As LeeMarieJack reminds us, when it comes to fanfic, it's become pretty much impossible to come up with something truly novel, because somewhere, somehow, for better or worse, it's Been Done Before. Whatever transformation, whatever pairing, whatever verse you can imagine, somebody else has already written about it somewhere. Sabriel in a shoe shop, with primal scream therapy, pet elephants and roller disco dates? So last decade. Destiel mpreg set in the Crimean War including a threesome with Florence Nightingale? You plagiarist. Crobby house-hunting during the French Revolution with adopted children who grow up to be lesbian amputee Inuit throat-singing virtuosos and breeders of prize-winning racing sloths? Ho-hum. It's like Rule 30-something of fanfiction: if you can imagine it, it's already been written somewhere.
I can only read Leahelisabeth's bad fanfic offering, and seethe with envy. It's just a mark of her writing; in order to lampoon something by doing it intentionally badly, it is necessary to be good at doing it properly. So for utterly hilarious Sam-In-A-Box stories, she should be a shoe-in…
Also, it transpires that my husband agrees with TBO and RJ that every story should have boobs as an essential part of the plot. Because titties. I cannot promise to comply with this, other than to assure everyone that, in the Jimiverse, Dean thinks about them all the time, even if he's not actually talking about them.
Chapter Fourteen
After RJ went to bed, with the two Cockapoos snuggled up to his travel cot, Dean headed for the bathroom and, despite Sam's protests that he was supposed to be writing a fanfiction offering for the meeting, insisted that after a stressful and traumatic afternoon a long relaxing soak was in order.
"I'll write better if I'm in a relaxed state of mind," Dean insisted, bobby gently amongst the mounds of bubbles, "I'll be more receptive to the creative urge."
"It's harder than it looks," Sam called from where he was frowning at his laptop, "You can't just misspell every second word, it'll look overdone, and we don't want to raise any suspicions with whatever is responsible, it's gotta be a story that's just plain, authentically… badly done." He let out a frustrated huff. "Just when I think I've got something that might work as a bad fanfiction, I realise that I've got something that looks like a plot, or the dialogue makes sense, or there's something in there that somebody might like."
"You're over-thinkin' things, as usual," scoffed Dean.
"Well, you're not thinking at all," snapped Sam, miffed that he'd finally found the writing assignment that really stumped him. "Do you even have any ideas?"
"I'll scribble something down," Dean replied dismissively. "Look, all you gotta do is pick something that'll get everybody readin' it offside to start with, then just write it without putting in too much effort. Look at that Twilight stuff, dashed off with not much thought, and it annoyed the shit out of people across the world."
"A lot of girls liked it," Sam countered. "Come to think of it, so did a lot of women. Well, females whose bodies were of adult age, not sure what it said about their brain development."
"And a lot more thought it was complete crap," Dean pointed out. "There's always gonna be a few weirdos who enjoy the stuff everybody else hates. I mean, look at you, you like bean sprouts."
"So, what do you suggest, Ms Meyer?" snarked Sam somewhat trenchantly.
"Pick a pairing that most people will hate," Dean said airily, "Or kill somebody off."
"Deathfics can be pretty popular," Sam pointed out.
"Only because they're soppy," chuckled Dean. "Done properly, a Supernatural deathfic could totally make you Public Enemy Number One."
"Right," grunted Sam, tapping at the keys again, "I look forward to your crapfest masterpiece. Oh, and if I have to kill anybody off, I'm starting with you."
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The first thing Sam noticed when they arrived at the meeting venue the next morning was that the conference-goers seemed to be almost exclusively women.
The first thing that Dean noticed was the immaculately restored Impala in the lot. He made a small sad noise as he parked his Baby, in her powder blue Volvo disguise, next to it; the sound was reminiscent of the noise that RJ had made when he had finally figured out that Auntie Samantha was not ever going to be in a position to furnish the titi he liked so much.
"Look at her," Dean moaned, "Look at her, she's magnificent, almost as magnificent as my own Baby…"
"Well, a lot of fans take the whole thing very seriously," Sam reminded him, "I'm kind of scared about the idea of cosplay day… Dean!"
Dean paused, fingers twitching, like a dog that freezes mid-sniff of the garbage can when it hears its name snapped out in the Bad Dog voice.
"Dean!" Sam hissed, "Don't you dare touch somebody else's car!"
"I'm having withdrawals," Dean sounded pained, "I miss my Baby, I miss her so much…"
"You'll live," Sam grunted.
"I just want to touch her again," Dean's voice caught, "I just want to feel her beautiful bodywork under my hands…"
"Stop it!"
"Just a quick fondle?"
"Dean…"
"No tongues, I promise…"
"No!" Sam shot Dean a Bitchface #12™ (I Am Going To Pretend I Didn't Hear What You Just Said You Disgusting Individual). "How would you feel about some total stranger leaving nose prints on your car? You'd go totally mediaeval on their ass!"
"At least they'd die happy," Dean muttered resentfully, opening the door to retrieve RJ, who didn't help by making cheerful "Voom! Voom!" noises when he spotted the other Impala.
The meeting had a different vibe to an academic conference, which pleased Sam, because he had been worried he might have some traumatic flashbacks to some of the symposia he'd attended at college.
"Looks kind of informal," Dean remarked, smiling back at another woman whose toddler waved to RJ and received a sunny grin and a wave of Stanley in return. "There's other women with their kids."
"Well, it's meant to be a fun thing," Sam reminded him, "It's not like anybody has to be here for coursework or anything. They're here to enjoy themselves in the company of like-minded individuals."
"This would be a lot more fun if I could be proper male me," sighed Dean, looking around. "The women outnumber the guys by at least ten to one. And oooooh, hello," he mused under his breath, watching a woman who couldn't wait for the meeting's official cosplay day stroll past in a rather revealing human!Impala outfit, "Look at that deck lid on that, I'd like to get a look at the initials on that back ledge… OW!"
"Titi!" yelled RJ cheerfully, grabbing for one with each hand.
"Serves you right," grunted Sam with a note of satisfaction, "You're not Dean here, you're Dee, and we can't break cover."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean griped, then brightened. "Hey, maybe if I come as myself for cosplay day?"
"Forget it," said Sam abruptly. "The only cosplaying you could do with any sort of conviction would be to find a Hitchhiker's Guide session at a scificon, and go as Eccentrica Gallumbits the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon-6."
"Hey! I've only got two!"
"You got enough for three. Or you could always shove RJ down your shirt, and he can cosplay as Boob #2, just colour in his nose red with some blusher, and away you go."
"Titi!"
"Et tu, RJ. Come on, bitch, let's get signed in."
The volunteers staffing the sign-in and orientation tables were clearly fans of the more enthusiastic variety…
"Okay," murmured 'Dee' as they approached, "The one with the stick on beard and the cap is Bobby, although she needs a bigger cushion up her shirt to be completely convincing…"
"I'll tell him you said that," commented 'Samantha'.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm terrified, the one with the, what is that on her head, a mop? Is she supposed to be you?"
"It's a wig," Samantha pointed out, "Albeit a scruffy one. It's probably well worn. The presence of a tie and a trench coat suggests Cas rather than me."
"And the next one, what's she meant to be?"
"Possibly a vampire, if the plastic teeth are anything to go by."
"Huh, like vampires would turn anybody that fat, they only pick hot chicks, to rope in their victims. It's like those women who put on a gold bikini and expect us to think 'Princess Leia' rather than 'Jabba the Hutt'…"
"Don't be so catty! This is supposed to be a bit of escapism for fun, keep your shallow remarks to yourself."
"Oh, so a fat chick can cosplay a vampire, but a buxom one can't cosplay Dean Winchester, because that's totally consistent with… Oh. My. God. Look at that one."
"What? Where?"
"The last one, on the end there… oh, that's amazing! We're totally signing in over there!"
Dee scuttled to the end of the long tables, and gushed enthusiastically as Samantha presented their details.
"You look great!" she enthused, "You have totally nailed it!"
"Yeah?" The object of her approval blushed slightly. "Uh, thanks. I thought I might've gone a bit over the top, with the drawing on the tatts…"
"No," Dee said firmly, "You got it just right! And the scars are completely convincing! Isn't it amazing, Samantha?"
"Uh, yeah," agreed Sam, "Very convincing."
"If she stepped out of the pages of the book, you're exactly what she'd look like!" declared Dee. "Seriously, you are Ronnie Shepherd!"
'Ronnie' smiled. "That's so kind of you. To be honest, I wasn't completely sure I could pull this off…"
"You did," Dee stated firmly. "If they made a Supernatural movie, you should get the part!"
'Ronnie' laughed, and completed their registration, handing over their name tags and documentation. "I don't suppose you'll be on the cosplay judging panel then?"
"No, but if we can vote, I am totally voting for you," Dee smiled. "That's some really amazing ink work. They're just drawn on?"
"Yep. My sister is a tattoo artist. That one's actually my dog, he's a Border Collie, but she put pointy ears and fangs on him, and turned him into Mako." 'Ronnie' smiled ruefully. "She threatened to wax me first."
"Nah," Dee waved a hand dismissively, "Just tell everyone it's the day before the full moon."
"You two have fun!" grinned the would-be werewolf.
"And you have the gall to call me a bitch," muttered Samantha as they wandered off.
"What?" demanded Dee. "You told me not be catty, so I wasn't. I said positive things. And, for your information, I meant them. That's gotta be the most epically convincing Supernatural cosplay ever."
"Dee, that was a guy!"
"Well, duh."
"A guy who obviously eats cows for breakfast and lifts heavy weights twice a day."
"See my previous comment."
"But not on his days off, when he rents his face out to blacksmiths as an anvil."
"The resemblance is uncanny, isn't it?"
"If he stripped and lay down, people would just assume he was a rug and ignore him!"
"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, but at certain times of the lunar month, Ronnie does get pretty hairy."
"When she shapeshifts to her wolf form, Dean, er, Dee! And even when she does shift, I don't think her chest is that hairy…"
"Now who's making catty remarks about personal appearance?" Dee sniffed disdainfully. "You disappoint me, Samantha."
"Jerk," muttered Sam.
"So, what now?" Dee jiggled RJ, who avidly watched a particularly unlikely 'Lucifer' walk past and let out an approving cry of 'Titi!'.
"We set up our accounts," Samantha replied, heading for a seating area that was populated by women tapping at laptops, chatting earnestly, or doing both. "It's how this thing is arranged, you pick a pen name, and upload your stuff to the temporary server, then you use the password on your name tag, and you can look at other people's writing too. That way, when the different panels choose pieces to read out and comment on, the writer doesn't have to identify themselves if they don't want to. The rules are pretty simple, keep it constructive, don't get abusive, and if you troll or try to start a flame war, the Sys Op will track you down and throw you out."
"So, some chick with coke-bottle glasses who hasn't been outdoors for the last three weeks will kick my ass?" asked Dee, not sounding convinced.
"Possibly," Samantha replied serenely, "And if she doesn't, I will. So keep yourself nice."
They opened up their laptops and, while RJ waved Stanley engagingly at anyone within waving distance, set up accounts and submitted their first pieces.
"So, now we wait," mused Samantha, "Maybe we can read some of the stuff already here."
"Or we could drink coffee," added Dee brightly, spotting the small café, "And possibly eat pie. So, go get us food, bitch."
Sam stood up, smiling sunnily. "Sure," she said, "I'll be right back."
If Dee was wondering about the easy compliance of her bestie with the abrupt order, the reason became clear when she returned.
"Oh, hell, no," growled Dee as Sam put a small cup of frothed milk in front of RJ.
"Faff! Faff!" enthused RJ, poking at it to make the froth wobble.
"What have I told you about givin' him that sissy stuff?" snapped Dee.
"He likes it so much," Samantha just grinned, "And dairy is so good for growing bones. You love your froth, don't you, RJ?"
"Faff!" the boy agreed. He scooped up a handful, tasted it, squealed with delight, then turned around to splat some onto his parent's chest. "Titi faff!"
"Hey, that's a two word sentence," noted Sam assiduously, "Little RJ is growin' up."
"Great," muttered Dee, "No women, no porn, homework, and I'm gonna be double teamed by a couple of little bitches. I almost can't wait for whatever this thing is to come and try to drag me away."
Why Dean doesn't just put on his jacket and claim he's fem!Dean is beyond me, I'm finding him convincing so far.
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