#filthymongrels

[saunteredslowlydownward]

00:00:00 (let's go with Draco)

In a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they’ll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muses reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.

For as long as Draco could remember, the numbers on his wrist had been messed up.  No one could explain it; some days they were faded like an old scar the way that the numbers looked on couples who had found one another years before, other days they would look new and fresh but rather than counting down they kept counting upwards, each flash of digits taking him further and further away from the usual countdown to zero.  The doctors at St. Mungo’s had done their best to explain it, but it was all just speculation.  No one had ever seen anything like it before.  With no cause and no fix in sight, Draco was forced to go on as if nothing was amiss.  He took to wearing a cuff over his wrist to hide his shame and by the time he was in his sixth year at Hogwarts he had other things, bigger things to worry about than if he would ever find his soulmate.

Perhaps that was why he didn’t notice at first, when the castle transported him back through time, that the numbers had finally righted themselves, counting downward for the first time in his life.  It wasn’t until he was in his newly assigned room, unpacking the trunk that Dumbledore had given to him as a part of his new identity as Polaris Burke that his cuff caught on the edge of the wood and pulled back enough that he noticed the numbers.  00:00:05…04…03…02..01… 00:00:00

He tumbled over in shock just as the door to the dorm room opened, a teen Draco’s own age with long shaggy black hair and a captivating grin stepping into the room.

[quinnfabatyale-blog]

The blonde's eyes slowly scanned the aisles of the store before finally settling on a cliff bar and some bottled water to snack on. Quinn walked up to the counter, exing the man behind it shortly before setting her two items on the counter to check out.

[saunteredslowlydownward]

May the Odds. (idk I like the hunger games haha)

He had survived.  Against all odds (and you did not need to tell him twice that the odds were never in his favor) Castiel had survived the games.  In the arena he had not allowed himself to think about the things that he had forced himself to do in order to survive, but now that the final cannon had sounded and the Capital celebrations (his stomach lurched in disgust at the memory of party after party celebrating the slaughter of 23 innocent children as he was paraded around like a prize) were finally over and he was headed home, he finally allowed the guilt and the horror to come to the fore, washing through him in waves of nauseous disgust.  He had killed them, three of his fellow tributes had fallen at his own hands, including the girl from his home District, Anna.  Her blood would forever be on his hands, it would never wash away.  His hands had begun to shake and he felt as though he was about to throw up and so, even though he was alone in the dinner cart of the train, he retreated to the solitude of his cabin for the remainder of the trip.  He refused to let anyone see him fall apart.

He had done what he had to do, he reminded himself; what was necessary to survive.  He had made a promise that he would come back and he had taken the actions that were necessary to keep that promise.  When train pulled into the station, he would return to Dean like he had promised, safe and physically whole (though not mentally unscathed, obviously).  Dean and his little brother Sam would no longer need to scrounge and fight for every tiny scrap, able to live comfortably in the Winner’s Village with Castiel.  He would be haunted by the nightmares that he had encountered in the arena but at least he could comfort himself with the knowledge that his sacrifice meant that the Winchesters would be safe and well cared for from here on out.  That was what was most important.

[insufferableyouth]

Psst... you are amazing and I adore you. -casually stalks;

Who me? Oh pst..

[As lady gaga's do what you want what you want with my body plays in the background]

[saunteredslowlydownward]

§

Send me § and my muse will react to yours pushing them against a wall and kissing them.

Cas felt his back hit the wall but if there was any pain accompanying it he was far too distracted to notice.  Anyone in their right mind would be if they found themselves held to the wall by the solid press of Dean Winchester’s body, sinfully soft, moist lips meeting their own.  Cas remembered once hearing someone describe ‘melting into a kiss’ but it wasn’t until here and now that he fully understood the meaning behind the expression.  He had tensed initially, shocked by the sudden closeness when Dean tended to keep a certain measure of space between them, but once Cas realized that there was nothing attacking them it felt as though all the tension eased right out of him. 

To say that Castiel had never imagined this moment before would be an outright lie.  He had lost count of how many times he had become lost in the thought of kissing Dean, of being kissed by Dean; the fantasy of it was completely surpassed by the reality of it.  Dean’s lips were soft and firm but yielding against his own, his body a warm  and reassuring pressure holding Cas solidly against the wall and causing warmth to spread through him.  The only way they could have been closer was to occupy the same space.  Dean teased his tongue along the seam of Cas’ lips and Cas opened to him eagerly, a soft moan falling from his lips.

[mymindisanorphanage]

+5

       "Huh?"

[saunteredslowlydownward]

✘ ♣ ❖(voicemail or text)

Send ♣ for a text not meant for you

Charlie, I don’t understand that reference. And even though we share a profound bond that does not make Dean and I a ‘battle couple’… whatever that is.

Send ✘ for a text that should have been sent

Dean, it’s Cas.  I’m at *insert location here* and I don’t have my grace or my wings or any way to get to you.  I need help. - sent from the cell phone of the friendly trucker who gave Cas a lift into town after he fell instead of the idiot turning him down and insisting that he didn’t need help.

Send ❖ for a confession

*drunken voice mail* Sometimes I feel like I can still see your soul shining out of you when I look into your eyes… even though I don’t have my grace anymore, I get lost in the shimmering play of different greens and its almost like I can feel it still, bright and pure and reaching out to me like it did right from that first moment I saw you and gripped you tight.  You have the most beautiful soul I have ever seen.