Fic: Obamarama, TDS FPS
Nov. 7th, 2008 10:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lotesseObamarama
The Daily Show FPS. Jon/"Stephen," non-explicit, 1,026 words. There’s a new President Elect. Stephen was so totally crying. Poor baby, now he has to be the one at odds with his own nation. Warning: this is that thing that was once known as smarm. Soppy.
“So, um, Stephen?”
Stephen blinked at Jon from the far side of their highly-polished joint desk. His body was turned away from his co-host, hunching over his laptop. And while he had looked over at Jon when addressed, the rest of his body remained closed, isolated, and uninterested. “Yes, Jon?” he said precisely.
Jon’s eyebrows were flattened in bemusement. “Are you crying?”
Stephen’s eyes widened briefly before he scowled intently. “Of course not, Jon, I’ve only just witnessed the destruction of my entire world, but hey! who cares? Not me, Jon, I don’t care, I’m just a cynical pundit who can’t even feel hurt anymore. Why on earth would I be crying?”
“Okay,” Jon said mildly. “You just looked a little misty about the eyes. Must’ve been a trick of the light.”
They’d been in the studio for hours – the long, exhausted culmination of a long and exhausting campaign season. As they picked up their cards, shuffled their papers, and collected the detritus of the evening, Jon found himself watching Stephen closely. It was entirely possible that the other man was essentially burying his head in the sand – he’d said that McCain could still pull up from behind, and Jon had long years of experience with Stephen’s virtuosic ability to deny realities that didn’t mesh with his preconceived expectations of the world.
“Stephen,” Jon said, dropping an arm on Stephen’s shoulder, “good campaign, man. And that speech that John McCain just gave? Classy guy.” Stephen was looking doggedly at his shoes. “Anyway,” Jon said, trying harder, “it’s only four years.”
Stephen held on to his silence, resolutely ignoring Jon’s every attempt to lighten the mood, until they were alone together in the corridors of the studio. “And hey, you know?” Jon was saying. “It’s going to be much easier for you to tear him down, now that he’s in charge. Right? I mean you get to be the cool guy who bucks authority!”
One of Stephen’s impeccable eyebrows rose into a bitterly sarcastic arc. “Oh, yes, I’m sure! I’m just so lucky! I ask you, who wouldn’t want to be on the losing side of a national election? Who wouldn’t want to let loose an almost infinite number of threats – this is scary! I’m not lucky, and I’m not resigned.”
His lower lip was trembling, and his dark eyes looked suspiciously bright. That whole denial thing wasn’t working so well for him.
“Look,” Jon said, appealing to reason. “There’s - you don’t need to be afraid of an Obama administration, Stephen. All that stuff about him being a Muslim socialist is lies and propaganda – you know how things get in election campaigns, none of it’s ever real.”
“Joe Biden said that he’d be tested,” Stephen muttered toward his shoes.
“Okay, yes, but I think when taken in context he was saying that Obama could handle it.”
“He wants to take away our guns and our money and stop us from going to church and make us all wake up gay overnight.” Stephen’s litany was rhythmic and despairing.
Jon stopped him with an outstretched hand, moving deliberately into Stephen’s personal space. “Stephen, I get it,” he said. “You’re standing where I’ve been pretty much my whole life. It’s okay, you get used to it. Nobody’s going to agree all the time.”
Stephen’s eyes were wide again, and his face was open in the half-light. “How do you do it?” he asked quietly.
“Do what?”
“Keep going? In the face of everything?”
“Stephen,” Jon said gently, “it’s not that bad. People disagree. This is why we have elections. We’re always still working on it. There’s always next time.”
Slowly, waiting to see if he’d be allowed, Jon moved his hand up to the nape of Stephen’s neck, subtly pulling him closer. “Would you like to do something completely unrelated to politics?” he asked. Stephen didn’t reply, but Jon felt him nodding. “Okay. How about we stay here for a while – it’s going to be crazy out there, you don’t need to see that right now – and grab “The Two Towers” in that one green room with the big flatscreen?”
Stephen nodded again, and his shoulders straightened a bit. “Would you rather beer or cocoa?” Jon asked him. “Never mind, I’ll get someone to bring us up some of both.”
He walked his friend up to the green room, never removing his hand from the small of Stephen’s back. As soon as they were in the lounge, Stephen made for the sofa, curling up his suit-clad legs against the worn, fuzzy upholstery.
“Take off your jacket, Stephen, and I’ll call for popcorn and drinks.”
As the movie started, Jon sat quietly next to him. Close enough? Yes. Stephen shifted into him, accepting physical contact with a weary grace that was deeply unusual. “It’ll be okay,” Jon whispered as he loosened his friend’s patriotic tie for him. Stephen’s hair was tousled, hanging down over his forehead in long curls. Jon left his arm slung faux-casually around Stephen’s shoulders, and Stephen let him, allowing the intimacy and accepting the comfort.
It was a good choice of film, Jon thought to himself. It appealed to Stephen’s inner geekboy, and if his former correspondent started crying at the end, he could always blame it on Gandalf. Jon snuggled a snuffling Stephen closer and sighed as tidal waves overcame Isengard. President Obama. Wow, that sounded weird. He’d better get used to saying it, though. President Obama.
It was going to be an exciting couple of years. If Stephen didn’t assassinate him for liberalism before January, that was. Or if ratings didn’t plummet, now that his target demographic no longer hated their President with quite so much vitriol.
Beside him, Stephen let out a long sigh, and sniffled damply into Jon’s shirt. Yep. Exciting.
The Daily Show FPS. Jon/"Stephen," non-explicit, 1,026 words. There’s a new President Elect. Stephen was so totally crying. Poor baby, now he has to be the one at odds with his own nation. Warning: this is that thing that was once known as smarm. Soppy.
“So, um, Stephen?”
Stephen blinked at Jon from the far side of their highly-polished joint desk. His body was turned away from his co-host, hunching over his laptop. And while he had looked over at Jon when addressed, the rest of his body remained closed, isolated, and uninterested. “Yes, Jon?” he said precisely.
Jon’s eyebrows were flattened in bemusement. “Are you crying?”
Stephen’s eyes widened briefly before he scowled intently. “Of course not, Jon, I’ve only just witnessed the destruction of my entire world, but hey! who cares? Not me, Jon, I don’t care, I’m just a cynical pundit who can’t even feel hurt anymore. Why on earth would I be crying?”
“Okay,” Jon said mildly. “You just looked a little misty about the eyes. Must’ve been a trick of the light.”
They’d been in the studio for hours – the long, exhausted culmination of a long and exhausting campaign season. As they picked up their cards, shuffled their papers, and collected the detritus of the evening, Jon found himself watching Stephen closely. It was entirely possible that the other man was essentially burying his head in the sand – he’d said that McCain could still pull up from behind, and Jon had long years of experience with Stephen’s virtuosic ability to deny realities that didn’t mesh with his preconceived expectations of the world.
“Stephen,” Jon said, dropping an arm on Stephen’s shoulder, “good campaign, man. And that speech that John McCain just gave? Classy guy.” Stephen was looking doggedly at his shoes. “Anyway,” Jon said, trying harder, “it’s only four years.”
Stephen held on to his silence, resolutely ignoring Jon’s every attempt to lighten the mood, until they were alone together in the corridors of the studio. “And hey, you know?” Jon was saying. “It’s going to be much easier for you to tear him down, now that he’s in charge. Right? I mean you get to be the cool guy who bucks authority!”
One of Stephen’s impeccable eyebrows rose into a bitterly sarcastic arc. “Oh, yes, I’m sure! I’m just so lucky! I ask you, who wouldn’t want to be on the losing side of a national election? Who wouldn’t want to let loose an almost infinite number of threats – this is scary! I’m not lucky, and I’m not resigned.”
His lower lip was trembling, and his dark eyes looked suspiciously bright. That whole denial thing wasn’t working so well for him.
“Look,” Jon said, appealing to reason. “There’s - you don’t need to be afraid of an Obama administration, Stephen. All that stuff about him being a Muslim socialist is lies and propaganda – you know how things get in election campaigns, none of it’s ever real.”
“Joe Biden said that he’d be tested,” Stephen muttered toward his shoes.
“Okay, yes, but I think when taken in context he was saying that Obama could handle it.”
“He wants to take away our guns and our money and stop us from going to church and make us all wake up gay overnight.” Stephen’s litany was rhythmic and despairing.
Jon stopped him with an outstretched hand, moving deliberately into Stephen’s personal space. “Stephen, I get it,” he said. “You’re standing where I’ve been pretty much my whole life. It’s okay, you get used to it. Nobody’s going to agree all the time.”
Stephen’s eyes were wide again, and his face was open in the half-light. “How do you do it?” he asked quietly.
“Do what?”
“Keep going? In the face of everything?”
“Stephen,” Jon said gently, “it’s not that bad. People disagree. This is why we have elections. We’re always still working on it. There’s always next time.”
Slowly, waiting to see if he’d be allowed, Jon moved his hand up to the nape of Stephen’s neck, subtly pulling him closer. “Would you like to do something completely unrelated to politics?” he asked. Stephen didn’t reply, but Jon felt him nodding. “Okay. How about we stay here for a while – it’s going to be crazy out there, you don’t need to see that right now – and grab “The Two Towers” in that one green room with the big flatscreen?”
Stephen nodded again, and his shoulders straightened a bit. “Would you rather beer or cocoa?” Jon asked him. “Never mind, I’ll get someone to bring us up some of both.”
He walked his friend up to the green room, never removing his hand from the small of Stephen’s back. As soon as they were in the lounge, Stephen made for the sofa, curling up his suit-clad legs against the worn, fuzzy upholstery.
“Take off your jacket, Stephen, and I’ll call for popcorn and drinks.”
As the movie started, Jon sat quietly next to him. Close enough? Yes. Stephen shifted into him, accepting physical contact with a weary grace that was deeply unusual. “It’ll be okay,” Jon whispered as he loosened his friend’s patriotic tie for him. Stephen’s hair was tousled, hanging down over his forehead in long curls. Jon left his arm slung faux-casually around Stephen’s shoulders, and Stephen let him, allowing the intimacy and accepting the comfort.
It was a good choice of film, Jon thought to himself. It appealed to Stephen’s inner geekboy, and if his former correspondent started crying at the end, he could always blame it on Gandalf. Jon snuggled a snuffling Stephen closer and sighed as tidal waves overcame Isengard. President Obama. Wow, that sounded weird. He’d better get used to saying it, though. President Obama.
It was going to be an exciting couple of years. If Stephen didn’t assassinate him for liberalism before January, that was. Or if ratings didn’t plummet, now that his target demographic no longer hated their President with quite so much vitriol.
Beside him, Stephen let out a long sigh, and sniffled damply into Jon’s shirt. Yep. Exciting.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 06:47 pm (UTC)Just a suggestion though- I'm not sure what the mods will say about you posting FPS instead of RPS (I don't think it's a big deal though). I always post my FPS in fakenews_fanfic, just to be safe.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 07:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 08:16 pm (UTC)This is perfect. :)
I love it.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-08 02:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-08 03:09 am (UTC)And I love the quote you used for the fake-cut :p One of my fave songs.
Way to go!!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-08 04:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-09 04:28 pm (UTC)Suuuure, Stephen.
“He wants to take away our guns and our money and stop us from going to church and make us all wake up gay overnight.” Stephen’s litany was rhythmic and despairing.
I don't want to laugh at his pain, but...
Slowly, waiting to see if he’d be allowed, Jon moved his hand up to the nape of Stephen’s neck, subtly pulling him closer.
Mmph. This whole sequence is adorable.
It appealed to Stephen’s inner geekboy, and if his former correspondent started crying at the end, he could always blame it on Gandalf.
Good thinking, Jon.
It was going to be an exciting couple of years. If Stephen didn’t assassinate him for liberalism before January, that was. Or if ratings didn’t plummet, now that his target demographic no longer hated their President with quite so much vitriol.
It's a little scary how plausible these are.
This is such a sweet and cozy story. I'm going to have a warm fuzzy feeling for days now.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 12:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-07 10:50 am (UTC)