Fannish Advent #17: Barry Ween: The Next Generation.
Title: Barry Ween: The Next Generation.
Rating: R.
Fandom: Barry Ween, Boy Genius.
Synopsis: How are Barry and the others spending the holiday? As with all my Barry-fic, this takes place after "Flowers for Barry Ween." I have been locked into my own alt-history.
***
For some people, "Merry Christmas," or "Happy Hanukkah," or even "Blessed Yule" were the things you said during the holidays. Those didn't even make Barry Ween's top ten list. Instead, he had to go with the old stand-by, the one that applied no matter what time of year it was, or what kind of shit the neighbors were stuffing in their stockings. Specifically...
"JEREMY WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!"
"Nothing!" protested Jeremy. From the living room came the sound of bellowing as the horrible thing that had originally been the Ramirez family Christmas tree continued its destructive rampage.
"You did SOMETHING, Jeremy. Forestry is not usually a full-contact science!" Barry ducked around the doorway, shooting his latest ray gun toward the furious fir. "WHAT DID YOU TOUCH?!"
"Nothing! I didn't touch anything! Roxie said she'd leave me if I brought anything inappropriate to life before Boxing Day!" Jeremy winced as something smashed particularly loudly. "You'll be able to fix the house when this is over, right?"
"Assuming we haven't been mulched, sure, but I've got other things to worry about right now! Now what. Did you. TOUCH?!" Barry unleashed another volley of laser blasts at the tree. "EAT PHOTONS, YOU PINESOL-SCENTED MOTHERFUCKER!"
"I didn't touch anything!"
"Daddy?"
The voice was small, sweet, and as innocent as Cindy-Lou Who. That was sort of the problem. Barry turned slowly to face his four-year-old daughter, who was standing on the stairs, looking utterly unperturbed by the smashing sounds coming from the living room.
And she was holding a ray gun. That he hadn't made.
"Fuck," he said, sounding suddenly tired. "How long have you been memory-wiping your mother and me?"
Carrie blinked. Then she shrugged. "A little while."
"Well, cut it the fuck out, and tell me why the Christmas tree is on a rampage." Barry gestured for her to join him, muttering, "Sara's gonna kick my ass..."
"Ha!" said Jeremy. "I told you I didn't touch anything! Blame your genius genes, not the Jeremy!" He started to do a victory shuffle.
Barry and his daughter exchanged a glance, nodded in unison, set their ray guns on "stun," and shot him.
***
Today's fandom suggested by seabhac_mhor. To suggest a fandom, pairing, or situation for Saturday, please comment on this post. You have two hours, as I am catching up. Only comments on THIS POST will be considered.
Rating: R.
Fandom: Barry Ween, Boy Genius.
Synopsis: How are Barry and the others spending the holiday? As with all my Barry-fic, this takes place after "Flowers for Barry Ween." I have been locked into my own alt-history.
***
For some people, "Merry Christmas," or "Happy Hanukkah," or even "Blessed Yule" were the things you said during the holidays. Those didn't even make Barry Ween's top ten list. Instead, he had to go with the old stand-by, the one that applied no matter what time of year it was, or what kind of shit the neighbors were stuffing in their stockings. Specifically...
"JEREMY WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!"
"Nothing!" protested Jeremy. From the living room came the sound of bellowing as the horrible thing that had originally been the Ramirez family Christmas tree continued its destructive rampage.
"You did SOMETHING, Jeremy. Forestry is not usually a full-contact science!" Barry ducked around the doorway, shooting his latest ray gun toward the furious fir. "WHAT DID YOU TOUCH?!"
"Nothing! I didn't touch anything! Roxie said she'd leave me if I brought anything inappropriate to life before Boxing Day!" Jeremy winced as something smashed particularly loudly. "You'll be able to fix the house when this is over, right?"
"Assuming we haven't been mulched, sure, but I've got other things to worry about right now! Now what. Did you. TOUCH?!" Barry unleashed another volley of laser blasts at the tree. "EAT PHOTONS, YOU PINESOL-SCENTED MOTHERFUCKER!"
"I didn't touch anything!"
"Daddy?"
The voice was small, sweet, and as innocent as Cindy-Lou Who. That was sort of the problem. Barry turned slowly to face his four-year-old daughter, who was standing on the stairs, looking utterly unperturbed by the smashing sounds coming from the living room.
And she was holding a ray gun. That he hadn't made.
"Fuck," he said, sounding suddenly tired. "How long have you been memory-wiping your mother and me?"
Carrie blinked. Then she shrugged. "A little while."
"Well, cut it the fuck out, and tell me why the Christmas tree is on a rampage." Barry gestured for her to join him, muttering, "Sara's gonna kick my ass..."
"Ha!" said Jeremy. "I told you I didn't touch anything! Blame your genius genes, not the Jeremy!" He started to do a victory shuffle.
Barry and his daughter exchanged a glance, nodded in unison, set their ray guns on "stun," and shot him.
***
Today's fandom suggested by seabhac_mhor. To suggest a fandom, pairing, or situation for Saturday, please comment on this post. You have two hours, as I am catching up. Only comments on THIS POST will be considered.