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szlez @szlez.bsky.social · 15h

Poweroutage
Suptober Day 10

#suptober25 #destiel #queer #supernatural #spn

The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 18h

!Warning! Beyond "drown", the story shows physical & sexual violence against a minor & childhood neglect of basic needs.

Art by PimentoGirl

pimentogirl.tumblr.com/post/6385738...

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#DrippingWings #SexWarAndPeace #Destiel #suptober25 #spnfanfic #SPN

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The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 18h

#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #JohnWinchestersA+Parenting

A pang of pain shot through Dean’s heart as he watched the legs in ripped jeans start to flail. His gaze involuntarily dropped to the floor. He didn’t need to look to know and feel what was going down. A large hand had an iron grip on the back of his head. Too much, too far in. He couldn’t breathe. It was blocking his throat completely. Even breathing through his nose did no good. Choking, he started to bring his teeth to bear, then the sudden violence of the thrusts against his face slammed his head back into the wall with stunning force.
His arms started frantically looking for purchase on the wall. Malnourished, he didn’t have strength enough to shove the sturdy john away. The only thing that might keep him from blacking out was trying to stand or to turn his head and fall sideways.
The effort earned him a moment’s reprieve, saving him from vomiting and passing out.
As suddenly as it turned violent, it was over. The cumming penis straining deeper into his mouth stopped, then it was gone and a hand was caressing his face as he hacked up semen in his throat. Disgusted, stomach sick, his mouth and throat hurting, he slapped it away without thinking. That same hand came down backhand on his cheek, hard. One of the man’s feet took a step toward him. Seemingly, he thought better of it when Dean instinctively cringed and uselessly put up shaking arms in defence.
Pathetic. The trick laughed darkly as he tucked his slick penis away, zipping and buttoning himself up as he turned away from the boy on the floor, slumped against the wall coughing, gagging and wheezing for air after accidentally sucking another glob of cum into his lung.
The man met Castiel’s ice-cold gaze head-on as he walked out of the open restroom door, slipping by him, chuckling. “Your turn, pal.”
Castiel icily watched him go, grateful the man would continue living his life as if Hell wasn’t real, only to discover that it is.

Continued...

Castiel observed as Dean of long ago found his feet and pulled himself up to the sink, curling over it, retching up as much foul-smelling, curd-laden ejaculate as he could, turning on the cold water tap and spitting into the sink. It came out tinged pink with blood and snot.
Glancing Castiel’s way, eyes bloodshot and tears running down his face, the boy flipped him off. “Fuck off, pal.” Cas’ gaze promptly hit the tile floor. Dean’s voice sounded raw, weak, and wrecked. Speaking caused him pain. Dean couldn’t see him clearly through watering,
bloodshot eyes, and he hadn’t spoken, betraying his voice. There was no need to alter the boy’s memory.
He backed out of the room, reaching for the edge of the door, wordlessly inviting Dean to close it. Dean started, letting it go. Castiel turned his gaze to Dean as the door creaked closed beside them. Dean tried to keep his gaze up, look him in the eye, and keep his eyes from watering worse than they already were. He succeeded at none of those things. What he’d done back then staved off him and Sam starving another four or five days. This time, John would return before things got worse. That did nothing to take the edge off how shamed, filthy, and worthless it had made him feel. It still did. His hand started heading up to cover his eyes.
“Dean, don’t—” Cas gave his head a gentle shake and brought in his hand to keep Dean’s from rising further.
"Feel ashamed?” Dean demanded, interrupting, his lips quivering slightly. Castiel decided against what he’d been about to say, seeming tense for a moment, only to have
found something that gave him peace by the time he met Dean’s gaze again. Dean swallowed nervously as he looked Cas in the eye. What he saw therein—there was only one word to describe it. Reverence.
Castiel’s expression changed. He regretted realizing something too late. Lower this time, Cas’s hand came to his arm again. “Dean, leave. Please. You don’t need to be here with me for me to see your memories.

Continued...

I don’t want you anywhere near this because of me.”
Dean scoffed bitterly, sniffling. “I already am, Cas.” He shrugged helplessly, fixing his hardened gaze on the closed bathroom door. “I live with this shit every fuckin’ day.”
Castiel blinked, shocked, looking away from Dean, taking a small, weaving step backward when a second vertigo wave washed over him. He looked up to Dean, deepening fear and confusion taking over his face. For minutes now, a growing sensation, the onslaught of a fast-moving current, had been worrying him. Now, it began crashing into him, such that even a seraphim found it near impossible to keep steady on his feet. He wanted to stay. Unless he fought it, it would carry him away from this place and time.
“Cas?!” Dean latched a hand onto the angel’s forearm when his gaze went unsettlingly distant. He looked like he might keel over backward. Castiel’s attention snapped back to here and now—to Dean.
Again, drifting away from Dean, Cas looked at the hallway wall as though looking through it. “Let go, Dean… I have to go.”
“Cas, what is it? What’s going on?” Dean’s hold on him got much tighter. The seraph shook his head.

Defeated, Dean let go of his hold on Castiel’s arm. What was happening? All this talk about choosing each other, about being what he needed him to be when he needed it, and now the angel was the one freaking and squirrelling the hell outta here? What the fuck?
Backing down the hall, his steps getting quicker with each one, Cas let his focus be taken from Dean and turned it to keeping his bearings in the swirling eddy of time and an odd species of gravity.
“Cas? Where the Hell are you goin’? I let you in and you just nope the fuck out?” demanded Dean, striding after him.
Cas spared Dean one last moment of his undivided attention. He’d turned his back on Dean and begun walking away without having realized it.

Continued...

He planted his feet in place and turned to look back, taking in the sight of Dean standing just beyond reach, one hand still up in the air a bit, hoping for him to reach back, the look on his face what—the-fucking at him, accusing, and hurt.
The moment in time crystallized perfectly in his mind—both what was here in their minds and seeing Dean entranced in the world outside against the backdrop of a majestic hundred-year maple tree and the blue and violet twilight sky, blended. This place, this moment in time, was the beacon to which he would return.
Something deep, deep within him didn’t believe they lived in a universe cruel enough to rip them away from one another now. His perception returned to the dim roadhouse hallway—to Dean’s hurt and fear plain on his face. “I have work to do.” Stepping back on his heels, he turned away. His feet stopped walking him away from Dean. Leaving things this way was wrong. Too painful for Dean. Looking back over his shoulder, Castiel smiled, warm and loving, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know I’m gone,” he promised. Cas let his feet walk him around the corner, giving up his hold on this time and place as he vanished from Dean’s sight.
Dean rounded the corner and started, freezing. The look on his face hardened. Son of a bitch was gone…

•

Art by Pimento-Girl

Castiel, standing in Bobby Singer's kitchen, stares, unblinking into Dean's eyes, shown from how Dean sees him close up; eyes wide, bright, bright blue under the moonlight filtering through the partially-shuttered kitchen window.

Pim's piece on Tumblr:

https://pimentogirl.tumblr.com/post/638573812404895744/merry-christmas-pjg2950-i-gift-the-night-we

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The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 18h

#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #JohnWinchestersA+Parenting

Dean turned to walk toward the car, freezing in place, his breath leaving his lungs when, out of nowhere, he came face to face with a staring creeper in a tan trench coat.
“The fuckin’ hell is your…”
The look in the considerably older man’s strangely vivid blue eyes made him feel… quiet. His gaze fell to the centre of the man’s chest, like he didn’t have enough strength remaining to hold his eyeballs up. Letting go of his breath, he bowed his head, his breathing going shallow, wincing out of surprise when a gentle touch appeared on his cheeks, guiding him to turn up his face. The man’s forehead gently leaned into his. Dean let out a confused laugh made of scarcely more sound than breath. His body hung from the hands on his face as though disconnected from his brain.
There was light—fire—so hot it burned blue, in the stranger’s eyes. It occurred to him that this is probably what someone homeless would feel like; out in the freezing cold day in and day out. Finally able to warm their hands by a barrel fire or around a mug of hot soup, for the first time in far too goddamn long… except that’s the way this man’s presence blanketed and warmed his soul.
The skin of his forehead made contact with Dean’s and it seemed to Castiel that in every way but the literal, the ribs caging his heart cracked straight down the middle and, like wrought iron gates, swung open wide, exposing the bonfire in his chest and letting the feeling fuelling it out into the world around him. It was into that bonfire he wordlessly invited the boy to discard anything and everything he needed to. The night's razor-sharp despair that shattered his heart and slashed up his will to carry on, and the pain wracking his body—that was all Dean gave over to be incinerated. The rest he kept for himself, knowing he could carry it.
Cas nodded as slightly as he smiled. He would have taken it all away if he’d been allowed. Dean, however, had made his choices. Castiel admired and respected them.

Continued...

Dean would never remember this. Stepping back, the seraph looked the boy over from head to toe. His heart was whole again, and he was young and hale—his wounded body would heal well. Any work he could do in this moment was done.
The boy blinked and started when he woke from the trance he’d fallen into. He had no idea how much time had gone by, but there were tears on his cheeks and he’d been standing there long enough his slightly open mouth had gone dry…
Dean looked on, gobsmacked, as a white glow started to show under the skin where Cas’ forehead and his—theirs? Whatever—touched, unable to shake the feeling that he was watching memory and reality intersect. He remembered lingering there on that cracked, buckling sidewalk, feeling shattered. He couldn’t do this anymore. Even little Sammy wasn’t reason enough. It hurt so fucking bad… then, it didn’t and this clean yet pungent smell tinged the air. He remembered looking around like he expected someone should be standing there. No one. Hunh…
He had to clean the blood off himself and his clothing. Find band-aids. Get his shit together. He could feel weak, but he couldn’t let anyone see that. Mistakes of that sort get you eaten alive out on the street.* Dean watched his younger self cross the parking lot and head toward the corner store for supplies he needed to shoplift. His too-big cargo jacket came in real handy. He already had an idea or two about where to find a bathroom he could use undisturbed.
Castiel’s touch appeared on his shoulder, giving Dean a start. The sensation wrenched him out of his thoughts,
putting his feet back on solid ground. He met Cas’ gaze head-on, swallowing the lump in his throat.
He’d spent his whole life looking the other way, shoving shit like this aside and soldiering on. Now, he recognized it for what it was: a scar. An indelible mark.

Continued...

A gnarled, mangled piece of him that would always be the boy in that room who’d first learned what the icy breath of Death felt like—not from some supernatural monstrosity—but by his father’s hands and words, under his father’s roof. Castiel’s other hand came up to cover his eyes, his thumb resting lightly on his lips. Dean laid his head into the touch, reaching up, stopping when his fingertips grazed the back of Cas’ hand. He started breathing in deeply through his mouth. Feeling his heart grow calmer in his chest, it returned to an even, steady beat. His shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t realized they’d been that hunched up.
Castiel took his hand away, letting the daylight in. Dean let his hand fall back to his side. Dean looked around,
momentarily confused, wincing at the sudden change in light. Daylight? A pine tree line. Water. Just outside civilization. Far enough away, you couldn’t see it. Close enough, you could still smell it. A gentle breeze rustled the trees. Small, quick waves lapped onto the stony shoreline. Dean looked up, wincing at the sun’s obliterating brightness. He stepped back, unsteady.
Clunk… clunk. A wooden dock underfoot. They’d been here before. Dean looked at the angel, a sheen of vulnerable surprise in his eyes; Cas remembered. Castiel let his hand come away from Dean’s shoulder. Dean brought his hand back up, catching the seraph’s forearm. Dean stared down at where he held onto Cas, watching the seraph’s hand cautiously turn down, touching him in return. He didn’t know much, at least not compared to some, but he knew in that moment he wanted to hold and be held by the angel there with him. But… he couldn’t move. Drawn as he was, something in his head still occupied space between them.
“Dean…”
Letting out a sigh, Dean smiled. He didn’t have to look at Cas’ eyes to see the unabashed, inquisitive look he knew went along with the tone of voice.
Dean frowned.

Continued...

As much as he wanted to keep his sights on where Cas had his hand on him, a sound in his ear started getting louder, and louder, and louder until he had to know where it was coming from.
Castiel watched, concerned and looking for the source of Dean’s disquiet in their decidedly tranquil reverie as Dean’s attention seemed pecked at by something. Eventually, wrenched away from him entirely. Dean started and dropped his arm, pulling away the instant he blinked and found their surroundings changed…
•
The sound: water gurgling out of a restroom tap without an aerator. Dean stood aside as a gaggle of the bar’s lady patrons passed between them. None of them looked at either him or Cas like they existed.
Dean met Cas’ intent, expressionless gaze. Castiel watched as Dean processed and realized where and when they were. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Cas took a levelling breath as he watched Dean orient himself, forcing his legs to walk down the poorly lit hall. He stood in front of a heavy door held shut by a closer. The sign on the washroom door: MEN. His jaw and cheeks worked, brow furrowed, tendons in his neck went taut. Then came a hand on his shoulder. Something inside him gave. Feeling relieved—steadier—Dean reached for the grab handle, opening the door wide.
Within moments of the two men inside coming into view, it became apparent to Castiel what was happening. The jeans on the stocky man facing the wall, propped up by one hand against it, were undone and down to just below his ass cheeks. His skivvies were flying low, too. Lean, limber, bowed legs dressed in jeans bought ripped belonged to the young man on one knee between the flexing ass obscuring their view and the grimy, ceramic tiled wall.
Oily yellow lights lit the restroom that indelibly smelled of human effluence and vomit that no amount of cloying air freshener and an insufficient amount of cleaning product could hope to combat.

Continued...

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The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 18h

#Suptober Day Four • Orchard

“Don’t taint this ground with the colour of the past…You seem like an orchard of mines…So fragile on the inside…Tread careful; one step at a time.”

Teaser • Chapter 3 • Tread Softly Because You Tread on My Memories.

#suptober25 #destiel #JohnWinchestersA+Parenting +

Supernatural
Sex, War & Peace
Day Four • Orchard
“Don’t taint this ground with the colour of the past … You seem like an orchard of mines … So fragile on the inside … Tread careful; one step at a time.”
Dripping Wings & Heavy Things
Chapter 3 • Tread Softly Because You Tread on My Memories
Fog scrambling his thoughts thinned. Dean knew full well where the blinding rage he’d nearly let loose on Castiel came from. A thing with a mind of its own, planted and thriving in the putrid soil of every awful thing he’d seen, done, and suffered. At a loss, he met Cas’ glare for moments, unable to look him in the eye thereafter, ashamed.
Seeing Dean fold and offer no defence smothered the angel’s flaming anger like water. His hold on Dean’s head became gentle again. “I’m able to affect what someone feels, Dean. I’m an angel.” Cas’ intent gaze asked Dean to look at him with words unspoken. Slowly, Dean did. “If I hadn’t heard your heartbeat that first night, I would’ve
thought you lie dead beside me. Your trust was absolute. I hope some of that was my doing, but not the way you’re afraid of. What happened? What’s changed?” Castiel demanded, but softly. With every word Cas spoke, Dean turned his head further away again, almost cringing. Castiel’s tone returned to its gentler register. “Dean, talk with me.”
“I can’t, Cas… I can’t talk about it. Any of it,” Dean shrugged helplessly, childlike. There was too much
that was too awful for words. He couldn’t say it out loud, but he didn’t want to carry it alone anymore. Cornered. Unwilling to stay, unable to go. There was no way out…

$“I can help y—” Snapping, Dean shoved Cas back against the side of the Impala. “You want to know? Fine! Look!” Castiel’s gaze fell for a moment as he gauged whether or not Dean’s inviting him in might inflict even more damage on the bond they shared. “Fucking look!” Dean shouted from inches away, shaking him again. Their unyielding gazes locked and stayed that way until Dean felt something give. He exhaled sharply, blinking. A single tear ran down from one of his eyes. Face devoid of comprehension, Dean wiped it away. Slowly, understanding followed. Dean couldn’t speak aloud the things he carried—not even close—but he wanted Castiel to know, to understand. Resting a comforting hand on either side of Dean’s rigid neck and jaw, Castiel guided Dean’s face back toward him and looked into him, eyes wide, drawing nearer. Castiel’s piercing gaze transfixed Dean. Somehow, it rounded off hard edges—hypnotized—made his head wobble on his neck. Had him wanting to fall in, let go, and peacefully… drown. "Where’s your brother?!” The vicious shout fractured the silent night air, despite coming from inside a motel room. Castiel walked over the empty parking space outside the window into the room. Closed, smoke-discoloured venetian blinds couldn’t keep his eyes from seeing what transpired on the other side. Dean stood close behind him and to one side, near enough he could feel his warmth. Dean scrunched his eyes closed and opened them again. The blinds were gone. He looked in on himself, witnessing the memory disembodied. He watched himself shrink back from his father as his dad took step after shuffling step closer, looking exhausted, ragged, fresh from a hunt, down into the bottom of the bottle in hand, his pupils so dilated they were almost black. The demon possessing John Winchester tonight was not one born of Hell, rather the cornfields of Tennessee. “Don’t shrug at me and tune out when I’m talking to you!” John swung. Continued...$

Castiel stood, watching, as the man Dean loved, trusted, and idolized lay down a beating on his son—his baby boy—that would kill Dean if he didn’t stop.
Then, he did. His hand went still, cocked back in the air. Dean found his feet again, the way he always did, as John turned and stumbled away, summoning every scrap of restraint he could muster.
“Get out.”
Dean looked up at his father, bewildered. John would lay one on him then send him to another room, out to the car, or somewhere out of mind if out of sight wasn’t possible, needing to pretend he didn’t exist for a while, but never…
“Where am I gonna go?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.” The words hit Dean in the face like a slap.
“Uh… I need to—” …wash the blood off before I go.
He tried to say it, but the look on John’s face kept his mouth closed better than wearing an iron mask.
John lumbered up to him and brought his face in close to the quivering boy’s, looking him in the eye, daring him to flash the faintest hint of defiance at him. “Get the fuck out. Or I’ll kill you.”
The words hit harder than any physical punishment he’d ever taken. Dean felt something in him shatter. Hurting so badly and thoroughly, it was impossible to pinpoint what it was. Stunned speechless, unable to look his dad in the eye, Dean made one foot move, then the other. He almost forgot his jacket with keys and wallet in the pockets on the way out. He walked out the door feeling as though he was swimming through the air, dazed and untethered. He felt the body he lived in, the clothing he wore, his plasticky, numb skin, the blood pooling in bruises
underneath and drying on it, didn’t feel real. The world around him didn’t feel like something substantial enough to hold on to, not anymore.
John passed out on Dean’s bed within minutes. He never remembered what happened that night. Perhaps because it was easier for his conscience that way.

Continued...

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Reposted by The Bunker

JackieDeeArt @jackiedeeart.bsky.social · 5d

Oh, Misha, you adorable troll. We love you #myart #destiel

Just Bek 💙💚💙💚💙💚 FUCK THE PATRIARCHY!!! @justbek.bsky.social · 5d

Misha the shipper will always bring me joy. Also @jackiedeeart.bsky.social
I love that this artwork was involved in this moment 💙💚
#Destiel
💙💚💙💚

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Reposted by The Bunker

The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 5d

Day Three•Garden

Show me your garden that's bursting into life.

AO3~ bit.ly/SexWarPeace
Official~ bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...
eBook~ bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...

@thefriendlypigeon's store: Old Love @ thefriendlypigeon.squarespace.com/thefriendlyp...

#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #SexWarAndPeace +

Supernatural
Sex, War & Peace
Pandorakiin
Art by The Friendly Pigeon. The Alt Text for Pigeon's art is included on the final panel.

“Show me your garden that’s bursting into life.”
— Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars” —
Castiel’s cheeks flushed. He quickly took interest in the chip of ice tink-tinking around the bottom of his whiskey glass. “If you could go back, would you do anything differently?” One eyebrow jumping straight up, Dean met his gaze, blindsided by the question. “Crossroads deal? Hell…?”
A smile, real and fond, without pretense or obfuscating charm, came into being on Dean’s face. “No.”
“Not because…”
Dean shimmied his elbows on the rail closer… until their shoulders kissed. “Yeah. Exactly because. Easy as pie to see this would never happen without that. We’d never meet. Sam wouldn’t be here. Changing any choice along the way, no matter how small, could mean we’d never have ended up here.”
“I’m amazed you feel that way.” Castiel’s eyes, big and bright, and right up close, had his heart thrumming faster and faster every moment that went by.
“Hey, I’m not saying I would do it all over again. I just wouldn’t change it**—**any of it.” Putting on a lopsided smile, Dean winked, grinning as he tipped another sip of whiskey past his lips. He didn’t want to ask how much Sam and Eileen had to shell out for it. Forget “Nectar of the Gods”, this stuff could bestow immortality.
“How about you…? God?” Dean emphasized.
Cas shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t have profoundly understood why God needed to be cast down without that experience.”
“C’mon! You were a colossal dick.”
Cas’ grin was nothing less than shit-eating. “Still am.”
“Fuck you, man.”
Cas downed a whiskey sip with a, “Please, do,” chaser and a daring smile. Leaning in closer, his boring gaze demanded Dean come up with something.

“All right, okay. That, uh… that waitress… out in—” Dean shuddered at the memory. “That, uh, definitely had me questioning my life choices…”
“Oh!” Cas winced, his voice rife with unattraction, holding up one hand as if he needed to physically push the vivid image of Dean’s memory out of his mind. For what little good it did, his eyes stayed squinted until the recollection cleared.
The woman had a soul as sweet as the real strawberry milkshakes the quaint diner she staffed served. Either by accident of genetic design or badly-healed injury, her nose, instead of the unremarkable slant of most other human beings, she, in no uncertain terms, possessed the snout of a pig. Kind, beautiful eyes, a winning smile, a bit heavier than Dean’s usual dames, silky, flowing hair, breasts-every ounce of them natural-that could make Elvira green with envy; all of it for naught but for one godawfully unlucky accident of birth.
“So fucking sue me, dude. She was funny as hell and she had a nice laugh, fun humour, and a great smile. It was just that unfortunate little thing with her nose goin’ on… and the outta control acne bloom on her ass and thighs… ‘Ey, I hadn’t gotten any for a while, so… y’know, I went with it. Add to that the cowboy hat and the whole reverse-cowgirl thing…” The memory of her unfortunate appearance faded long ago, he remembered the sensation of her around his cock best of all. “No one, and I mean fuckin’ no one else I’ve ever had could work their cooch on my dick like that. Not even Lise. Still remember it, clear as a blue sky. Whoever she found in this life, he’s one lucky sonuvabitch.”
Smiling fondly on him, Castiel assured him, “I understand.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Cas’ tongue pulled whiskey lingering on his lips into his mouth. As the angel turned pensive, his gaze fixed on his glass until the moment he spoke. “No one else?”
Dean grinned and laughed into his whiskey glass as he took another sip, shaking his head as his elbows found the railing again

Continued...

He shifted his hips to weigh against Cas’, holding the glass in both hands. “Present company excepted.” Dean’s eyes drilled that truth into his mind, before leaning in for a light and sweet, if lingering kiss.
He needed more of those lips like air but… later. There was time. Frowning, Dean swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “I’d… uh, I’d have gone back to see Bobby sooner.”
Cas roped a comforting arm over his back, kissing his shoulder through his shirt. “He would have liked that.”
“Yeah.” There were tears underneath the word. “I know that now.”
Dean took the comforting kiss to his temple, his eyes drooping closed. Dizzying need had him swaying on all fours, leaning heavy into Cas’ loving touch. Something the angel slowly, quietly, and softly but insistently gave him more of. Kisses wandered leisurely around his cheek and neck. Dean dropped his shoulder, laying his neck open, happy to bask under raindrop kisses.
“What’s meant to grow here?”
Dean sucked a hard breath in through his nose, waking himself up from pleasure’s dreamlike stupor. “Hmm?” Cas pointed a finger, waving it over the seeded yet barren stepped gardens Dean had mortared together, stone by stone culled from the plentiful lakeshore. “When it’s fertile enough—hopefully next spring—wildflowers. Black-Eyed Susan, daisies, fiddleheads, Queen Anne’s Lace, cornflower, thistles, columbine, milkweed, coneflower. Anything with a flower and hardy enough to grow.”
The cabin was sizeable already. Building out onto even more of the land—here had to be a reason… “Why so much ground for it?”
Dean cleared his throat. Biting his lip, he forced himself to look at Castiel. He wanted to see the angel’s expression as much as he was afraid of it. “Apiaries.”
Bewildered was Cas’ first feeling. “We have…?” Dean nodded, beaming like sunshine. Bewilderment turned to innocent excitement under a thick varnish of burning desire. The timber of Cas’ voice hit rock-bottom. “Where?”

Continued...

Grinning, Dean nodded his head toward the woods on the other side of the cabin. “North side of the property, by the treeline. If we’re lucky they’ll started building hives in the trees too. C’mon.” He kissed the angel in lieu of, “You’re welcome.” He stood up tall, his fingers slipping out of Cas’. Sauntering back to the floral oval framed screen door, Dean cracked it open, pausing. Fire in the hearth and candlelight lit the cabin, with twilight swiftly settling over the mountain lake valley. “If I can swing it, next year I want to try planting raspberries, maybe rhubarb.”
Cas stopped cold. “No apples?” Dean’s garden growing without apples felt viscerally wrong.
Dean shrugged off his disappointment. “Nah. Nothing I’d ever put in a pie will grow here. Ground’s too fallow. Even if I did manage to get a small tree going… too much effort for far too little reward. If I can get this garden to take for the bees’ sake, that’ll make me happy.” Dean winked and stepped inside. “I’ll get our jackets.”
Cas’ bootfall on the step back up echoed the thwack of the closing screen door. A powerful urge cemented him in place. He… he couldn’t bear new life for the man he loved, but he could help it grow and flourish. He stepped back down and crouched down on one haunch. Undoing his cuff, he rolled back the sleeve. Turning up the vulnerable underside of his forearm, grace shone to life in his eyes. Filaments of light shimmered into being underneath his human skin, snaking through his human flesh, pooling at the tip of the thumb’s nail on his free hand. With some effort, he pooled a tiny, fluctuating well of grace under the skin of his upturned arm.
Pressing the cutting edge of his thumbnail to his forearm, he slipped it across his skin, leaving an angry red divot a little more than an inch long behind. Into that trench of marred skin slowly pooled a miniature river of pure energy—the stuff from which all life is born, and to which all life returns. Grace.

Continued...

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The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 5d

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The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 5d

#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #Castiel #Dean #AGoodRunOfBadLuck #SexWarAndPeace /end

Draping off the thickest region of his thighs. Swaying wood beads, dyed blue and green, weighed down the knotted ends of the drawstring.
Their lips and bodies met with uncareful force. Still wasn’t enough for Dean. His hand found the back of Cas’ head as his tongue made way through Cas’ lips.
Fresh, simple and clean as their idyllic haven; such was the nature of their bodies, hearts, souls, and the love they shared.
When Cas finally stopped kissing him, Dean had only enough breath left to whisper, “How…?”
The angel smiled softly, laying one last butterfly kiss on his lips. “Your blood, sweat…” Cas wiped a falling tear from Dean’s cheek. “and tears, have built this place. Seemed only fair I contribute my own.”
Dean stared, in awe. His grace. Had to be what made such an impossibility… real.
“Hungry?”
Mute, yet smiling as Cas swept yet another tear away, Dean nodded enthusiastically. He was, and for so much more than food and drink.
Cas looked back over his shoulder kitchen-ward. “Coffee’s ready. Do we want to sit out there?”
Overjoyed laughter burst out of Dean. “Yeah, we do.”
Cas left him behind with a loving kiss, heading back to the kitchen.
Dean wandered back outside in a bit of a daze. He couldn’t help the way he stared, amazed and dumbstruck at the flower beds, seeded but empty last night, and this morning, bursting at the seams with fully grown, full-bloom wildflowers. The potent urge to pick a few different colours and decorate his angel’s hair and ear with ‘em seized him. The screen door creaked open behind him. He turned, looking Cas in the eyes, and remembered the last time he encountered Castiel as something resembling a new age sex guru slash hippie flower child hybrid. He looked and backed away. He caught the beginnings of Cas’ frown.
“Dean, what’s wrong?”
Dean clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and—through considerable force of will—rooted his feet in place, determined not to retreat or look away from the knowledge he carried...

Continued...

How different their fate could have been. He was determined to do it right this time.
Offering up Dean’s hand thrown mug of steaming coffee, Dean took it, soothing his nerves with the rich, nearly creamy taste, and sorely needed hit of caffeine. Holding the cup to his mouth with both hands, taking a slow, steady sip, the relief he felt was palpable. He took a long, deep, unsteady breath. The smile on his face stood in for, “Thank you,” just fine. He walked to the edge of the top step, still captured by wonderment at the gardens; rose and morning glory vines twisting and winding around their retaining walls. Dean held on tight to Cas’ hand in return when he felt the angel reach out and hold his.
“It’s… heh. It’s a stupid idea.” Quite possibly the single fruitiest idea to ever cross his mind. Still, he wanted to see what it looked like for reasons he couldn’t put into words.
Cas cocked his head to the side, curious. “What idea?”
Dean shook his head, laughing morosely at his predicament. The lyric echoed in his mind; if you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear flowers in your hair… “For a second there, I kinda wanted to see you with a few flowers in your hair.” He tried to smile but sadness quickly washed it away. The way Cas looked at him was inscrutable. Wide open, but no hint of what he thought, one way or the other. A blank slate. The same look he had every time he encountered a new idea. Then came the beginnings of a smile. Dean felt his eyes start to water and his vision blur a little. Letting go his hand, Cas set down his mug, walked a few steps down from the deck, bent over the garden wall and choose a handful of daisies—the exact colours he’d wanted to go for, orange, white, pink, and purple—snipping the stems with his fingernail.
Arranging them into a miniature bouquet as he ascended the steps, he presented the colourful flower palette to Dean, the look in his eyes alone asking to Dean to make the wish come true. They sat on the steps...

Continued...

Arranging them into a miniature bouquet as he ascended the steps, he presented the colourful flower palette to Dean, the look in his eyes alone asking to Dean to make the wish come true. They sat on the steps with coffee by their sides. Castiel looked him dead in the eyes, smiling as Dean wove and braided the stems into his hair over his ear. Dean leaned in close, gently running his fingertips over the delicate petals, combing through his hair onto his bare skin. Greying hair and beard, lines belying his age and skin that didn’t hug his bones and muscle quite so tightly as it used to… but Jesus. He looked perfectly lovely with daisies perched beside his arresting blue eyes,
neatly trimmed three-day shadow and the defined arch of his eyebrow.
All we have left is each other…
Dean smiled bittersweetly. This time around, that wasn’t true. We have each other, and we have a place to call our own. Not too shabby if I say so myself. Pulling Castiel into a punctuating kiss by the chin, his work was done. He picked up his mug and, scooching closer, blew off a last little bit of steam. Every penny spent on those beans was worth it.
Roping his arm behind the angel’s back, holding him closer by the waist, Dean lay his head down on Cas’ shoulder, taking lazy sips of coffee until the mug ran cool, then dry. For the first time in all the years of his life, he knew what peace felt like.

ALT Text for Pigeon's art is on the next panel.

Art by The Friendly Pigeon

Dean is seated on a dark green decorative armchair with buttons pressing divots into the upholstery of the chair back. Cas is kneeling before him on the floor in front of the chair. Their arms are wrapped around one another. They're resting, eyes closed, in each other's arms. A neat trick of perspective makes it feel as though they could be laying together on mattress with Dean's leg wrapped over Cas' body, when Dean is in fact seated on a plush armchair.
The overall motif of Pigeon's digital painting is emblematic. A cornucopia of ferns and colourful wildflowers grows from wherever there is a crevice behind or around the central figures in the painting. The look of the chair and flowers gives the impression Dean and Castiel are on the road spending their night in an abandoned, derelict home.

Find Pigeon's work here:
https://x.com/_FriendlyPigeon/status/1884694056623612083
https://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/post/774115122080792576/i-was-inspired-by-some-mood-boards-on-pinterest
https://www.instagram.com/p/DFbBEy0oqMC/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

Pigeon's Art Shop:
https://thefriendlypigeon.squarespace.com/thefriendlypigeon-shop/p/wmrzejz7fxnhrep-c8p8s-6e68r-4jtz2-f3g47-arw4j-z9sbn-wm83w-sgkze-gx8g9-apjcd-63m8a-eyr7t-kls6n-ghzrp-w6w68-rjejb-lh3bf-fcatj-fg5bx-s2f6w-82cr5-kbsar-824tk

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The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 5d

#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #Supernatural #Castiel #Dean #AGoodRunOfBadLuck #SexWarAndPeace +

Holding his arm out over the garden soil, he wrapped the other hand over his forearm, pinching together the flesh underneath his human bones. Drip, drip… drip. Drops of light splattered open on the dry, crumbly soil, sitting on the surface a moment before soaking into the ground and streaking away throughout the gardens surrounding the cabin, travelling by capillaries too small for the human eye to see.
The sound of Dean’s steps approaching inside the deck door brought him back to their shared plane of perception. His eyelids shooed the light out of his eyes. He firmly pressed his palm to the bleed, sliding his hand along the skin, hard. A last, minute grace whisp evaporated from underneath his palm’s trailing edge. He lay his open palm on the rough earth, a knowing, loving smile taking shape on his lips. He cast his gaze skyward, taking in a deep breath. It would rain overnight.
The screen door creaked open and Dean’s boots hit the porch.
Dean stalled. “Cas?”
Castiel stood, lightly brushing granules of dirt off his palm, looking up to Dean. The love on his face, in his eyes, pinioned Dean in place. His heart leapt, swelling in his chest. He smiled softly back as Cas closed on him, planting a lasting kiss on his open mouth, arms going around him, holding their bodies together. It hadn’t been, but he could’ve sworn minutes had gone by before the seraph’s lips, tongue, and arms let him go. Their gazes met. Not a word needed to be said. Parting, Dean held up the lambs’ fur denim jacket he’d had made for Castiel, wearing one of his own.
Sliding one arm in, then the other, Dean lay the jacket over his angel’s shoulders. Perfect. Comfortable, and not too loose. Undeniably handsome. Unable to help his dumbass, giddy grin, he blushed. Hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, they leisurely sidled down the stairs, ‘round the garden walls, heading for the treeline at the back of the plateau.

[…]

A sleepy, orgasm-inebriated smile formed on Dean’s face.

Continued...

Thumb painting a meandering patch of Cas’ cum into the skin of his stomach, he watched the angel get up onto his knees to crawl off the edge of the bed. Not having Cas’ legs around him, his penis now missing from where it laid spent on the wonderfully sensitive skin in his hip groove… nope. Didn’t like it. Dean surged up and struck, seizing Castiel’s trailing foot by the big toe, collapsing face down on the mattress, satisfied he’d inexorably captured his prey. Cas, knowing the mischief was coming before Dean trapped him, tried and failed to get off fast enough. Finding himself standing—hopping—on one leg, he half-heartedly tried yanking his toe free.
All he succeeded at was putting a lustfully impish grin on Dean’s lips to match the look in his greedily glaring eye. While Cas failed at freeing his toe, he succeeded wonderfully at showing off his own cum-spattered stomach and thighs, and his dangling, half-swollen cock and bouncing balls.
Score. Dean’s grin widened. He wanted Cas and his body back in bed with him and he wanted it right fuckin’ now. They stared each other down, locked in stalemate.
The sound of a bubbling, rumbling growl in Dean’s stomach split the heavy silence. Dean muffled his plaintive moan and cackling laughter, simultaneously hiding away his deep red blush in their pillowy down comforter. Humiliatingly defeated by his own traitorous stomach. He dared a secretive peek at the angel’s reaction; tittering laughter and an all-out Cheshire grin. He could hold onto Cas’ toe or flip Feathers the bird, but he couldn’t do both; bird it is.
Cas’ laughter deepened. He came back to the bedside. Kneeling, he kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth, settling back into resting his temple on his palm’s heel. He lay an arousing, teasing touch in the small of Dean’s back. “Don’t tempt me,” the seraph warned seductively. Like that, Dean was drowning in want for sex again.
Still, he was hungry—no, starving—and…the re was time, and time after that...

Continued...

and still more time later on. It was the second of many, many days to come. The tension in his body snapped and evaporated under the angel’s soothing touch. “I’ll shower, then make breakfast while you shower and dress.” Dean’s stomach spoke again, wholehearted in its agreement with Castiel. Dean laughed, even with Cas nuzzling a kiss against his face. Cas’ fingers slipped off his skin and the seraph’s body heat abruptly disappeared.
Cracking open the eye not buried in down feathers and cotton, Dean watched, his vision hazy and dreamlike, as Cas’ naked ass went to their dresser and pulled out a pair of linen pants, throwing them over his shoulder. He descended the loft’s ladder without looking back…
Dean stepped out into the living room stretching dull aches out of his muscles, still airing out his nude body. He inhaled the scent of breakfast—farm-fresh bacon, eggs and thin breakfast steaks—and rather suddenly felt aggressively hungry. He snatched up the pair of jeans—only jeans—Cas had laid out on the back of the couch.
Zipping up the fly and buttoning his waist, it was evident from the faint scent wafting out of the kitchen coffee was on the stove, but not ready quite yet. Giving his stomach a soothing scritch and taking a deep breath, Dean decided fresh mountain air was probably the next best thing available to wake himself up. Cas had the inside door wide open, and fresh, cool air wafted in through the screen door. Petrichor… it had rained last night while he was out cold. Limbs and eyelids still heavy—sue him, he wasn’t used to that much physical exertion in a night—he wove slightly as he lumbered toward the door and out onto the deck, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
No sooner had he opened his eyes when his gaze snapped to the explosion of colour where just last night there were beds of hardscrabble topsoil where only the sparsest hints of green, nevermind flowers, had managed to miraculously grow wildly out of control...

Continued...

In the unforgiving mountain soil. He couldn’t pull any more air into his lungs. Water clouded his vision. Dreaming. He had to be… Dean clapped his hand over his eyes. The need to breathe overpowered the muscles wrapped taut around his ribcage. He slipped his hand down his face just enough to see once again.
The flowers were still there.
He dashed to the rail, leaning over as far as he could without ending up ass over tea kettle in a bed of crushed flowers. Brilliant, rich red roses on vines nearly reached where stone foundations ended and the deck posts began. His mouth hanging open in awe, his breath came to him in short, hard, deep bursts. The Lace’s pure white blooms with their tiny dots the colour of dried blood in the centre and the scotch thistle had grown tall enough he reached the blossoms hardly having to lean over the railing. He’d never seen daisies that tall. Or so colourful!
Dean ran to the end of the deck. There, in a swath of flowerbed only just wide enough for a bush, Dean had planted a single raspberry bush clipping, holding the faint hope that it might have the gumption to grow. A hope that proved in vain—until now. The bush stood no less than four feet tall, maybe five, bursting over the stone and mortar retaining wall, its thin branches weighed heavy and low with plump… succulent berries. Potently sweet, and nicely tart. Delicious beyond words for no reason other than how rarely real, fresh fruit could be found in the world nowadays.
Dean sprinted back the screen door, flinging it open wide as he ran back inside the cabin, he stopped on a dime at the sight of Cas in the midst of following him out onto the deck, naught on but a pair of linen pants laced up at the waist, his brushed hair somehow still mussed up, having dried into these adorable natural curlicues, echoed in the hair on his chest and stomach, dipping to the unseen places below his pant’s waist. They hung from his hips, fluttering over the mound of his cock...

Continued...

1 2

The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 5d

Day Three•Garden

Show me your garden that's bursting into life.

AO3~ bit.ly/SexWarPeace
Official~ bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...
eBook~ bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...

@thefriendlypigeon's store: Old Love @ thefriendlypigeon.squarespace.com/thefriendlyp...

#suptober25 #Destiel #SPN #SexWarAndPeace +

1 4 5

Reposted by The Bunker

Liz @lizleeships.bsky.social · 16d

Yes I still draw the stupid old men #destiel

6 36 130

The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 23d

I must be crazy. Already considering hand binding a copy of this story...

#destiel #DrippingWings #SexWarAndPeace

1

Reposted by The Bunker

Wajahat Ali @wajali.bsky.social · 23d

Every major talent that works for ABC and Disney should refuse to show up for work until Jimmy Kimmel is reinstated.

Marvel movies need to shutdown. Ditto the sitcoms.

Collective boycott.

Corporations love money more than anything,& this will harm them and force them to do the right thing.

1.1K 7.2K 24K

Reposted by The Bunker

amy brown (spooky edition) @amybrown.xyz · 23d

those two guys from supernatural

🐔 Brian Bucklew 🐔 ₑͤ＞∿＜ₑͤ ∞🌮 @unormal.bsky.social · 23d

whos the zoomer version of mulder and scully

4 13 130

The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 23d

Simply because...

youtu.be/T-LB-XsuF-8?...

How the Supernatural Finale Betrays its Characters

YouTube video by kath clarke

youtu.be

1

The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 23d

#spnfanfic #SPN #Superntural #DeanWinchester #Castiel #Destiel #DrippingWings #SexWarAndPeace

#BeSweetReskeet 💙💚

The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 23d

Hey, everyone!!

Ch. 5 is 5.9k words. I have another 1.5-2k & just two last major plot points to write until what's already "on paper" is stitched together. <3

Aiming for #Suptober release. I'm also hoping there'll be a prompt in @wigglebox.bsky.social's #Suptober that gives us a date ;)

#destiel

1

The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · 23d

Hey, everyone!!

Ch. 5 is 5.9k words. I have another 1.5-2k & just two last major plot points to write until what's already "on paper" is stitched together. <3

Aiming for #Suptober release. I'm also hoping there'll be a prompt in @wigglebox.bsky.social's #Suptober that gives us a date ;)

#destiel

2

The Bunker @thebunker.bsky.social · Sep 2

Imma have to beg forgiveness folks. The Sync links to my eBooks no longer work, but they are available for download on the website now!! <3

bit.ly/SexWarAndPea...

#SexWarAndPeace #DrippingWings #Destiel #SPNFanFic #FanFic #SPN #Supernatural