table. "I'll cut it for you."

[berkeleys]

"Research says I'm more popular with women," Julian offers. As recently as September, his opposers ranked at least twenty points lower. "Which is only a classier way to say, I'm at an aesthetic advantage." Which is also a classier way to say, they'd fuck him.

Of course, he knows what Alan means. No matter the job title, there's no escaping the fact that he would be competing all his life. "As your lover, I should encourage such talents," Julian says, wrapping a hand around that slim waist — tugging him closer. "As the President, I'll admit concern." Laughter follows. "I have a conference in two days."

[alandietrich]

Now, he laughs. Lili has called many times, all with good news and gossip and questions, and very few times to request Alan's interference. But he does like the mental image of it. Julian's mother and him, thick as thieves. "I like it like this," he assures the other. "Next thing I know you'll be singing out I got life, mother."

[berkeleys]

"That's all that matters," he says of Alan's preference. Of course, it's not — but God, was it ever fun to pretend. For all intents and purposes, his chief of communications had strictly forbidden beards and brown suits. Julian finds Alan's thigh, and squeezes it. "I can't blame her. She always groomed me better than any of the other kids," — an implication, there — "and somehow, there was always something wrong with how I dressed. She must still think I'm in competition, even after I won."

[alandietrich]

If he had a glass, he'd raise it in a mock toast. "May our careers never come to that," he speaks, not loud but enunciated as if giving a speech. Alan leans back on the sofa again and stretches his arms to the sides, one hand coming up Julian's nape to play with his short hair. "When did you last cut it?"

[berkeleys]

In the same sort of jest, Julian raises his own mock toast. "May I never have a gate named after me."

Seems like a fair ask.

He smiles at Alan's motion, bowing his head slightly at the touch to his nape. "Did my mother put you up to this?" Julian teases. He can see it clearly: an impassioned Lili claiming that her son, Pareces un holgazán. "Based on both of your reactions, I'll safely answer — far too long ago."

[alandietrich]

Alan's gaze is blurred under the weight of the week — just like every Friday night, DC has proven to be so much more demanding than the city that never sleeps — but he still watches Julian with an intensity reserved only for the two of them. "You can say a lot of things about politicians," he starts, leaning forward and gently taking the paper straw from Julian. His dramatic pause is long enough to indulge himself with a perfectly portioned line. "But you have to admit, they're pretty good at this." As pictured in this very room, the President of the United States would know nothing but the highest quality available. Alan wouldn't dream of providing anything less.

[berkeleys]

"Alas," Julian laughs, "for some, the best they'll ever be is being someone's coke contact." Which, is likely the case for whoever sold Alan their zero-cal banquet tonight. "And with what we have to deal with, I can see how there's a business for it."

[alandietrich]

context: alan's dc house with: @berkeleys

With a heavy exhale, Alan leans back on his new bold, blue sofa. His head rolls against the back of the seat and he tilts it towards Julian. "Next time, I'm getting a house with a fireplace," he announces, though the heated floors keep the chill November air outside, where it blongs. Briefly, he eyes his coffee table — or, rather, the assortment displayed before them — before looking back at the other man. "You wanna go first?"

[berkeleys]

"My house has a fireplace," Julian grins, teasing the obvious. Then, his eyes follow Alan's gaze to the coffee table; if you'd only suggested, a few years ago, that he would be sharing snow with his most genius writer, the man who would be President wouldn't have believed it. "Yes," he says, and he does, aided by some diplomat's greeting card rolled into a thin straw-like contraption. "Fuck." That's good, he thinks. "It really puts New York to shame."

[daphberkeley]

Diana. Her very name sends a shiver cascading down Daphne's spine. If there was ever anyone outside of her grandmother she could call a role model, it would be Diana Frances Spencer, Princess of Wales. 'The "People's Princess,' as she was so affectionately called. — As Daphne would so like to be affectionally called.

Of course, Daphne knew she was born for greatness but she never knew just what kind until Julian arrived in her periphery. And then not even then. It was only after the two had fallen so hopelessly in sick infatuation with each other that she knew life as she knew it was about to change. From those moments, Daphne knew the goals she had to set to become a woman that deserved to be so fondly remembered.

"Of course it does," she defends immediately, "Appearance is your very first impression but as far as I'm concerned, that's where we'll have the least trouble." With his playful remark, her face squeezes and she sticks her tongue out at him. A reminder that whenever they found little pockets of time to be alone, etiquette was always entirely out the window. "I'll be sure to keep it conservative for the PM and save the more risqué choices just for you. — Reminds me: I'll probably have to plan a whole separate luncheon to entertain his missus. Is it insulting for me to entertain with afternoon tea, you think?" American steakhouse didn't quite scream appropriate for the circumstance.

Her chest rose and fell heavily with a sigh. "Luncheon this, brunch that. In this day and age, you'd think I'd have at least a few less trad wife duties as First Lady but–" Her hand lifted to her bosom, poised to declare her Pledge of Allegiance. "God bless my heart." Again, strictly conversation between the two of them.

@berkeleys

[berkeleys]

"I agree." As fa as appearances go, they had always been only perfect. Which makes Daphne's reaction all that much funnier, sticking her tongue out at him like their toddlers do — and Julian falling into laughter just as he does around them. "Tea sounds perfectly safe, so long as there isn't too much ankle shown. Quite scandalous, with the posh ones."

Luncheon this, she says then, brunch that. It's the very first time it downs on him — the very realization that traditionality might not be enough, as far as her dreams are concerned.

"I thought that was what you wanted," he says, sincere. "If I knew you wanted more, I would have had you running the entire place by now." Julian reaches out to take her hand, kissing the back of it. "In this new administration, we make our own rules. You aren't just my wife, you're a powerful player in the chess game we're all playing. Tell me what duties you want."

[alandietrich]

"Nineteen years," he echoes with a low whistle and a nod. And then, after a brief pause, "You're old," as if he's only doing the math now. Naturally, when he looks over to see the closed eyes, the pleasure of domesticity erases any edge from his voice.

Julian's theories are intriguing if he thinks of them as a story, but they're just that — theories. Alan isn't spiritual enough to believe the universe put them together for a reason, that they would have ended up in this very same couch, this very same room, this very same city regardless of the circumstances of their first meeting. But he, at the same time, can't fathom a life that isn't intertwined, in one way or another, with Julian Berkeley.

"No," he hums. "I would've quit politics years ago," he announces as if it's fact. It wasn't about the ideas for him, not at first, not before meeting Julian — and if they hadn't met like that, then it never would have become it at all. He would be working strictly on phrasing without giving the core messaging much thought.

Or would we be... Yes. They probably would be. Alan shrugs. He doesn't particularly want to think about how much freer they could have been if the stars had aligned differently. "We would've met at a stupid press event, I would've asked for your number, you would've been out of town when I called..." he trails off. All this to say, this is the best possible timeline, the real one.

[berkeleys]

Far too aware of the two decades that bloom between them, many thoughts have been spared to the dream scenarios which exist within them. Two decades, and so many happenings in between. He'd never cared, and he never would.

He laughs then, as if the universe itself had just told a joke — and landed the greatest punchline of all time. "Politics would be doomed without your words, and my ideas."

Yet as it turns out, this fantasy relies not on what they can do for the world they live in, but instead what it can do for them.

"Is that so?" He smiles at the idea of Alan making the first move. "I would have flown across the world for our first date, and the rest would be history."

[alandietrich]

Maybe it shouldn't be so comfortable, not after the earth-shattering nature of their last conversation, to be so casual with one another but Alan finds it easy to lean back on the couch they share and watch Julian. He has that look on his face — his favorite —, the one he gets when he's thinking, really thinking.

Ah. Alan's lips curve into a smile; not smug, not teasing, just a natural reaction to thinking about what else they could have been if things were different. "Sometimes," he admits with a nod. His hand finds Julian's arm, they trail up and caress his shoulder and neck, they toy with the hair at his nape. "What are you thinking?" He pauses, there are so many possibilities. "Timing? Career path?"

[berkeleys]

The touch brings his eyelids to a close, peaceful and lingering. "All of it. Though I suppose, timing could never truly be perfect. Nineteen years stand between us, and... by nature, I would always be a few steps ahead." Julian is encouraged to then mirror the touch, even if more subtly so. A hand at Alan's knee, caressing small patterns over the fabric. "I would be a wildly different man, if I'd followed a different career path. Being a diplomat, serious as the job was, I was far more free." He sighs. "But then— would you have found a different presidential hopeful to follow? Would I be just another man, deep in your list of prospects?" Julian smiles, because it isn't suitable to feel sorry for himself now, even in this make-believe scene. In the timeline that counts, Julian already has him. "Or would— would we be—" There is a word, supposed to be there, that Julian trusts Alan to pick up on even without him saying it out loud. "Coming home to each other every night? "