desperate angels

Please reblog! :)

(Also I did make this and didn’t steal it, the watermark is my twitter username)

Michael was so distraught when his little girl came to him early one Tuesday morning, asking if he could style her hair into two braids. When he politely asked her why, she simply replied excitedly, “All the other girls have them, daddy!” 

And so he searched up a quick tutorial on the internet, mumbling quietly to himself as he parted his daughter’s blonde hair into two sections before further dividing those two parts into three. And although he tried–he tried so damn hard–he found himself growing confused, unable to remember if this piece had already looped over that piece, and if he was supposed to make the braids tight or loose. The clock was ticking, only twenty minutes until the start of school, and Michael was beginning to panic, pursing his lips and letting out a frustrated groan as he let little Clifford’s locks fall, tugging at his own fiery hair in desperation.

“C’mon angel,” he finally prodded his daughter, motioning that she stand. She obliged, regarding him with an inquisitive and slightly upset expression, “What about my hair?”

“Don’t worry,” Michael assured her, grabbing her hand and her pink backpack on their way out the door.

He rang your doorbell, bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously and hoping that you were awake. Sure enough, the door swung open and you stood there, your hair piled into a messy bun; you wore a tank top and a loose pair of sweatpants that hung low on your hips–Michael swallowed heavily and looked away before you could catch him staring.

“Hi?” your greeting came out as a question, and you smiled down at little Clifford as she waved. 

Michael shot you a pleading look, “I’m really sorry to bother you, Y/N, but I can’t do a braid. And she wants two.” He squeezed his daughter’s hand before his shoulders slumped, “School starts in fifteen minutes. Could you maybe…?”

You let out a soft laugh and nodded, holding out your own hand and waiting for the small girl to take it, “Of course. Come here sweetie.”

And in less than five minutes, little Clifford was jumping up and down, her newly-styled braids flopping into the air before landing back on her shoulders. She held open her arms, looking up at Michael expectantly, “Daddy look!”

“They’re beautiful, angel!” Michael grinned, letting out a sigh of relief. He bent down, scooping his daughter into his arms and shooting you a grateful smile, “Thank you so much Y/N, you just saved my a–behind. You saved my behind.”

You giggled, nodding and shrugging, “Don’t worry about it. Braiding the hair of cute little girls is my specialty.” You smiled tenderly at Michael’s daughter and she let out a little laugh, burying her face into Michael’s neck.

“Thank you again,” he told you, bidding you goodbye before turning his attention to the child in his arms. “C’mon angel,” he prompted, securing her pink backpack a little more firmly, “Time to get to school.”

You waved as they walked down the steps of your porch, and Michael let out yet another relieved sigh when he heard your front door close. “She’s pretty daddy,” his daughter whispered into his neck.

Michael let out a chuckle, “Yeah. She really is.”

For @anarchyaustralia and @darkmikeyrises’ blurb night!

I love that Dean calls his angel Cas, and how important it is that he came up with that name so soon after they met, and hasn’t let up on it since.

But imagine him calling him Castiel again.

Just imagine him, in a moment of anger or pure emotion or desperation, calling the angel by his entire name, in a whisper or sharp tone.

Imagine the look on the other man’s face as they stare at one another again, and the next word to fall from Dean’s lips is “Please.”


Where my Merlin people at!? I need more people that love this show as much as I do, in my life! PLEASE COME AT ME(in the gentlest ways possible)! I’m up for discussions on anything, any ship, any plot holes, ANYTHING!

Everyone who sees this like or follow me so I can add you! Make it easy for me to find you!
Imagine being fatally injured and help not coming in time

Dean’s hands pressed against your stomach, applying pressure to the wound, but the blood continued to seep through the shreds in your t-shirt, though the cracks between his fingers, and flowed over the back of his hand. He whispered quietly, tiny hopeful reassurances meant more for himself than for you, saying that you’d be okay again and again, that help would come and heal you, and that you would make it through this. He looked up, eyes glistening, and cried out in a desperate call for the angel, the one beacon of hope for your survival. His eyes scanned the room, head twisting and turning, but no sound of fluttery wings was heard and no trench-coated angel came. He kept calling until he was nearly hoarse, and then you reached a hand up to his face, fighting against a suddenly much stronger gravity, and lightly cupped his stubbled cheek in your palm. The unexpected contact drew his attention back down on you, and he looked at you worriedly, his eyes filled to the brim with fear, but you just smiled softly at him, the inner part of your lips starting to stain with little hints of red. Dean shut his eyes tightly and leaned his head into your hand, taking shelter in this moment, this last moment, because it was far too soon that your hand began to slip away,  leaving a bloody smear on his skin, and he opened his eyes just in time to watch as it fell back to the ground.

Then it was suddenly quiet.

Dean spoke your name, first like a question, a disbelief, then as desperation, raw emotion, heartbroken. Your name reverberated off the walls, a cry of anguish, pained to the very heart of him as a gaping hole tore through him where you used to be, and he lifted your lifeless form into his arms, holding you to his chest as his shattered gaze looked across your ghostly features. First one tear fell, then another, both landing delicately on your paled cheeks as he sobbed quietly into your hair, rocking back and forth on his knees. He barely lifted his head to look up at the sky, to the heavens, and all he could wonder, all his broken soul could muster up was the question of why it had to be you instead of him. 

it’s done, holy shit, it’s done!

I was desperate to see Amber, Angel and April come to life as I envisioned them so I commissioned the awesome @n-a-blue-box to do this piece for me and it’s turned out every bit as epic and gorgeous as I hoped! I have wept tears of joy over this beautiful art piece and can’t thank her enough  for all the patience and energy and skill and professionalism that went into creating this! <3 <3 <3 IT’S PHENOMENAL!