#but here's some Ford stuff for now. hope it scratches that itch.

[thelastspeecher]

Best Revenge AU - Finally, Some Ford Content

Ford has been suspiciously absent from all of the ficlets I’ve posted thus far in this AU, and while I’ve talked a bit about his role, I haven’t gone too in depth.  So, here, for everyone craving some Best Revenge AU Ford, I’m here to satisfy that craving.  Finally, some Ford content.  Enjoy.

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              Ford slowly woke up.

              Shit.  I stayed the night, didn’t I?  He sat up. The man he’d slept with the night before was already up and getting dressed.

              “Mornin’.”

              “Good morning,” Ford said hesitantly, realizing to his horror that he couldn’t remember the man’s name.  “Um…”

              “I can make ya some breakfast ‘fore I send ya on yer way,” his one-night-stand said.  “I’ve got to check in on my sister first; she’s startin’ a new job today. You can find yer way to the kitchen and make yourself some coffee while I’m talkin’ to her.”

              “…Okay,” Ford mumbled.  The man finished dressing and left the room.  Ford hesitated for a moment before dressing as well.  He exited the bedroom.

              Which way is the kitchen?  Ford chewed on the inside of his cheek and turned left. He followed the hallway down to a living room.  One corner of the room had a colored rug, baby toys, and a playpen.  He said that he lived with his sister, right? Maybe she has a child.  Ford wandered into the adjacent kitchen.  His jaw dropped.  There was someone sitting at the kitchen table.  Someone he recognized.

              “Holy shit, Stan?!” Ford said.  Stan looked up with a frown.

              “Hey, keep it down around Junior.”  His eyes widened.  “Ford?!”

              “I- you-”  Ford’s gaze landed on the infant in Stan’s arms, greedily drinking from a bottle of milk.  “Is- is that your child?”

              “Yeah.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “…Sorta.”

              “What do you mean by-” Ford started.  He was interrupted by the arrival of his one-night-stand.

              “Oh, I see ya met my sister’s boyfriend,” he said. Stan groaned loudly.

              “Lute.  How dark was the nightclub where you found last night’s lay?”

              “Didn’t pick him up at a nightclub.  Found him at the library when I dropped off books fer Angie,” Lute said cheerfully.

              “Look at his face.”

              “Hmm?”  Lute looked at Ford.  He paled. “…Oh.”

              “You managed to hook up with my no-good twin,” Stan said.  The infant in his arms began to fuss.  “Aw, it’s okay Junior,” Stan cooed.  “I know, Uncle Ford is scary, especially his face.”  Ford crossed his arms.

              “We have the same face, Stanley.”

              “Since Lute didn’t realize we were related when he picked you up, I don’t agree,” Stan said tartly.  Ford sighed.  “You better get going before you make Junior even more upset.”

              “I’m not going anywhere until I find out what you’ve been up to and why you’re holding an infant that you said is ‘sort of’ yours,” Ford said firmly.  Stan scowled.

              “Lute, kick him out, will ya?”

              “No.”

              “Lute-”

              “I think it might be good fer the two of ya to reconnect,” Lute said.  “Don’t you think the lil bean would like an uncle from yer side?”

              “He won’t know what he’s missing.”

              “Okay, fine.”  Lute smirked.  “How do ya think Angie would want ya to act under this circumstance?”  Stan glared at him.  “You know full well that Angie would want ya to use this opportunity to reunite with yer twin.”

              “…Fine.”  Stan adjusted his hold on the infant.  “Why didn’t you come to the kitchen with Ford, Lute?”

              “I wanted to check in on Angie, but she’s still sleepin’.”

              “Yeah.  Since she’s starting her new job, I figured I’d feed Junior.”  Stan grinned down at the infant.  “He can’t be happy he’s getting his breakfast from a bottle instead of a boob.”  Lute rolled his eyes.

              “Crass, Stanley.”

              “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

              “You catch up with yer twin while I whip up some eggs,” Lute instructed, already opening the fridge.  Ford walked over to the table and sat in the chair next to Stan. He peered closely at the infant.

              “So…”

              “So…” Stan parroted.

              “What’s his name?”

              “Stanley Junior,” Stan said.  He frowned.  “Well, he’s not really a Junior, since he’s got his mom’s last name instead of mine. But he’s named after me, so we call him Junior.”

              “Ah.  And, um, how old is he?”

              “Four months.”

              “Four months?  Are babies supposed to be that small at four months?”

              “Doc says he’s definitely smaller than average, but that he can probably catch up pretty quick,” Stan answered.  He removed the now empty bottle from Junior’s mouth, then burped him.  “He’s a good kid.”

              “Is he yours?” Ford asked.  Stan set the empty bottle on the table.  “You said he ‘sort of’ was.”

              “If you were anyone else, I woulda left that part out,” Stan muttered.  “I hate your guts, but I’m not used to lying to you.”

              “Pardon?”

              “Biologically, he’s not mine.  He’s my girlfriend’s ex-husband’s.  But with how bad things got between Angie and Max, she decided not to tell him about Junior.”

              That’s a strange coincidence.  Didn’t Max Hillcrest at work recently go through a divorce?  What was his wife’s name again?

              “I was dating Angie, so I stepped up,” Stan continued with a shrug.  “And Angie named her kid after me.  I’m the only dad this little bean’s ever known.  If things go well, I’ll be the only dad he ever knows.”

              “Little bean?”

              “That’s what Angie called him while she was pregnant with him.  It stuck.” Stan smiled fondly at Junior. “Isn’t that right, bud?”  Junior giggled.

              “You’re raising another man’s child as your own?” Ford asked, his brain desperately trying to catch up with all he’d been told.

              “Yep.”

              “Why?”

              “I love Angie.  I love Junior.  Why wouldn’t I?” Stan asked, a hint of a bite to his tone.  Junior settled in his arms, smacking his lips happily.

              “Fair enough,” Ford said, deciding to back off. Some tension left Stan’s shoulders. “Other than dating pregnant women and taking in their children, what have you been doing since we last spoke?”

              “You mean, since Pops kicked me outta the house and you didn’t say anything or use your power to summon me in secret at any point for years,” Stan said flatly.  Ford opened and closed his mouth a few times.

              “…Yes.”  Ford cleared his throat.  “When we were younger, I remember you wanting to follow in Mom’s footsteps.  I haven’t seen any pyro heroes around here, though.”

              “Hold up, what?” Lute asked.  The brothers looked over.  Lute stared at Stan in shock.  “Stanley, you wanted to be a hero when you were a kid?”

              “Most supers do.  And like Ford said, our mom was a hero.  I looked up to her.”  Lute was still staring at Stan.  Stan sighed. “Obviously I didn’t do that, Gucket.”

              “Yer mom is a hero?”

              “Retired.  What’s with the third degree?”

              “You understand why that information is important in our line of work, right?” Lute prompted.  “Does Angie know?”

              “Duh.”

              “Why don’t I?”

              “‘Cause I’m not sleeping with you,” Stan snapped. “Even though I’m apparently your type.” Lute turned red.

              “Wait.”  Ford held up his hands.  “Wait. Stanley, am I reading between the lines properly?  Are you- are you a villain?”

              “Maybe I am.  Maybe I’m not,” Stan said.  He met Ford’s eyes.  “But whether I am or not, you know better than to snitch.”  Footsteps sounded.  Stan looked over.  An exuberant smile broke across his face.  “Look who it is!  The hot new professor!”  Ford looked as well.  A young woman stood in the doorway, wearing athletic shorts and a T-shirt she was practically swimming in.

              Presumably, it’s one of Stan’s.  The woman smiled at Stan.

              “I don’t mind it much when ya say it, but I sure hope no one at work calls me that.”

              “If any creepy coworkers do, let me know,” Stan said.  “I’ll handle it.”  The woman grinned viciously.

              “Oh, darlin’, ya know I’m fully capable of handlin’ it myself.”  Stan grinned back.

              “Good point.”  He held up Junior.  “Junior, say hi to your mama.”

              “Aw, he’s too young to talk yet,” the woman cooed. She walked over to Stan, took Junior from him, and sat at the table.  “And I don’t know if his first word ‘ll be ‘hi’.”  She began to lift her T-shirt.

              “Whoa, hey, uh, Ang, you don’t need to whip your boobs out,” Stan said quickly, glancing at Ford in distress.  “I fed him while you were sleeping.”

              “Oh.”

              “Also, we have a guest.”

              “Hmm?”  The woman lowered her shirt and looked up.  “Oh, my apologies.”  She smiled at Ford.  “My name is Angie McGucket.”  Ford felt himself pale.

              McGucket?

              “Dr. Angie McGucket,” Stan corrected.  Angie chuckled.

              “Yes, I have a doctorate,” she said.  She cocked her head, her eyes boring into Ford. “I’m guessin’ yer Stan’s no-good twin I’ve heard so much about.”

              “I- uh-” Ford stammered, still reeling from hearing his ex’s last name dropped so casually.

              “Geez, you make it sound like all I do is talk about Ford,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.  “That’s wrong.  All I do is talk about you and Junior.”  Angie laughed.

              Angie and Lute do appear to have the same nose as Fiddleford.  How could I have been so blind?

              “So, Stanford, what brings ya here?” Angie asked.

              “I brought him home last night,” Lute said.

              “Hmm, that seems out of character fer ya,” Angie said to Ford.  She shrugged. “Just goin’ off the stick-in-the-mud that Stan described to me.”

              “Why do you keep insulting me?” Ford asked. “This is the first time we’ve met.”

              “Maybe, but I also feel like I know ya pretty well,” Angie replied.  She bounced Junior in her arms.  “Stan took a while to start tellin’ me ‘bout ya, but once he did, he had a lot to say.” She smiled.  “Most of it was negative, sure, but some of it was positive.”

              “Angie, shouldn’t ya be gettin’ ready fer work?” Lute asked.  Angie groaned.  “I’ll make ya some nice breakfast while ya dress ‘n whatnot.”

              “Ugh.  Fine.” Angie handed Junior back to Stan, kissed his cheek, and left the room.  Ford coughed politely.

              “I, um, I should probably leave,” he said. Lute looked over.

              “Ya don’t want to stay fer breakfast?”

              “Your sister isn’t the only one who has a shift starting soon.”

              “Shift, huh?” Stan said, raising an eyebrow.  “Where’s the big shot genius working?”

              “Well, uh…”  Ford rubbed the back of his neck.  “I have been working on my own personal research, but to pay the bills, I’m currently employed as an executive assistant.”  Stan snickered.

              “Isn’t ‘executive assistant’ just a fancy word for ‘secretary’?” he asked.  Ford flushed. “You better get going, then.  Whatever doctor’s office you work for definitely needs you manning the front desk.”

              “Stanley,” Lute scolded.  Ford swallowed his retort.

              He’s been remarkably civil, let him be childish for one moment.

              “…See you later?” he suggested.  Stan froze.  “I mean, the fact that we were able to talk without fighting is, I think, a good sign that we can bury the hatchet.”

              “Ford.”  Stan met Ford’s eyes.  “Junior was here the whole time.  That’s why I didn’t shout or knock your block off.”

              “…Oh,” Ford said softly.

              “But…”  Stan sighed. “I’m not against making up.  Just know that the next time you and I are in the same room, it’s open season if Junior’s not there.”

              “Fair enough.”  Ford managed a smirk.  “I think you’d be surprised by how well I can hold my own now.”  Stan rolled his eyes.  “Goodbye, Stanley.”  Ford leaned over to smile at Junior.  Junior stared at him with wide eyes.  “Goodbye, Junior.”  Junior giggled.

              “Bye,” Stan grunted.  Ford waved goodbye to Lute and walked out of the house.  Beeping sounded from his pager.  He pulled it out of his pocket with a sigh.  The message made him sigh again.

              I swear, I’m the only person who can fix the wifi at work.  Everyone else either doesn’t know how or isn’t willing to do one of the secretary’s responsibilities.  Ford shook his head.  He put his pager away and began the long walk to work.  A building full of superheroes and not one of them can unplug a router.

[squidproquoclarice]

This is a bit of fic for @prairiemule, since her exchange piece unfortunately got delayed, and she’s awesome and deserves all the love.  She requested some Arthur/John bro-times, so hopefully this fits the bill! ~~~~~~~~~~ April 1890 Rathelind’s Ford, Wyoming Spring had finally arrived, and they’d emerged from the melting snows, soon to say goodbye to the cabin.  Dutch and Hosea were busy making the year’s plans, deciding what fools and gullible sorts they’d go target this season--he’d overheard talk about Oregon banks.  Bank jobs he wouldn’t be involved in, of course, though he was more than ready.  Soon enough they’d be off again, on the move like the geese winging their way overhead in an almighty commotion.  Back home, John supposed.  Wherever home was for geese, anyway.  Maybe those birds had no more of a settled place than their family did, and home was wherever they stayed for a time.  Didn’t seem to hurt them living like that. Today, Susan and Bessie had sent him and Arthur with the wagon to go get supplies.  Arthur was engaging in his favorite habit, as usual--namely, trying to torment John.  Never seemed to be a thing that John tried to do that Arthur didn’t casually come along and make him look the fool by doing it with ease. Including driving a wagon and team.   Including growing a stupid beard.   He’d sprouted up another six inches in the last year, bones aching and stomach constantly rumbling, and when he’d shown pride in those few whiskers gracing his chin, Arthur promptly went and stopped shaving.  Claiming it kept his face warmer in the cold anyway.  Kept the damn beard the whole winter, keeping it close-cropped, just to annoy John with it.  Mute testimony of I’m a grown man, you’re still a little boy. He wouldn’t always be, though.  Things were changing.  He’d be a man soon enough.  Though he could only hope he’d grow another few inches and be taller than Arthur at least.  Have that one thing to call his own.    He glanced over at Arthur, holding the reins with casual competence.  “I can drive, you know.” Arthur shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  Handed them over, and sat back on the seat, though John saw how he kept the repeater close at hand, just in case of trouble, or dinner.  That went far too easy.  Most everything felt like a big argument to show he could do something, but Arthur had yielded without any fuss at all.   His big mouth ran away with him, as it often did, before his brain could catch up.  “What, you gonna finally admit I ain’t some snot-nosed little boy no more?” Arthur took that in a strange sort of silence for a moment, and when he spoke, there was something heavy and dark, like a rough lump of lead, in his voice.  “Maybe.  Not sure we ever really was kids.” Peculiar remark, at least at first.  Arthur had been in short pants once, though John could barely imagine him as the whiskerless, high-voiced, half-grown brat Hosea and Dutch sometimes talked about finding in some San Francisco alley.  Of course they’d been kids.

But then he thought he understood it.  He’d killed a man before they found him.  Hadn’t intended it, but all the same.  He hadn’t been running around playing tag, painting fences, tugging at girls’ braids, and whatever other silliness people wrote about boys doing in the books Hosea kept pushing at him.  “Maybe.”  It sounded grown up, being able to agree and say he saw what Arthur meant.

He saw that Arthur’s mouth twitched for a moment, as if unsure whether he wanted to smile or frown at that.  “Guess you are growing up, then.”  

He couldn’t help but feel a golden swell of pleasure at that, an inner warm glow like a swallow of good whiskey nicked from Dutch’s hidden supply.  Hosea was kind, and Dutch said a lot of things, but outside of jobs, Arthur didn’t deal in bullshit.  For him to say a thing like that, he meant it.  “Took you long enough to see it.”

Arthur gave a little snort of amusement.  “Don’t get too cocky.  Being a man’s about more than growing whiskers and outgrowing your clothes.”  There it was--the usual casual shove to push John back down a bit.  But even that couldn’t dim the happiness.

He couldn’t resist firing back, “Even Dutch says it.”  He knew how much Arthur idolized Dutch, how Dutch was probably the only man in the whole world who could send Arthur wrong-footed and scrambling like a fool with just a few words.  “Last week he took me to town for a drink and some...uh…”  What to call it though?  A screw?  A poke?  A fuck?  Scratching an itch?  Dutch’s phrase: making a man of you?  He could say those things, but saying it now, knowing what he did, having done all that, he wasn’t sure which the right one was.

“Company?”  Arthur suggested.  He nodded, glad for a more polite word.

Arthur’s mouth thinned into a straight line for a moment.  John felt a squelch of fear up his spine--had he done something wrong?  Soft and gruff words from Arthur then, not quite looking at John.  “If you didn’t--like it, John, there’s no need for you to do it just to please Dutch’s notions, or anyone’s.  You understand?”

He didn’t.  Arthur went upstairs with women too, didn’t he?  Dutch said he’d treated Arthur to time with a woman himself when he was about John’s age.  “No, I think...I did.  I liked it.”  He’d been curious, and nervous as he’d been, the woman--Doreen--had been almost sweet to him.  Laughingly invited him to come back sometime.  Being with her felt good.  Felt wonderful, in fact.  Small wonder men sought that kind of feeling out on the regular. 

“Oh.”  Arthur blinked, nodded, just for a second looking awkward, rubbing his chin with his thumb.  “Well then, never mind.”   

Arthur’s strangeness there made no sense, but it felt like some elusive thing, a mere flash and blur seen from the corner of his eye, something he could never hope to grasp quickly enough to capture it.  He wasn’t brave enough to ask either, though it was on the tip of his tongue.  You mean you don’t like doing it?  Why?  There were questions he could ask, and sometimes Arthur talked about something trying to teach John, and sometimes he could poke a hole in Arthur’s implacability with the right words and glean things from it.  But this felt like something that wore boots far too big for him to step into them.

So he dodged aside from that, into something else.  “You off to see that girl again, now that the thaw’s in?”

It felt sad, Arthur still chasing after some girl who’d jilted him five years ago, hoping to make things right between them.  Susan and Bessie had both sighed, John overhearing them while playing dominoes one night, saying he’d never gotten over her, some soft silly miss who’d never have him, and yanked him along like a puppy on a leash.

Maybe that explained it, if he didn’t go upstairs in saloons.  Trying to prove something to this girl who thought she was too good for him.  John now couldn’t imagine going without that, especially to prove something to someone who didn’t seem worth it. But it seemed like Arthur had kept it up.  Five years of riding off now and again, sometimes for a couple of weeks, to go pursue a woman who’d be like that, who’d strung him along so long with silly hopes of someone he could never be.  Usually coming back looking forlorn as a week-old newspaper in the gutter.  If that kind of helpless stupidity was love, by God, Arthur could keep it.  Stupid.  It felt smarter and more honest to be with someone like Doreen who just enjoyed a man’s...company...and didn’t put up some silly shrieks about what was being proper.  If he ever loved a woman he hoped she’d be sensible and funny, rather than some kind of haughty lady.    

He’d heard Dutch say the name Eliza once, and Hosea quickly corrected him, with a glance at Arthur--Mary.  Seemed incredible that one girl could upend Arthur like that so much, and be so little to the rest of them that Dutch couldn’t even be bothered to recall her name right.  Then again, Dutch ran through women like a string of racehorses himself, so him not remembering a girl’s correct name didn’t seem too far off the mark.  

Hadn’t intended it as a jab, more to tease, but he could see something go closed and careful in Arthur’s face.  “I’ll be gone a bit, yeah.”

There were things he could say then.  About how some part of him worried that the worst-kept secret romance ever, Little Miss Mary, might just go crazy enough to run off with Arthur, and they’d never see him again.  About how things seemed that much emptier without him there, and how Bessie and Hosea especially seemed more downcast, and how they lit up to see him come back.  

But he’d never been good with words, never would be, not like Dutch or Hosea.  Besides, that kind of stuff wasn’t what he and Arthur said to each other.  He managed an awkward, “Be careful out there.”

Arthur laughed at that.  “Don’t you worry, runt.  I’ll be fine.”  He shook his head, giving a wry smile. “Might not be able to call you ‘runt’ much longer, though, the way you went up and grew.”

“I’ll whip your ass soon enough in a fight, just you wait.”

Arthur gave one of those fondly amused snorts of his.  “Never gonna happen.”

“Never’s a long time, old man.”  Familiar territory here, and one they both enjoyed, the fond bickering of brothers.

“Never mind, I take it back, you ain’t too big for me to catch you and drown you in the lake.”

“Hey!”

 “Just...don’t hurry to grow up too fast, John.  It’ll catch up with you soon enough.”  Left to meditate on that particular nugget of solemn-sounding wisdom, they passed the next few minutes quietly.  Eventually Arthur gathered the reins in one hand, and took out a crumpled packet of cigarettes, Jolly Jack’s, from his jacket pocket.  He struck a match on the rail of the wagon, and lit one, holding it out to John.  John reached out and took it, as Arthur lit his own, and then reached a hand out.  “Gimme the reins again, I ain’t letting you drive one handed while you got a smoke going.”

“All right.”

“Also, you want to be a man, remember a man pays his debts.  You owe me at least a packet.  Don’t think I don’t know who it was pinching them from me all winter.”

He could almost imagine Hosea saying, We’re thieves, but we don’t take from each other.  He scowled, looking away, but knowing he’d justly been called out, and in a way that was good too.  It was fair and calm, and Arthur wasn’t mad.  He’d respected John enough to tell him to make it right like a man would, rather than reporting it to Hosea like he was still a kid.  That warm feeling welled up within him again.  “Fine.”   A/N: For some context, especially for those that haven’t read Sunrise, this takes place shortly before Isaac dies in May of 1890.  I tend to believe John couldn’t know about Eliza and Isaac, given that context would have given him a much better understanding of Arthur’s angry reactions to John’s failures with Abigail and Jack.  So I HC that Dutch, Hosea, Bessie, and Susan all knew, but as John was still so young, they all just gave him the implication Arthur’s absences to go see Isaac were him still desperately and futilely trying to court Mary.  They all respected Arthur’s privacy, and didn’t want John brashly prodding him on a touchy and uncertain subject. 

[ccorneliast]

A Heart In Barcelona - Chapter 5: A Carrison Fanfiction

Rating: T  Summary: Carrie and Harrison go on a weekend getaway to Barcelona during filming of The Empire Strikes Back in the late seventies. Something happens on that trip that changes their lives forever. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from my imagination and I’m not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). I did take some creative liberty on what concerns the timeline, so stuff that is mentioned/places they visit may not have existed in the seventies, I apologize in advance; I do use/paraphrase some parts from Carrie’s books, as a way of making it feel more like them.   A/N: This is going to be the last chapter before the Epilogue (and before this story comes to an end). I hope you’ve enjoyed this so far and if you did be sure to shoot me a message! Chapter 5 goes out to my love Angie ( @soreidy27 ), because I know how much she likes inner-thoughts and stuff like that. This is also your late bday present, itch. I hope you like it, I love you passionately. Shoutout to the carrison groupchat, your girls rock!

On AO3

I sure hope you enjoy this chapter and, if you do, please don’t existate on sharing your opinion and reblogging!

It was a queer, sultry friday night, the night of the wrap party for The Empire Strikes Back, and Carrie and Harrison had silently agreed to keep their distance, as rumors of their involvement didn't show signs of dying down.

“Carrie, so glad you could make it!” one of the producers joins her right at the entrance.

“Couldn't miss it,” she smiles satisfactorily at her employer.

“Great, great,” he smiles back, looking around the room. “Enjoy the party.” he says, as he walks away, distracted by this one and that.

“Enjoy the party,” she huffs to herself.

The last few days Carrie's been in hiding in her London apartment, not wanting to go back home to LA, to be lectured by her mother, nor to New York, to Paul. As if he'd still want her after the news broke.

“Carrie!” Marilou rushes towards her. “Finally a familiar face.” She exhales.

“Hey,” Carrie hugs Mark’s wife, and she squeezes back.

“I lost Mark right about the time we walked in,” she laughs, though curtly. “It's fine, I found you now!”

“Yeah,” Carrie smiles, though her head is still dizzy.

“So, how've you been?” they sit down around a table, Marilou sipping on her wine. “Mark mentioned you've been sick lately.”

“He did?” She mentally kicks Mark. “I guess I've been. I'm feeling good today, though.” another smile, a smaller, edgier one, forms on her lips.

“Hum,” Marilou ponders. “Alright.”

“How are you? How is little Nathan?” Carrie turns her body towards Marilou’s, crossing her legs.

“He’s good, won't stop screaming and crying, but I think that’s normal.” She replies. “I must find Mark so he can show you some pictures!” She promptly gets up to find her husband, leaving Carrie to herself.

Not long after that, a voice echoes behind her:

“Hey, kid.” it’s deep, raspy and slightly demanding. It's Harrison.

“Harrison,” her tone is monochromic.

“What happened to “Hello, lover”?” He teases, but there's no hint of smile or playfulness in his voice.

“Take a seat, lover,” she obliges. “Better?” She raises one eyebrow.

“Nah, I don't want to sit down.” He shoots back. “They're playing our song, care to dance?” He cocks one eyebrow at her, but doesn't offer his hand.

“Save it,” she waves him away. “We don't even have a song,” she looks at him straight in the eye and listens closely. “Unless you and I have slow danced to “Take me On” before without my knowing.”

He grins.

“We'll wait for the next one, kid.” he promises. “I have the whole night.”

“Well, I don't. If you'll excuse me,” she gets up to leave, but his hand on her arm stops her.

“Carrie, I know you're hiding something.” His breath is hot against her ear. “Be a good girl and tell me.” he’s still gripping her arm, and she inhales shakily. How does he know?

“Well, hotshot, I have positively no idea what you're talking about.” She frees herself and puts her hands on her hips. “Please, let me go.” her tone is strong and assertive.

“Please, you dug yourself a hole and haven't come out in days. And I know you can't resist me for more than thirty two hours, we've tried that before.” it could sound like he's teasing her, making her deliberately uncomfortable, but his voice is very much matter-of-factly.

“Arrogant much, Mr. Ford?” She can't seem to get out of this one.

“Carrie…” he mumbles, pulling out a cigarette. He lights it in one swift motion.

“Don't smoke that around me, Harrison,”

“What's gotten into you?” He asks, frustrated. “Usually, you steal it from me in a second.”

“Yeah well, maybe I grew up a little.” It stings.

He looks at her worryingly for a second before laughing: “You almost got me there, sweetheart.”

Two second of excruciating silence fall between them.

“So, where's Paul?” he asks. There it is, jealousy.

“He’s working in New York,” she answers, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Pity,”

“Jesus Christ,” she’s exasperated. “Will you leave me alone if we dance?” She runs a finger along his jawline, the stubble scratching her skin.

“Can't charm your way out of this one, dear.” But he takes her up on her offer nonetheless.

His big hand steadies her, pressing against her waist. Her cheek lays against his chest, her hands running up and down her back.

“Don't,” he warns.

“Harrison,” she calls. He separates their bodies and looks down at her. “Harrison, we should've never gone.” Her voice shows her panic.

“We shouldn't have gone where, dear?” He furrows his brow, confused but satisfied at the same time.

“Barcelona. Harrison, we should've never gone to Barcelona.”

“What’s our number?” Carrie fidgets from one foot to another.

“Twenty seven.” he answers. “Just sit down or something. Rest.” Harrison motions to a black, leather couch. Intimidating, to say the least.

“Alright,” she sits down, but keeps her eyes on him.

“Look, I gotta return a call,” he says. “Mary called,” he continues. “Maybe something happened with the kid-,” and he stops right there. Sore spot.

“Yeah, of course,” she manages a smile and watches him walk away.

Meanwhile, she clutches the paper tightly and fixes her gaze on the white wall in front of her, almost as she’s looking through it. Carrie can almost see the woman lying in that hospital bed, a white, paper-thin robe covering her. She could feel the excruciating pain she must be feeling (Carrie had never met anyone that’d gone through the procedure, but she imagined it hurt) and the sudden regret. The feeling of coming home knowing who you were the day before resembles nothing of who you are now. Or maybe she’d feel relieved. The woman might feel relieved, not having the burden of raising a child in a home that never quite was .

But what if it had been a boy? Would he have had his brown hair, his hazel eyes, or would he have had her fiery personality? Would his father have taught him how to build a wooden table for his mother, or would she have been late to work for picking him up from football practice?

Carrie pushes those thoughts aside as she rummages inside her purse, looking for her lipgloss. She applies it carefully, not taking her eyes from the small, compact mirror. As she finishes, her gaze averts to across the room. A lone woman, much like Carrie herself, smiles reassuringly towards her. Carrie observes her barely noticeable bump and her mind spirals again.

Was it a girl? If it was, was there the slight possibility of her inheriting her father’s family’s blue eyes? Or her mother’s chestnut hair? Hopefully, she’d have the sensible qualities of her dad, with a sprinkle of her mom’s craziness. After all, a little craziness never hurt anybody.

Of course all this back and forth was pointless, she knew it was a girl. He didn’t know though, she kept that secret for herself. She’d have that.

But she didn’t want just that, it occurred to her. She actually wanted all of it, the hard parts, that staying up late and vomit everywhere, and the easy parts, watching her take her first steps and speaking her first words.

“Harrison,” Carrie got up and rushed to him as he entered the waiting room.

“We have to talk,” he says. “I changed my mind.” his face is flushed and his heart is racing.

“What?” she furrows her brow.

“I was talking to Mary and the kids and well,” he takes the two remaining strides that separate them. “I changed my mind.” he smiles and shrugs.

“Thank God,” she throws her arms around him and he, though startled, holds on to Carrie. “I changed my mind too,” she whispers. “Oh, also,” she tells him. “It’s definitely a girl.” He smiles into her hair.

After they part, their eyes search each other’s, looking for the next logical step. Then, a ding sound erupts from above them: number 27.

“Fuck that,” he says. “Let’s go home.” Yes, home…

Four months later, Harrison and Carrie meet up at the hotel booked for the press interviews in New York. When he sees her for the first time in a while, it takes nearly everything in him not to run and crush her body to his.

They kiss. It’s a slow, lingering kiss, very different from the kisses they shared under the Barcelona sky. Those had been rough, demanding, but impersonal. These felt like a beginning more than anything else, a sweet, honey-covered, shiny beginning.

“How’s little Rose doing?” Harrison caresses Carrie’s stomach through the smooth fabric of her clothes.

“Better now that you’re here,” she pecks him on the lips.

“For a writer, that one was pretty weak, kid.” he teases, but returns the kiss.

“Pregnancy brain,” she laughs, and he pretends to accept her excuse.

“We should go, Mark’s waiting for us at the restaurant.” he grips her hand and they slide inside a cab.

She lets her head fall against his shoulder in a carefree manner she’d never tried before. He adjusts himself on his seat, but this time it’s not to distance himself, it’s to make her feel more comfortable.

Then, out of nowhere, Harrison asks: “Do you think we should get married?”

“What?” shock coats her voice.

“I mean, shouldn’t we?” he asks again. “It makes sense, with us having a baby and all.” his hand grips her arm softly.

“I guess…” she ponders it. “I don’t us to marry just because we’re having a baby though.”

“If you don’t want to get married, we don’t have to.” he offers her a smile.

“It’s not that I don’t want to get married,” she raises her head and faces Harrison. “I just want you to get married to me because you want to.”

“Hell, kid,” he huffs.

“I’ve seen enough failed marriages to last me seven lifetimes.” she tries to ease the tension.

“Hum,” he guides her back into his embrace, resting his head on hers. “Why do you think those marriages ended?” he asks.

Carrie has to be careful of what she says: “Well,” she starts, tentatively. “Most of them ended in cheating.” she awaits his reaction.

“Right,” he exhales.

“Hey, baby,” she places a warm hand on his face. “I don’t mind if we don’t get marrie-”

“What if we promise?” he interrupts her. “What if we promise right now to never cheat?”

“That’s kind of like saying our vows, huh Harrison?” she jokes.

“Alright, then,” he faces her and takes her hand in his: “Carrie,” he clears his throat exaggeratedly. “I promise to never love any other woman other than, well, you-” he laughs, nervous. “I promise to give everything to little Rose and any other children we may have,” she raises her eyebrows. “And I promise to take care of you,” his words are muffled as she kisses him. “Forever.” his words never do sound outside their lips. Her hand grips his hair and his hand cradles her flaming cheek.

“I promise all of that to you too, baby,” she laughs into his ear.

“That’s easy for you to keep, you don’t like women,” she takes a second to understand his poorly-thought-out joke.

“Alright, I promise to never love another man other than you,”

“That’s better.” he smiles and she throws herself on top of him.

“Did we just get married?” she whispers, incredulous.

“I think we did, kid,” he laughs. “Hell, we just got married!”

[seiya234]

Stan stood on the back porch and watched as the rackety old spaceship blipped out of existence. He couldn’t help but grin at the flash of light; Ford had the biggest bitch fit when he found out about Rick and him. Stan had mentioned the possibility that Ford was jealous and his twin hadn’t spoken to him for a week.

Worth it.

He sat down hard in the swinging porch chair Soos and Henry had installed last year. He wasn’t getting any younger and neither was Rick but… well. The sex was still amazing.

The door opened and Henry stepped out, a beer for Stan in one hand and a glass of milk for himself in the other. Silently, Henry handed Stan his beer, and sat down next to him in the chair.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. There was something obviously on Henry’s mind; before.. before the twins he wouldn’t have even noticed, let alone waited for another person to spill their guts and get all touchy-feely on him. But a lot of things had changed since the Transcendence, and Stan was one of them.

(Though he did wonder sometimes if one of the kids had bewitched the porch- there seemed to be a ridiculous amount of serious talks that happened out here.)

Finally, Henry looked up and into Stan’s eyes, something that he finally had been able to do only in the past year.

“Stan, can I be honest with you?”

“Sure, whatever kid,” Stan replied gruffly.

“So. Um. Mabel is pregnant-“

Stan laughed. “Hard to miss, she looks like she ate a watermelon.” Damnit, why couldn’t have he held his tongue?

Henry’s mouth closed, and he pursed his lips. Another minute passed before Henry spoke again.

“I don’t like Rick. I don’t like how he talks to you. I don’t like how he treats you. And-“ Henry raised his voice as Stan opened his mouth to object. “- I have some concerns about him coming around when the kids are here.”

“Dipper and Mabel like him,” Stan pointed out, and if the tone of his voice was one he used to take when Ma got after him and Ford, well.

“Dipper likes him because Rick gives him tips and pointers, and then they go off to get in trouble together.”

Stan stiffened. “Hey now, I’ve taught Dipper a trick or seven.”

Henry nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. But after Dipper comes back when he’s out with Rick he’s… off.”

-a flash of red teeth, wild eyes, dangerous sparks of gold and blue energy and not even Mabel could calm him down at first-

“Mabel loves Rick.”

“Mabel loves everybody,” Henry said, a slightly sad smile on his face.

Stan looked into the forest, to a tree he couldn’t see but knew had a heart with “H+M” carved into it.

“You know… you know that we aren’t actually serious, right? That we’re just um… friends. With extra stuff. I scratch his itch, he scratches mine. I mean, I’m sure as shit not fucking anyone around here-“

“I know. I know Stan. And that’s fine. I just-“ Henry paused for a second before going on. “Mabel told me about Jimmy Snakes. I know you aren’t going to make that mistake again.”

“So what’s the big fucking deal Henry?” Stan snarled and he knew from the looks from Mabel and Dipper, from his own observations, what the deal was. But here and now, with Rick’s sweat and cum still clinging to his skin, the sweet ache of his muscles, the teeth marks left on his neck-

(the feeling of being wanted, of being Stan Pines the man and lover, not the uncle and father)

-he just didn’t care.                                                                                                                          

Henry didn’t flinch, didn’t blink.

“The big fucking deal Stan is that the way Rick treats you, hell, the way he talks about his family, it reminds me of my father a bit.”

Stan felt the blood drain from his face. He opened his mouth but no words came out. Henry went on.

“I don’t think Rick abuses you, not quite. But he comes pretty damn close. And he sure as hell abuses his family; maybe not with his fists, but certainly with his words.”

“So are you saying that makes me what? A bad person?” Stan knew that Henry was right. Stan knew Rick was bad for him, knew there was a reason he stopped rolling from town to town with Rick in the eighties. Hell, he always had a suspicion that Rick was the one that sold him out to Rico.

But like a goddamn idiot, every time Rick showed up, dropping pieces of his ship on the roof in the process of landing, bearing a bag of “sex pollen from this, this, fucked up alternate faceflower dimension, I got it from another Mabel hope you don’t mind-“

Maybe Henry saw the stricken look on his face, maybe it was something else entirely, but Henry said, “I’m not judging you Stan. If Mabel loves Rick, if you still see him, then there must be something worthwhile within him.”

“Okay. So what’s your point kid?”

Henry finished off the last of his milk. Gompers jumped up on the porch, and looked at Henry expectantly. Henry, who chose a Solo-Serve cup for this reason, fed the empty cup to the goat. Gompers bleated, the sound muffled by the cup, and jumped off the porch to eat his prize.

 “I’m not saying you need to stop seeing Rick. I just want to ask you that when the kids are born that-“ Henry took a deep breath. “I don’t want Rick around my children. Period.”

Stan wondered if Henry was aware that his fists were clenching in his lap, a vein popping out on his forehead.

“I swore, no, I promised to myself that my children- that I won’t be the father that my own father was. And Rick reminds me too much of-“

“Your dad? You mentioned that.”

Henry shook his head. “No. My mother. But the point stands. I don’t want them to see how Rick treats people. So no more just letting him drop by- he needs to call ahead so we can take the kids out. You want a weekend? We’ll take the kids to see Mark and Anna. But I want there to be absolutely no contact between the kids and Rick, and I expect you to honor that.”

“Are you asking this?”

“No. I’m telling you this Stan.”

Silence again. Stan looked into Henry’s eyes. Those eyes reminded him of one of the bikers he used to run with when he was with Jimmy. Her name was Peggy, and she was somehow even shorter than Mabel and eighty pounds soaking wet if that. She could barely pick up her bike when she laid it flat and Stan ended up helping her most of the time. But no one, not even Jimmy, would fight her. Stan had lost count of how many times he had had to pull her off a half dead body, her hands soaked red, in bars across the country.

Her eyes had burned, a cold fire that was utterly merciless, fueled by an unwavering determination and a will stronger than steel.

Henry’s eyes were the exact same as Peggy’s.

One, two, four seconds, then Stan blew out a breath and clapped Henry on the back.

“Hell, I can put those kids over getting some dick any day of the week.”

Henry sagged in relief and he smiled. “Thank you Stan. This really means a lot to me. I just want the best for them, you know?”

Stan thought back to his own childhood, of late nights at the kitchen table, being sent back and forth by his dad and his dad’s friends to get them more beer, more cigs while Dad lost the rent money playing poker. Hard slaps or pinches if he and Ford were too slow getting things, the constant barked reminders that Stan was “the dumb one” and Ford “the weird one.”

Henry, so fucking determined to protect his children.                                      

Maybe (most likely) Rick would leave Stan for good over this.

But it would be worth it.

[zfiledh]

In Search of Attractions

This is in line with the prompt “Week 1: Portal (Dimension travels)” for @forduary (I hope I’m not too late).

AO3 / LJ & FF.net (as chilibreath)

Summary: 12-year-old Ford wanders into the forest to look for a new attraction for the Mystery Shack.

July 6

What a day! Great Aunt Mabel made a bet with Stan and he’s been left in charge of the Mystery Shack (ridiculous but true).

Stan asked me to find a legit (his word, not mine) attraction for Great Aunt Mabel’s tour—AND I DID IT!! I went to a scary-looking part of the forest and built one of those tiger traps. Only one small hiccup…

---

It started with Stan arguing that Mabel would make more money if she stopped giving free stuff—like stickers—away. It escalated to a point where Stan made a wager that he could make more money if he ran the Shack for one day. The next thing Ford knew, his Grauntie was loading up her bedazzled El Diablo with an overnight bag. She was out of her Miss Mystery suit and wore a fuzzy pink sweater with a shooting star in front and a long blue skirt.

Before hopping into her car, she called out: “See ya in 72 hours, kiddo! We’ll see who makes more money!” Then she threw her fez at her great-nephew before driving away. They could hear her laughing away from the Shack.

Though Ford had his misgivings about Stan running their Grauntie’s business, they went right out the window when Stan tossed the ratty Wolf Boy costume into a nearby shredder.

(“Be astounded at the awkward, pre-teen Wolf Boy!” Mabel announced before pulling the curtain. Ford sighed as he scratched at the places where the costumed itched.

“Grauntie Mabel, this is demeaning!” Ford grouched.

“What?” Mabel shouted. “I don’t know de meaning of that word!” Ford rolled his eyes as his Grauntie and the tourists start laughing. He groaned when Mabel added, “If you throw money and compliments at him, he dances!”)

“Die, wolf boy costume, die!” Stan yelled. Adjusting the clip-on tie on his suit, he pointed to his twin and said firmly, “I want you to head into the woods, and don't come back until you find an amazing attraction!!”

Ford broke into a wide smile. He grabbed a flail from the “Wall of Death” attraction and yelled, “Finally! It's time to show Mabel how a REAL mystery hunter does it!”

He ran for the nearest window and climbed out of it. The flail made him lose his balance and knock over a couple of trash cans.

“I’m okay!”

---

Several minutes later, after walking the farthest in the woods he ever had, Ford tossed the shovel over the mouth of the hole before clambering out of it.

“This should be deep enough,” he panted, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He picked up the shovel and headed for the cart parked nearby. The twelve-year-old placed the shovel next to his brown jacket and picked up the thermos.

After taking a swig of water, he smacked his lips and smiled. “Best-case scenario, I catch a werewolf!” he said to himself. “Worst-case, probably a gnome or two…”

He leaned back and closed his eyes. He could see it now: Stanford Pines, the famous monster-hunting scientist…

KZAT!

Ford dropped the thermos in surprise. He jumped up and looked around.

“What was that?” he thought, peering through the trees. Then he heard the crashing behind him. Judging by the sounds, it was something HUGE and it was heading towards his trap.

Ford beamed; he pulled on his jacket, grabbed a large sack and the shovel and sprinted towards his trap.

“Please be a werewolf! Please be a werewolf!” he muttered as he ran back into the clearing. What he saw made him stop in his tracks.

It was a creature he memorized from the pine-tree journal. The Author called it a “Gremloblin”: half-gremlin and half-goblin, with mushrooms growing out of its wide and hairy shoulders. It had stopped in its tracks about the same time he did, inches away from the hole. For a moment, boy and beast stared at each other.

And then Ford blinked.

The Gremloblin roared.

In his panic, Ford dropped the sack, turned right and ran full-tilt into the forest. He didn’t turn to look behind him; the crashing through the trees were enough to tell him that the monster was still after him.

He started yelling as he sensed the monster gaining on him.

“GET DOWN!!!”

Bewildered, Ford got a split-second glance at the dark figure in front of him before dropping to his knees.

ZOW!

Overhead, Ford heard a loud crack above and a louder THUNK! The ground shuddered as a great weight toppled to the forest floor.

Ford carefully looked up and behind him. The Gremloblin was lying face-down on the ground, knocked out cold by a branch that was taller and wider than he is.

“Are you okay, kid?” asked a deep voice.

The boy turned around. The person standing a few feet in front of him looked like he stepped out of Maria’s favorite dystopian teenage novel, The Divergent Games. A tall figure dressed mostly in black, the long coat and boots were dusty, the head and neck were covered with a hood, scarf and large goggles. In one hand, he held a strange-looking, futuristic gun with a triangular barrel. There also seemed to be a large thing strapped to the man’s back.

“I-I’m okay, th-thanks,” Ford said shakily, standing up slowly and brushing the debris from his pants.

He looked up and saw the stranger staring at his hands. Of course, with the dark tint of the goggles, Ford couldn’t tell if the stranger’s eyes were staring at his hands, but he had enough experience with bullies and rude people to know when they’re looking. The boy immediately shoved his hands inside his pockets, feeling embarrassed.

“They’re nothing to be ashamed of,” the stranger said kindly, making the boy look up at him in surprise.

“What do you mean?” Ford asked.

In response, the stranger raised one hand and wiggled his fingers. Ford counted them mentally and gasped.

“You have six fingers too!” he whispered, looking at the stranger in awe. “I thought I was the only one!”

The stranger chuckled. “Small universe,” he murmured in amusement. He gestured to the unconscious Gremloblin. “Listen, you better get out of here and head on home before that thing wakes up. I’ll take care of it and make sure it doesn’t follow you.”

“Uh…okay,” Ford murmured, feeling dazed. Something in the stranger’s tone suggested that arguing would lead to nowhere. He was about to walk away from the stranger when he realized something. He turned swiftly to face the stranger again.

“Are you the Author?!” Ford asked excitedly. He pulled out the journal out from a pocket inside his jacket, raising the blue book in the air with the silver pine tree cover facing the stranger. A black number “3” was painted over the silver tree.

The stranger looked at him, then shook his head. “That’s not mine,” he said quietly.

Ford felt deflated. “Oh, okay,” he said, tucking the journal back into his jacket. He still didn’t move as the stranger instructed. Ma and Grauntie Mabel always told them not to talk to strangers, but something about this man seemed familiar.

“I’ve never seen you around,” Ford said, hoping the squeak in his voice didn’t make him sound scared or stupid. “Are you from around here?”

“No,” the stranger replied.

The reply gave Ford additional courage.

“Are you from space?” he asked excitedly. “Are you an alien?!”

The stranger chuckled. “Definitely not. I’m a human, like you.”

Ford looked him up and down. “Why are you dressed like that? It’s summer! You could get heatstroke, you know.”

“It’s a practical outfit for an interdimensional outlaw, if you must know,” the man replied drily. He sounds defensive. “And you’re one to talk; you’re wearing a jacket.”

Ford looked down at himself. “Touché. Wait…you’re a criminal?!”

The stranger shook his head. He raised both his hands in the air. “Look, between you and me, I’ve been framed. There are evil forces out to get me and I need to be on the move to the next location. Th-this is why I haven’t removed my goggles and scarf. It’s best if you don’t know what I look like, in case they come here and decide to interrogate you.”

Ford’s eyes widened. “Woah…” he breathed.

“Exactly,” said the man. He stiffened; Ford looked around and spotted the Gremloblin shifting. It was waking up!

“Get out of here, kid!” the man growled. “I’ll take care of this thing before I leave.”

“Are you sure?” Ford asked, looking apprehensive. The Gremloblin was huge; how was this guy going to “take care” of it? Ford looked at the thing behind the stranger’s back and wondered…

“Yes!” the stranger gritted out. “Get out of here now!”

Ford decided to heed the man’s warning this time and sprinted away.

---

After stunning the Gremloblin and making sure that the boy left the area, Stanford Pines took off his goggles and scarf and sighed. If his suspicion was correct, it was a good thing the kid decided not to touch him.

---

Later that night, under the sketch of the cool-looking stranger he encountered in the forest, Ford wrote the following words in Journal 3:

I wonder if I will ever see this guy again…I never got to ask for his name. For the purposes of identification, I have decided to give him my nickname, “Sixer”.

---

Note: Some of the elements were lifted from Journal 3 and the episode “Boss Mabel”.

Maria is Soos’ grandmother in the Relativity Falls AU.

[thelastspeecher]

Monster Falls AU - Introductions

Once again, my ficlet naming skills leave something to be desired.  Here’s what I consider to be the Beginning of my variation of Monster Falls AU, aka when my darling OC Angie shows up.  But I could be persuaded to write scenes even a bit earlier, say, when the gents first begin transforming...

Anyways, enjoy poor Angie finding out what she unknowingly signed up for.

———————————————————————————————————–

             There was a knock on the front door.

             “Stanley, get clothed,” Fiddleford hissed.  Stan groaned.

             “C’mon, Fiddledork, five more minutes,” he said.

             “Ya can scratch yer back in private, like a gentleman.  Put on a shirt ‘fore she sees ya.”

             “Fine.”  Stan set down his backscratcher and walked over to the couch, where he had discarded his T-shirt earlier.  “Now that you’ve got some help for the cure, think you nerds could work on some sorta lotion for me?  These scales are driving me insane.”

             “I know, I know,” Fiddleford muttered, making his way to the front door.

             “Seriously, I haven’t felt itching like this before.”

             “I know!” Fiddleford barked.  He glared at Stan.  “I’ll see what I can do.  Right now, just get dressed.  We’re easin’ her into things, remember?”

             “I think it’s stupid, but I’ll go along with it,” Stan mumbled, slipping on his T-shirt.  “Hey, Ford, Fiddledork’s sister’s here!” he called.

             “I’ll be there in a moment!” Ford shouted from the basement.  “I’m cleaning the lab!”

             “It’s about time,” Fiddleford said under his breath. He opened the front door.  “Angie!”

             “Fidds!” a female voice squealed in delight.  Stan stared at the young woman embracing Fiddleford.

             Wait, she’s cute?  I thought she’d just be a nerd like Ford and Fiddledork!  The McGucket siblings broke apart.

             “Oh, it’s so wonderful to see ya!” Fiddleford’s sister gushed.  She frowned, concerned.  “Ya look pale.”  She put the back of her hand on Fiddleford’s forehead.  “Are ya feelin’ all right?”

             “I’m fine, I’m fine.  Just excited to see my baby sister.”  Fiddleford turned to face Stan.  “Stanley, this is my little sister, Dr. Angie McGucket.  Angie, this is one of the twins I’ve been workin’ with, Stanley Pines.”

             “Doctor,” Angie scoffed, shoving her brother playfully. “Yer worse ‘n Ma ‘n Pa!”  She smiled at Stan.  “Please, call me Angie.  My folks ‘re just happy I finally got my doctorate.”

             “Can ya blame us?  Yer the first McGucket to get a doctorate in anything!” Fiddleford gushed.  He kissed Angie on the cheek.  “I’m so proud of yer herpetology degree.”

             “Fiddledork, you said she was a biologist,” Stan said, crossing his arms.  Angie giggled cutely.

             “Herpetology is a subfield of biology,” she explained. “It’s the study of reptiles and amphibians.”

             “…Oh.”

             “But don’t worry, I’ve got a broad general biology background that should be enough to help with whatever it was ya needed my help with!”  Angie smiled at Stan.  Footsteps sounded.  Angie looked past Stan.  “This must be the other twin.”

             “Ah, yes, Stanford Pines, PhD,” Ford said, brushing past Stan to shake Angie’s hand.

             He must’ve put his human disguise on when he was downstairs.  Ford’s horns were hidden by his messy hair, his hairy legs were covered by his extra-long lab coat, and he wore boots over his cloven hooves.  Ford smiled politely at Angie.

             “Thank you so much for your willingness to help us,” he said.  Angie smiled back.

             “It’s no problem.  I’ve been a bit bored since I graduated.  I’m glad to have this opportunity to put my degree to good use.” Angie hefted her suitcase in one hand. “Sorry I got here so late.  I don’t have a car, so I had to take the bus, and them buses go awful slow.  I certainly hope ya didn’t wait fer me to have dinner!”

             “No, we’ve eaten already,” Ford said.

             “Oh.  Good.”

             “Did you eat?” Fiddleford asked.

             “No.”

             “I’ll fix ya up somethin’.”

             “Thank ya.”

             “Is that all you brought?” Stan interrupted. He nodded at Angie’s suitcase. She looked down at it.  “That’ll last you what, a week?”

             “It’ll last me long enough fer the rest of my things to arrive by mail,” Angie retorted.  “My friend Marley will be sendin’ m’ stuff.”  She cocked her head, her polite smile frozen on her face.  “Since yer so concerned with my belongings, maybe you should bring ‘em in,” she suggested.  Stan raised an eyebrow, impressed.

             “You’ve got some claws, don’t you?” he asked.

             “Bless yer heart,” Angie said, her voice cloyingly sweet.  She turned to Ford.  “I realize I got here late, but would ya mind sharin’ some of what I’ll be helpin’ ya with?” she asked.  Fiddleford cleared his throat.

             “We’re goin’ to ease ya into things,” he said. Angie frowned at him.

             “Why?”

             “It’s complicated work,” Ford said.  “Due to your late arrival, we won’t be able to, ah, debrief you until tomorrow.”

             “…Oh.”

             “But we can give you a tour of the lab!” Ford said brightly.  Angie smiled.

             “That would be lovely.”

             “Stanley, would you get her things?” Fiddleford said. He put his hands on Angie’s shoulders. “Stanford ‘n I will show her the lab.” He looked at Angie.  “At the mo’, we just have a lot of environmental samples collected from the woods, but I reckon you’d like to look at ‘em.”

             “Really?” Stan said.  “It’s just a bunch of dirt and creek water.”

             “Luckily, I’m a big fan of dirt and creek water,” Angie chirped.  She shot Stan another smile.  “Thank you fer bringin’ my things in.”  She marched past Stan, leaving behind her suitcase.  Fiddleford and Ford both gave Stan warning looks.  Once the scientists had disappeared, Stan picked up the suitcase.

             I like a lady who gives as good as she gets. He headed for the attic, where Angie would be staying.  Doesn’t hurt that she’s easy on the eyes, too. 

-----

             Stan was jolted awake by a bloodcurdling scream. He sprang from his bed, already out of the room by the time he realized he didn’t know where the scream came from nor whether he should be running towards it.

             Odds are that I shouldn’t be going after it. Screaming is never a good thing to investigate.  Not without a weapon.  The door to Ford and Fiddleford’s room opened.  Fiddleford hesitantly entered the hallway, white as a sheet.

             “That was Angie,” Fiddleford whispered.

             “Why the hell did she scream like that?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford swallowed nervously.

             “Probably ‘cause she saw somethin’ what wasn’t natural.”

             “Look, man, it’s way too early to deal with this shit,” Stan said shortly. “What are you getting at?”

             “I’ll need- I’ll need to talk to her, but I’m worried that she might-” Fiddleford started.  Footsteps sounded.  Stan hurriedly ducked back into his bedroom, as his pajamas didn’t cover up the scales that were slowly spreading across his body.  He closed his door most of the way, leaving it open just enough to eavesdrop. The source of the footsteps, Angie, ran past his door.

             “Fidds,” Angie hissed.  “I need- I need to talk to ya.”

             “Uh, sure, Angie.”

             “Could- could ya close yer bedroom door?  I don’t want Stanford to hear.”

             “Of course.”  Fiddleford closed the door.  “What’s goin’ on?”

             “I’m-”  Angie took a shuddering breath.  “I woke up this mornin’ and my legs, they were awfully itchy, so I went to put some lotion on ‘em.”

             “And?”

             “And…”  Angie’s voice became even softer.  “I had- I had scales.”  Stan’s heart stopped.

             Shit.  It spread to her?

             “Show me,” Fiddleford said.  There was a rustle of fabric.  “Those- those are scales, fer sure.”

             “What- what do I do, Fidds?” Angie asked desperately.  “Do I- do I go to the doctor?”  Stan pushed open his door.  The McGucket siblings looked up.  Angie hurriedly lowered the leg of her pajama pants, but not before Stan caught sight of black and yellow scales across her thigh.  “S-Stanley!”

             “I’m gonna come out and say it, ‘cause Fiddledork’s gonna beat around the bush,” Stan said bluntly.  “You’re turning into a magical creature.”  Angie paled.

             “W-what?” she squeaked.

             “That’s why we asked you to come here.  A while back, we got exposed to something, and since then, we’ve been turning into magical creatures.”

             “M-magical-”  Angie looked like she was about to faint.  “I-”

             “Stanley!” Fiddleford hissed.  “Ease her into it!”

             “She deserves some answers,” Stan snapped.  He looked at Angie.  “I’ve got scales, too.”  He turned around, revealing the maroon scales that now covered his upper back.  Angie gasped.  Stan turned back to face her.  “Ford and Fiddledork have been trying to come up with a way to reverse it, but they weren’t having any luck.”

             “So- so ya roped me in,” Angie said weakly.  Stan nodded.  “Why’d ya invite me here if ya knew it was some sort of…contagious condition?”

             “We didn’t know it would spread to ya,” Fiddleford said.  “If we did, I wouldn’t have asked ya to come here.”

             “What exactly do ya know about this condition?” Angie asked.

             “…Not much.”

             “So ya didn’t know it would spread, but ya also didn’t know it wouldn’t,” Angie said.  She shook her head.  “Fiddleford, this- I’m-”  She took a shaky breath.  “I thought ya were more responsible than this!”

             “Angie, I’d never intend to hurt ya.  Please, believe me!” Fiddleford begged.  Angie kneaded her forehead.

             “Fiddleford…” she said softly.  The door to Ford and Fiddleford’s bedroom opened.  Ford stood in the doorway, his goatlike legs on full display.

             “Did I hear correctly?  The transformation has spread?” Ford asked.  Angie looked up.  She let out a small squeak and collapsed.  “Is- is she all right?”

             “Fucking hell,” Stan groaned.  He walked over to Angie’s prone body and checked her pulse.  “Okay, I think she just passed out from seeing Ford.”

             “We should’ve eased her into things,” Fiddleford moaned loudly.

             “Would you just drop it?” Stan snapped.  “We’re way past that, Fiddledork!”  Angie stirred slightly.  The movement caused her shirt to lift slightly, revealing more scales, this time red and yellow, by her belly button.

             Maybe she’s turning into whatever I’m turning into.  That might be nice.

             “Stanley, please pick up Angie.  We should move her to a softer surface,” Ford said.  Stan rolled his eyes.

             “Fine.”  He picked Angie up.  She settled into his arms with a soft sigh.  “Want me to put her on the couch or what?”

             “Yes, the couch seems a good idea.  I can examine her more easily than if she were in bed.”

             “Oh, hell no,” Fiddleford said immediately.  Ford looked at him.  “Stanford Filbrick Pines, you are not examinin’ my baby sister while she’s unconscious!”

             “I won’t do anything to her.”

             “Don’t matter.  Yer studyin’ can wait until she’s awake.”  Fiddleford looked at Angie, visibly heartbroken.  “But when she wakes up, we’ll have to answer her questions ‘fore she answers ours.”