Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2007-08-06 10:28 am
ptahrrific) wrote2007-08-06 10:28 am
Entry tags:
Fake News: Expecting, Chapter 12
Title: Expecting, Chapter 12: You've Got To Kick A Little
Series: The Colbert Report
Rating: PG
Words: ~1900
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: I'm always up for concrit. This chapter in particular benefited greatly from a comment bygaiafaye on the last one.
For the full table of contents to this story, click here.
Chapter 12
You've Got To Kick A Little
Today
Tina sighed. Come on, thought Jon, don't brush me off.
"Look, Jon, I see where you're coming from. I really do," she said at last. "But Lorraine said they weren't supposed to go calling people, and I am not about to override this woman, especially when it comes to her kids — three of whom have their ears pressed to the door right now, I can tell!"
That last was said in warning, and Jon could hear the scuffle as Mary, Sally, and John Paul scrambled to a safer location.
"Where's the fourth?" he asked. "Stephen Junior — the human one, I mean."
"He goes by Tyrone now," corrected Tina. "Keeps pestering his mom to get it legally changed, and I think she's warming to the idea. They're both mad at the father, and it's rough on them to have his name following them around."
The irony was stifling.
Jon stuffed his own issues back in their little box. This was absolutely not the time to let them come out and play. "They'll want to know," he said, hoping he sounded more sure than he felt. "Even if they don't say it, they'll want to know if Stephen's okay. Besides, the other kids called — and they have a right to know what's going on. You know they do. You can't cut them off."
Tina sighed again.
"You can't call this number. Lor might be the next one to pick it up."
"I know, but—"
"Do you have a pen?"
"What?"
"A pen, Jon. Long thin thing with ink in it. You have one?"
"Uh...." Jon patted his pockets. "Yeah. Here we go."
"Paper?"
"Sure." It was a leaflet on dealing with your wife's postpartum depression, but it was better than nothing.
"Okay, pay attention. I'm giving you my number. Something happens, you call me, I'll tell Lor, and she'll decide what to tell the kids. Deal?"
"Deal."
She rattled off a number. He jotted it down, then repeated it back.
"Your paid time has run out. Please deposit more change to continue this call," said a pleasant and generic voice from the receiver.
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
March 29, 2007
24 Weeks
Jon put his newspaper down quickly as Stephen came into his office. The host looked a little worried, but that was only natural given the depressing liberal rags he chose to read. If only everyone followed the Report's example and focused on happy news, life would be a lot, well, happier.
"Stephen, what are you doing here? We were supposed to have lunch at your place...."
"I wanted to surprise you." Stephen sat down heavily on the couch and leaned into it; the trip had left him out of breath. "And your couch is more comfortable than mine."
"You came all the way over here just to sit on my couch?" repeated Jon, raising an eyebrow. (Or at least, doing what passed for raising when it came to his brows. Next to Stephen's, there was really no comparison.)
"Is that okay?" asked Stephen quickly. It hadn't been long since he had learned that Jon liked to be asked for things, and he still wasn't always sure which things. "I mean, I can go if you like. It's just that this really helps my back, which is sore a lot recently, thanks to all this lopsided extra weight I'm carrying, due to being pregnant, miracle of life and all that. But if it bothers you...."
Jon was smiling, which meant it couldn't bother him too much; but something about this irritated Stephen, who felt there was a joke and he wasn't getting it. "What?" he demanded.
"It's just — you sound like my mother."
Now he was giggling. Stephen huffed and closed his eyes, leaning back into the cushions. If Jon was going to be immature, let him. Stephen would just ignore it.
"Okay, forget it. What do you want for lunch?"
"Dunno," replied Stephen, eyes still closed. "Something light."
"Sure. Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah, fine, just a little...." He groped for a fitting word. It wasn't fair; Jon was the wordinista, not him. "Twitchy."
He felt the cushion bow as Jon sat down next to him. "'Twitchy'? Like you're going to be sick? Or is it a cramp?"
Stephen opened an eye to favor his friend with half of a long-suffering look. "No, Jon, if it were a cramp I'd say it was a cramp. I haven't thrown up yet either. I just don't want to eat too much, because these past couple days my stomach keeps getting, y'know, twitchy. Fluttery. Squirmy."
"'Squirmy'...?"
"That's what I said. Squirmy."
"Are you sure it's your stomach?"
"That's what I said too," replied Stephen, but more snippily, because now that Jon had asked, he wasn't sure. He closed his eye again.
"Let me know if it happens while you're here," said Jon, getting up. "I'll have an intern bring us some sandwiches."
While he made the call, Stephen let himself drift off a little. It was a nice couch, firm enough while still soft and yielding, maybe a little old and faded — certainly Stephen would never put up with furniture this old in his office — but comfortable. Plus, ever since getting pregnant he had been able to smell traces of Jon's aftershave on the cushions — which, now that he'd stopped getting sick at every strange smell, was rather nice.
He was half asleep, thoughts wandering freely and flirting with the idea of being dreams, and he was idly pondering what the new leather couch in his office would say to this one if they met, assuming of course that couches could talk, when something woke him up. "Peaches!"
"What's that?" Jon looked up from his writing, or maybe he had been looking up already, which was easy to believe. Stephen knew himself to be very watchable.
"I said I would bring you peaches...." It had made perfect sense when he was daydreaming, but now that he said it out loud it sounded weird and disjointed. "Forget it," he snapped, and then gasped. "There it is again!"
"What is it?" Now Jon was standing up, coming over.
"The twitchy feeling. It's what woke me up. Not that I was really asleep."
"Of course not." The host sat down beside him again. "Does it usually happen after you've been still for a while?"
"I haven't paid that much attention," grumbled Stephen, although now that he thought about it.... "Shut up a second, okay?"
He waited....
"There it is again. It's not in my stomach at all. It's...."
Then he frowned, because Jon had one of his dopey grins on his face, and Stephen had no idea why. "What are you smiling for? Don't keep it to yourself!"
"You did tell me to shut up," his friend pointed out.
"Well, un-shut up. If this is good, I want to know."
♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦ ⋅ ◊ ⋅ ♦
When Jon opened the door for the intern with the sandwiches — a good kid, with short dreadlocks and a very stiff collar — he noticed the boy's eyes flick a few times to Stephen's lifted shirt, and had the uncomfortable realization that the last thing he had said was, "Can I touch it?"
"Thanks," he said as he took the tray; then he added, self-consciously jerking a thumb in Stephen's direction, "The baby's, ah, kicking."
"Cool!" said the intern. "Can I feel?"
"There's nothing to feel from the outside," replied Jon quickly. "Not yet. Go see if anyone else needs lunch."
He closed the door and went back to the couch, where he pulled off the plastic wrap from a pile of vegetables and two sandwiches. The bacon, lettuce, and tomato was obviously for Stephen; the corned beef on rye was his own. Say what you will about my people, but we make a good sandwich.
"You can put your shirt down," he added as he held out the BLT. Stephen didn't seem to notice; all his attention was focused on his stomach. "Stephen? Are you okay?"
"There's someone in there," said his friend at last.
"Well, yeah." Jon sat down. "Has been for a couple of months now."
"Yes, Jon, I know that. But he couldn't hear, and he couldn't see, and he couldn't do much of anything except have a heartbeat and unbalance my endocrine system, and I couldn't see any of it except during the ultrasound. I mean, I knew what was going on, but now...." He trailed off, still looking down.
"Now you feel it in your gut?" suggested Jon.
"Exactly. And you know how much I trust my gut."
"You thought it was telling you not to eat too much."
"Sometimes — very rarely — I misinterpret what my gut is telling me. Cut me some slack, Jon; I've never done this before."
"I wasn't trying to challenge your whole gut-trusting philosophy, Stephen," said Jon with some amusement. "I just meant...."
Stephen glanced up. "Hey, is that a BLT?"
For a minute or two thereafter he just ate, ravenously. He finished the BLT and was halfway through the vegetables — which meant he must have been very hungry indeed — when Jon decided to pull the powder-blue shirt back down himself. The bare round stomach was far too tempting to touch; he allowed himself only to brush off a few crumbs before removing the temptation.
He thought about trying to get some more work done while his friend was preoccupied; but it wouldn't be polite and he hadn't had much success before anyway, not with Stephen dozing on his couch and practically glowing.
Jon shook himself. Stop that. With you going all moony over him like that, it's no wonder....
"The kitchen's all installed," said the pundit presently, "and I hired a gardener yesterday, so the yard should look great by summer. I'm thinking hedge sculptures — a Statue of Liberty, a couple of eagles — and maybe a fountain. I was thinking of pitching a fountain-designing contest to the Nation. There must be a couple of sculptors in the Nation."
"Not a bad idea."
"Of course not, Jon. It was my idea, wasn't it?"
Although Jon was not nearly so convinced of the quality of Stephen's ideas, he had to give credit where credit was due: the man knew how to milk his fan base.
"I want to redo a couple of the bathrooms, too, but that can wait, because Dr. Moreau said I shouldn't move in while there's construction going on, because of the dust and noise, and I want in now." He paused to lick bacon grease and tomato juice from his fingers. "Trouble is, I need something in the bedroom first. That's where you come in."
Jon nearly choked on his corned beef.
"We're going to deal with that this weekend. I mean," he added quickly, "if that's okay. If you have time. Is that okay?"
"Sorry," said Jon, who was quite sure he was missing something, "what do you need in the bedroom?"
"A bed, Jon. And sheets. Pillows. Blankets. Whatever else people put on beds."
"A mattress?"
"Yeah, a mattress! That's why you have to come along. I wouldn't have thought of that. —Please?"
Jon sighed. "I'm not sure this is a good idea."
"Why not? Is the timing bad? I know I always say changing your stance on anything is a sign of cowardice, but I can be flexible for you, Jon."
Given the mindset Jon was in by now, this declaration put all kinds of unsettling images in his head. Ignoring them, he explained, "It's not the timing. It's the whole idea. I helped you with everything in the kitchen, from picking a contractor to buying a coffee maker, and if I keep going with you all the time..."
You're using me as a replacement for your wife, he thought, at least, when it comes to helping you with things. And I've got to ease you off of that. But he had no intention of bringing up Lorraine again, at least not yet. Instead he reached for the paper he'd been reading earlier and handed it to Stephen.
It was a supermarket tabloid; the main story was yet another variation on the perennial "Shocking Truth About Princess Diana's Death" theme, and next to it was a photo of some starlet with a caption gleefully pointing out what her thighs looked like without airbrushing. But Jon trusted Stephen to find any news about himself right away, and sure enough, his eyes went straight to the upper left.
There, under the caption LATE-NIGHT LOVEBIRDS?, was a photo of two men leaning close as they inspected a refrigerator. Stephen was facing the fridge, but his silhouette was fairly unmistakable by this point; Jon was looking at Stephen, and though the photo was blurry it wasn't hard to believe he was wearing that dratted moony expression.
The Stephen on Jon's couch glared at the cover, then flipped angrily to the page of the article. It was short, speculative, and punctuated by a few more photos of the "taken by an amateur hiding behind a display of pots" variety.
"Typical liberal smear job," he spat at last. "Can I borrow this? It'll make a perfect Who's Attacking Me Now bit for the show tonight."
"It's not exactly the mainstream media; it's just a tabloid...."
"It's not 'just' anything, Jon, or you wouldn't be worried about it."
Jon opened his mouth, then closed it again. That was surprisingly perceptive for Stephen. But he was taking this much better than Jon had thought. "To be honest, I was kind of expecting you to go through the roof."
"I'll save that for the show. It gets good ratings. But the media has been trying to turn me gay for years; it's nothing I'm not used to by now."
Jon almost let this slide, out of habit; but he was making his own effort after their fight, trying to call Stephen out more often rather than let things build up, and so he said, "You weren't this calm when the couple at the Tudor house thought we were a couple."
"That was completely different. Those were people, not the media."
"But the media might give people ideas."
"Not people who matter, Jon — not the people who watch my show. The heroes know all about the homosexual agenda, and they know I'm wise to it."
Jon was less convinced about the intelligence of Stephen's viewers, but this was not something he was prepared to point out just yet.
To his surprise, Stephen picked up on his skepticism. When had he gotten so observant? "You don't believe me. You think the gay-agenda-forwarding Ivy-league latte-sipping mainstream media attack dogs have me on the run. Well, they don't, and I'll prove it."
He folded the paper and stood up.
"Now, don't do anything hasty, Stephen..."
"Not to worry, Jonny boy. We'll see you tonight at 11:28." Pausing only to smooth his tie over his stomach, he strode out.
Series: The Colbert Report
Rating: PG
Words: ~1900
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: I'm always up for concrit. This chapter in particular benefited greatly from a comment by
gaiafaye on the last one.For the full table of contents to this story, click here.
Chapter 12
You've Got To Kick A Little
Today
Tina sighed. Come on, thought Jon, don't brush me off.
"Look, Jon, I see where you're coming from. I really do," she said at last. "But Lorraine said they weren't supposed to go calling people, and I am not about to override this woman, especially when it comes to her kids — three of whom have their ears pressed to the door right now, I can tell!"
That last was said in warning, and Jon could hear the scuffle as Mary, Sally, and John Paul scrambled to a safer location.
"Where's the fourth?" he asked. "Stephen Junior — the human one, I mean."
"He goes by Tyrone now," corrected Tina. "Keeps pestering his mom to get it legally changed, and I think she's warming to the idea. They're both mad at the father, and it's rough on them to have his name following them around."
The irony was stifling.
Jon stuffed his own issues back in their little box. This was absolutely not the time to let them come out and play. "They'll want to know," he said, hoping he sounded more sure than he felt. "Even if they don't say it, they'll want to know if Stephen's okay. Besides, the other kids called — and they have a right to know what's going on. You know they do. You can't cut them off."
Tina sighed again.
"You can't call this number. Lor might be the next one to pick it up."
"I know, but—"
"Do you have a pen?"
"What?"
"A pen, Jon. Long thin thing with ink in it. You have one?"
"Uh...." Jon patted his pockets. "Yeah. Here we go."
"Paper?"
"Sure." It was a leaflet on dealing with your wife's postpartum depression, but it was better than nothing.
"Okay, pay attention. I'm giving you my number. Something happens, you call me, I'll tell Lor, and she'll decide what to tell the kids. Deal?"
"Deal."
She rattled off a number. He jotted it down, then repeated it back.
"Your paid time has run out. Please deposit more change to continue this call," said a pleasant and generic voice from the receiver.
March 29, 2007
24 Weeks
Jon put his newspaper down quickly as Stephen came into his office. The host looked a little worried, but that was only natural given the depressing liberal rags he chose to read. If only everyone followed the Report's example and focused on happy news, life would be a lot, well, happier.
"Stephen, what are you doing here? We were supposed to have lunch at your place...."
"I wanted to surprise you." Stephen sat down heavily on the couch and leaned into it; the trip had left him out of breath. "And your couch is more comfortable than mine."
"You came all the way over here just to sit on my couch?" repeated Jon, raising an eyebrow. (Or at least, doing what passed for raising when it came to his brows. Next to Stephen's, there was really no comparison.)
"Is that okay?" asked Stephen quickly. It hadn't been long since he had learned that Jon liked to be asked for things, and he still wasn't always sure which things. "I mean, I can go if you like. It's just that this really helps my back, which is sore a lot recently, thanks to all this lopsided extra weight I'm carrying, due to being pregnant, miracle of life and all that. But if it bothers you...."
Jon was smiling, which meant it couldn't bother him too much; but something about this irritated Stephen, who felt there was a joke and he wasn't getting it. "What?" he demanded.
"It's just — you sound like my mother."
Now he was giggling. Stephen huffed and closed his eyes, leaning back into the cushions. If Jon was going to be immature, let him. Stephen would just ignore it.
"Okay, forget it. What do you want for lunch?"
"Dunno," replied Stephen, eyes still closed. "Something light."
"Sure. Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah, fine, just a little...." He groped for a fitting word. It wasn't fair; Jon was the wordinista, not him. "Twitchy."
He felt the cushion bow as Jon sat down next to him. "'Twitchy'? Like you're going to be sick? Or is it a cramp?"
Stephen opened an eye to favor his friend with half of a long-suffering look. "No, Jon, if it were a cramp I'd say it was a cramp. I haven't thrown up yet either. I just don't want to eat too much, because these past couple days my stomach keeps getting, y'know, twitchy. Fluttery. Squirmy."
"'Squirmy'...?"
"That's what I said. Squirmy."
"Are you sure it's your stomach?"
"That's what I said too," replied Stephen, but more snippily, because now that Jon had asked, he wasn't sure. He closed his eye again.
"Let me know if it happens while you're here," said Jon, getting up. "I'll have an intern bring us some sandwiches."
While he made the call, Stephen let himself drift off a little. It was a nice couch, firm enough while still soft and yielding, maybe a little old and faded — certainly Stephen would never put up with furniture this old in his office — but comfortable. Plus, ever since getting pregnant he had been able to smell traces of Jon's aftershave on the cushions — which, now that he'd stopped getting sick at every strange smell, was rather nice.
He was half asleep, thoughts wandering freely and flirting with the idea of being dreams, and he was idly pondering what the new leather couch in his office would say to this one if they met, assuming of course that couches could talk, when something woke him up. "Peaches!"
"What's that?" Jon looked up from his writing, or maybe he had been looking up already, which was easy to believe. Stephen knew himself to be very watchable.
"I said I would bring you peaches...." It had made perfect sense when he was daydreaming, but now that he said it out loud it sounded weird and disjointed. "Forget it," he snapped, and then gasped. "There it is again!"
"What is it?" Now Jon was standing up, coming over.
"The twitchy feeling. It's what woke me up. Not that I was really asleep."
"Of course not." The host sat down beside him again. "Does it usually happen after you've been still for a while?"
"I haven't paid that much attention," grumbled Stephen, although now that he thought about it.... "Shut up a second, okay?"
He waited....
"There it is again. It's not in my stomach at all. It's...."
Then he frowned, because Jon had one of his dopey grins on his face, and Stephen had no idea why. "What are you smiling for? Don't keep it to yourself!"
"You did tell me to shut up," his friend pointed out.
"Well, un-shut up. If this is good, I want to know."
When Jon opened the door for the intern with the sandwiches — a good kid, with short dreadlocks and a very stiff collar — he noticed the boy's eyes flick a few times to Stephen's lifted shirt, and had the uncomfortable realization that the last thing he had said was, "Can I touch it?"
"Thanks," he said as he took the tray; then he added, self-consciously jerking a thumb in Stephen's direction, "The baby's, ah, kicking."
"Cool!" said the intern. "Can I feel?"
"There's nothing to feel from the outside," replied Jon quickly. "Not yet. Go see if anyone else needs lunch."
He closed the door and went back to the couch, where he pulled off the plastic wrap from a pile of vegetables and two sandwiches. The bacon, lettuce, and tomato was obviously for Stephen; the corned beef on rye was his own. Say what you will about my people, but we make a good sandwich.
"You can put your shirt down," he added as he held out the BLT. Stephen didn't seem to notice; all his attention was focused on his stomach. "Stephen? Are you okay?"
"There's someone in there," said his friend at last.
"Well, yeah." Jon sat down. "Has been for a couple of months now."
"Yes, Jon, I know that. But he couldn't hear, and he couldn't see, and he couldn't do much of anything except have a heartbeat and unbalance my endocrine system, and I couldn't see any of it except during the ultrasound. I mean, I knew what was going on, but now...." He trailed off, still looking down.
"Now you feel it in your gut?" suggested Jon.
"Exactly. And you know how much I trust my gut."
"You thought it was telling you not to eat too much."
"Sometimes — very rarely — I misinterpret what my gut is telling me. Cut me some slack, Jon; I've never done this before."
"I wasn't trying to challenge your whole gut-trusting philosophy, Stephen," said Jon with some amusement. "I just meant...."
Stephen glanced up. "Hey, is that a BLT?"
For a minute or two thereafter he just ate, ravenously. He finished the BLT and was halfway through the vegetables — which meant he must have been very hungry indeed — when Jon decided to pull the powder-blue shirt back down himself. The bare round stomach was far too tempting to touch; he allowed himself only to brush off a few crumbs before removing the temptation.
He thought about trying to get some more work done while his friend was preoccupied; but it wouldn't be polite and he hadn't had much success before anyway, not with Stephen dozing on his couch and practically glowing.
Jon shook himself. Stop that. With you going all moony over him like that, it's no wonder....
"The kitchen's all installed," said the pundit presently, "and I hired a gardener yesterday, so the yard should look great by summer. I'm thinking hedge sculptures — a Statue of Liberty, a couple of eagles — and maybe a fountain. I was thinking of pitching a fountain-designing contest to the Nation. There must be a couple of sculptors in the Nation."
"Not a bad idea."
"Of course not, Jon. It was my idea, wasn't it?"
Although Jon was not nearly so convinced of the quality of Stephen's ideas, he had to give credit where credit was due: the man knew how to milk his fan base.
"I want to redo a couple of the bathrooms, too, but that can wait, because Dr. Moreau said I shouldn't move in while there's construction going on, because of the dust and noise, and I want in now." He paused to lick bacon grease and tomato juice from his fingers. "Trouble is, I need something in the bedroom first. That's where you come in."
Jon nearly choked on his corned beef.
"We're going to deal with that this weekend. I mean," he added quickly, "if that's okay. If you have time. Is that okay?"
"Sorry," said Jon, who was quite sure he was missing something, "what do you need in the bedroom?"
"A bed, Jon. And sheets. Pillows. Blankets. Whatever else people put on beds."
"A mattress?"
"Yeah, a mattress! That's why you have to come along. I wouldn't have thought of that. —Please?"
Jon sighed. "I'm not sure this is a good idea."
"Why not? Is the timing bad? I know I always say changing your stance on anything is a sign of cowardice, but I can be flexible for you, Jon."
Given the mindset Jon was in by now, this declaration put all kinds of unsettling images in his head. Ignoring them, he explained, "It's not the timing. It's the whole idea. I helped you with everything in the kitchen, from picking a contractor to buying a coffee maker, and if I keep going with you all the time..."
You're using me as a replacement for your wife, he thought, at least, when it comes to helping you with things. And I've got to ease you off of that. But he had no intention of bringing up Lorraine again, at least not yet. Instead he reached for the paper he'd been reading earlier and handed it to Stephen.
It was a supermarket tabloid; the main story was yet another variation on the perennial "Shocking Truth About Princess Diana's Death" theme, and next to it was a photo of some starlet with a caption gleefully pointing out what her thighs looked like without airbrushing. But Jon trusted Stephen to find any news about himself right away, and sure enough, his eyes went straight to the upper left.
There, under the caption LATE-NIGHT LOVEBIRDS?, was a photo of two men leaning close as they inspected a refrigerator. Stephen was facing the fridge, but his silhouette was fairly unmistakable by this point; Jon was looking at Stephen, and though the photo was blurry it wasn't hard to believe he was wearing that dratted moony expression.
The Stephen on Jon's couch glared at the cover, then flipped angrily to the page of the article. It was short, speculative, and punctuated by a few more photos of the "taken by an amateur hiding behind a display of pots" variety.
"Typical liberal smear job," he spat at last. "Can I borrow this? It'll make a perfect Who's Attacking Me Now bit for the show tonight."
"It's not exactly the mainstream media; it's just a tabloid...."
"It's not 'just' anything, Jon, or you wouldn't be worried about it."
Jon opened his mouth, then closed it again. That was surprisingly perceptive for Stephen. But he was taking this much better than Jon had thought. "To be honest, I was kind of expecting you to go through the roof."
"I'll save that for the show. It gets good ratings. But the media has been trying to turn me gay for years; it's nothing I'm not used to by now."
Jon almost let this slide, out of habit; but he was making his own effort after their fight, trying to call Stephen out more often rather than let things build up, and so he said, "You weren't this calm when the couple at the Tudor house thought we were a couple."
"That was completely different. Those were people, not the media."
"But the media might give people ideas."
"Not people who matter, Jon — not the people who watch my show. The heroes know all about the homosexual agenda, and they know I'm wise to it."
Jon was less convinced about the intelligence of Stephen's viewers, but this was not something he was prepared to point out just yet.
To his surprise, Stephen picked up on his skepticism. When had he gotten so observant? "You don't believe me. You think the gay-agenda-forwarding Ivy-league latte-sipping mainstream media attack dogs have me on the run. Well, they don't, and I'll prove it."
He folded the paper and stood up.
"Now, don't do anything hasty, Stephen..."
"Not to worry, Jonny boy. We'll see you tonight at 11:28." Pausing only to smooth his tie over his stomach, he strode out.
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Oh, cool. See, this is one of the core reasons why I like character!Stephen, and why I ship this pairing. And you've described it almost exactly the way I would, which means I must be doing a good job at showing it the way I see it.
You've made mpreg actually serve a vitally-needed dramatic purpose... helping Stephen grow up.
And here you've taken one of the things I'm trying to do and described it better than I have.
Stephen learning empathy and sharing as his toddler does... awww!
This particular story will end shortly after the birth, and I don't currently have plans for a sequel. But that's an adorable image - Stephen and the little one, both being admonished by Elmo that sharing is caring =3
Thank you for reading, and leaving lovely feedback!
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"There's someone in there," said his friend at last.
"Well, yeah." Jon sat down. "Has been for a couple of months now."
So funny and sweet at the same time.
Jon was less convinced about the intelligence of Stephen's viewers, but this was not something he was prepared to point out just yet.
Ouch. That hurt. LOL!!!!
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And don't worry; he's thinking of the viewers who watch "Stephen". (There are a couple of them even in this universe: the ones who don't realize he's playing a character. Their intelligence does not impress me at all ^_~)
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I anxiously await every chapter
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Glad you're enjoying it!
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"Why not? Is the timing bad? I know I always say changing your stance on anything is a sign of cowardice, but I can be flexible for you, Jon."
I love how Jon expects Stephen to freak out about the article, and he doesn't, and how Jon is freaked out by the article because he kinda knows there's some truth to it on his side...and I love how Jon, who is an actual emotionally aware human being, recognizes the kicking and gets all mushy about it, while Stephen, who has just as many kids, has no idea what's going on....
Augh, I love this story!!!
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I like what you're picking up from Jon's emotional state, because it's going to be plot-important in a chapter or two ^_~
Thank you!
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Yay for baby-kicking! (Er, that is the baby's kicking action, not soccer-like violence against fetuses.) I love that Jon notices Stephen's motherly glow.
Bit of a cliffhanger there... *suspense*
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You can actually figure out what happens next; it was on the shows, and we all took great notice ^_~
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*is a milkable fanbase*
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Hey, we did get a bridge named after him. And a hockey mascot. And a flavor of ice cream. And a baby eagle. And an airplane. And a turtle. And...
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Given the mindset Jon was in by now, this declaration put all kinds of unsettling images in his head.
These lines made me giggle. :D
WONDERFUL AS ALWAYS. Clucky and full of wonder Stephen! Awww.
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"Clucky"? Just might be the weirdest praise I've ever gotten.
Thank you!
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Thank you!
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I finally know what a BLT is!
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The BLT: America's sandwich =3
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I really liked that you incorporated - of all things - the Even Stephen segment from earlier; I like Tina, I don't know if she's anyone real - and because I'm writing this on a train, I have no Google-powers with which to check. (An aside, because I feel the need to vent: the man sat across the aisle from me keeps trying to look at my screen and the man directly across from me is listening to music on his iPod loudly enough for me to a) identify it as Meatloaf, nevermind b) the fact that I can hear it over my Coltrane.) The three of whom have their ears pressed to the door right now, I can tell! bit made me grin, as did the kids scrambling away from it - and I like that she doesn't just cave to Jon - that she respects Evie and her position as parent as much as she feels for the kids - and that they work out an alternative around it. (Further to what we were saying earlier: Jon doesn't because up until that point he has no alternative. I'm not sure who's in the worse position here, Jon or Tina. Either way, well-resolved.) And I liked Tina's snark - "A pen. Long thing with ink in it. Jon having to add in "the human one, I mean" was funny in itself.
Stephen wanting to surprise Jon! And getting worried about Jon not being okay with it! I loved this line:
It hadn't been long since he had learned that Jon liked to be asked for things, and he still wasn't always sure which things.
It's the last little bit that makes it - Stephen's insecurity really does tug at the heartstrings, and moreso once you make it plain that he really is making an effort (and following on from the fact that he sees Jon's worry but puts it down to the news...Oh, Stephen) - and then Jon's laughing at him. Not maliciously at all, and I like that with Jon, Stephen is able to see that - I can't think of anyone else he'd put up with laughing at him.
Ah, Stephen, Jon may indeed be the 'wordinista', but look how good he is at coining things!
Re: the aftershave on the couch - first of all, wow, endearing; there are so many signs that Jon makes Stephen feel safe in this segment - the aftershave, the keeping his eyes closed even when Jon sits next to him, not questioning for a moment why Jon would be watching him - and the lifted shirt! The intern made me laugh, as did Jon's response and self-consciousness. You do a good job of introducing Jon's unease with other people's perceptions before it comes up as a plot-point - here particularly, with the intern, but also in an earlier chapter, the part where Stephen rings and Jon forces himself to Laugh it off. And his self-categorisation as 'moony' cracks me up in the best possible way :)
I like how Jon's increasing awareness of how this all looks (and perhaps more than looks, at least on his part) is growing as we start seeing increasingly explicit signs of "Stephen" genuinely caring for him, and making more effort with him. (And I'd like to point out here Stephen not just changing his stance and saying that he can be flexible re:timing, but "I can be flexible for you, Jon" - freudian slip, much? And having him use Jon's name here reinforces that Stephen's changing his ways for one specific person.)
The whole exchange about the bedroom was wickedly funny.
I'm glad you show that Jon's realised things need to change, as well as Stephen - treading carefully about the problem with Evie but noting it all the same; noting Stephen's perception, and your line about him making an effort after the fight - writing, "he was making his own effort" shows that he's conscious of Stephen's.
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You've hit the exact reason why Stephen allows Jon to laugh at him. There's no one else he trusts to do it without malice.
I think Jon is very much a safe zone for Stephen. In the tosses and their on-camera interactions Stephen can be as angry or obnoxious or inconsiderate as he wants, and Jon will still be his friend afterwards. The guests fall broadly into the categories of "people whose opinion he doesn't care about" and "people to whose expectations he tries to mold himself." With Jon he cares, but he doesn't have to fight to be what Jon wants him to be.
"I can be flexible for you, Jon!" is all kinds of Freudian.
We all know Stephen needs to change, but it was fun to find out where Jon needs changing too. (This is another idea that will show itself in State of Grace, in which poor Jon keeps getting it wrong.)
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It was a nice couch, firm enough while still soft and yielding, maybe a little old and faded — certainly Stephen would never put up with furniture this old in his office
Oh, Stephen, you have the old TDS couch in your office! *snicker*
"I said I would bring you peaches...."
OH MY GOODNESS, HOW AWESOME ARE YOU. ♥♥♥!
You're using me as a replacement for your wife, he thought, at least, when it comes to helping you with things. And I've got to ease you off of that.
Oh, Jon, if only you knew. ♥.
(I still am not intending to comment on every chapter, really! And now look, I'm using up my ♥ ration! ;D )
Speaking of milkable fanbases ... NASA better not weasel out of this one.
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(All this for an Easter egg that almost nobody else will even see. X3)
Jon is starting to wise up! Slowly!
(Hear hear on the NASA issue. The more Stephen in space, the better.)
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(People seem to be percolating over here from DW fandom, so maybe a few more folk's'll notice.)
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For some reason, the "Now can you feel it in your gut?" line made me squeal rather unmanly and I'm not a squealer at all... XD
But a random, silly question that proves that I've watched way too many old clips -- the couch in Jon's office, is it the infamouse Whorehouse Couch?
The color fits and Stephen comments on how old it is.
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For at least more than a year he told every guest who made some comment on the couch that they got it cheap from a closing whorehouse.
I loved those running gags, like the story that he worked as a night manager at Bennigen's. He told those so often and convinced that you thought he just might end up believing them himself. lol
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Old-school running gags = love.
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I wanted to watch the old clips in more or less chronological order because not being American I thought that would be the best way to actually get jokes about stuff that happened ten years ago (when I was too little to notice much anyway).
So the very old stuff and the very new stuff (with some classics thrown in) is the only thing I've watched so far.
But I'm working on it =D (and since I'm partly studying English I've the perfect excuse--watching TDS & TCR totally improves both my English and my knowledge about American culture)