#mr. ketch

[foursthemagicknumber]

I am on a roll

Jody mother fucking mills

Donna despite looks can and will kick ass

Zachariah who looks like a youth pastor

Uriel so gender

Balthazar a Christian angel who would have thought

Alex who looks straight out of a teen vampire novel

Billieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Mr. Ketch (is about to cry)

Mick whos wearing a hawaiian shirt under his suit

[turtles-invoked]

12x19

Cas steals the colt from under Dean’s pillow “he came into my room, and he played me.” Excuse me sir, but how did he “play” you if it’s under your pillow. He didn’t take it when he tried to hand back the mix tape (I mean that is a whole other thing in itself “it’s a gift, you keep those” 😭😭😭).

Also separately, Eileen and Sam would be SOOOO cute together!

AND

I absolutely love how sweet on Mary Ketch is. That man is swooning 😍

That is all

[justdealingwithsomeissues]

So during Simonson's run on the FF, he has this group get tricked by a Skrull to help her, and they were dubbed "the new Fantastic Four" and we are getting them back together as a Secret Defenders group to go toe to toe with the FF to bring Johnny in...

[gammachurchill]

More Halloween Hero Forge! this time we go to Marvel and the Midnight Sons/Suns!

[ronnyraygun]

Haven’t shown y’all my Earth where Frankie’s a trans lady and Danny sees Ghosts. [There’s more to it but, like….this is the most relevant info for the doodles.]

[comicsiswild]

New Fantastic Four (2022) #1

[a-ketch]

[oldmanpuppyplay]

Made with this tier list maker if anyone wants to make their own. @themoonbutspooky signed, sealed, delivered. 💖

[alexiescherryslurpy]

Some recent art completed for crossroads 7

[diabolimeservavit666]

Who is this person calling slutty?

Why is Dean covered in dirt?

I swear, that better not be Toni.

slutty!

[annbourbon]

Hey Ketch, if you wanted beauty tips all you had to do was ask... that's just creepy AF 💀

[haveihitanerve]

Had an idea but I forgor it so here's a different one

Bruce Wayne, concussed and on several strong painkillers, socializing with socialites from outside Gotham. They ask him about his kids and joke about how they all look so similar to him.

His brain, moving at about 3mph, does not register that his kids were ADOPTED (safe for one) and answers their questions as if he gave birth to them, forgetting he also doesn't have the facilities for that (unless you want him to- we love old trans people)

"Master Bruce I really must insist-" Alfred tried for the fourth time in seven minutes, Bruce had counted, reaching to push him back to bed and pull off the suit jacket he had only moments before helped Bruce put on.

"'M going Alf." Bruce grumbled back, rubbing a bleary hand over his eyes. "There's no use in putting it off. Don't have a good excuse and.." He grimaced. "They need to see me. It's been a while."

Alfred opened his mouth to protest again, even going so far as to move in front of the door to block his exit. "You are on far too many medications Mr. Wayne, not to mention a concussion! You simply cannot."

Bruce's lips twitched it amusement. It was a rare day when Alfred's composure was rattled to the point of calling him Mr. Wayne, and while Alfred was admittedly very strong, there was no way his physical blockation of Bruce's path would actually stop him.

"Alf." Bruce began gently, and the butler scoffed, rolling his eyes as he moved out of the way, striding down the long hallway. "Well. I see my advice isn't heeded. As always."

Bruce threw him an apologetic smile, heading for the main door. "Love ya Alfie!!" The butler snorted, but Bruce could tell he was softening.

"Call if you need boy." Alfred murmured. Bruce grinned, offering a wink as he pulled the door open. "I will." He promised, sliding into the backseat of his limousine, heading to the Gala.

He hissed as the needle broke his skin, biting his lip to prevent any further sounds as the anti-biotic worked its way into his system. Alfred would most definitely have protested its use, especially as Bruce tossed back a handful of other added painkillers, but if he was being honest, he needed them to get through the night.

"Thanks Hank. Tell your wife I said hi and grab her a bouquet on your way home. On me." He patted his driver's shoulder as he climbed out. Hank grinned, tipping his black cap.

"You always make me seem like such a good husband Mr. Wayne, I appreciate it. Have a good night." Bruce grinned back, stumbling slightly as he moved towards the doors, using the car to stabilize himself.

"You give me too much credit, send your boys some love and you have tomorrow off, try to actually use that baseball glove I gifted you." Hank chortled, setting the car into drive. "Will do sir. Good night." Bruce nodded the same back, watching until the car pulled away fully to stumble up the steps.

"Maybe those pills weren't such a good idea." He mumbled to himself as he made it to the doors, pulling them open to walk inside, heading straight for the table laid out with food. Of course, one couldn't enter a Gala without greeting the hosts, and he barely made it two steps before he was intercepted.

"Mrs. and Mr. Ketch. How lovely to see you." Bruce offered a bow, bending too low before rocking back upwards. Mrs. Ketch was smiling at him, a lovely, true smile that Bruce noticed tended to happen whenever he greeted the woman first instead of the man. Mr. Ketch was frowning, but more at Bruce's bizarre drunken act than any offense towards being placed after his wife.

"Are you alright, Wayne?" He asked, and Bruce hated that he actually liked the Ketch's, because there was genuine concern in the mans voice. Another reason why he had come.

The Ketch's were new money, self made, and trying to blend in with the old elites, though Bruce had to admit they never would, they were just too good, too kind, too sincere.

He wondered, dimly, in the back of his foggy, drug addled mind, if perhaps they'd finally tire of all the snide comments, rude looks, sneers, and give up on their well meaning charity that they had chosen Gotham for. He hoped they wouldn't. He liked having actual good conversation at these dull events.

"M fine, truly." Bruce answered, a few seconds too late, smiling lazily. "Might've had a few." He tried his best imitation at a drunken smile, wincing as he realized it was dangerously close to how he really felt.. tipsy. Off balance.

Robert, because that was his name, he had told Bruce his first name instead of demanding he call him Mr., frowned a little in concern, and before he knew it they had herded him to one of the seating places, settling down by him.

"How're the kids?" Mrs. Ketch asked, handing him a glass of water that Bruce gratefully accepted. "Amazing." He answered. "Splendid. They're always doing so well. They don't see it though." He frowned at his glass, wondering why that was.

"They're so amazing though. It just doesn't make any sense," He sat up, leaning forward to look at the couple in front of him intensely. They both had their eyebrows raised in surprise, but leaned forward in tandem, intruiged.

"Because see, they're so brilliant, and lovely, and smart, really I think they're the smartest people in the world- like ever. And Dickie, he's so kind and sweet and nice, and he's got a few problems and I'm sorry about it but he's really just amazing and an all around good person, I really oughtta try and be more like him, and oh he's got my eyes, im so glad he got my eyes, but i love his nose too, its nothing like mine- anyway Jason too- whoo he got my height im so happy for him- he also has my eyes! they all have my eyes actually, except cass, and damian, but like he's so brilliant and smart and he was such a good kid, he is now too- oh he doesn't like me calling him kid, but he'll always be my baby, and oh i cried so much when he died, but he better now, oh and Timmy, oh timmy is so smart. Soooo smart like genuis level, and he's wayy smarter than me, wayyyy smarter, and alfie says he has my hair, but i dont see it- i think he got my jaw though- and then Cass oh Cassandra My baby girl she's lovely and sweet and a charmer, beautiful girl, so is Barbara, but she won't let me say that to her, no no, but she is, she's so pretty and smart and quick, she scares me sometimes but I love her, such a good girl yknow? And Stephanie? Oh she and Tim need to make it official so shes mine. mine mine mine. I need another daughter you know? Too many boys. Equality of men and women at home. I need them home. And then Duke. hes so lovely too. Oh and Damian. Damian took some adjusting but they're all so lovely yknow? I remember the day they were born so vividly. I was so happy. I love them so much. It hurt, of course, but what is that to the joy they bring now yknow?"

Bruce took a sip of his drink, nodding thoughtfully as he leaned back. Mrs. and Mr. Ketch blinked a few times, opened their mouths, closed them again, and leaned back as well, exchanging glances.

"Yes. Well. Quite." Mr. Ketch cleared his throat. "Bruce, perhaps we should call you someone? To take you home?" Mrs. Ketch nodded her agreement.

"Come on sweetheart, let's get you home. You need to go to bed and.. and sleep this off." Bruce nodded, letting them help him stand and guide him to the door as Mr. Ketch called someone.

"Yeah. I like bed. And sleep. Oh- but I can't. Uh-uh, I promised Dickie I'd call him." Bruce nodded, turning to head back inside as though that would help his quest.

Mrs. Ketch grabbed his arm and gently, but firmly, led him back outside. "Rob just called him sweetheart, he's on his way."

"Oh." Bruce nodded. "Oh. Thas good." Mrs. Ketch nodded her agreement, rubbing his back soothingly. "I like that." Bruce hummed, letting his eyes close. "Its like what my mother used to do." Mrs. Ketch looked at him in surprise, hand stilling for a second before resuming.

"Really?" She asked gently. Bruce hummed in confirmation. "Oh yes. Yeah she did. You do it well. You'd make a good mom. Just like me. Well, I don't make a good mom." At that he frowned at the ground, biting his lip. "But I try."

Mrs. Ketch smiled, turning them as a car pulled up. "Yes. You do. And you do it marvelously Bruce, truly. That's all we can ever do. Try." Bruce nodded his agreement as the door opened and his eldest emerged, rushing to his side.

"Bruce!" Dick looked genuinely worried, grabbing his shoulder. "You alright?" His son's eyes were searching, scanning his body.

"Oh hes fine." Mrs. Ketch waved with a smile. "Just a few drinks. I think it'd be best he go home though, sleep it off." Dick nodded his agreement, smiling at her. "Yes. I think thats best. Thank you." She shrugged, waving it off.

"Of course. It's what he would have done for me." Dick lowered Bruce into the passenger seat, heading for the drivers. "Bruce." Ketch tapped the window, leaning down. "Hm?" Bruce tilted his head, rolling it down.

"I'm pregnant." Bruce waited, jaw dropping slowly as the words connected in his brain. "You are?" She nodded, a small smile crossing her face.

"Yes. You're the first person I've told." She glanced nervously over her shoulder, to where her husband was waiting on the steps. Bruce reached for her hand, clasping it in his own.

"You'll make an excellent mother. And he will make an amazing father." He promised. She smiled, biting her lip anxiously. "You think?" Bruce nodded. "I know." At that her smile softened, and she patted his cheek.

"Thank you. And, for what it's worth Bruce," She glanced past him to Dick, who was kindly pretending not to listen. "I think you make an excellent mother."

[justdealingwithsomeissues]

That is pretty hardcore... just busting up GR, his jaw hanging odd, and he does not care... he is coming for your ass with his penance stare...

[demonicsoulmates-art]

David Haydn-Jones Sketch #4

Aaand we got to week 4 of my challenge of drawing one David Haydn-Jones per week LOL This time I chose to go digital. Saw a photo on Pinterest that was modified so only a part of it had color and was like... mh, let's try that. So, here's the result :)

Close up under the cut

Other drawings in the project:

David Haydn-Jones Sketch #1

David Haydn-Jones Sketch #2

David Haydn-Jones Sketch #3

buy me a Ko-fi?

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭

↳ summary: gabriel finds himself again amongst sweet treats, warded bunker walls, and you

↳ warnings: mentions of past character death and gabriels time with asmodeus, characters getting over trauma, etc

↳ song: heat of the moment—asia

masterlist | commissions | carrd

Gabriel was an angel. There was no denying that fact.

Not in the metaphorical sense, or the hypothetical sense, or any other sort of sense. He was an honest to god, grace wielding, smirk wearing, heaven sent angel. You didn't have to peek his true form to know any of that. If anything, you'd seen the ghostly shadow of his wings enough times for you to eye him with trepidation, only for the moment to be broken with a snarky quip and a wink afterwards. 

It wasn't any of those things that made Gabriel angelic in your eyes, though. In fact, the novelty of angels for you had worn off years ago. Ever since Castiel had shown up in that barn, wearing the tannest of tan of trench coats and directing that righteous gaze of his at Dean, you'd found that your capacity for anything biblical had reached its peak. Anything beyond that had been labeled For Later and shoved deep down in a box with everything else disturbing in your life. To say that the box had been full for a while would be an understatement.

When Gabriel had first been outed as Mr. Archangel himself, you'd shrugged. It made enough sense, you'd thought at the time, looking at him from outside the ring of holy fire you and the brothers had set up in that warehouse. He'd made the three of you run around in TV shows all day, and even if he did appear to have penchant for sweets, upon a closer look he defiantly wasn't just a trickster. If Cas could be an angel, all squinted frowns and tilted heads, then why couldn't Gabriel? Not that he really had a reason to lie that day.

It took you a while to forget about golden hair and pink lips. Even more to forget the stench of burned feathers as the owner of them lay dead on a red carpet floor, slain by the hands of his own brother. The years had come and gone since your less than wonderful trip to that hotel, a number of both new and old companions along with them. Some deaths hit harder than the others, and you had more then enough battle scars to prove it. You were still reeling over the death of Crowley when Ketch had showed up in the bunker, Gabriel trailing along after him, all vacant stares and a downturned 

Shame was the first emotion you'd seen from him in years. It was almost appropriate that fear came next.

He'd screamed through bloody stitches for the entire first week. And once Sam had calmed him down enough to get them off, he just refused to speak at all, avoiding everyone gaze as he shut himself in the farthest room down the hall. Under any other circumstance you would have asked why it had to be your room in particular he'd taken refuge in, but the longer your door remained locked and bolted, the more your complaints wilted.

Maybe it was time that helped him to heal, or the knowledge that while he was in the bunker he had three of the deadliest hunters watching his back. A small part of you was selfish enough to think that maybe the sandwiches you'd leave outside his door, just to come back and find missing, was a part of it.

It was only when you'd woken up one day to the smell of waffles coming from the kitchen that you knew Gabriel was back, and this time for the better.

The weeks that followed his return were some of the better one's you'd experienced in nearly half a decade. In between stopping Lucifer twice, as well as the rest of his fucked up family tree, you'd quit taking time for yourself. Little tasks and achievements that seemed insignificant in the face of everything else were suddenly brought back into the limelight per request of Gabriel. Movie marathon nights with buckets of candy, and handmade baked goods were among some of the archangels favorite things to do while stuck in the bunker. At times you wondered if your presence for those things really were necessary, or if Gabriel just liked spending time with you. It wasn't until Dean pointed out that Gabriel was all but back to his normal self that you realized just how impactful your midday rendezvous with the angel had been.

Coming out of the shell Asmodeus had placed him in was hard for him to do, and even harder for you all to watch. He refused to share anything about his time in captivity unless it was of the utmost importance in stopping Lucifer; not that any of you were pushing him to share. If there was anyone out there that could understand the lasting effects that fire and brimstone could leave on someone, it was you three. 

You hadn't been foolish enough to think for a moment that he wasn't still broken, even after he shuffled out of your room all those weeks ago. Gabriel still had his moments, and plenty of them. Moments where he wouldn't speak to anyone, or where his playful energy would dissipate at the first signs of anything demonic. He would often pause in his speaking, like a car radio that had lost it's signal, a set of endless whiskey eyes replaying the worst of the worst for an audience of one while you did your best to pull him out of it.

And while you had seen him get lost in himself enough times to practically write a book on trauma victims, Dean was right. He had been getting better. He'd let himself laugh at jokes more often— your jokes —with that boisterous yelp of his. It was always rushed at first, as if he was going to explode if he didn't get the sound out fast enough, before tampering off into a slow round of chuckles that never failed to bring the corners of your lips up into a smile of their own.

Once you discovered how much you loved his laughter, you started noticing all the other little things about him that filled you with warmth. It was only once you realized that you had begun to seek his company out in the dead of night, your own nightmares from hunts passed plaguing you, that you knew, truly, just how deep in you were.

He cornered you one day while you were putting groceries away, a frantic mess of jumbled nerves and unsure fingers twisting around each other. He said that he'd never had to do this before. That he'd never had trouble getting a read on someone else, on their feelings, like he did with you. His worries could always be solved with a snap of his fingers and a flirty wiggle of his eyebrows; or at least they used to be able to. But you weren't just someone else to him anymore. You hadn't been for a long time, and this time, Gabriel wanted to do things properly.

Sam and Dean would be pissed the next morning when they realized that you'd left the beer sitting out all night. But when you were crossing the kitchen in long strides to reach your angel, hands reaching out to tangle themself in Gabriel's hair for purchase, kissing him like the world really was about to end— you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

[holylulusworld]

Designed by pain (3)

Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader; Arthur Ketch x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, implied break-up, time jumps, strong reader

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

Designed by pain masterlist

Designed by pain (2)

Time is a funny thing. One moment you look at old pictures of the love you lost to reminisce, and the next moment, the life you knew is long gone.

A heartbeat later eight years are gone, and you are sitting in an airplane leading back to your old life.

You take a deep breath, and exhale sharply, feeling Ketch’s eyes on you.

“Y/N, if only you told me about this earlier. I would’ve asked someone else to come with me. I should’ve known better than to ask you to face the man breaking your heart.” Ketch became our closest friend over the amount of eight years. He’s your son’s godfather and the big brother you never had. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“I’ve got this, Arthur,” you glance at your laptop to check on the timetable for the meeting with Winchester & Singer Inc. once again. “I’m not the girl he left.”

Arthur sighs deeply but ignores the anxiety clawing at his chest. The last thing he wanted was to force you to face your past. “If you want to stay at the hotel, I can go to the meeting and tell them you got sick.��

“Your designer didn’t get sick. This is my project and won’t stay away from the meeting only because there is a slight possibility that I will run into that man!”

He gives up but worriedly watches you squirm in your seat. You still hate flying but try to put a brave face on. You’re fierce and strong-headed. Only one of the many things he likes about you.

“If you want me to, I’ll break his face after we sealed the deal,” Ketch casually says. “I’m not scared of getting my hands dirty.”

“No,” you grab his hand and squeeze it. “He’s not worth it, Arthur. After all these years I know Dean never felt anything for me. Even his brother tried to contact me years ago. I wasn’t very nice to Sam, but it had to be done.”

A split second can change your life. Dean never believed in fate or karma. But when you step inside the conference room, another man by your side, he’s suddenly a believer.

You take his breath away. Even if you aged, you did it with grace and grew even more beautiful. You carry yourself like no other woman, and he can barely keep himself from pouncing on you.

“Y/N?” Sam is the one rising from his seat first. He does what Dean wants to do. Sam wraps you in a hug, ignoring the man next to you. “It’s really you, Y/N. How have you been?”

“I’m good,” you pat his back, unsure how to react to Sam’s friendliness. “I hope you have been good too.”

Sam finally releases you. He apologizes for not greeting Ketch and shakes your boss’s hand. “Welcome, Mr. Ketch. We are glad you are willing to meet up with us.”

“My pleasure,” Ketch curtly replies. He shakes Sam’s hand while you look around the room. Dean’s eyes meet yours, but you act like he’s one of the people in the room you do not know. He’s only someone you used to know now.

“Daddy, daddy," you freeze when a little boy storms into the conference room. For a moment you watch Dean's reaction. His eyes are trained on you as his brother picks the boy up.

“And who is this young man,” your features soften for a moment, and you look at the boy in Sam’s arms. You blink and put a straight face on. Showing weakness is not in your plans. If this gets too intense you can cry in your hotel room, but not in front of Dean. Never in front of him.

"Y/N, this is Samuel, my son," you nod, turning your attention back toward Ketch, and the papers on the conference table.

Dean took the chance and stepped toward you and Ketch. He greeted your boss, and now he’s staring at you, eyes sparkling as you try to ignore his existence.

"Don't you want to greet Sam's son," Dean wonders but you remain stoic. "Y/N?” He questions. You loved kids, and always played with the children of your friends. Now you ignore the cute boy right in front of you. “What’s wrong with you?”

"I'm not into kids, Dean. What shall I do? Faint?" you huff and sit down, claiming the next best seat at the conference table. You unlock your phone and try to ignore Dean is standing right next to you.

"This isn't you, Y/N," you whip your head toward Dean, face still stoic. “Where is the quirky and lovely girl? Where is the girl who wanted kids and love?"

"Well," you slowly get back up to glare at Dean, a cold smile on your lips, "this is me after you." He inhales sharply, taken aback by your words. "Designed by pain, betrayal, and broken trust. Don't you like your creation?"

His jaw goes slack, and he flinches at your words. Dean doesn’t find his voice, and he swallows thickly.

You don’t wait for his reply. Instead of waiting for him to tell you that you are in the wrong, you sit back down and focus on your job. You’re here to sign the deal of the century, not to entertain Dean Winchester.

Dean can’t believe you have changed so much. Yes, eight years have passed, and he didn’t see you since he fucked things up. Still, you are so different from the girl he loved.

You’re not quirky and bubbly any longer. Maybe you told him the truth. Your new you got designed by pain. The pain he caused so many years ago.

“Did you listen,” John hisses at his eldest son. He clears his throat and tries to pull Dean’s attention toward business and away from you. “I know she’s still a hot piece of ass but get your shit together. You can dick down some bitch later.”

You wrinkle your nose. John is not very subtle. He whispered his insults, but you heard every word. Some things never change. John Winchester is still disgusting and sleazy.

“Shall we come to an end then,” Bobby Singer raises his voice. “I think we are all tired of talking about details. We should sign the papers and have a drink.”

You smirk. Bobby Singer owns a special place in your heart. Not only because he was the one getting you the job in London, but for having your back for years.

He covered your traces and made sure no one was able to find you. Not even Sam Winchester who tried anything to get in touch with you.

A single phone call was all it took to make him stop. You told him that you were about to marry and that you never loved his brother.

“Y/N, wait,” Dean puts his hand on your shoulder before you get the chance to follow Ketch out of the conference room. Your boss is engrossed in a conversation with Bobby and doesn’t see your face fall. “Can we at least talk? It’s good to see you.”

“Why?” You swat his hand off your shoulder but turn around to face him. “You didn’t want to talk after you embarrassed me in front of your family. I gave you a choice Dean. I left a note, almost begging you to not let me down.” 

“You didn’t leave a note. All I found was the engagement ring!” He gets louder. “After all these years you lie to me?”

“I left a note on the bed and placed the ring on top of the note. You didn’t call or come around. That’s all I needed to know. You wanted your ex, and I had to take care of…whatever.” You shrug and turn back around. “Who cares about the past? You had your reasons for not trying to fix things between us.”

“There was no note,” Dean says, a little confused about your behavior. “I swear there was no note. You must remember wrong.”

“I remember every single word I wrote, with tears in my eyes and trembling fingers,” you bitterly reply. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Don’t you think?”

And just like that, you grab your bag and leave the room. Dean watches you leave, just like that night.

“She didn’t leave a note,” he crosses his arms over his chest. Dean tries to recall that night. He remembers brushing Lisa’s advances off. He walked upstairs to apologize, and for make-up sex, only to find the room empty. “There was no note.” He shakes his head, remembering that the ring was lying on the bed, but no note.

“What’s wrong? Why did you let her go again?” Sam asks. “Dean?” He places his hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Y/N said she left a note, but there was none, Sammy. I swear there was no note, only the ring,” Dean shakes his head. “I don’t know why she’s lying.”

“What if she doesn’t lie, Dean,” Sam wonders. “Why should she lie about leaving a note? It’s been eight years, and she won’t get anything out of it if she lies.”

“You’re right.”

“So, who had the chance to sneak inside your shared room? Why would anyone take the note and leave the ring on the bed?” Sam wrinkles his forehead. “Let’s recall that night, Dean. What do you remember? Who went upstairs before you? Did you see anyone?”

Dean huffs. ”Mom went upstairs because Dad spilled his drink over her dress. I can’t remember seeing anyone else walking upstairs. I wasn’t sober that night, though.”

“Mother went upstairs,” Sam frowns deeply. He knows that Mary invited Lisa to the party. “That makes sense.”

“What?” Dean grunts. “Nothing makes sense anymore, Sammy. What was right is wrong and…” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s been eight years.”

“I didn’t take you for a quitter,” Sam taunts. “Why did you never marry, or have a relationship lasting longer than a week since Y/N is gone? You have been waiting for her all those years, and now you want to let her slip through your fingers again?”

“No…but…no…” Dean sighs deeply. “Y/N hates me, and I can’t blame her for it, Sammy.”

“Well then, let’s talk to mother. She has a lot to explain...”

Designed by pain (4)

Tags in reblog.