Big fan of sad guys

[jackinyellow]

"I am not a child. I'm a Hunter. A Winchester."

It's spn sideblog time!

Johnny / Bunn

32

Any pronouns

Biracial

Artist

Writer- Ao3 is JohnnyBunn

Beware: multishipper!

This blog will mostly be for analysis and is generally nonshipper safe!

My main ships are Deancas and Deanbenny, but I also repost others!

I curate my online experience to exclude incest.

My Fic Schedule (Unofficial)

Fangs Out: New schedule. Will update monthly the first of each month. Regular two chapter per update, unless the chapter is long.

Nothin' to it: weekly updates on Friday nights!

tags under the cut!

Art tag

#johnnydraws || #johnnywrites || #johnnyrambles

Dean Winchester tag

#where's the pie || #thats mother || #dean and gender || #the least repressed man on earth || #most forgiving man on earth|| #deancrit (I'm a dean girlie, you won't get much of this)

Deancas:

#what broke the connection? || #the moment Castiel laid a hand on you he was lost! || #guilt and avoidance

Deanbenny:

#you don't owe me nothin || #yeah he's a 'good buddy' alright

Sam Winchester tag

#ontologically evil horse || #my princess with a disorder || #moral compass? never heard of her || #they should've let him be meaner || #sam is a lesbian. to me. || #samcrit

Ships:

Samwena:

#Rowena. Samuel... || #kindred in trauma

Samjess:

#I still dream about her || #Jess haunting the narrative

Castiel

#tilts head angelically || #peace sign. vanishes || #thats father || #HUBRIS HUBRIS HUBRIS || #hot boy angel || #cas and gender || #cascrit

Jack

#he likes nougat :') || #jack and the real world || #stop infantalizing Jack 202X || #guilt complex || #so very cats in the cradle

More to come!

[jackinyellow]

Would anyone happen to have fic recs featuring a less unkind/more nuanced view of John Winchester? Destiel would be great but I'm more than fine with gen fics too.

[bisexualmollymauk]

half of fic research is rereading the fandom wiki four times for obscure character info and the other half is googling shit like “when did we start using drywall in home construction”

[gedandagiveemhellattitude]

THE MAN OF METROPOLIS STEALS OUR HEARTS: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89163661

3 New Chapters of my Fic, THE MAN OF METROPOLIS STEALS OUR HEARTS, a “period piece” set in 2014 after the movie Captain America: Winter Soldier releases in theaters, about Dean Winchester simultaneously joining a Marvel/DC Tumblr Roleplay AND meeting hot comic book shop guy Castiel Novak, who happens to look like a thiccer version of Sebastian Stan.

NOT A CHATFIC, THERE’S PROSE IN IT I PROMMY!!!!

Lots of flirting in these chapters, as seen above. But also some #trauma. John Winchester’s A+ Parenting in this one.

AND LOOK AT MY FRIEND’S ART!!!!! @jackinyellow / @bunnwing DREW THIS FOR MEEEEE AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

[shallowseeker]

horrible thoughts

[shallowseeker]

#mary john talking about dean cas but it’s FUNNY inna way it really shouldn’t be #it’s a comedy now oops #maybe i will post it later

#we need more comedy #wherein john realizes omg i’ve been giving the angel relationship advice oops #the shape of dean cas was something he reacted to rather than thought thru the implications of

#-nooo make john more abusive- they said #but what if i make him funny #so his actions later are Worse when he gets Scared and Reverts his "growth" #it’s always lebanon here #lebanon au

I'm sorry you guys

I'm so sorry

/////

Mary waits until everyone is out of the room before rounding on him again. “John.”

Something in her tone makes him feel twenty again, caught playing the fool and the last one to know it. “What?”

“We need to talk about Dean.”

The old fear comes fast, and John goes hard around it on instinct, already bracing for whatever needs handling.

“What happened.”

“Nothing happened. I just—” She lowers her voice. “You need to stop teasing him about... Castiel.”

He frowns. He’s been giving them shit about it for weeks, one of the few things that’s started to feel easy between them, like maybe he’s finally found his footing in this strange version of his family.

“Why?”

“Because we’re not supposed to point it out.”

“Point what out?” He knows damn well what she means. The look she gives him says she knows he knows, too, but he keeps his face blank on principle.

“John.”

“What?”

“Don’t.”

He gives it another second before letting the act drop. “Fine. That. Didn’t realize we were supposed to ignore it.”

Her voice drops to a hiss. “Could you say it a little louder?”

“They’re gone.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“Dean doesn't want us to know.”

He stares at her. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.” Her expression hardens. “He does this thing whenever I’m around. Flirts with women, tries to get Cas to flirt with women. Puts on a whole show for my benefit.” Her jaw sets. “He doesn’t want me to know.”

“Did you try talking to him?”

She gives him a flat look. “About the thing he’s going out of his way to make sure I don’t know?”

He sighs. “Right. Forgot who I was talking to. So you’d rather go with don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Her eyes flash, and he feels the old thrill of it, the one that always makes him want to push when he knows damn well he should quit. (That part of her hasn’t changed. He’s just starting to better understand what sets her off.)

“Better than what you do.”

“Which is?”

“Insult them.”

He falters. “I’m not insulting them. I’m giving them shit.” That’s the whole point. You give people shit about the things that are normal, the things nobody has to tiptoe around. “Teasing.”

“Teasing.”

Something in the way she says it puts him on guard. “Yeah. The doghouse thing. The couch thing.” He starts counting them off. “Last week I told Cas if he kept disappearing without calling, Dean was gonna put a tracking collar on him. But Dean knows that I know. That’s… that’s what makes it funny.”

She closes her eyes. “Apparently he thinks you’re making jokes.”

“I am making jokes.”

“John.”

“I mean, I thought we were all laughing about the same thing. And—” He gropes for something else in his defense. “Cas thought they were funny.”

“Cas doesn’t understand half of them!”

“Well. He understands ‘doghouse’ now.”

She rubs her forehead and sighs. “Given your history with Dean, he can’t take ribbing like that. Not from you.”

Okay. That stings. Apparently a guy can turn over a new leaf and still get beaten over the head with the old one.

“Or me,” she continues, and the miserable set of her mouth takes some of the fight out of him, “which is why he’s going through all this trouble to hide it.”

“See, I’m not sure I believe that. Dean’s not subtle.”

“I know he’s not.”

“Cas isn’t subtle either.”

“I know. That’s not the point.”

“So here’s a crazy thought.” He gives her an innocent look. “We could ask them. You know, instead of keeping secrets about the secrets we think they’re keeping.”

He knows he’s gone too far when she clams up instead of biting back. His mind starts an automatic countdown to the moment she turns on her heel and storms out in an icy wall of silence.

And he could leave it there.

In fact, every instinct he has for self-preservation tells him he should. Instead, he makes the catastrophic decision to keep talking: “Look, maybe you can pretend Dean doesn’t know that you know, but he definitely knows that I know.”

She turns her head toward him with terrifying slowness. “…Why?”

He drops his gaze to the table and traces a thumb along one of the gouges in the wood. Somebody got sloppy with a knife. Deep cut, too. He wonders who.

“John.”

“It's not important.”

“Why does Dean know that you know.”

Cat’s out now. Also, the cat is dead.

“Because I walked in on them.”

[shallowseeker]

sorry again

///

“Walked in on them doing what?”

John raises his eyebrows, and understanding moves across Mary’s face. Color floods her cheeks, and she buries her face in her hands. “Oh, my God.”

“In my defense, I knocked.”

“Clearly not loud enough!”

“Hey, it was an accident. I didn’t know they’d be—”

“I don’t need details,” she cuts in tightly, her blue eyes peering at him through the gaps between her fingers. “What happened when they saw you?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. Leave?”

“I did leave.”

“Immediately?”

He hesitates, and her hands come down so fast he knows he’s picked the wrong answer.

“John.”

“We had a lead.”

It sounds weak now. At the time, he’d been proud of it. He’d spent weeks feeling like an amateur among hunters who made more than a decade of experience look like none at all. Then he’d found something useful. A real lead, on his own, and for five minutes he’d felt like he knew what he was doing again.

Unfortunately, those five minutes had included opening that door.

“You walked in on them and started talking about a case?”

“We did have a lead!”

And he’d just walked in on something he would’ve happily clawed his own eyes out to avoid, and the case had been right there: urgent, impersonal, safe.

Any reasonable man would’ve panic-babbled.

She sighs. “What exactly did you say to them?”

He has to think about it.

Most of those thirty seconds survive only as a mortified blur: his mouth going ninety-to-nothing about the case while the soldier in him steered his body on autopilot. He remembers spotting Cas’s button-down on the floor, bending to swipe it up, and tossing it in his direction without breaking stride.

“I tossed Cas his shirt and told them to get it together.”

“You tossed Cas his shirt.”

“He needed it!”

[shallowseeker]

i think apologizing would feel fake at this point //

“And?”

Mary’s eyes are burning into him, but John holds her stare. “And it was a good lead. We solved the case.”

“Clearly, every second counted.”

“Well, yeah. People were dying, Mary.”

Embarrassment, as far as John is concerned, isn’t fatal. You give a man the dignity of pretending something never happened—or, in this case, you give two men that dignity—and everybody gets on with what needs doing.

In this case, the case.

“Look, sure, Dean was embarrassed. But I didn’t make a thing out of it, okay? That’s about as well as that situation was gonna go.”

She goes quiet. Then, her eyes narrow. “Wait. When was this?”

“About a month ago. At the cabin outside Hibbing.”

“A month ago.” She stares at him. “And you’ve kept making those jabs this whole time?”

John frowns. “I was making them before, too.”

“That’s not better.”

“It’d be weirder if I suddenly stopped!”

She hums, and for the first time he thinks she might actually agree with him. She seems to turn it over for a second, some of the irritation easing from her face.

Then something shifts behind her eyes. Her gaze slips away from his, and a little more color creeps into her face. It makes her eyes pop. There’s something new blooming beneath the irritation, too. If John didn’t know any better, he’d think it was curiosity.

Huh.

“So they were…” She makes a vague gesture without looking at him.

He pretends he has no idea what she means.

“Huh?”

She holds out for another few seconds before losing a brief but decisive battle against the oldest human weakness known to man: gossip. “You know.”

Oh, he knows. And he’s not gonna let her live this down. “Thought you didn’t need details.”

“I’m trying to understand what happened.”

“Uh-huh.”

She leans forward, eyes wide, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I knew there was something between them, but I didn’t know they were together together.”

John bites the inside of his cheek. “Wow. So you thought they were, what, holding hands?”

Her curiosity vanishes beneath a fresh wave of offense. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some kind of prude.”

Hadn’t crossed his mind, exactly, but now that she mentions it— “Hey, I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to!”

“Wow.”

“Stop saying ‘wow’!”

“I’m just surprised.”

“By what?”

John considers her for a second. “Didn’t think you’d be the conservative one.”

Oh, that gets to her. Her eyes flash, anger coming alive all at once: “I am not the conservative one.”

Something ugly in John bares its teeth in answer.

[shallowseeker]

they are fighting now <3

////

John almost laughs. “Could’ve fooled me. Oh, right. Fooling me’s kinda your thing.”

Her eyes flash again, and—there she is. The Mythical Hunter-Mary revealed, her battering-ram temper lowering its horns, looking at him like she might put him through the nearest wall. Something hot twists low in his gut, tangled up so tightly with resentment it might as well have two heads.

Truth be told, maybe he doesn’t want to untangle it. After what he walked in on a month ago, there’s an image his brain is suddenly far too willing to supply: Mary looking at him like that for an entirely different reason, John letting her slip between his legs, something illicit strapped between the two of them—

She points a warning finger at him. “I said, don’t.”

Right. Argument. John clears his throat and drags his mind back where it belongs. “Seems like I hit a nerve.”

“Maybe you did. Look. When we grew up, there were things you just didn’t talk about. That doesn’t make me conservative.” Her mouth tightens. “And I thought Dean knew he didn’t have to be that way with me.”

“Well, it’s not like you talk about this stuff.”

Her mouth tightens. “Neither do you.”

“Compared to you? I’m an open book.”

“You want to talk about books? Let’s start with your journal.”

That takes some of the wind out of him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You taught him that.” Her eyes hold his. “Not to say it. The nuns.” The last two words come out barely above a whisper.

Something in John recoils at that. Hunting journals are meant to be read—that’s half the reason you keep one—but there’s a difference between going through a man’s notes for lore and digging through him.

And she’d read between the lines. Figured out that hunt had been about more than putting two ghosts in the ground. Fine. Except now she’s standing here accusing him of teaching Dean to keep his mouth shut when she can’t even bring herself to say the word.

“Say it.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“John—”

“Gay.”

Her face colors, and he pounces.

“Gay nuns, Mary. You don’t have to whisper it.”

“I wasn’t whispering.”

“Oh, bullshit. You can’t even say it.”

“I can say it.”

“Then say it.”

“That’s not the point.”

Bitter satisfaction sparks in chest. Got her. “Feels pretty damn relevant to the point.”

“The point is what you taught Dean.”

Oh, for Christ’s sake. “That was different.” He’d raised Dean to know when to keep his mouth shut because keeping your mouth shut kept you alive. You didn’t tell strangers what you hunted, what was in the trunk, where you slept, or who you loved.

The sooner you figured that out, the better.

“I was keeping him safe.”

“By making him think there was something wrong with him?”

Something hot and defensive kicks up inside. “Fine. I ‘withheld my support’ because I was trying to teach him what kind of world he was living in. I thought knowing that would keep him alive.”

Mary’s expression changes, and John sees the opening. Knows exactly where the next shot will land. Knows it’s low.

Takes it anyway.

“But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

They’ve blown straight through the countdown and rung the bell on a whole different fight. When she speaks, her voice is colder than if she’d shouted.

“That is not the same thing.”

“Didn’t say it was the same.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“You’re twisting this.”

“I’m pointing out that you don’t get to stand there and act like I’m the only one who ever failed.”

Her face hardens. “You did fail them.”

He doesn’t remember getting to his feet, only that the table is suddenly knocking against his knees, his chest heaving while Mary stands still as a statue on the other side of it. She gets to stand there and say it. Gets to name the worst thing he’s ever done like he doesn’t already carry it around with him every day.

And suddenly there’s something else in his throat. Something older. Meaner.

“And you failed me.”

There it is. The thing he’s been trying very hard to forget.

Her face closes. “I know.”

That should make him feel better, but she’s still so calm while his heart is trying to beat its way through his ribs. The unfairness of it makes him want to shake her.

Then she turns away.

That retreating back, that maddening silence, the door already coming down between them—while he’s still standing here, full of things she apparently gets to put down and walk away from.

The old anger gets him before anything wiser can. “Yeah, go on,” he snaps. “Leave. You’re good at that. Then come back later and pretend I’m the one being cagey.”

She stiffens. Stops. And for one awful second, John wants her to turn around and give it right back to him. Hell, punch him in the jaw. He knows now she can throw a right hook better than almost anyone, and anything would be better than silence.

But she keeps walking. John watches her disappear toward the hallway, her footsteps fading until the bunker swallows them altogether, leaving him alone with words he’s still too angry to regret.

Then, the scuff of shoes behind him.

Apparently, he isn’t alone after all.

John turns toward the kitchen’s other doorway and finds Dean and Cas standing there, wearing twin looks of horror.

Neither says a word.

Well, fuck.

[shallowseeker]

last one?

///

They definitely heard something. How much, John has no idea.

He’s not even sure he wants to know.

Dean looks like he’d give just about anything to be somewhere else, a bag of takeout dangling forgotten from one hand. A tremor runs through him, anger or adrenaline or something else John doesn’t care to guess at.

John can’t blame him. Man gets to a certain age, he ought to be able to come home and eat his dinner in peace without finding his own kitchen turned into a war zone.

Cas, meanwhile, is wearing that grave, thoughtful expression John has learned to be especially wary of.

Dean clears his throat. “Everything okay? We just got here.”

John almost snorts. That emphasis is doing a hell of a lot of work. Unfortunately, whatever Dean thought he was communicating has sailed straight past Cas.

“When Dean leaves during an argument, he generally wants me to follow him.”

Dean goes scarlet. “Cas,” he hisses.

Cas just continues, apparently undeterred. “But not immediately. If I follow too quickly, he thinks I’m trying to stop him from being angry.”

“Cas!”

“If I wait too long, though, he thinks I don’t care.” He pauses, then adds: “Of course, when I leave, I like to be left alone for quite some time.”

Dean looks stricken. “Cas. We. Just. Got. Here.”

A crease appears between Cas’s brows. “That isn’t true.”

Dean closes his eyes and lets his head drop.

John and Cas might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, but the guy’s grown on him. Hell of a fighter, too. Subtlety, on the other hand, isn’t exactly his strong suit. Dean could beat him over the head with a two-by-four and he’d still ask what Dean was trying to tell him. Poor bastard.

A laugh punches out of John, pitched high with a wild edge to it. He catches it, drags it down into a hearty, deep-throated chuckle, and reaches for his jacket.

“Don’t bother. Everything’s fine.”

Dean watches him for a long moment with that look he gets sometimes, like he’s seeing more than John particularly wants seen. Then his eyes flick toward the hallway.

“Give her ten minutes. Then apologize for the last thing you said. Don’t try to fix the whole… thing. Just shoot for one thing.”

John stops. The advice is irritatingly specific. Worse, it sounds earned.

Cas nods in agreement.

“Shut up.” John yanks his arms through his sleeves. “I don’t want marriage advice from you two.”

“We aren’t married,” Cas says.

John looks at them, ready with an answer, but the scene at the cabin comes back to him against his will: the way they’d been looking at each other before they noticed him, Cas’s hand cupping Dean’s face, Dean looking back at him all moony-eyed and gone. That slow, familiar kiss. And John standing frozen in the doorway, too shocked to move, staring one stunned second longer than he should have.

Something catches in his throat. What a fucking soap opera.

“Come on.” Horrifically, his voice cracks. “Common law counts. And anyway, s’more legitimate than what I’ve got. I mean—”

He knows better than to say it. There’s still time to stop.

“—at least nobody shot you two with a magic arrow.”

Well, shit.

Dean recoils so hard the takeout bag drops from his hand, smacking against the floor with a wet thump.

“Who told you about that?”

John’d found the lore in one of Sam’s documents a few weeks back, during the three miserable days Mary had him benched in the library with a sprained wrist and strict orders not to do anything useful.

“Nobody.” He jerks his jacket the rest of the way over his shoulders and smooths it into place. “I found out the same way I find out everything in this family. On my own.”

Dean winces. “Look, we were gonna tell you.”

When the hell were you gonna tell me? is already fighting its way to his lips. Then Mary’s quiet I know echoes in his head.

She was right about one thing. He taught Dean to keep things under a tight lid, and Dean learned the lesson proper.

Hell of a thing to resent him for it now.

“Yeah.” His voice comes out low and gravelly this time, thank fuck for small mercies. “Well. Guess I deserved that, all things considered.”

“Dad—”

John looks down, and something wet tracks down his cheek. He swipes it away with the back of his hand, but there’s no hiding what just happened. Not from his grown-ass son, and not from the several-billion-year-old creature John had initially filed under dangerous to my son, subsequently revised to war buddy, and who apparently now qualifies as his son-in-law.

When he looks up, they’re locked in a concerned stare, like they’re two seconds away from fetching him a fainting couch and taking turns fanning him.

That’s enough of that.

“Forget it.”

He turns the other way and gets the hell out before either of them can offer advice, sympathy, or—God forbid—a hug. He’s got some dignity left.

Probably.

He’ll check when he stops fucking crying.

[shallowseeker]

maybe w just call this doghouse verse and i put all my little vignettes here

they’re all dogs in one way or another

[greelin]

he lived. served cunt. died. got resurrected. served even more cunt

[my-flying-sister]

[angelsdean]

completely smitten by nerdy guy explaining his wild theories<3

[bunnwing]

Destiel yuri edition ✨

[jackinyellow]

Working on a toxic yaoi oneshot and I apologize for nothing

[gedandagiveemhellattitude]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I ADDED FOUR NEW CHAPTERS TO MY FIC: THE MAN OF METROPOLIS STEALS OUR HEARTS!

In the spring of 2014, following the release of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Dean Winchester, 19, bisexual, high school drop out, no friends, discovers gay superhero porn on a pre-porn ban Tumblr.

The only next logical step, of course, is to fall deep into the rabbit hole.

Dean joins a Tumblr group roleplay as “Michael” in order to roleplay Superbat smut with the mysterious, totally cool (probably?) and (probably?????) handsome “Jimmy,” who he can only pray he never meets in person.

TOTALLY unrelated, in meatspace, Dean meets Castiel, the hot Comic Book Shop Store guy who looks kind of like Seb Stan crossed with Superman, if you’ve been jacking off to Seb Stan and Superman every night for a week straight.

But getting into comic books and roleplay is harder than Dean thought. Chaos, Tumblr Fandom Drama, truly horrible roleplaying, and an infinite amount of Nerd references ensue.

A (semi) longfic about the power of transformative fiction.

ENJOY THE SNEAK PEEK OF THE ART I COMMED FOR THIS FIC BY @bunnwing / @jackinyellow !!!! the artist of our generation fr fr.

[gedandagiveemhellattitude]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

THE LAST TWO CHAPTERS OF MY FIC ARE UP!!!! THIS IS THE END!!!!!! <3 <3 <3

20k words total, 9 chapters, a Godstiel fic inspired by Hades & Persephone. Give it a read. Or like. Just look at this amazing art Bunn did and Ooh and Ahh with me. Oooooh ahhhhhh.

amazing art by @jackinyellow / @bunnwing

[gedandagiveemhellattitude]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

THE LAST TWO CHAPTERS OF MY FIC ARE UP!!!! THIS IS THE END!!!!!! <3 <3 <3

20k words total, 9 chapters, a Godstiel fic inspired by Hades & Persephone. Give it a read. Or like. Just look at this amazing art Bunn did and Ooh and Ahh with me. Oooooh ahhhhhh.

amazing art by @jackinyellow / @bunnwing

[jackinyellow]

Nothin' to it Chapter 2 is out!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[leatherdean]

we need more fucked up deancas and we should start with the fact that cas is often eerily reminiscent of john winchester

[leatherdean]

dark hair, 5-o’-clock shadow, bright blue eyes, big coat. intense and single-minded. military background, trouble adjusting to civilian life. randomly disappears and reappears as he wants to. emotionally distant, except when he’s not. genuine praise from him sets off fireworks in the reward section of dean’s brain. and so on

[leatherdean]

dean wouldn’t call a man “daddy” with a gun to his head but sometimes when cas tells him to get on your knees in that sorta mean way, dean reflexively responds yessir. and really what’s the difference

[gedandagiveemhellattitude]

yall lets try this again sorry for double posting heres my fic

it gets picked up by the filter bc i wrote out the words “no w***ncest” without the asterisks.

i don’t know how tumblr works anymore… not a true tumblrina.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

sorry again for double posting chapter three is up my deepest apologies to the squad (the destiel tag)

posting continues to be a deep humiliation ritual. thank u

[bunnwing]

Branded

[luteousbones]

In your back pocket