Hey, DB fen....
Further update to the previous.
Wrote another couple hundred-ish words on that transfic yesterday. (It's MTF!Dean, by the way. And as you might expect, whole new levels of angst.) Problem: I think yesterday's part was so good I'm not gonna be able to make the rest live up to it. Especially not the rest of it that appeared in my mind last night -- I mean, something's better than nothing, but even so. Not great. That second section was just so good, well, it was like I told Zera yesterday: "My characters will write things and I'll be sitting there, holding the pen, going, 'Wow, that was really well-put/clever/awesome. I wish I'd written that.'" But Dean doesn't seem to be inclined to help further, and I'm worried the whole story may die because it peaked before it was over.
So, help? Bunnies? What scenarios would be interesting to explore in this AU? Any ideas at all might strike something, you never know.
ETA: And I didn't want to influence anyone's suggestions by including the story-so-far, but if folks want to read it, I'll edit it in.
---
ETA #2, the story so far:
She cared more for her coworkers than for the job itself, she knew that. Sure, she loved it, was damn good at it, was grateful to even still have a job, in this economy - but, fuck, that was the way it should be, if you asked her.
In this line of work? Your friends were what kept you grounded, kept you sane, kept you (all too often) alive.
She’d known she’d do anything for them - even before the whole thing with Carter, when she had, when she’d risked the only job she’d ever loved to help save his.
Because she’d been doing it all along, sacrificing herself for them, for the job, for the life. (Not the life she’d have asked for, but, most of the time, an acceptable substitute.)
And what was integrity, really, when you spent your time lying, pretending, being someone else?
She simply kept it up after the job was over and, with all the practice she’d had, no one ever noticed.
And it didn’t take her long to realize she could drink enough that she’d nearly believe it, too.
---
Her hair had been longer, once. Long before the job, before the force. It couldn’t have been called “grown out” by any stretch of the imagination, but it was something. It was hers.
What it was, too, was recognizable. Recognizable meant noticeable, meant identifiable. Meant dangerous. Distinguishing features were the kind of things that got covers blown, got people made, got people killed. She learned this long before the job.
Once she had, she knew the hair had to go. Buzzed off - overcompensating, and because “butch” was safe and “feminine” was another of those things that could get someone killed.
She watched the chunks of it fall to the floor, her jaw set, her teeth clenched. She let herself feel angry instead of sad. And she kept her cover, for one more day.
(Inwardly, she railed at him, Dean, her cover identity, for taking the one small, last thing that was hers. Her body belonged to him, and he didn’t even exist. She let herself feel angry instead of sad. Instead of bitter, jealous, lonely. She railed at him, silently, through his clenched teeth.)
But she kept her cover, for one more day.
---
A/N: And for what it's worth, that second part was inspired mostly by the almost-unrecognizable LMG as Tyler in Traveler plus some artistic license (and yes, that's WC's Matt Bomer as Jay next to him. Small world, ain't it?).
Wrote another couple hundred-ish words on that transfic yesterday. (It's MTF!Dean, by the way. And as you might expect, whole new levels of angst.) Problem: I think yesterday's part was so good I'm not gonna be able to make the rest live up to it. Especially not the rest of it that appeared in my mind last night -- I mean, something's better than nothing, but even so. Not great. That second section was just so good, well, it was like I told Zera yesterday: "My characters will write things and I'll be sitting there, holding the pen, going, 'Wow, that was really well-put/clever/awesome. I wish I'd written that.'" But Dean doesn't seem to be inclined to help further, and I'm worried the whole story may die because it peaked before it was over.
So, help? Bunnies? What scenarios would be interesting to explore in this AU? Any ideas at all might strike something, you never know.
ETA: And I didn't want to influence anyone's suggestions by including the story-so-far, but if folks want to read it, I'll edit it in.
---
ETA #2, the story so far:
She cared more for her coworkers than for the job itself, she knew that. Sure, she loved it, was damn good at it, was grateful to even still have a job, in this economy - but, fuck, that was the way it should be, if you asked her.
In this line of work? Your friends were what kept you grounded, kept you sane, kept you (all too often) alive.
She’d known she’d do anything for them - even before the whole thing with Carter, when she had, when she’d risked the only job she’d ever loved to help save his.
Because she’d been doing it all along, sacrificing herself for them, for the job, for the life. (Not the life she’d have asked for, but, most of the time, an acceptable substitute.)
And what was integrity, really, when you spent your time lying, pretending, being someone else?
She simply kept it up after the job was over and, with all the practice she’d had, no one ever noticed.
And it didn’t take her long to realize she could drink enough that she’d nearly believe it, too.
---
Her hair had been longer, once. Long before the job, before the force. It couldn’t have been called “grown out” by any stretch of the imagination, but it was something. It was hers.
What it was, too, was recognizable. Recognizable meant noticeable, meant identifiable. Meant dangerous. Distinguishing features were the kind of things that got covers blown, got people made, got people killed. She learned this long before the job.
Once she had, she knew the hair had to go. Buzzed off - overcompensating, and because “butch” was safe and “feminine” was another of those things that could get someone killed.
She watched the chunks of it fall to the floor, her jaw set, her teeth clenched. She let herself feel angry instead of sad. And she kept her cover, for one more day.
(Inwardly, she railed at him, Dean, her cover identity, for taking the one small, last thing that was hers. Her body belonged to him, and he didn’t even exist. She let herself feel angry instead of sad. Instead of bitter, jealous, lonely. She railed at him, silently, through his clenched teeth.)
But she kept her cover, for one more day.
---
A/N: And for what it's worth, that second part was inspired mostly by the almost-unrecognizable LMG as Tyler in Traveler plus some artistic license (and yes, that's WC's Matt Bomer as Jay next to him. Small world, ain't it?).
