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@frstwomn
hello ! my name is sunny ( they/them, 27+) and this is an independent and highly selective roleplay blog for PRESIDENT TAMSIN JOHNSON of an original novel. this blog explores the themes of recovering after a tragedy and the effect of an attack on a nation.
about / rules
memes
promo !!!!
starter call masterlist: main, star wars, fantasy, apocalypse
reference posts : media network names , vice president post
I want to say that Mothers Day is a good day for her ( she does have quite a few adopted kiddos on here ) but in her actual canon, she's so ALONE with the only child that talks to her being Tyler who only talks to her to get money for commissary and visitation.
death......really needed a vacation. they needed....an assistant.
personification of the idea of DEATH. a mixture of many different ideas but draws heavily from: A Dead-End Job by Justin Alcara and the Death from Neil Gaiman's Sandman Series.
“OLD” MUSES ARE NOT “UNSHIPPABLE”.
You can still find love at 35, 50, 75, and beyond.
The RPC tends to neglect muses over 35 and resources for more mature FCs.
Life doesn’t end after your 20s. It’s not too late to find love.
Older muses and faceclaims deserve love and appreciation too!
birthday headcanon as it’s my birthday and I’ve been thinking about how she’d celebrate hers. hers is nothing special but she does light two candles in a cupcake and blows them both out. One for herself and one for Victor (her brother)
ASHLEY ZUKERMAN as NATE SOFRELLI SUCCESSION (1.09) — “Pre-Nuptial”
“Let’s destroy ATN, Shiv. Wouldn’t that be a nice wedding gift to the American people?”
Bruce is a traitor. That much is certain. Arms crossed in front of his chest in a less than subtle self-soothing gesture, Dick's gaze is avoidant of hers as she questions him. She means well but the inquiry for context has the pain (and the embarrassment) flairing up all over again.
Gaze lifting to meet hers upon hearing the sharpness of her tone, he quickly confesses the truth as a means of quelling her protective rage. "No one. Jason dared me to slide down the banister and I fell." Well he did manage to slide to the bottom but then him and Jason got rough housing by the banister and he accidentally smacked his face off of it. His explanation is a lot more brief and is enough (or so he hopes).
Hmm. Tamsin might not have raised any children, but she was familiar enough with how teenagers acted from her time as the Director of Washington DC's busiest homeless shelter. How many times had unhoused teens come into the shelter? How many times had she had long discussions with them, assisted them however she could. She can practically see the embarrassment radiating off the young boy.
"Right. Right." There's a worried crease to her forehead, leaning over to ruffle his hair slightly. "Well, if you need to talk..."
" ....fine whatever --- MOM. " A dramatic eyeroll followed.
She lets out an irritated huff. "Right."
🐝 * ― 𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑻𝒀 𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑵. reblog this post and give the person you reblogged it from a small compliment in the tags. just something sweet and simple that’ll hopefully bring a smile to their face.
ASHLEY ZUKERMAN as NATE SOFRELLI SUCCESSION (2.02) — “Vaulter”
“We had the affair. We didn’t have the conversation about telling people we had the affair. ”
Just a moment ago, Anya had been so scared. Not of Tamsin herself — she truly knows she would never hurt her — but of the way she would feel when she heard what Anya had done. Tamsin had been more gracious and forgiving than anyone who had come before her but if there was one thing life had already taught this little girl, it was that there was something wrong with her, something bad, and eventually people would tire of it. And when they did, terrible things would happen. People like her father would hurt her, people like her mother would cry, and all of them would eventually do what every parent had had before — they would give up on her. There was a part of her half-convinced and terrified that this was going to be the moment Tamsin followed suit, and it warred in equal parts with the part of her that believed all of her foster mother’s claims.
But now….
Now, Anya is staring at that paper through amber eyes wide and eager, and she isn’t even thinking about all of that anymore. She isn’t thinking of Tyler or what she had done, just about this paper and Tamsin’s words. Adoption. Forever.
Tamsin will love her forever.
“I can be your real baby,” she echoes in a whisper as she reaches out, pulling the paper closer to her as if she can read it. When Anya’s eyes part from it to meet Tamsin’s again, they are swimming in tears once more though these fall for an entirely different reason.
“Really? You really, really promise?” Her voice shakes, lip wobbling. “Forever and ever and ever? Even though I was mean to Tyler? Even though I keep being bad? You want me forever?”
Tamsin doesn't think that telling Anya that Anya was her REAL baby was going to help. Honestly, she wasn't even sure what REAL BABY even meant. Tamsin had never treated Anya as if she were any different than Tyler because to HER, she wasn't. Tamsin had grown up in the foster care system. She knew the anxiety and fear that came from never knowing where she was going to lay her head. She had spent months on the streets before the police had brought her in and she was sent to another family. It had been in that family that she'd stayed in the longest, long enough to have Tyler and Emma, long enough to give them away.
Reaching over, she wipes underneath Anya's eye with a scarred hand.
It was rare that Tamsin wore her gloves around her children. Truthfully, she hadn't quite felt the need to wear them in private anymore. Letting out a small sigh, she leans over to kiss the top of her daughter's head.
"You will be my daughter, legally, yes Anya. No one will ever be able to take you away from me ever again. Not your father and no one else. You will be Anya Johnson officially." If Anya wanted to keep her father's last name, she could, but Tamsin would let her make that decision.
"I'll tell you a secret." Biscuit slowly approaches, curling up in front of Anya, her head laying on the child's lap as a measure of comfort. She was more in-tune with Tamsin, but she could recognize the anxiety in Anya.
"You could be the naughtiest child EVER and I would still love you."
"You can't stay away from me, can you?"
( @frstwomn )
Celeste smiles as her hands grasp the lapels of Tamsin’s suit, pulling her closer to press a quick kiss to her lips.
“I really can’t,” she says, soft and a little teasing in return. “The days are already far too long.”
She lets out a squeak as she's pulled into a kiss, a grin taking over her face as she pulls away.
"Mmmm. I try to get to you as soon as possible."
Anya might be young, might be naive, but she processes an ability far beyond her years when it comes to recognizing the emotions of another. It comes from a life spent always on edge, always looking out for the first signs of her father’s anger, her mother’s fear a warning sign in itself. She so rarely witnesses either anymore but she has sensed fear in Tamsin since they’d been rushed out of their home. The change in itself scares the young girl, and Tamsin’s thinly veiled emotion only makes that feeling worse, but the sight of another’s fear has always made her stronger.
Of course, she is still five and her ability to hide her own emotions is extremely limited, especially when the panic she is prone to slips in, but right now…she’s okay. And she remains singularly focused on making sure Tamsin is okay too.
“I’m so proud of you too,” she says. “You’re a good momma. You’re a good leader too. Everyone says it. I heard them.”
Anya is young, but she is also so intelligent beyond her years in some aspects. It is enough to make Tamsin's heart break, another thing they had in common. As a child, Tamsin had always been analyzing others to see their response, to see whether they would respond harshly to what she did. Sometimes, it hurt her to think about the cycles repeating, how others would feel the exact way that she felt so many years ago, how the system didn't get any better and how some people weren't MEANT to be parents. Anya's father is indeed one of those people.
He was lucky she would never meet him. Leaning over, she presses her face into her daughter's hair, letting out a shaky breath as she kisses her head.
"You're a good kid, you know? So smart and creative."
Sigrid nods when the President says her father is a very smart man: he is. Sigrid's known it her whole life, and she appreciates when other people recognize it, too -- especially people who he's been working with and will continue working with for the foreseeable future, and especially in times like these.
"You should eat something." It's not a demand, but it isn't quite as tentative as a question, either. It's the same tone she'd given her father when she'd told him the same thing earlier (and the same tone her father had given her when telling her the exact same thing). "Here..." Using the hand not holding the to-go cup of hot tea, Sigrid reaches into her shoulder bag to fish out a muffin encased in a makeshift 'bag' of folded parchment paper, evidence that the muffin was homemade.
After a momentary step forward, then pause, then step forward again (was one supposed to just go up to the President without being specifically told to approach? She has no idea), Sigrid moves towards the blonde woman, holding out the cup of tea in one hand and the muffin in the other. "It's a banana bread muffin."
She really shouldn't be eating or drinking anything that hasn't been thoroughly vetted by the Secret Service. But they had seen Sigrid enter with the tea and her backpack (surely checking the backpack for weapons) and they had let her through. Besides, she knew Sigrid's father, she TRUSTED him, and she knew Sigrid wouldn't poison her. There were other ways to poison her if she was going to be poisoned.
And Sigrid was right that Tamsin hadn't eaten yet. It had only been a few hours since the attack and she had been far too busy ever since to worry about putting food into her stomach (quite a dangerous thing when she took medication that required food). Slowly, gloved hands reach out to grab the muffin from Sigrid's grasp, taking a bite from it.
Crumbs fall onto her blazer as she lets out a small snort, wiping at her mouth "I appreciate the food." It's almost hesitant, her response. She straightens up from her slumped position.
"Your father is safe?"
@frstwomn || continued from here . . .
being a secret service agent for the president isn't the easiest job . . . she never expected it to be. it shouldn't make her emotional. she shouldn't get too close. she shouldn't lean her head over and close her eyes, her chest aching as she attempts to think of what to say.
jennifer has always been tied into her emotions and thus, her actions followed. and despite trying so hard not to, she has made so many decisions in her line of work that should've gotten her fired. acting upon emotions...but her boss or partner already seemed to cover for her.
but now it is just her and the woman who has seeped under her skin. she reaches up and brushes her fingers through her hair. her voice soft, . . .
" you're going to keep going. for them. for all of the people that were lost and are around still hurting. you're gonna keep pushing forward because i believe in you. i believe you can do it. even if right now, you don't think so. "
Fingers in her hair soothe her frayed nerves. She's so TIRED, so exhausted, but she can't show the exhaustion outside of small moments in private. How would the American people handle knowing how tired and frayed she was?
The attack had only been a few months prior, but they weren't any closer to finding out the culprit and frankly, it was weighing heavily on her. She saw President King dropping to the floor, she saw the screen flickering in her nightmares.
"I...." Her voice catches as she closes her weary eyes, reveling in the feeling of calmness that Jennifer brings. "It's so hard." She says after a moment. "What if we don't find out who did all of this?"
⁀ ✉︎ ⸜ 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙 .ᐟ ( @frstwomn ) | | | ⤷ meme : receiver gets a cryptic text from sender asking to meet in person.
𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 the café door, already mumbling to himself. ❝ it’s definitely bad. it’s always bad when they say ‘come alone.’ ❞ he spotted the table immediately — two secret service agents. flynn blinked. ❝ oh. oh no. you’re, uh, you’re the president. ❞ flynn adjusted his tie nervously. the president. of the united states. fantastic. totally normal day for him. he's having coffee with the leader of the free world. he sat down slowly, eyes darting to the service agents. ❝ if this has anything to do with prague i swear that was not my fault. ❞
"What happened in Prague?" She flips open her file on him, skimming over the lines for a second. "Right. We'll circle back to the Prague issue after this conversation." She pauses for a moment, taking a long sip of her hot chocolate. Coffee was not her preferred drink of choice. She found it made her heart race far too much. "I need your help with something."
the people behind the news are vultures. it's common knowledge, really, they all just do themselves the kindness of pretending it isn't. they just pretend they're not all circling, looking for something to sink their teeth into. alex levy considers herself a cut above the rest, truly, and she's sure that she's perfectly justified in thinking so. she's not just another vulture, she's better than that. she's interviewed some of the most famous people on the planet, covered tragedies and triumphs, and america has loved her through it all. it's hard not to let that go to your head . . . and she'll argue that she hasn't until she's blue in the face, the cloy of humility sticking like perfume that's layered on just a little too thick.
when a story brings itself to her, though . . . when she's in here instead of out there, not having to fight among the others for second-rate pickings, it's gotten so easy to convince herself there's a reason she's made it so much further. something beyond being a conventionally attractive woman, anyway. she'd be stupid not to know that's part of it, and she's not stupid. oh, but she's well aware that looks can only take a person so far and she's got that special something. that edge that lifts her above the others so effortlessly ( that's a lie, there's been effort . . . there's been a shit load of effort and she's convinced she's paid for this job time and again with her blood, sweat, and tears ).
“no?” it's easy to blink and look surprised when you're actually taken off-guard, and alex leans in, interest genuine, “what's the real story, then?” it may break the typical format of her show, but it's easier to talk like this, there are no cameras yet, just the two of them . . . and the secret service agents, assistants, and her own daughter all sharing a space that alex has become a master of. she knows just how to make any person feel like they're the only person in the room with her, to put them at ease, and that's the magic that not just anyone can capture.
She's never trusted the media. From the very beginning, they were at odds. Even when she was Secretary of Veteran Affairs, there'd been hit pieces on her, reporters looking into her past, especially considering her close relationship with President King. Reporters would never know what Tamsin and John had gone through, the life they had lived before he got into the role of President. John had been her rock, the one person she could trust, the only person who stuck with her past the trauma hospital. But damn if the media hadn't written every sort of article about Tamsin and John, twisting their relationship into something it wasn't.
Needless to say, she's not very fond of the media. But Alex is different. Or at the very least, she seems to be different. Tamsin hopes she's not making a mistake here, hopes that Alex is truly different than other journalists. For a moment, she takes in a deep breath before letting out a shaky exhale.
"Approximately thirty-six hours ago, Secret Service apprehended Jebediah Hunt, my ex-Vice President for attempted murder on the President of the United States." Sometimes, it was easier to distance herself from the truth, to use titles instead of admitting just how much it hurt. When this interview was over, she could cry in the safety of a dressing room. Right now, she needed to stay strong.
"We are currently investigating the motives behind the attempted assassination." She moves slowly, hand reaching back with a wince.
