A safe haven for all those who need a space to chat and roleplay in this supportive LGBT community.


    Help Me Please?

    Share
    avatar
    Forbidden

    Posts : 476
    Join date : 2013-03-23
    Age : 20
    Location : In the closet. Haha I'm hilarious.

    Help Me Please?

    Post by Forbidden on Sat Sep 07, 2013 7:22 pm

    Okay! so I'm writing an angsty Destiel fic (or at least that's the hope), and I have a start. Problem lies in the fact that I don't know where exactly I want to go with the whole thing, and frankly, I'm not sure how good it is. I dunno about the grammar, and I sort of hate my writing style. I guess if you wanna toss out some ideas or criticism, I'd be totally open to either. Also, if you're curious as to any details I am sure of, I'll give you a short list. Feel free to tell me if they suck.


    _________________
    I mosh for Jesus
    avatar
    Forbidden

    Posts : 476
    Join date : 2013-03-23
    Age : 20
    Location : In the closet. Haha I'm hilarious.

    Re: Help Me Please?

    Post by Forbidden on Sat Sep 07, 2013 7:22 pm

    -John left Dean and Sam when Dean turned eighteen. Dean kept dragging Sam around the country to try and find their dad.
    -Dean is gonna be a bartender and is not one of Cas' students.
    -Cas teaches Theology to upper level students and Dean is an atheist if you've ever seen one.
    -When Dean finds John, an argument escalates quickly and turns physical
    -Cas has never been in love and finds falling in love with Dean confusing because he doesn't understand his feelings.
    -Dean doesn't know how to fall in love cos he was never in one place long enough. Plus, Cas is a dude...


    _________________
    I mosh for Jesus
    avatar
    Forbidden

    Posts : 476
    Join date : 2013-03-23
    Age : 20
    Location : In the closet. Haha I'm hilarious.

    Re: Help Me Please?

    Post by Forbidden on Sat Sep 07, 2013 7:25 pm

    And here's what I have so far.

    There is much dissimilarity between Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester. Their strikingly contrasting lives really should make any sort of contact between the two awkward. This simple truth is why the sudden appearance of Dean in Castiel’s life was so ground shaking and life altering.
    ***
    Castiel Milton is a man of habit. That’s why he was awake at half past four, stumbling down the hallway from his bedroom to the hall closet. Like every morning, he was grabbing a fresh towel and washcloth for his shower that wouldn’t happen for another hour and fifteen minutes. He didn’t mind that that was probably more time consuming than it would be to grab the towel on his way in from a run. This was just the way his routine went, and preparedness was something that Castiel prided himself in. At least that way there was no chance he could forget to grab a towel. That would just cause a whole mess that he didn’t even want to think about since it would never happen.
    After the towel issue was handled, he grabbed one of the neat stacks of clothes-the considerably smaller one-from off his dresser. He ended up dressed in a pair of loose running shorts that go a bit past midway down his thighs and are made out of some black, “breathable” material. He also has on a plain gray shirt that he had covered with his bright blue hoodie, Yale written across his chest in white lettering as the late spring weather was uncharacteristically unaccommodating to venture around without some sort of coat. Anna used to like telling him that the hoodie made his eyes so much bluer, but he doesn’t let himself think about that. Instead, he slipped on a pair of sneakers that have seen better days. He could afford another pair, but he liked to run his shoes to death.
    At precisely four forty-five Castiel’s worn-out soles hit the pavement of the sidewalk in front of his house. He started out on the same run he took every day, his lean muscles stretched and ready to move. He seemed to be the only one awake in the sleepy town, but that was normal. The majority of residents didn’t have to be at work until later, and none of them could be bothered to rise before five in the morning. On the way back, Castiel knew he would run into a few people who would all greet him with morning pleasantries. He would reply back politely without slowing his pace.
    He reached the familiar scene of his front stoop at five thirty. His three-story house stood in front of him, picturesque enough to seem as though it had been pulled straight out of one of those movies that Castiel never got around to watching but heard a lot about from his coworkers. He did the last bit of stretching to relax his muscles a bit. At five-forty he was walking upstairs to shower away the sweat that had accumulated through the forty-five minute run. Feeling quite refreshed, as he always did, he dressed himself in the other stack of clothes that had been on the dresser. He was wearing a white button down and a tie, with a pair of black slacks covering his legs. Castiel was the kind of guy who wore sock guards and went the whole nine yards to make sure he looked immaculate. He was one of those people who saw himself as neither attractive nor unattractive, but he cared that he looked pleasant.
    He was downstairs, making himself a quick breakfast of toast and yogurt by six o’clock. As always, he ate while running over his lesson plan for the day, one class at a time. He finished both at precisely the same moment, ten minutes later. Then he had to go to work. This involved putting on the black suit coat and the beige trench coat, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder, and turning off his lights.
    The ride to work took him ten minutes in the light traffic and at Castiel’s two miles above the speed limit driving. His arrival to the college was timed at six-thirty. He walked to the office, the usual coworkers engaging in petty but polite morning conversations with him. He responded in that kind but quiet way that he always did. Once they seemed pleased, he slipped off to hide in the safety that was his office. The office was just as pristine as his appearance, his home. Books were lined on their shelves in alphabetical order, and file cabinets full of future assignments. He goes through each of his classes the way he normally does. There is lively debate between his students, and everyone, including him, leaves each class feeling satisfied. He stays after class, grading the papers he received.
    It wasn’t until five that he could even fathom leaving, but that’s no different than normal. Everything was packed up, and he climbed into his car. The drive home was similar to the drive there, that is, until he was almost killed. It wasn’t really expected, and Castiel isn’t even sure if it’s his fault or not. All he knows is that he heard a loud honking and the screech of tires. Never before had Castiel felt the need to push the brake pedal down until it would go no more, but he did in that moment. The front bumper of his Kia managed to stop a mere two inches from the side of the cab of a U-Haul. The bulky vehicle, the professor noticed, was towing some old but well-kept car. Castiel couldn’t tell anyone what kind because he’d never indulged in learning much about cars, but he could tell it was an old model. The bench seats gave that much away. There were two people in the U-Haul, but there was no way to see more than a faint silhouette of them. Never having been in a situation like this, Castiel was unsure what exactly it was that he was supposed to do. With a sigh, he finally decided upon getting out of the car. He fully well planned on being civil.
    ***
    If Castiel is a calm lake, than Dean is tornado. Never once had he planned anything out in his life unless, of course, you count the plan that neither he nor Sammy would turn out a bit like their father. That was more of strong conviction than a plan. Plans were for people who could stay in a place for longer than a few months. Plans were for people who weren’t running away from their past. Plans were for people who weren’t chasing their past. Plans weren’t for Dean Winchester. Plans were for people like Sam Winchester.
    Okay, so maybe Dean did plan to bring home a girl and have no strings attached sex nearly every time he went to the bar. And maybe he planned to have the Impala for the rest of his life, but those didn’t count. They were hardly plans, and they were never thought through farther than the simplest of details.
    The downfall of his spontaneity lied in the current situation he found himself in. Sammy-his little brother who had been Dean’s charge since he was old enough to even comprehend what a charge was-was eighteen, newly graduated from high school, and going to Stanford University in precisely three months. Dean may have never had much of a plan, but Sam did. That sole fact was the reason why Dean Winchester was not six feet under a hundred times over. When the younger of the Winchester brothers learned that he could go study law on a full ride scholarship, he’d been ecstatic. There was only one problem; leaving Dean was something he didn’t know how to do. Never in his life had Sam been without Dean for more than a week.
    But more than the fact that attending Stanford University would be a giant leap of faith into the unknown, Sam was worried. Dean was nothing if not impulsive. With his little brother gone, there was no doubt that the twenty-four year old would get into trouble.
    Then, a brilliant idea came to Dean (of course that required an excessive amount of prompting and not-so-gentle hinting from his kid brother). Why not go home? He could reconnect with all those they left behind after their mother’s death so long ago. And maybe Dean wasn’t actually fully on board with the whole idea, but he did like the idea of spending that summer with Sam before shipping him off to California. Sam had threatened him, saying he would only stay with Dean for those last three months or so if he agreed to move back to Lawrence. Of course, Sam would have stayed with Dean had he said no. Dean just didn’t know that, or maybe he did.
    Sam had called Bobby Singer and Ellen Harvelle, family friends with whom they’d kept up sporadic communication with throughout the years. Between the three of them, they managed to find a nice home in a respectable neighborhood for Dean to live in. Bobby, a surprisingly rich man, had purchased the house, and promised to let Dean pay him back over time because they had a hard time even convincing Dean to let Bobby buy it in the first place. Neither Sam nor Dean was sure where Bobby had stumbled upon the fortune that he possessed, but they did know that he hadn’t meant for it to happen. The gruff old man continued to work despite the money he had. Sammy would never say it, but Dean reminded him of Bobby. Ellen insisted that Dean could work at her roadhouse if he liked, at least until he could find a more suitable job.
    After everything had been planned out, Sam rented a U-Haul and they loaded all of Dean’s belongings onto it. Of course, Sam had ordered the smallest U-Haul, and it wasn’t even full since he and Dean had lived in a tiny, two-room apartment. They were currently on their seventh day of the roadtrip, and Stairway to Heaven by Led Zepplin playing on the stereo. It’s by far not Dean’s favorite Zepplin song, but he couldn’t complain. It’s better than the crap that’d been playing. If he had learned anything about Kansas so far, it was that their radio stations were complete s**t. The song pulled to a close, and Carry on Wayward Son came on. This was something that he could really appreciate.
    Sammy was asleep in the passenger seat, his face smashed against the window. When Dean saw the sign that announced their arrival into Lawrence, he couldn’t help but roll the window down. Sam didn’t wake up until his head, with nothing left to support it, thumped against the door. Sitting up with a start, he looked around, eyes wide.
    “Good morning sleeping beauty. I just thought I should wake you up to tell you that we’re in Lawrence, and I was still mad at you,” Dean mused with a wide grin. If he was being honest, he hadn’t ever been mad at Sam, per say. He was mad at himself, and blaming Sam was easier than talking about his feelings. He wasn’t mushy like Sam, and Dean figured his little brother knew that he wasn’t actually mad at him. Sam always understood the way Dean worked.
    Sam gave him an annoyed glare and Dean was about to say something more when Sam snapped, “Dean, watch the road. You’re going to get us killed.”
    “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the U-Haul,” Dean grumbled as he turned his attention back towards the vaguely familiar road. He thinks that he might remember that morning when John had packed the boot of the Impala with three suitcases, stuffed Dean and Sammy in the back, and hauled ass out of Lawrence, taking this same road out. Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam kept asking both Dean and his dad where they were going. This would be the first time Dean had seen Lawrence since that dusky morning.
    Following the directions that Sam had printed out from some public library before they left Oregon and was now relaying to him, Dean drove through town. Once he was confident with where he was going, he told Sam to stuff it, so he could listen to AC/DC. As he went to drive through an intersection, Sam’s eyes widened. He was looking out Dean’s side window, so he followed his brother’s gaze. A small Kia was coming towards them. Dean pushed the brake pedal to the floor, his tires screeching. The last thing he thought was that his baby and Sam had better both make it out of this unscathed. He had braced himself for the collision that never came.
    Since he’d experienced these sorts of things quite often, what with all the exhausted driving he’s done in his life, he jumped out of his car. He completely intended to give the other driver an earful, but he was rendered completely speechless by the person he was confronted with. He’d been expecting some teenager or a gross drunk guy. Instead, the other driver was something nearer to the opposite. He was probably in his late twenties, probably an inch or so shorter Dean. His hair had that look that screamed “I just got laid”, and his eyes were inconceivably blue.
    “Are you okay?” the stranger asked in this gravelly voice. A few worry lines etched themselves into the space between his furrowed brows. His voice sounded genuinely worried, and when Dean didn’t reply, the stranger cocked his head to the side ever so slightly.
    “Uhm,” Dean mumbled unintelligibly. Once he’d collected his wits, he managed to say, “Yeah, I just thought I’d get out and make sure that there was no damage. Everything looks all right over here. What about on your end?”
    Perplexed, Cas articulated, “Why would you ask that? You are standing near where the point of impact would have been. You can clearly see that my care is unscathed, can’t you.”
    Normally Dean would’ve ripped this guy a new one, but something about the way he said it sounded so innocent, like he hadn’t meant it to sound like he was calling Dean stupid. Plus, the guy looked so absolutely confused, and what could Dean really do? So he just muttered, “Uh, yeah, sorry. Good to see you’re okay, but I have to get going.” Without waiting for a response, he hauled himself back into the U-Haul and sped off, leaving Castiel to ponder the uncomfortable and unexpected meeting in the middle of an intersection.
    Sammy stared at his brother, the worry apparent in his eyes, but Dean was good at ignoring that look because he knew it meant that Sammy wanted to discuss feelings or ask if Dean was all right. For one reason or another, it bothered him when Sammy worried about his feelings. He turned Black Sabbath up louder than necessary and pushed his foot into the gas pedal a little bit harder. Ellen had insisted that the brothers stop at the road house before they met with Bobby to go to Dean’s new place. Dean was unwilling to go against what Ellen wanted because, as he remembered, she’d given him plenty of ass-whoopings for not listening when he was younger.
    The roadhouse looked exactly the same as Dean remembered it, though the details were hazy in his mind. He’d seen so many diners and roadhouses in his lifetime that it had become difficult to distinguish one from the other. As soon as their U-Haul pulled up, a pretty blonde girl was standing out front, her face lit up with excitement. Dean instantly recognized her to be Jo, Ellen’s daughter and Dean’s childhood crush. He’d had the hots for her since he was old enough to be attracted to girls. The feelings sort of fell away when John packed them up and Dean realized he wouldn’t ever come home.


    _________________
    I mosh for Jesus

    Sponsored content

    Re: Help Me Please?

    Post by Sponsored content


      Current date/time is Wed Jul 26, 2017 3:43 pm