#Urban Howling

[s3-6kl]

Lazy art dump

[citycoyote]

CAR ROARS PAST / OPOSSUM PLAYS DEAD

ALLEY CATS WANDER / SHARE KIBBLE WITH RACCOONS

COYOTE GRABS RAT / OFF WITH ITS HEAD

FLEA ON FOX'S BACK / SHINING WHITE UNDER MOON

MIDNIGHT / STREETS / LIFE

[fratboykate]

I forgot FBAU Yelena is such a prim and proper princess. You know even mid divorce, she's always got herself put together.

one of my favorite things about fbau!yelena is that she's just a straight up perfect femme princess...who still imprints her little frat boy into the mattress. a top in combat boots OR Louboutins.

who'd think this prim and proper face ever could?

[thefarfield-s5s]

…I’m with you in Rockland

[givreencres]

Good night Tumblr!

Just a little smile to whose who need it

[obaewankenope]

@kedreeva your tags had me howling lmao

But also, he's not just playing god, he's playing the cosplay of god as a human lmao, like he's pretending to be god pretending to be human in the most hilarious rendition of "I can be like the peasants, say I the mighty king, what do you mean they eat gruel and want to murder me? I'm the king! I'm ReLAtiNg tO tHEm here!"

I’m literally on thr verge of tears

[trickstarbrave]

there are coyotes howling

[mira-hildegard]

yeag...

[sunni-stuff]

Three days had passed since Jellybean, your rescued stray, vanished. Though an outdoor enthusiast at heart, she'd never missed a meal. Now, your phone tracker beeped, signaling proximity. The crafty runt had escaped, but you were closing in. Jellybean's street-smart ways usually brought her home, yet this time felt different. As you followed the signal, hope and worry battled within.

You traveled alone as none of the townspeople were brave enough to help with your search. The mere mention of the North Woods shook them to the core, earning your request swift declines and slammed doors in your face. Whispers and rumors follow you with every interaction 

Secluded and untraceable, his cabin lies tucked away, invisible to prying eyes.

Rumors swirl of his territorial fury. Trespassers beware—this hunter stalks from afar. His domain is unforgiving, and his presence is a constant threat. The lucky ones spot the warning sign; others never see him coming.

Even the butcher, renowned for his toughness, said no, unwilling to even hear you out.

“There’s a man in the woods,” he said, voice unwavering. “You’d be smart to forget the idea.”

The boom of the door closing makes you flinch, jumping back a bit. A man in the woods? Surely not.

Even more absurd than some creep in the woods was the thought that the big, bad butcher was scared of him. This was a man who walked you home at night, who sneered at men and pulled you close to his side when you became uncomfortable. You knew him for a long time and you’d never seen him so much as flinch, but suddenly he was all squinted eyes and hushed tones at the thought of even stepping a foot off the beaten path. It couldn't be true, right?

Well, there was only one way to prove him wrong, and it was the only way you were gonna get Jellybean back. You’re going in that forest, urban myth or not.

Shadows lengthen as you exit your truck. The door closes with a hollow thud. The townsfolk's warnings replay in your mind, urging caution. You scan the area, heart racing. Drooping leaves cast an ominous veil over the forest. The murky depths seem to whisper, both alluring and forbidding.

Anxiety grips you as you take a step further. "Bean?" You whisper, voice trembling.

Silence answers. Twigs crack underfoot, and each snap creates an ominous echo. You cringe, the sounds amplifying your unease. Yet you press on, searching the quiet forest.

Minutes stretch like hours as you quietly call Bean's name, doing your best not to attract any unwanted attention, as the woods loom, hiding unknown dangers. Glancing down, your phone shows her location, unchanged, since she first wandered off. Jellybean's absence at this late hour is unsettling. She never stayed out of the house this long, and not so still, either. You can't help but think the worst, deciding to hurry closer to her, praying to find her safe.

Venturing deeper, the terrain grew wilder. Massive leaves parted, revealing fallen trunks and tilted trees. The more you looked around, the more it became clear that the uncharted wilderness wasn't made for humans.

There was no possible way.

The forest gave little leeway to those travelings through its domain. Predators strayed barely out of sight, lurking in hopes you'd be their next meal. A howl in the distance has you on edge, skin crawling, the feeling of being watched running anxious edges.

"Just keep walking. It'll be okay. The tracker says she's near." You reassured yourself under quite murmurs, trying to will your heart calm.

Then it appeared without warning.

A wolf lurches from the woodland gloom, baring his jagged canines, poised and ready to pounce. He circles you in a slow, menacing loop, foam pooling from his parted jaws. His eyes blaze with a frenzied gleam, wild and driven by something beyond hunger. Some dark, unseen force propels him, and you feel it tightening around you.

You turn and run.

Run as fast as your legs can carry you, tearing through the thick underbrush. Foliage slaps your arms and face, and the weeds clutch at your ankles like skeletal fingers desperate to drag you down. You ignore the stinging scratches, the pounding in your chest. If you fall, if you falter for even a second—you know it’s over.

Run.

The untamed beast snaps its jaws inches behind you, hot breath searing your calves, each bite narrowly missing as he hounds you with ruthless, single-minded determination. You crash through a thicket, branches clawing at your arms, tearing through your clothes, until you stumble onto a barely visible trail where weak shafts of light seep through gaps in the trees.

There’s no time to think. No time to process the sting of cuts or the burn in your lungs, nothing beyond the raw, primal instinct to get the hell away from the rabid creature on your heels.

Then you see it.

A cabin.

Really, a dilapidated shack, its sagging roof overrun with twisting vines, looms before you, barely held together by rotting beams and splintered boards. The whole structure looks one hard gust away from collapse, yet it’s the only shelter in sight. You don’t hesitate, heart hammering in your chest, and charge toward the door.

In your frantic rush, you miss the glint of watching eyes, shining like dark coals from the shadows behind, tracking your every move.

You burst inside, slamming the door shut with a desperate shove, then lean your back against it. Your chest heaves, each ragged breath scraping your lungs as you struggle to catch your breath, the weight of dread pressing down on you even harder than the beast’s pursuit.

The aroma of simmering soup wafted through the air, warmth enveloping you. A cozy scene unfolded: a bubbling pot atop a wooden stove, a modest desk tucked away, and a solitary lantern casting a soft glow. The space exuded an unexpected warmth, soft light pooling over worn furniture and the faint scent of old wood calming your frayed nerves. Your pulse slowed as the familiar coziness settled around you. Then, a gentle brush against your leg pulled you from the haze of adrenaline.

You glanced down—and there she was. Jellybean, her eyes wide and radiant, a few telltale crumbs clinging to her brown fur from some long-forgotten snack.

A rush of tenderness overtook the fading remnants of panic. You reached down, catching the elusive little troublemaker as she gave an indignant squirm. “You little—” The half-hearted scold fizzled, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming need to hold her close. “How—How did you end up here, huh?”

Holding Jellybean close, you feel the weight of your situation settling over you—a stranger in a cabin far from familiar ground, with the last of the sunlight slipping away, trapping you inside until dawn. Outside was darkness thick and impenetrable, the forest itself a living maze you dared not attempt at night.

“Shit,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as if speaking too loudly might stir something in the shadows.

Slowly, you move deeper into the space, eyes sweeping over the bare walls and spartan furniture. There’s something unnervingly sterile about the place—no photos, no knickknacks. Not a trace of personality or life. Who would live here? The rumors of some reclusive figure haunting these woods flash through your mind.

No. You shake your head, brushing off the thought. This was probably just some hunter’s shack. Or a place someone from town stayed now and then, just a shelter, nothing more.

Your foot presses down on a loose floorboard, and a loud creak echoes through the stillness. You freeze, heartbeat stuttering. Jellybean’s ears twitch, but she remains calm. Before you can step back, a low groan seeps from somewhere within the cabin, rolling through the floorboards, shivering up your spine.

Your grip tightens on Jellybean, and you hold your breath, listening.

“I-Is anyone there…?” Your voice barely steady. The words hover in the silence, as though the shadows themselves are holding their breath, waiting.

Then, clear as day, you hear it.

“Help… me…”

The voice is thin and broken, barely more than a whisper. Instinct screams at you to ignore it, to sit tight until morning. But something tugs at you. The sound is weak, desperate—human. The cabin feels suddenly smaller, its walls pressing in, urging you to run.

“Please… someone help me…"

A shiver races down your spine. Curse your altruism. You clutch Jellybean tighter, swallowing back the fear rising in your throat.

“U-uh, where…?” The question slips out before you can think, shaky and uncertain.

Silence stretches taut, pressing against your ears. Then, faint and low, a whining sound rises from beneath the floorboards, almost like a wounded animal. Every instinct screams at you to turn back, to stay safe. But you find yourself edging closer to the noise, heart hammering against your ribs.

Your gaze lands on a small, almost-hidden door near the far wall—the entrance to a cellar.

The pleas are louder here, wavering but persistent, each whisper curling up from the depths. “Help… please…”

You should walk away. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. But, against every sliver of common sense, your hand reaches out, fingers trembling as they brush over the handle.

It turns with a rusty groan, and you pull the door open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into shadow. At the bottom, you catch the flicker of ember light, glowing faintly as if from a dying fire.

The cellar stretches out before you, a vast, dimly lit space far larger than should exist beneath such a modest shack. Shadows cling to the walls, the only light casting a faint, sickly orange glow that barely cuts through the murk. You step cautiously, heart-pounding, but then you glance to your right—and freeze.

The scene hits you with a nauseating force. Men hang suspended from thick meat hooks, bodies bruised and broken, some barely clinging to life, others unmoving, their faces blank and eyes empty. Their battered forms twist slightly in the air, like grotesque puppets left to dangle and rot. You swallow hard, stomach twisting as bile rises in your throat.

But then the horror deepens—recognition dawns. One face after another, familiar, each one seared into memory. The delivery driver who refused to take no for an answer, the lawyer from the pub whose relentless advances wore you down, the pizza guy who loitered outside your job, watching, waiting. All here. Hung like slabs of meat in this nightmarish cellar.

Your mind spins, the details piecing together in a sickening realization. The butcher. He’d warned them off, told you they wouldn’t bother you anymore. But this? This was something beyond any threat, beyond any punishment you’d ever imagined.

How? How had they ended up here? How did any of this exist beneath an unassuming cabin in the middle of the woods?

You weren’t supposed to see this. This was something that should have remained buried, hidden in the depths where secrets go to rot. The enormity of it presses down on you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

But then, one of them stirs. The pizza guy, his head lolling weakly to the side, lifts his face. His eyes, clouded and bloodshot, light up with recognition—a desperate spark of life in his hollow gaze. “Help! Please, before he comes back!” he rasps, voice cracking.

He.

The word rings in your mind, cold and jagged. He? Who could do this? Who would do this?

Your voice trembles as the question slips out, a thin whisper in the oppressive silence. “W—who… who are you talking about?”

The cellar door slams shut behind you, the echo reverberating off the cold stone walls, trapping you in the silence that follows. Heavy, methodical footsteps descend the rotting stairs, each step creaking beneath his weight. His breathing is deep, ragged, each inhale and exhale marking his slow, purposeful approach.

Don’t turn around.

Your body locks up, instinct screaming to flee, but your legs refuse to move. You clutch Jellybean tightly to your chest, but suddenly, she squirms, thrashing in your arms in a way she never has before. Confusion twists through your terror—Jellybean has always clung to you, never trying to escape. What was she doing?

With a leap, she slips from your grasp, landing soundlessly on the floor. She pads past you, moving behind you, and the silence is filled with soft, delighted purring.

You don’t want to look. You hold still, desperately hoping that if you don’t move, you’ll disappear, fade into the shadows. But you can feel him standing just behind you, the weight of his presence pressing down like a storm cloud.

And then, a voice. Familiar. Deep, smooth, and thick with a British lilt, edged with something that both chills and soothes you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a note of affection clear in his tone as he addresses Jellybean.

Recognition strikes you like a blow. That voice—you’ve heard it a thousand times. The same voice that always offered a warm “good evening” when he walked you home at night. The same voice that laughed as he handed Jellybean her treats at the butcher shop. The same voice that warned you, with a peculiar intensity, to avoid these woods.

The butcher.

---

A/N: I don't usually do long writing stuff... but I've had this one in the drafts for too long and wanted it out. I kind of like how it turned out but I can def improve!

[s3-6kl]

It's my birthday so I get to shitpost today.

MWWHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA

(Focal belongs to @aoartmthebitxh, Incite + Bloodbell + Blacklight belong to me.)

---✦ About Me ⊹ Commissions ✦--- My creations (art and writing) may not be used, edited, traced, reproduced, used for AI learning, or reposted (reblogs are ok) in any way without my permission.

[jayrockin]

This animal is called Zngti or Jngti on the southern Shess peninsula, and Anglophone humans sometimes refer to them as "centaur dogs" or "hawkdogs." They are an omnivorous predator that occupied a niche similar to a fox prior to domestication, and now fill a variety of roles in centaur settlements. They descended from a viviparous sister clade of centaurs where the hind limbs developed into a balancing organ similar to the tail of an Earth vertebrate, but did not specialize into claspers and a pouch such as in Tep (the silk dairy livestock).

Zngti do not have a strong pack coordination instinct and are not commonly used for hunting large game or herding livestock. In some ways they're comparable to domestic cats, often left unsupervised around food storage or crops to hunt vermin, but their territoriality also makes them useful for livestock defense or sentry roles.

Although there are no commonly held breed standards, different regions may have one or two specialized varieties for different functions. For game hunting, varieties tend to have a build similar to the wildtype but with flashy coat patterns. Tunnel hunting and vermin control varieties tend to have stout bodies and a bearded face to protect them from clawing prey and dirt entering their eyes and nostrils. Bulky guardian breeds are variously used to defend livestock, property, and children from threatening wildlife or strangers. Sentry alert breeds will raise a continuous "siren" howl through their excurrent nostrils in response to intruders. Most Zngti are work animals first and companions second, but in some urbanized regions toy breeds can be found. Derived from squat vermin hunting varieties, they are usually brightly colored with concave skulls that make them resemble a trunk-smiling centaur.

Although to centaurs Zngti are relatively small animals, they are often heavier and taller than humans. Some guardian breeds can be as large as a cow.

PATREON | Runaway to the Stars

[samuelsdean]

Flicker

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: "can i hold your hand?" you blurted out, surprised by your own boldness. a flicker of surprise crossed dean's face, quickly replaced by a ghost of a smile that sent a jolt through you. "yeah," he said, his voice softer than you were used to hearing. "yeah, you can."

genre: fluff

word count: 1.3k

author's notes: hi! here's another dean fic because i'm having a winchester brainrot after choosing to rewatch the show for the nth time. it's fluff again because i'm a sucker for soft!dean and i like it when idiots who are mutually pining for each other finally hold hands after 9989 years.

THE WIND HOWLED LIKE A WOLF ON A FULL MOON ON A PERPETUALLY OVERCAST NIGHT. It scoured the dust from the abandoned house's roof, a skeletal silhouette against the bruise-colored sky. The once-white picket fence weathered to a sickly gray, stood like crooked teeth in a decaying grin. The trees behind it, looming and stark, clawed at the sky, their branches whispering secrets the wind refused to carry.

You shivered, the cold a mere whisper compared to the unsettling feeling that prickled your skin. This place, nestled in a forgotten fold of a desolate highway at the edge of a forest, vibrated with a wrongness that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

"This place feels… dicey," Dean muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. He scanned the deserted midway, his eyes narrowed in a way that spoke volumes of past encounters with the unsettling.

"Think the rumors were true?" you asked, swallowing hard against the lump of unease in your throat.

The "rumors" were the reason you were standing in this creepy house at dusk. A string of disappearances, whispers of screams echoing in the dead of night, all traced back to this desolate stretch of road. Apparently, there was an urban legend of sorts in the area where a couple would get a flat tire out of nowhere, and with the area being nothing but just a highway and trees, the couple would choose to trek to a nearby house, only for them end up missing right after.

"Why? Are you scared?" A wry smile tugged at the corner of Dean's lips as he teased you. Before you could shoulder-check him for bugging you, he added, "Maybe, maybe not. But sticking together's the best bet we got, wouldn't you say?"

His gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a flicker of something akin to concern beneath the gruff exterior. It was a rare glimpse into the man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dean Winchester grew up suppressing whatever emotion he had besides his usual cocky demeanor and smirks because he had to raise Sam, his younger brother while hunting whatever it is that crawled out of the depths of hell. And Dean did a damn great job at that, Sam was now off to Stanford.

At that moment, the fear dissipated, replaced by a fierce determination.

"Yeah," you said, your voice firmer than you felt. "Let's get out of here."

He extended his hand, his calloused fingers surprisingly warm against your own. You hesitated for a beat, the implication of the gesture hanging heavy in the air. It was more than just a practical suggestion; it was a silent promise of support, a brief moment of connection you craved with this gruff hunter.

"Can I hold your hand?" you blurted out, surprised by your own boldness.

A flicker of surprise crossed Dean's face, quickly replaced by a ghost of a smile that sent a jolt through you. "Yeah," he said, his voice softer than you were used to hearing. "Yeah, you can."

You laced your fingers through his, the gesture a silent affirmation that went beyond the immediate danger. But for you, it was also a chance for something more, a stolen moment of skinship you yearned for.

As you walked, the wind seemed to whisper secrets around you, the creaking of the dilapidated house a morbid soundtrack. Each creak sent shivers down your spine, but Dean's grip remained steady, a reassuring anchor. You couldn't help but steal glances at him, his profile etched sharply against the dying light. The way his worn jacket barely contained the heat radiating from his body made your cheeks flush.

His hand, usually so quick to let go, lingered in yours. You weren't sure if he noticed the way your thumb brushed against his calloused skin, a silent plea for a little more contact. Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through your veins, or the way the danger heightened your senses, but Dean felt like a furnace beside you.

Suddenly, a flash of movement in the corner of your eye. A hulking shadow, all wrong angles, and unnatural speed darted behind a boarded-up ticket booth. A guttural growl, unlike anything you'd ever heard, ripped through the air. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"Did you see that?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Dean squeezed your hand, a silent acknowledgment, his hold tightening almost imperceptibly. This time, you were certain it wasn't just the danger.

"Stay close," he said, his voice low and gravelly.

He unsheathed his knife, its silver glinting in the fading light. You drew your own weapon, a wave of nausea washing over you. You hated this part, the constant feeling of being on the edge of a knife.

Stepping cautiously forward, you and Dean crept toward the source of the movement. The closer you got, the more the air crackled with an unnatural energy, the scent of decay thick and cloying. As you rounded a corner, the full horror of the creature revealed itself.

Towering over you was a monstrous figure, its once-human form twisted and warped. Its skin, a patchy mix of worminess and sickly shade, hung greasy. Claws, like sharpened daggers, protruded from its elongated fingers. But the most terrifying aspect was its face. A grotesque mockery of a human, its eyes burned with a bloodshot sclera devoid of any humanity.

The Rougarou, a creature born of insatiable hunger and despair, let out a bone-chilling roar, the sound echoing through the abandoned carnival. It lunged a blur of teeth and wormy skin.

The fight was a desperate ballet of survival. Dean, drawing on years of experience, moved with practiced efficiency, dodging the Rougarou's attacks while searching for an opening. You fought with a mix of fear and determination, adrenaline fueling your movements.

The Rougarou swiped at you with a clawed hand, leaving a searing mark across your arm. Pain flared, but you gritted your teeth, refusing to let it slow you down.

Dean created an opening, shouting, "Fire!" You lunged for your pocket, the familiar weight of the lighter a comfort in your hand. Snapping it open, you flicked the wheel, a flame erupting in the dying light. Hurling it with all your might, you aimed for the Rougarou's chest.

It shrieked, a sound that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality itself. The flame erupted on its body, a blossom of searing orange against the decaying flesh. The Rougarou thrashed, its inhuman roar turning into a desperate, pained yowl. It stumbled back, clawing at the burning fur, an unholy stench filling the air.

Fear, raw and primal, flickered in its eyes. But fear was a fleeting emotion for the creature. It roared again, charging at you with a desperate, burning lunge. This time, you were ready. You rolled to the side, the creature's claws missing you by a hair's breadth. Taking advantage of its momentum, Dean drove his silver knife into the Rougarou's back.

The creature howled in pain, clawing wildly. With a final, earth-shaking tremor, it collapsed, dissolving into a cloud of black smoke that dissipated with a sickly sweet stench.

You and Dean stood there, chests heaving, sweat clinging to your skin. The silence that followed was deafening.

"That was..." you started, your voice raspy.

"A Rougarou," Dean finished, his voice grim. "Nasty sons of bitches."

He reached out, checking the wound on your arm. His touch was surprisingly gentle. "You okay?"

You nodded, a weak smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks to you."

Dean met your gaze, a flicker of something warm passing between you in the fading light. He didn't say anything, but the way his hand lingered on your arm spoke volumes.

Together, you walked out of the abandoned place, the wind whispering through the trees, no longer sounding ominous but strangely peaceful. The horrors you'd faced had brought you closer, forging a bond forged in danger and shared survival. You knew this wouldn't be your last hunt, but for now, you had each other. And in that knowledge, you found a flicker of hope, a warmth that chased away the lingering chills of the night.

[soldiersgirl]

i’m new to jensen and all his fandoms

but idc ❤️

GIVE ME a one-shot where solider boy is a stalker and one fine day, he takes you, knowing very little about how you wanted him too <3

HERES THE INSPO u revolved my reblog LMAO

YES MA'AM 🫡 and also welcome to the jackles lovers club <3 (i hope this was to ur liking).

summary — he wanted you. you needed him.

cw — reader x soldier boy. stalking mentions, yearning!soldier boy, hints at unhealthy relationship, fluff (kinda).

word count — 757 words

soldier boy watched you for weeks and it feels like he finally knows every little thing about you. the way you like your coffee sweet, the way you constantly push away your bangs whilst readjusting your bag, the way you constantly nibble on your bottom lip, the way your headphones are always blasting your current obsession and how you're always singing along without realising.

thank god for those headphones. they kept you so preoccupied, so cooped up in your little dream world that you never noticed him; looming over you, wishing to know all your little thoughts, desires, wants and wishes.

was he your favourite supe? did you dream of him, like he did you? would you love him, like he unequivocally did you? would you accept him or push him away like the others had done? maybe you would be the one to finally see him for who he really is. a fool plagued by you and desperate for your attention.

for years, centuries, women had chased him, but now everything was turned on its head and what for? all for you. ben never thought a non-supe could catch his eyes quite like you did. he noticed you always sitting across the flatiron building (a.k.a the boys hq) in the cute café that was nestled amongst the urban towers. every morning, you sat in the same place, ordered the same coffee and pastry and typed away for what felt like hours.

he'd watch you from the boys office, from the roof when he went to smoke his daily joint and out front when he'd wish the boys goodnight before walking the same, tiring route home. he hadn't meant to stalk you. never. but somehow, he found himself walking your route home, just a few steps behind you with his hood up and wired headphones playing his favourites, as his trained eyes never left you as he remained unseen until he finally couldn't deny himself any longer.

leaving the café at 5:00 pm on the dot like usual, you threw your thick scarf over your shoulder, pulled on your trustworthy headphones and pressed play. the new york winter was harsh and as the wind howled and whipped around you, you sought refuge in a desolate alleyway to escape the worst of the brewing storm. ben couldn't believe his luck. finally, he could have you all to himself.

but this was planned. you knew ben had been watching you. you had noticed. and you definitely didn't mind.

"are you finally going to talk to me?" you pull off your headphones and turn to the supe, frozen and in reaching distance of you. despite the strength of the winds, you can hear your quickened heartbeat and his low panting.

"so, you've noticed." he pulls off his hood and stands tall in front of you, allowing you the chance to finally admire him. your eyes dance over his hardened features, his soft crows-eyes framing his eyes and his infamous smirk already planted across his lush lips. "what are you gonna do abou' it, sweetheart? hm?" he hums and takes a small step forward, testing the waters.

"i've... been waiting for you." you mirror him and step forward. what he didn't know was that all those hours you spent in the café was only to get a glimpse of him. you had daydreamed about him for years and somehow, by what you believe was destiny, soldier boy had been found alive and you weren't going to deny destiny.

you reach your hand out and let your fingertips graze against his and before you can blink, he pushes you up against the nearest wall, trapping you between his toned arms. your bag and headphones fall from your grasp and land with a thump onto the damp alley-way floor. he shamelessly scans your face for any hint of fear, but finds none. you gaze upon him like a wounded animal would their captor, filled with unspoken trust and hope.

"i've been waiting for this." you sigh.

"didn't your mother tell you not to trust strangers?" he scoffs in return as he delicately twirls your hair around his fingers.

"strangers? i've known you my whole life, ben. i was made for you." your light voice whispers.

ben knew then and there that he couldn't possibly deny that truth. he hastily picked up your discarded items, held you tightly against his strong frame, showing you the softness he was never offered. he was a soldier and his sole objective was now to care for you in the world of war, injustice and false gods.

-`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @doeinlace @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei (comment or inbox me to be added)

[red-garden]

You think Yue Qingyuan became a Cang Qiong urban legend while he was locked in the caves? People making stories about the howling and sobbing that emanated from the earth, the thing that was locked beneath the soil? Broken bodied it moves without ceasing, trying to escape. No one knows why. What it searches for. Why it was sealed. When the moaning and scratching stops, rumors spread that it escaped, haunting the peaks to this day, searching.

[dippindaz]

Hi lovely :) can I request another Eddie X reader?

Maybe something where they sit in Eddie’s trailer while the power is off from a storm telling scary stories and reader ends up getting scared?

I appreciate you requesting so much!

The storm outside had been raging for at least an hour, rain hammering against the thin metal walls of the trailer while thunder rattled the windows. The power had gone out almost immediately after the storm rolled in, leaving only the occasional flicker of lightning to cast eerie shadows across the living room.

Eddie had been delighted by the blackout, claiming it was “the perfect setting for a good ol’ fashioned horror story session.” You weren’t sure why you agreed to it—maybe because it was better than sitting in silence, or maybe because, despite the way the wind howled outside, you felt safe with Eddie.

He sat across from you on the couch, a flashlight in his hand casting harsh, flickering light under his chin as he grinned.

“Alright, sweetheart, let’s set the scene,” he began, voice low and dramatic. “A couple, stranded in a cabin in the middle of the woods, trapped by a storm not unlike this one.” He wiggled his fingers at you like some cartoonish ghost before continuing. “No power, no way to call for help. And outside, lurking just beyond the trees, a creature—”

“Oh, come on,” you interrupted with a skeptical laugh, hugging your knees to your chest. “A creature? That’s so vague.”

“Oh, so now you’re a horror expert?” Eddie scoffed, crossing his arms. “Fine, Miss ‘That’s So Vague,’ how about something a little more real?” He leaned forward, eyes dark with amusement. “Ever hear of The Hook Man?”

You rolled your eyes. “The urban legend? Please, that one’s been around forever.”

Eddie smirked. “Yeah, but did you know there was a guy a few towns over who actually fit the description? They say he escaped from Pennhurst and—”

A massive crack of thunder shook the trailer, making you jump. The lights of Eddie’s flashlight wobbled as you instinctively grabbed onto his arm.

Eddie barked out a laugh. “Oh-ho! Not so brave now, huh?”

You shot him a glare, but your grip on his arm didn’t loosen. “That was just the thunder,” you muttered, though your heart was still pounding.

Eddie tilted his head at you, a devilish grin stretching across his face. “Mmm, or maybe it was The Hook Man outside, tapping on the trailer, looking for his next victim.” He reached out with his free hand and poked your side, making you flinch.

“Eddie!” you smacked his arm, feeling the warmth of embarrassment creep up your neck. “Not funny!”

He chuckled but shifted closer, his teasing expression softening a little. “Hey, I’ll protect you from The Hook Man,” he said, voice a touch more sincere. “Or, you know, any other terrifying monsters that may or may not be lurking outside in the storm.”

You hesitated for a second before mumbling, “You better.”

Eddie grinned. “Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers in a mock salute, then nudged you gently. “C’mere, scaredy-cat.”

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you into his side. With the storm still raging outside and the trailer shrouded in darkness, you figured being close to Eddie wasn’t the worst place to be.

“Just don’t tell anyone I got scared,” you muttered.

Eddie smirked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s going to the grave.”

Another boom of thunder rattled the trailer, and you tensed. Eddie squeezed your shoulder, letting out a quiet chuckle.

“Man, I wish the power would stay out forever,” he mused, resting his chin on top of your head.

You huffed. “I don’t.”

“Yeah,” he said, tightening his hold around you. “But then you wouldn’t have an excuse to cuddle me, would you?”

You groaned, and he laughed, the sound warm and familiar even as the storm raged on outside.

[h1nanii]

Hey queen, thinking about law x reader street racing au? 🤧

Omg as a car lover, I love that idea. Tysm for the inspiration.

“FULL THROTTLE”

Pairing: StreetRacer! Law x StreetRacer!Reader

Genre: ModernAU!, action (urban drama), Street racing Romance, mild flirting. // slight inspiration from the 2003 film “2 fast 2 furious”

Warnings: Reckless driving, suggestive language, criminal undertones (implied on underground street culture)

In the neon-lit underground of Tokyo’s illegal street racing scene, speed isn’t just a thrill—it’s survival. You’re one of the few women tearing up the pavement, known for your fearless driving and custom-built RX-7 that eats egos for breakfast. Respect is earned at 140 mph, and you’ve earned yours the hard way.

But there’s one racer who always keeps up, Trafalgar Law—sharp, calculating, and cool under pressure, with a GT-R that hums like a predator and eyes that never miss a move.

Rivals on the road and equals behind the wheel, your back-and-forth has been building for months. Wins, losses, smirks, and sidelong glances. Everyone else sees a rivalry. You both feel something more.

When one final race leads to a quiet moment under city lights, you realize there’s more between you than engines and adrenaline.

This isn’t just about the finish line anymore.

Rain slicked the asphalt like glass, catching the glow of neon lights as the city pulsed with midnight adrenaline. Engines revved in the distance, a feral symphony that only the underground knew how to conduct. You were leaning against your RX-7, arms crossed, eyes hidden behind pink-tinted lenses. You didn’t need to see the crowd to know they were watching you—but you only cared about one.

Trafalgar Law.

He stood a few feet away, black leather jacket hugging his lean frame, fingers dancing along the roof of his Nissan GT-R like it was his weapon of choice. You’d raced him twice—once he won, once you did. Tonight was the tie-breaker. No cops. No distractions. Just speed.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, voice low and edged with that familiar smugness.

“I should be asking you that,” you replied, walking slowly up to him, the crowd parting like waves. “I swapped the turbo, mapped the ECU, and shaved a whole second off my zero to sixty.”

He smirked, eyes narrowing slightly as he took you in—every inch of your confidence and the glint of fire in your eyes.

“You always talk like you’ve already won.”

“Only ‘cause I usually do.”

Someone called out the countdown from the start line. Engines howled.

You slid into your seat, fingers gripping the wheel. A deep breath. The lights went red… red… green.

Tires screamed. You launched.

The race wasn’t just about speed. It was about control—about reading the street like it was a second language. He was on your tail, closing in, but you knew this stretch of road. You drifted tight around a corner, feeling the Gs press into you, and when you hit the straightaway, you let the beast loose.

He pulled up beside you—side mirror to side mirror—and for a split second, your eyes locked.

Then he grinned, cocky and dangerous.

You hit the nitrous.

The world blurred, and the finish line slammed past you like a punch of wind.

You’d won.

The crowd erupted behind you, but all you could hear was your heart thundering like an engine in overdrive. You stepped out of the car, breathless.

Law rolled up next to you, stepping out casually.

“You cheated” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

You tilted your head. “You mad you lost, or mad I looked good doing it?”

He stepped closer, and for a moment, the noise faded. It was just you and him and the heat between the sparks.

“I want a rematch,” he murmured, his voice brushing your ear.

You smirked, leaning in. “Only if you buy me dinner first.”

—

—

The din of engines faded into the background as Law’s GT-R pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour ramen spot tucked into a quiet corner of the city. Neon kanji buzzed overhead, casting a soft glow across the hood of your still-warm RX-7 parked beside his. You stepped out, arms still high on adrenaline and victory, while he calmly pocketed his keys like he hadn’t just lost.

Inside, it was quiet. Just the clink of chopsticks and the hum of fluorescent lights. You slid into the booth first, back against the leather, legs crossed. Law sat across from you, the edge of his lip tugged into a smirk as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“You really brought me to a ramen shop?” you teased, eyes flicking across the laminated menu.

“Told you I’d buy you dinner” he said, glancing up at you from under his lashes. “Didn’t say it’d be candlelight and violins.”

You snorted. “Romantic.”

“I thought the race was romantic.”

Your brow lifted. That was new. He didn’t usually flirt back this directly.

The waiter came, and you both ordered without breaking eye contact. The tension had shifted—less playful now. He leaned back, fingers tapping idly on the table.

“I’ve been watching you race since that meet in Osaka,” he said suddenly, voice low and serious. “You drove that Silvia like it owed you money.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything about that night” he said, tone softer now. “The way you took that last corner. The way you looked at me afterward. I figured… if I didn’t say something soon, I’d lose my chance.”

Your heart stumbled.

“You’ve had plenty of chances, Law.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, lips quirking. “But you don’t exactly make it easy.”

“I didn’t think you were serious.”

“I wasn’t—at first. But then you kept showing up. Kept beating me. Kept looking at me like I was the only other person who mattered on that street.”

The ramen arrived. Neither of you moved.

“I didn’t know if you were into me, or just into beating me,” he added.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Why can’t it be both?”

That made him laugh—low and real.

“I want more than just the race,” he said finally, eyes dark and steady. “I want you.”

Silence stretched between you like a held breath.

You leaned across the table, fingers brushing his.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

His hand closed over yours, warm and rough from tuning his car. It felt like crossing a finish line neither of you realized you were racing toward.

Outside, the streets waited for another run.

But for tonight, you both had already won.