as always, archive locked for my comfort and everyone else's mild inconvenience
update tags: @vice-president-galade @adelaidedrubman @statichvm @mxanigel @dangerousdan-dan @mathlann @lordcaptains @zirrah-writes @time-adrift @ziskandra @captastra @tkwritesdumbassassins @lasersinthejungle @andordean @spindleweedss @schoute. let me know if you want on or off the tag list!
[Image Description: a photo of a dog sitting on a collapsible lawn chair that is half submerged in a body of water, so that the dog is half underwater as well. There is a beer in a coozie in the cupholder of the chair. Text is overlaid that reads: "its going to be okay / but its going to be different". End ID]
tagged by @tkwritesdumbassassins (ty dearest) to share words. i've got, uuhhh. words! mayhap w any luck the word share will get my brain moving in the right direction. in the right word document. on the right chapter.
last line i wrote is from ch 22. some out of context silliness.
"God." Manus buried his warm face in Vina's hair, chest shaking with suppressed laughter. "Is this offshore business or a backroom deal?"
and the wip wed i have that's actually pertinent to the chapter i'm (supposed to be) working on (wedding chapter!), couple hundred words from ch 13 of our leads being cute.
The door creaked open, and Manus' hands flew from Vina's waist as he took a hasty step back. Her heart leaped into her throat.
"It's only me," Axel said, shutting the door behind him.
"God," Manus said with a shaky exhale. "I half expected the Grand Vizier. Or a dozen of the Golden Guard."
"You're in luck," Axel said wryly. "It's just her husband."
"Your husband-in-law," Vina laughed.
"That's about all the time we can manage," Axel continued, holding out a handkerchief to Vina with an apologetic smile that she passed to Manus wordlessly. "Countess Sazon caught me on my way here and said your mother had noticed you were missing."
"Ah." Manus wiped her lipstick from his mouth and grimaced. "Thanks for the warning. I'd better rejoin the party for the big farewell."
"What," Axel said as Manus turned to leave. "No goodbye kiss for the groom?"
He caught the crumpled handkerchief tossed at his head in one hand with a grin as Manus laughed.
"Collect one from your wife."
Manus paused for a moment when he came within arm's length of Axel. Her husband reached out and pulled him into a quick, one-armed hug in response that was hesitantly, then firmly, returned.
"We'll see you soon," Axel said, letting go with a friendly slap to his shoulder.
tags out to @vice-president-galade @statichvm @adelaidedrubman @mxanigel @mathlann @lordcaptains @dangerousdan-dan @time-adrift @spindleweedss @fassina @ziskandra @zirrah-writes @andordean @kuwdora @cassandra-pentughasst and anyone else who has something they want to share!
something about your two beautiful incredible readers doing essay-level analysis on the characters in your fic
like how did you see things in there I didn't see myself
I'll never stop being in awe of the power of art
the fact that you write something and it reaches someone across the world and moves them so much that they share their feelings and thoughts and insights
Hello again, I‘m kinda curious what „shenanigans at the inaugural ball“ is 👀?
(from the WIP ask game)
Hi again, thank you so much for asking! <3
So I haven't started writing that one at all yet -- it's just my initial notes in a draft so I don't forget the idea, because I love it.
The setting is Anton's second inaugural ball, 1958. He's feeling very emotional for a lot of reasons -- what happened to Bernard Circas at the first ball, the fact that Petr who was with him that night is now dead, and then just the weight of everything that happened in his first term and all the work that's still to come is weighing him down. He goes off to sit and smoke and have feels by himself -- until there's a knock on the door.
It's Ciara, letting him know that VP Lucian -- who is supposed to be giving a speech introducing him in like a half hour -- is too drunk to stand up straight. Apparently Monica and Nia and Ciara talked him into drinking champagne with them, and since he doesn't drink normally, he's a lightweight and got totally trashed. So now they need to deal with getting the supposed teetotaller vice president out of there without the press or any dignitaries seeing him, and someone still needs to give the speech. And thus, shenanigans ensue at the inaugural ball.
More from Cry Havoc (because apparently that's what I'm writing now even though that wasn't at all the plan) — in which the author gives her migraine to Anton and he almost starts a war with Rumburg.
As soon as they were all securely inside the Kadilla — Deivid and Anton together on the plush backseat, Lucian perched on one of the side seats — Lucian put his briefcase on his knees and popped it open, pulling out a small leather toiletry case. He unzipped it and withdrew a glass bottle of what Deivid assumed was aspirin, and then shook out two pills into his hand.
"Sir." He held his hand out to Anton.
"Hmm?" Anton turned back from gazing out the window at the imposing main entrance to the ministry, holding his paper coffee cup against his forehead. He looked down at the pills in Lucian's outstretched palm and frowned. "I'm fine."
"Sir." Lucian's voice was a little sharper than usual. "Take the aspirin."
"Lucian —"
"Anton."
They stared at each other for what to Deivid felt like an uncomfortably long moment, and then Anton sighed and plucked the aspirin out of Lucian's hand, swallowing them with a long gulp of his coffee.
"I'm happy we've managed to avert outright war with Rumburg and a potential military coup, at least for now. And yes, I'm happy that you took the painkillers you've obviously been needing desperately." Lucian zipped his case shut, putting it back in his briefcase with his usual precise, deliberate movements. "I can't say I'm particularly happy about anything else that's happened tonight, no, sir."
"There. Are you happy?" he demanded, clearly irritated. Lucian's brow furrowed.
"I suppose it's true, Mr. President, that the First Lady and I share a vested interest in keeping you alive and functional," Lucian replied with a hint of acid, and Deivid held up a hand.
"God, you nag me more than Monica," Anton muttered, and Deivid saw a rare flash of anger in Lucian's eyes.
"Anton," Deivid said, in mild reproach, and Anton flushed a bit.
"Gentlemen, please," he said in his best diplomatic voice, used most recently during failed negotiations with Agnolia's foreign minister. "Let's bring this back down —"
( @distinguishedgardenpersonshark asked about this one as well!)
Thanks for asking, Ani! cry havoc takes place during and immediately after the "Rumburg shoots down the plane" war room scene -- I've always been fascinated by the dynamic between Deivid and Lucian and Anton there if you push to go to war. Anton's longtime mentor and his closest advisor teaming up to try to talk him out of it, with the generals on the other side. I'm not too far along on this one -- this is basically all I've written on it so far -- and it's based off my current (disaster) run, with failed reforms and nationwide unrest and a looming coup.
(This is still very much in rough draft territory. Also, the beginning uses a lot of dialogue from the game, which I know can be boring, but kind of unavoidable here.)
"Start the Sordish war machine and prepare to invade Rumburg!" Anton slammed a fist down on the table of the war room, and Deivid startled a bit at the sudden volume of his voice. "They will pay for their crimes."
A chill went down Deivid's spine as he heard the unlikely words coming out of his former student's mouth. He immediately looked across the table at Lucian — the vice president had been bent over his notebook for much of the conversation so far, probably already drafting a statement deploring Rumburg's actions and expressing an earnest desire for peace, but his head had snapped up as soon as Anton spoke. Now he was very still, watching Anton carefully.
Deivid had been worried about Anton from the moment he'd been escorted into the secure room — he was clearly exhausted, swaying on his feet, and from his bloodshot eyes and rough voice, Deivid had a sneaking suspicion he'd been drinking or crying — or both. Risking a quick glance down the table at Iosef and General Kruger, Deivid saw the expressions of pleased surprised on the faces of both the military men.
He looked again at Lucian, who had capped his pen and folded his hands in front of himself, the picture of perfect composure as always. Their eyes met again, and Lucian gave him a tiny nod.
"Mr. President," Deivid began, and all eyes in the room were suddenly on him. "Do you realize the consequences of declaring a war? Please allow me to explain. Rumburg will blame us—"
Iosef made a derisive noise, clearly about to cut in, and Lucian shot him a quelling look.
"Please continue, Mr. Wisci," Lucian said calmly, and Iosef fell into a begrudging silence, gesturing for Deivid to continue.
"Every single enemy of Sordland — and trust me, Mr. President, there are many — will unite under that banner regardless of the truth," Deivid continued, consciously keeping his voice very calm and patient. Anton still watched him with that same unreadable expression. "If that happens and they manage to convince the world, we will be seen as the aggressors despite the fact that we are in the right."
"Bah," General Kruger muttered, and Deivid ignored him, warming to his subject.
"This will have an effect on everything. Our relationships, trade, economy —"
"Thank you, Mr. Wisci," Anton snapped, "but I've given an order and I won't change my stance." It took all of Deivid's composure not to flinch at the harshness of his tone. Lucian caught his eye from across the table, raising his eyebrows almost imperceptibly, and now it was Deivid's turn to give a subtle, encouraging nod.
"Sir —"
"Mr. President. Are you serious about this?" Iosef demanded, cutting Lucian off. "It's true that Rumburg currently has no allies, but they still have a considerable army. Of course we will defeat them, but there will be casualties on our side."
"Sir —" Lucian tried again.
"In war there are always casualties," General Kruger scoffed, and Deivid saw Lucian's jaw tighten. "If these are your orders, Mr. President, I assure you we will show them what it means to mess with Sordland."
"Sir!" Lucian's usually soft voice cracked across the room like a whip, and Anton looked up at the sound, something desperate and raw in his expression.
a time you may embrace please thank you stay blessed
(WIP ask game)
Okay, I guess I deserve this after (unintentionally, I maintain!) asking you for Alphanger. This is Lucian/Anton/Monica (luciantonica), an alternate (threesome!) ending to my fic St. Hugo's Day, 1957. Nothing too explicit in this section, but the fic as a whole will definitely be E-rated and NSFW.
They were at the entrance of the Maroon Palace in record time, Lucian as immaculately put together as he had been when he started his workday at six that morning, Anton with his jacket open and his tie stuffed in his pocket, which wasn't unusual when he worked late. Monica had done her best with her hair, but after her impromptu nap on the couch, followed by Lucian running his hands through it, her style was beyond salvaging — she was going to have to make an emergency salon appointment over the weekend.
As Serge opened the doors of the Kadilla for them, Lucian stepped up to him and explained away the irregular situation with his usual smooth efficiency — the First Lady had taken ill after her meeting that afternoon— just a touch of flu, perhaps, nothing to worry about — but he and the president still had quite a bit of work to do — yes, so late at night, you know how dedicated President Rayne is, an absolute honor and privilege to work with him — and this way Mrs. Rayne could rest comfortably at home with her husband nearby if she needed him. Monica was taken aback by how natural and convincing his fabrications were — he was truly the best liar she'd ever heard.
As Anton bundled her into the backseat, she caught Lucian's gaze and raised her eyebrows. He quirked up his lips into a bit of a smirk, bowing very slightly in her direction, and then climbed into the front seat to ride next to Serge, ostensibly to give them their privacy. As much as she wanted him next to her again, Monica thought it was the right move — if Lucian were within arm's reach, she didn't trust Anton in his current state to restrain himself from tearing his vice president's clothes off right there in the backseat.
"I'm meant to be ill," she hissed into her husband's ear as she listed against his side, grabbing his hand as he tried ever-so-subtly to hike up her skirt, his fingers skimming the top of her stocking. Lucian continued to make polite small talk with Serge as they drove.
"He can't see anything, it's too dark," Anton murmured back, and Lucian's voice grew pointedly louder as he agreed with Serge that it did indeed look like it might rain that night.
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