The Barnyard of Fandom
by Rentgirl 2
rentgirlsvids@hotmail.com
A 'The Sentinel' Fan Fable
Warnings: General snarkiness, bad language, slight disrespect of George Orwell and blatant use of Blair-y Sue
Pairings: implied Slash J/B
Written by Rentgirl 2, because she didn't feel she offended everyone with Crones and she never wants anyone to feel left out, including George Orwell.
The Barnyard of Fandom
by Rentgirl 2
August 2002
Jim Ellison twisted his body around and flopped belly first on the bed. When the heap under the comforter next to him remained silent, Jim let out a loud, discontented sigh. Still, the blanket-hogging lump stayed motionless.
Humming a toneless tune, he began swinging his leg off the side of the mattress with enough force to rock the entire bed. That, too, failed to rouse the clump of covers on his left.
Discretion, apparently, wasn't going to work.
"Blair," he stage-whispered. "Blair, are you asleep? Blair?"
"Jesus, Jim," came the muffled reply. "How the fuck could anyone be asleep with you flopping around, sighing, kicking, humming and calling his name?"
"So, you were just pretending to be sleeping."
"Actually, I was just ignoring you." Blair gave up and poked his head from under the covers.
"How could you ignore me? Everyone knows you're absolutely, totally, whole-heartedly in love with me. You adore me. You worship me. You long for me. You, you, you," Jim searched his brain for a second. "You pine for me."
Blair laughed. "Yeah, buddy. I fucking pine for you."
"Don't you?" Jim sounded hurt.
Blair scooted closer to his lover and draped his arm over Jim's waist. "Of course I do, you big wuss. I'm beat though. So far today, I've had my heart broken three times, I've been shot twice and kidnapped once. I've turned in my dissertation on a subject other than Sentinels and I've gotten my degree. I've graduated from the police academy. I've been deflowered and I've been a hooker. I've given you the best blowjob of your life and I've received the best blowjob of my life from you. Thank you very much."
Jim nodded modestly and Blair continued. "I've been fucked fifteen times and I've fucked you six times. I've been raped three times and only one of those times was it you. I'm dying here, Jim. I know tomorrow will be more of the same. And while I love it and you, I've got to get a couple hours of sleep here."
"But I'm wide awake, Chief, and I've had a busy day, too."
"Look, Jim, no matter how much action they give you every day, it doesn't exactly even out between us. I'm the one that gets slapped around, stepped on, beaten up, hospitalized and generally put upon." He kissed Jim's shoulder. "I'm not saying that you never get the raw deal in these things, but it's usually me."
"I suffer whenever you suffer, Chief," Jim said gallantly.
"I know you do and so do they. They seem to enjoy my physical pain and your angst."
"And lots and lots of hot sex."
"Well, of course lots and lots of hot sex."
Jim slid Blair's hand from around his waist to around his erection.
"Again?" Blair whined.
"Christ, Sandburg, you're supposed to be the insatiable one."
"I am. Well, usually. I hate to admit it, but I'm a little sore."
Jim laughed.
"Fuck you, Ellison," Blair said, pulling his hand away from Jim's now raging hard on. "You're not the one who has been penetrated eighteen times in the last twenty-four hours. God, even my mouth is sore. Between kisses, punches, blowjobs and rapid fire speeches, my lips are chapped and my salivary glands are practically dried up."
Properly chastised, Jim pulled Blair into his arms, cushioning his lover's head against his own broad chest. "Sorry, Chief."
"'s okay, man. It's not your fault they love to torture me."
"Well, it sort of is my fault," Jim said guiltily. "If you hadn't stuck with me, none of this would be happening to you."
Sore mouth not withstanding, Blair kissed the silky skin at the base of Jim's throat. "You're an idiot sometimes, Ellison. I wouldn't want to exist if I weren't stuck with you."
"Love you, too, Chief."
"I know. So let's go to sleep, all right?"
"Okay." Jim's firm resolution to let the other man rest lasted forty-five seconds. "Could we, I don't know, talk for a while? Have a little conversation?"
"Have a little conversation?" Blair leaned over Jim to squint at the alarm clock. 1:39 a.m. "You never fucking want to talk. Well, that's not totally true. You're great at spilling your guts, but only after I've wasted way too much time convincing you."
"That might be true, but I can't sleep tonight."
" Jim, I'm, like, talked out. I've had to spew facts on a hundred topics related to anthropology today. And fifty or so unrelated topics that I happened to study in the most diversified undergraduate program known to man. I've brought you out of a dozen zones and have been a charming motor mouth through it all. The old brain is fried, man."
"How about reading me a story?"
"Fucking A, Jim. Read you a story? What? Do I remind you of your mom or something?"
"Oh, that was cold, Chief. You know I grew up mostly motherless."
"You're not really going to try to pull the dysfunctional family card out on the bastard son of a Jewish hippy girl, are you?"
"You might not have had a dad, Blair, but at least the parent you did have was loving and affectionate."
"That's below the belt, Jim. Seriously below the belt."
"Yeah, but did it work?"
"Of course it worked." Blair turned on the light on the nightstand, put on his glasses and walked across their bedroom to the small bookshelf. "Besides, your next line would have been something like 'My senses are whacked from lack of sleep' and I'd be getting the book anyway. So, I'm saving us a twenty minute argument."
"I doubt very much I would have used the word 'whacked'," Jim retorted while ogling Blair's shapely, naked ass.
"Maybe not," Blair conceded, returning to their bed. "Were you staring at my ass?"
"Hey, there's no law against it."
Blair propped a couple of pillows behind his head. "Actually, Detective Ellison, I'm pretty sure there is a law against looking."
"Not if it's consenting adults and I think you wanted me to look."
"I guess I'm busted on that," Blair said with a smile. "Which story would you like to hear?"
"Hmmm," Jim said, putting his head on Blair's chest, "I'm not too picky. Just something I haven't heard recently."
Blair flipped through the fable book. "How about this one?"
"The Barnyard of Fandom?"
"Yeah," Blair said. "We haven't read this one in a while, right?"
"Chief, can you ever read me a story that's not some kind of weird fable thing?"
"Like what?" Blair said, closing the book while keeping the place with his finger.
"I don't know. Maybe a Brothers' Grimm Fairy Tale."
"Let me get this straight. You're thinking a Brothers' Grimm Fairy Tale would be a more normal story for me to read to you?"
"Well, yeah," Jim agreed.
"A more normal story for a thirty-year-old Shaman to read to his homosexual lover, a forty-one-year-old Sentinel? A forty-one-year-old Sentinel who is begging the said Shaman for a story because he can't go to sleep?"
Jim winced at Blair's outraged tone. "Gee, Chief, it sounds so stupid when you put it like that."
"Quit yanking my chain, Ellison."
"I did offer to yank something else of yours, if you'll recall, but you said you were too tired."
Blair started to put the book on the nightstand. "So, you don't want a story, right?"
Jim stuck out his bottom lip as far as he could in his best imitation of Blair's own pout. He knew it wasn't as impressive as Sandburg's, but it usually did the trick.
Blair burst out laughing. "Oh, man, I love you, Jim."
The older man snuggled closer as Blair settled the open book where they could both see it. "I know. That's why you put up with my shit."
"I think that's pretty mutual, guy. Now, do you want to hear this or not."
"Is there sex in it?"
"You're kidding, right? I mean, do you think I'd chance making you any fucking hornier?" He waved his hand at the erection Jim was rubbing against his thigh.
"A guy can hope."
"Yeah, dare to dream, Jim. So, you want to hear this or not?"
Jim sighed. There was no way he was going to turn down an opportunity to listen to his lover's beautiful voice help lull him to sleep. "Please."
"Okay. The Barnyard of Fandom: A The Sentinel Fable."
"Why," Jim interrupted, "is it 'a' The Sentinel Fable instead of just A Sentinel Fable?"
"Because the name of our show was 'The Sentinel' not 'Sentinel.' You were 'the' Sentinel. Got it?"
"Sounds kind of awkward."
"Jim."
"What? I'm just saying that in my opinion that calling the story A The Sentinel Fable is awkward."
"Too awkward to listen to the story?"
"Absolutely not, Sandburg. Read on."
"Thank you. The Barnyard of Fandom: A The Sentinel Fable."
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Once upon a time in a not-so-secret place called cyberspace, there existed the wonderful Barnyard of Fandom.
The barnyard was large and clean and full of sunlight and fresh air and all the animals were happy to be there.
At first.
In the beginning, all the animals lived happily in the barnyard. The sheep played with the cows and the cows talked to the horses and the horses admired the way the ducks swam and the ducks let the dogs chase them for exercise and the dogs helped the cats get down from trees and the cats would remind the turkeys not to look up with their mouths open during rain storms and the turkeys babysat the chickens' hatchlings while the chickens scratched the sheeps' back. Yes, the barnyard was a wonderful place.
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"Sounds pretty idyllic, Chief."
"Yes, it does."
"Of course, these kind of stories always start like that."
"Yes, they do."
"Plan on finishing it?"
"Yes, I do."
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The barnyard was such a lovely, interesting, harmonious place that the citizens from the village wanted to be a part of it. So, every day, sometimes more that once in a day, a person would bring a tempting treat called a fic down to the barnyard to share with the animals.
As first all the animals were grateful for the fics. They happily gobbled them up.
Now, sometimes the fics were like cotton candy and meringue--sweet and airy. Sometimes the fics were like Szechwan food--dark, exotic and spicy. Sometimes the fics were like smoked meats--full of salty brine and satisfying. Sometimes the fics were like Sunday dinners--filling and comforting. Sometimes the fics were like Halloween treats eaten in the dark--forbidden and frightening but delicious just the same.
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"I'm getting hungry."
"God, Jim, can you say 'the power of suggestion?'"
"I'm a big boy, Sandburg. Unlike certain runts I could name, but won't, my body needs a lot of fuel."
Blair lovingly patted Jim's rock-hard abs. "You're also over forty. Unless you want to be the proud owner of a major spare tire, you'd better cut out the middle of the night munching, man."
"You'd still be hot for me even if I did have a huge, flabby white belly."
"Well, sure, I'd still be crazy about you, Jim, but the writers," Blair shook his head. "The writers are no way going to pair up my young, sweet, nubile body with some bald, fat old guy."
"I guess I can wait for breakfast. Read more."
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Now, after a time the animals were glutted on the tasty treats. Some could no longer appreciate what was given so freely and as they became full of fics, they also became full of themselves.
One day, as the bright sun warmed them and a daisy-scented breeze from the meadow cooled them, some of the more vain animals began to speculate.
The donkey, always a bit arrogant as it was the only one of its kind in the stable as well as possessing very glossy hindquarters, walked into the center of the barnyard and began to bray. "Are we not better then the simple villagers? After all, do we bring offerings to share with them? Do we toil and worry and slave to prepare a fic for them? Are we the ones would carry it through the woods to lay at their feet like a feast?"
"Nay," neighed the most narcissistic of the horses. "'Tis the villagers what come to us. Aye, 'tis them what ponder what fic to make and how to make it and how best to serve it to us. We must be their betters."
The English setter, a pretty but not especially bright dog, rushed to agree with the donkey and the horse. "True, so true."
"Yes," the donkey continued, "we are far superior to the villagers."
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"Wow," Jim said, "it's amazing how a little attention can make someone's ego swell all out of proportion and make them think they're the center of the universe."
Blair skimmed the fingers of his left hand across the shoulder of the man who had demanded his undivided attention for the last four years. "Ya think?"
"Oh yeah. Some people are just that way. Read on."
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Now, most of the animals did not agree with the horse, the donkey and the English setter. They appreciated the fics the villagers brought to them and waited for each with great anticipation.
That is not to say that all the fics were appealing to all the animals but rather, that they had learned to devour the ones that were to their liking and avoid the ones that were not.
The chickens, for instance, hated the long fics flavored with bittersweet chocolate sorrows but adored the tiny, milk chocolate ones that melted away quickly in their mouths. The cats, for example, craved the fics that were like sourballs, hard and tart with a sugary center. If pressed, though, the cats would fill themselves on the fics that were fizzy on their tongues and made them laugh.
Each animal had discovered what pleased them and what did not.
Still, as days went by and the handful of malcontents grew more vocal, the other animals remained silent.
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"Sandburg?"
"Hmmm?"
"Why don't the animals that like the fics say anything?"
"Well, maybe they don't see the need to. After all, the villagers enjoy bringing the fics and the animals enjoy getting them so why bother?"
"I guess I can see that."
"Or maybe they'd rather see that venom directed at someone other than themselves."
"Makes sense." He turned his head slightly and ran his tongue over Blair's right nipple.
"Story or sleep?" Blair said. Not that he wasn't tempted. God, when it came to Jim he was always tempted but he was also sore, stretched out and sleepy.
Jim looked up, a sly grin on his face. "Oh story, of course."
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Day after day the villagers brought fics to the barnyard and day after day the majority of the animals munched happily. The few malcontents ate also, but their chewing was tainted with grimacing.
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"Chief, you ever notice how the fables in this book always have some kind of a food theme running through them?"
"Yeah, I've noticed."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Jesus, Jim, have you ever taken a look at the woman who writes the stories?"
"Oh. Point taken."
"May I continue?"
"Please do."
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The villagers, oblivious to the undercurrents in the barnyard, continued to bring fics. The animals continued to eat and the hostility continued to grow and grow.
It was bound to come to a head, of course.
One bright spring day, one of the younger village girls brought her very first fic to the barnyard. She had come to the barnyard before on several occasions with other villagers and their fics and had gazed longingly upon it. She so wanted to be a part of all of it, that finally, she had prepared her own fic for the animals.
What set off the donkey that day? Who can say really?
Perhaps the fic was a bit undercooked. Perhaps it was a little lopsided. Perhaps it had been baked with too much sweetener and not enough lemon zest. Perhaps the girl had been too eager and had tried to make a fic before her skills were up to the task. Perhaps she should have had another, more experienced villager double-check her ingredients.
We'll probably never know.
All that is recorded is what happened after the girl, good intentions in her heart and hope in her eyes, opened the wooden gate, entered the barnyard and set the fic in the community trough.
The donkey took the first bite. "Eeyor. Eeyor," it brayed menacingly. "Eeyor, eeyor, horrible fic. Horrible fic."
The horse nibbled at the corner of the fic, glanced at the donkey for guidance, and began to neigh. "Neigh, neigh, neigh, never have I read such drivel."
The English setter grabbed a taste and began to bark. "Arf, arf, arf, awful stuff. Awful stuff."
The girl, stunned, backed up slowly to the gate.
A few of the sheep, always noted for being followers, took up the trio's cause. "Baa, baa, baa, baad fic. Baad fic. Baad fic," they bleated.
The cow, heavy udders swaying, lifted her nearly brainless head and let loose with a "Moo, moo, moo, move away and take your fic with you."
A handful of ducks waddled toward the girl. "Quack, quack, quack, crap. Crap fic. Crap fic."
Two hens merely pecked, pecked, pecked at the fic shaking their tiny heads and cackling amongst themselves.
Five of the turkeys, generally good-hearted animals, but never noted for their intelligence, joined the mob. "Gobble, gobble, goobledygook fic."
When the girl had back pressed against the wooden gate, fear etched on her pretty face, one of the yellow cats, eager to please the English setter, stalked the frightened child. "Hsss, hsss, hsss. Despicable. Despicable fic."
The girl bolted over the gate.
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"Wow. That was harsh," Jim said.
"Well, sometimes girls can act that way."
"What did you say?"
"Sometimes animals play that way."
"That is not what you said, Sandburg."
"Just because that's not what you think you heard doesn't mean that's not what I said."
"Blair, are you fucking with my mind?"
"If I am, it's the only thing I'm willing to fuck with tonight."
"I love you, too, Chief."
Blair laughed. "I know. Now, should I finish this up or are you ready to sleep now?"
"Finish it up."
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So, hand pressed against her mouth to hold back a shriek of terror, the girl stood frozen on the other side of the fence. A cacophony rose up from the barnyard.
"Eeyor. Horrible fic."
"Nay, nay, never again."
"Baa, baa, baad fic."
"Arf, arf, arf, awful."
"Quack, quack, crap."
"Moo, moo, move away."
"Baa, baa, baad fic."
"Gobble, gobble, gobbledygook."
"Baa, baa, baad fic."
As the girl remained there, her big green eyes awash in tears, the hens stuck their tiny heads between the weathered slats of the fences and began to peck at her petite, pink toes.
The pain of sharp little beaks piercing her delicate skin brought her out of shock. She ran back to the village, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The horrifying din from the barnyard followed her through the woods, still echoing in her ears as she sprinted to the outskirts of town.
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"Those animals really sucked, man," Jim said.
"Do you mock me, oh Sentinel of the Great City?"
"Nah, just making an observation."
"Anyway, not all the animals sucked, Jim. Most of the barnyard belonged to what we used to call The Silent Majority."
"Still, the poor girl."
"You old softie," Blair said affectionately.
"Softie? Not really," Jim replied, grinding his hard cock into Blair's thigh.
"You're a persistent slut, Ellison. I'll give you that."
"What can I say? You help me discover my inner whore." Jim leaned down to flick his tongue around Blair's navel.
Blair threaded his hand in Jim's dark hair and gently tugged the older man's head up. "Remember me telling you no sex in this story?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you've already given us a PG rating here, buddy."
"Sorry." Jim scooted back against Blair's chest. "Continue."
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Now, when the girl told the villagers what had happened to her there were mixed reactions.
Some villagers thought that the animals were justified. Perhaps the girl's fic was not up to the standards set by the other villager's fics and she had gotten just what she deserved.
Some villagers were horrified with the animals. They had come to think of the animals in the barnyard as friends and their blatant rejection of the fic and humiliation of the girl appalled them.
Some of the villagers were not sure how they felt. On one hand, the animals certainly had the right to their own opinions. On the other hand, would it have been so difficult for the animals to be gracious and compassionate?
Was this a one time occurrence, many wondered, or would their own fic offerings now be held up for cruel scrutiny?
Still another set of villagers found the entire incident, while regrettable, somewhat amusing. After all, they produced fic for their own fulfillment. The animals' enjoyment was a pleasant, but unnecessary, bonus. Heated discussions broke out amongst the villagers.
By the end of the day, the only thing the once peaceful villagers could agree on was that nothing would ever be quite the same because of the barnyard of fandom.
And in the barnyard there was division as well.
Those who had attacked the girl, preening under their own admiration, became even more puffed up.
"Are we not the most clever of the clever?" brayed the donkey.
"Aye, that we are," the horse neighed.
"Indeed, indeed," the English setter agreed.
The pig, never much for thinking or speaking, merely nodded her bristle-flecked head and gave an affirmative grunt.
Across the barnyard other animals, even some who had joined in on the previous day's misdeeds, began to mutter amongst themselves.
"Perhaps," the rooster crowed, "we were wrong not to defend the girl."
"Mayhap," the field mice squeaked, "we made a mistake."
"Do you suppose," the barn owl hooted, "we shouldn't have let those three and their minions get out of hand to start with?"
"You know," the goose honked, "I never really cared much for the donkey anyway."
On the other side of the barnyard, as it drank from the water trough, the donkey eyed the rooster, mice, owl and geese suspiciously. "I wonder what they're up to," it mused aloud.
"Nothing good, I'll bet," answered a duck. "You can never trust an owl. Owls think they're smarter than everyone else."
"Well," purred a cat, "owls are pretty smart."
"Are you taking their side against us?" demanded a turkey.
"No, no," the cat said. "I was only saying that owls are smart. Everyone knows that."
"It's true," baaed one of the sheep. "Owls are smart."
"Smarter than I am? Is that what you are implying?" the donkey asked angrily.
Soon all the beasts in the barnyard were arguing. Old hurts from long ago, silly feuds that should have mattered less than nothing, were all dragged back up from the past to be rehashed.
Great confusion reigned as groups merged and divided agreeing on an issue and disagreeing on another. Shouting and screaming and howling and snorting and name-calling rang through the farm. There was biting and pecking and clawing and pushing and kicking.
When the dust finally settled near twilight, where an idyllic, supportive community once stood, were now several angry, hostile huddles. Each group sure the others were fundamentally wrong. Each sure they alone held the high, moral ground.
It was the first split in fandom.
But not the last.
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"That's just stupid, Sandburg. Something that ridiculous could never happen."
"Oh, Jim, Jim, Jim," Blair said pityingly. "You just don't spend much time on the internet in Yahoo!Groups or at fan conventions, do you?"
"I'm a busy guy," Jim said defensively.
"I know you are," Blair said, kissing his lover's lips softly. "The splits in fandom, though? It happens all the time."
"Well, okay, so it really happens. What in the world do fandoms split over?"
"It would be easier to list what fandoms don't split over."
"Sandburg," Jim growled.
Blair laughed. "Okay, man, let's see. Say a storyline on the actual show takes a major turn or an actor is replaced or a character dies or has some big personality change, the fandom will split."
"Why? Fans don't even have any control over that kind of stuff."
"True, but that doesn't seem to matter. There are 'Clans of Denial' in every fandom. They don't like what happened so they just pretend it didn't. They throw canon right out the window."
"Hmm. What else splits a fandom?"
"God, Jim, what doesn't? The interpretation or a story or a character or a different pairing of characters or slash vs het vs gen..."
Jim didn't hear anything after 'a different pairing of characters.' "What do you mean by a different pairing?"
"I mean a different pairing," Blair enunciated slowly. "You know, not everyone believes in one true pairings or even in homosexual pairings in fan fic."
Jim gave his best flower-of-Southern-womanhood imitation. "Say it isn't so, Blair. Say it just isn't so."
"Oh, yeah, buddy," Blair said with a smile. "It is so. You've got sections of fandom where sex is taboo..."
"No way!" Jim interrupted.
"Yes way, Jim. Not everyone is a sex fiend like you."
"And you."
"Yeah, and me. Anyway, some fans actually even like to read about men and women together in relationships."
"Seriously?"
"Sure. You know, not everybody sees gay eroticism in every show with two good looking guys."
"Hard to fathom."
Blair just shook his head. "Fathom it, guy. Even in groups where everyone likes heterosexual relationships or everyone likes homosexual relationships, not everyone agrees on who should be fucking who."
"Who should be fucking who or who should be fucking whom?"
Blair waved his hand in Jim's general direction, "Whatever. My point is right now, somewhere out there in the splits of fandom, I'm in love with Simon and you're having a hot affair with Megan."
Jim shuddered against Blair. "That's just so wrong on so many levels."
"Well, yeah, in this particular split of fandom it is. In another, it's par for the course."
"Could we not talk about this anymore? It's kind of frightening."
"Wuss," Blair said, squeezing Jim tight.
"Yes, I am. And luckily in this split of fandom, I'm your wuss. Read on."
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Fandom would indeed never be the same after that day.
The animals would never frolic together as they once had. They were never as open, as sharing, as free with one another again. For no matter how many in fandom were good and honorable, and most were, there would always be those who jealously guarded whatever trophy scraps of fandom they believed they alone held. So, there would always be division and whispering. Pull and push. Disharmony and disarray. Awe and angst.
As for the villagers, well, some became too frightened to ever bring fic to the barnyard again. Some could have continued, but chose not to because it pained and exhausted them to see what fandom had become. Some didn't care what the malcontents said and brought their offerings in the light of day. Some brought their fics to secret sects of the animals, meeting in hidden places with secret passwords necessary to share the fics.
Still most, both villager and animal, found some way to remain, to spend time in the barnyard of fandom. It was not perfect, of course, but then nothing that is inhabited by man and animal can be, for man and animal are not perfect. The barnyard was like the world: full of good and bad, kind and cruel, talent and talentless, ungrateful and gracious, selfish and generous. Most inhabitants came to realize that the barnyard had never been the Shangri-La that the elders talked about late at night when they were gorged on ale and ambrosia. No, the barnyard was only a dream, a respite from the real life they lived. A place to relax, to think, to laugh.
Sometimes a wondrous place, sometime a frightening place, but always a place worth visiting, worth exploring.
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Blair closed the book of The Sentinel Fables and lay it on the nightstand. Jim was sleeping, his breath puffing gently from his slack lips. With a contented smile, Blair clicked off the light and snuggled into his lover's embrace.
He shut his eyes and slumbered.
Tomorrow was another big day.
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