#ryan writes

[greencreekwolf]

lilac wine (and love)

buddie | explicit | 53k | read on ao3

Buck's love is an ouroborus, devoured tale meeting hungry head again and again. Circular and unending. or, five times buck and eddie don't say i love you and the one time they do

AO3 link

[dreamforrest]

Living Room

For @sprinkleofdiaz. Inspired by Living Room by Heffron Drive

The little house seemed so quiet. It was almost eerie to Benny. The house was so often filled with loud music and even louder visitors. The entertainment center was empty with Dean’s record player and music collection gone, leaving nothing but a shape in the light layer of dust. Housekeeping was never high on the to-do list, though Sam would often clean up in exchange for crashing on the couple’s couch. Just last week, he had knocked on their door with a six pack and a box of steaks.

Benny sat on the couch, sipping a beer but barely tasting it. He was staring at the blank spot on the wall where Dean’s Chevy poster had been. This was inevitable and he knew it. Eventually their fling would go up in flames. They knew what they were doing, using each other but it felt good. It felt good to not have to sleep alone, to have a household they built together, a healthy sex life and a deep bond. It felt good but it was just a backup plan, a distraction.

After Andrea had left him, Benny was a complete mess. Dean had come into his life when he needed him most. Dean had missed his chance with the infamous Cas. In the beginning, he would get drunk and ramble on about what an idiot he was for never telling him the truth. Benny would sit by, listening and nodding along, making sure Dean didn’t go off in a rage or pass out drunk and choke on his own vomit. He found himself staring at the younger man’s mouth more than he was listening. It happened so gradually, their hang outs became less about lost loves and more about who made better burgers and if Dean could stump Benny at music trivia. One night, in Benny’s studio apartment, bellies full of chili and cornbread, a John Wayne marathon playing on television, it happened. Dean turned to add to his ever-running commentary and caught Benny staring shamelessly and completely sober. Benny gripped the back of Dean’s neck, closing the space between them. The kiss was rough; all beard burn, tongue and callused hands. Dean moaned out fuck and Benny complied. That old rickety futon barely held together in the following months until Benny’s lease was up.

They spent the first night in their new place on the living room floor, eating Chinese out of the cartons, on a massive nest of blankets. Record player spinning Guns N’ Roses’ Welcome to The Jungle on the floor where the couch now sat. They had been happy, still running on the excitement of buying a house on a leap of faith. Dean sang along terribly, bouncing around the make shift bed with no abandon. They ate grocery store pie with their fingers and stayed up laughing and planning until sunrise then slept most of the day.

They had picked out the paint together. Benny refurbished the kitchen table and chairs, they rescued from a farm up for auction. They shopped for dishes and appliances at Goodwill, but came home with more vinyl than dishes. The toaster had started a small fire the first time they used it. Dean made dirty remarks about their need for a California King bed, that clever smirk on his face. He was wearing Benny’s shirt, so big on him, it fell to his knees, hiding his boxers. He had wrapped his arms around him, looking up at the bear of a man, “We don’t need a bed, we can just fuck on the counter. Hell, we already broke in the table.” Benny had let out a gruff laugh and held Dean tighter.

The most painful thing about rebounds is when one partner falls out of distraction and into love when the other doesn’t. It happened after an argument with the old man next door about the length of the lawn or the music being too loud the night before, the details were blurred now. It started with the lawn, then the music so they had mowed more often and tried to keep the noise down. But then it was the sound of the impala, they didn't pick up the newspaper soon enough. It was always something. After a snide comment about a kiss goodbye they shared in the driveway, Dean had made sure to rev the engine every time he left. Benny had come through the door in a huff, frustrated that the man could still find things to bitch about. Dean had been in the kitchen spaghetti on the stove and garlic bread in the oven. He turned with a smile that lit up his whole face, leaned up to kiss the larger man and handed him a beer. Just like that, Benny's anger was gone, replaced by a warm feeling in his chest. He knew that feeling, he'd experienced it before.

Two years seemed to fly by in blur of dinners, oil changes, breakfasts in bed, parties. Sometimes it felt like they would argue just to enjoy making up. Benny was in too deep now and there was no going back. He told himself not to feel it. He just wasn’t one to talk about it, neither of them were. He couldn’t make a home out of a fling. He knew better so he said nothing. Looking back now, he knew that he’d been in love for much longer than he was willing to admit.

There was a car in the driveway that Benny didn’t recognize, when got home from work. That wasn’t unusual, but there was no party when he got through the door. No music, just muffled voices coming from the living room and Dean’s old duffle bag sat by the pile of boots in breezeway. The voices stopped completely when the door shut behind him. His footfalls sounded much too loud on the tile kitchen floor. He rounded into the living room to find Dean sitting on the coffee table and a visitor, with a mess of dark hair, on the couch. The stranger blinked up at Benny, taking in his massive frame with curious bright blue eyes. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt and blue tie. He looked rather out of place in their house. Dean just stared down at his boots.

“Benny. Uh-- this is Cas.” The man attempted to smile at him.

Benny looked back at the duffle by the door.

“Oh.” He felt his throat tighten. Dean was leaving him, it was happening.

The inevitable.

There were no big goodbyes. Benny felt ill under this man’s gaze when Dean couldn’t even look him in the eye. There was no point in fighting it when Dean had already made up his mind. He watched from the front window as Dean got into the impala, engine roaring to life. He finally met his gaze through the windshield. Castiel backed out his Toyota first and then Dean was gone.

[ry-leno]

ooc for my next fic

[flatlinerburning]

faggot boys watch the rapture

"death is easy," you tell me. it's dark and the guitar's been set down in the grass and your soul's still on fire— burning, writhing, turning your sins to smoke. the sky's swirling unnatural. colors i've only seen when you sing about mirrors and whiskey. "death makes angels of us all," i tell you, and there they are— done up, wings bound, and runnin like hell. you left them for dead and they're dying, those leatherboy prophets. prophet, angel, martyr, it's all the same at the end of the world. none of it meant anything. they're shoving the gospel into your hands in the form of neon flyers, begging like you wish you could. they're bleeding from hands/wrists/mouths/knees and you laugh when their glitterblood runs into yours. you laugh when they fade at your touch. your wrist against theirs is too much for them and it makes me sick cuz honey, that highway to hell is paved with the betrayal of boys like you. boys like us, maybe, now that the stars are landing closer. fallen angel, former martyr, one of a fuckin million. some shooting star you turned out to be. it's better to burn out than to fade away but we'll never know it. there's something there to think about but i'll never do it. hollywood's holy boys are still running still begging still hoping. they've seen worse. they've run outta money for cigarettes before. you light one for us and ask me what i believe in. i tell you nothin, not like i used to, and then the angels are gone and it's just the two of us and your guitar like it used to be. i stopped believing in angels the day you stopped believing in side A daydreams and some days i wish i never met you. you tell me poets are liars, and i'm not much of one but i reckon you're right. i don't believe in angels but i do believe in this cigarette and that damn guitar and the way your voice curls around my throat. you never wanted me suffocated but i never wanted you to flip that tape. the stars are long gone and what's left of the sky is writhing with death. death is easy: finger, then another finger, then cigarette. y'know they invented white lighters for boys like us.

[bread-in-the-void]

an immortal being found out as such because they corrected the world's leading (extict language) expert on their pronunciation. naturally. in said language.

(all r-vowel-d words that make no sense in their context are phonetic spellings of "read" [or "read" lmao])

----

"... So a typical English sentence from the 2010 to 2030 range would sound like, 'I plan to red it next weekend,' while-"

"Reed it."

"I beg your pardon?"

I look up from my holo-screen, "Red is past tense, 'I red it last week,' and reed is in the present and/or future tense, 'I'll reed it later, I'm reeding it now." I glance back at the implant and remember where (and when) I am.

This time in the correct language, (the only one my current identity is supposed to know) I say, "Uhh. I mean, Enlish noot noun?" [English not known, ie. I don't know any English]

The person, (aw fuck, is that Kieran-Historian?) raises one eyebrow at me suspiciously. (Shit, it is) "Would you come with me for a minute? I have a couple of questions for you."

"Can't, sorry." I say, taking a few steps backwards. "I. uh." I'm scrambling for an excuse, looking for the best place to run, "I'm gonna be late for the train."

I bolt.

The headlines for the next month read,

"Time-Traveler Found in New Chick-go?"

[play on Chicago]

[semi-jpg]

ryan? posting his writing on a social media site? more likely than youd think

im writing a puzzleshipping streamer au and so far my friends like this interaction a lot

[theharvestcollective]

You and your f/o are sitting in silence, sharing a quiet moment in the living room. Your f/o is reading an exciting new book while you go through some papers.

You feel exhausted but you never say a word, not one to complain for fear you'll upset your f/o.

But eventually your f/o looks up from what they're doing and notices how stressd you are. They come over with a gentle look of concern and sit next to you asking if you're alright.

You hastily brush them off with a quick smile to say you're doing fine. Insistent that you don't need a break.

Your f/o smirks knowingly and picks you up. You're confused, asking in a little panic what they're doing but you're not actually opposed to the gesture as you quickly set your papers down.

Your f/o insists on you taking a break and carries you over to the couch to snuggle and watch TV. You agree to this reluctantly but quickly melt against them.

They run their hand through your hair and over your shoulders fondly and lovingly and plant a little kiss on your head.

Everything is nice and nothing more could be asked for as you watch a romantic show with the old enemies to lovers trope.

Your f/o then lifts your face with their gentle touch and steals a kiss. You reciprocate and they lean into it with little sounds of pleasure.

Before you know it you're both getting handsy, having fun and enjoying yourselves deeply.

Eventually you both tire and rest with each other and you thank your f/o for a break and a good time.

-Ryan

[bibright]

wip game

tagged by @acejuddryder - thank you!

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

all WIPs are prodigal son! 

bad things happen bingo extravaganza

brandasara quarantine roomies

brandwell ot3

jessica/martin soulmate au

pegging

kidnapping ten year old malcolm

boarding school rewrite (completed - in the process of being beta’d)

i also have about a bajillion ideas running around in my head but these are the ones that are most likely to be written and finished and published at some point or another!

tagging @i-went-to-a-cuddle-party-once  @luna-colorata @ephemeraljimin @tess-genor @malclombright @wonder-boy @sybilius