#writing-for-soup

[rockscanfly]

I have read all of your Charthur content on ao3 and loved all of it - currently working through the comments I need to leave because each piece is phenomenal in its own right and deserves individual praise.

Your style and the dynamics you show between Charles and Arthur has been really inspirational for me and I definitely want to write some Charthur smut with bottom!Charles getting the pillow princess treatment.

Saying that - I want to know if there are any terms/ideas you would be uncool with seeing someone else write for this pairing? (Charles being called 'princess' etc).

I certainly wouldn't want to write something that felt like it was trying to be your work but I want to know ahead of time if there's anything specific I should avoid because I'm definitely really influenced by you.

Hey! I'm so glad you're enjoying the series and the way I've written the fellas so far! Your comment meant a lot and I really look forward to seeing what else you have to say/liked about the individual fics! I'm glad I've been able to help inspire you--we need more bottom!Charles and generally more of Charles being treated as an equal partner to Arthur rather than a caretaker or weird 2004-yaoi-seme stereotype. There's plenty of great top Charles too, don't get me wrong, but I've been having fun trying to balance the scales a little and explore a mode of their dynamic that doesn't get as much attention.

That said--use whatever you like! The iterative nature of fandom is one of my favorite things about writing fic! Nicknames, little quirks--if there's something super specific that you truly feel you're pulling from my work I'd love a shout-out in the author notes, but that's all I'd ever ask!

I see fandom as an fantastic mixing pot of ideas and I'm happy that you wanna add some of my specific flavor to your personal soup! I can't wait to read whatever you've got cooking!

[theorphicangel]

you wouldn’t expect sukuna to take care of you when you’re ill but surprisingly when you answer the doorbell you see your oversized cat — I mean your boyfriend standing there with a bag in his hand.

he tuts, looking at you up and down. runny nose, disheveled hair and tired eyes.

‘Stay away from me if you’re ill’ the tall figure states, coming into your apartment and taking off his shoes.

‘you’re the one who came over kuna.’

‘yeah only because you needed medicine.’

‘I could have gone and got it myself.’

‘fat chance. I also brought soup.’

‘you made some?’

‘no.’ He deadpans, looking at you. ‘who do you think I am? I bought it.’

‘right, sorry for assuming.’

‘why aren’t you in bed?’

you rolled your eyes, ‘I’m answering the door for you idiot.’

‘if you stand near me any longer you’re going to get even more sick. go away.’

that’s code word for ‘get your ass in bed and let me take care of you.’ you’re pretty fluent in the language of your boyfriend.

you say nothing in response and does as he says, disappearing under his sheets.

soon, he approaches you in bed with hot bowl of soup and your medicine. a glass of water is placed on your bedside table and he hovers around, making sure that you eat every last drop.

he doesn’t leave until you’re done, taking your bowl and telling you to sleep.

‘are you going now?’

‘going where?’

‘home.’

‘why would I?’

you shrug your shoulders. your head is heavy from your illness, throbbing from a headache. ‘thought you didn’t want to be around a sick person for too long’

sukuna holds back a scoff, ‘gotta make sure you don’t catch a fever or something as soon as I leave, I know you’ll try to do some work instead of resting.’

‘so you’re guarding me.’

‘If that’s how you want to see it.’

‘romantic.’

he makes a disgusted face, ‘go to sleep.’

Just as he promised he’s there when you awake and sukuna doesn’t leave for the next two days, making sure your illness is gone and that you’ve fully recovered.

spoiler alert: the soup he gave you was homemade but he didn’t want to admit it. :)

[littleogreboii]

i see a lot of people talk about edward being disabled in fma, but it's less often talked about how alphonse is also disabled. i think it's partially because alphonse doesn't experience physical pain like edward so for a majority of the series, he's not having any of those kind of symptoms, but he is still disabled. also because alphonse's experiences are unique. like you don't see ant walking, talking suits of armour in real life (unless they're piloted by a human being physically inside them) and in world, there are about 3 others like alphonse).

alphonse is dependent on edward's survival to function. after fighting scar for the first time, alphonse is literally in pieces. he can't walk or anything until edward is in a position to fix him. similarly his body is dependent on nutrients from edward's body. like there's the point towards the end where edward gets impaled and alphonse collapses. furthermore, these periods where alphonse collapses start to become debilitating towards the end of the series and massively alter his daily living.

also, alphonse constantly talks about how upsetting it is for him to not feel any physical sensations. yeah, he's not feeling physical pain, but he's also not feeling the warmth of a fire, the sun on his face, or the fluffiness of the cats he keeps petting. he talks a lot about not being able to eat or sleep, and how there's a lot of foods he wants to try.

there's another thing that highlighted by edward at one point. alphonse's body doesn't regenerate at all. the parts scar destroys are gone forever; edward stretches out the metal that alphonse has left to repair his body. and obviously human beings don't regrow limbs, but imagine if your skin didn't ever heal over a cut. how long would your body last?

also alphonse gets told several times that his body is great throughout the series, and he literally argues against it every time, because to him it is shit. like he is missing some of his senses just for some supposedly immortal body that isn't even immortal.

even once alphonse gets his own body back, the amount of physical therapy the boy has to go through. his body has essentially been doing nothing and only receiving what nutrients it can get from edward for years. by the end of the series, he's still using a cane as a walking aid. it's unknown whether he requires that cane for the years to come, but for at least a period of time he requires a mobility aid. I don't know enough to say what effect muscle decay from inactivity and severe malnourishment during a major portion of his teenage years would have long term.

[gooptroupe]

As long as I need.

a continuation of this sketch

[sourle]

https://www.tumblr.com/sourle/782612631264673792/falls-through-the-roof-you-know-i-just-wanna?source=share

Oof- now that I think about it- if I was in a situation like that with the Reader like that- honestly.... Smash-

OKAY BUT FR NOW- like just imagine the Reader but with different survivors now- uggfhhh- i love situations like that cus it has so much drama but also shows what and how different survivors would and could react if they were put into a situation like THAT with the reader-

(Lucky taph-)

(btw, you don't have to do this request if you don't want to, and if you want to, take your time 😌👍)

Spaces

Get yo nasty azz on!

WARNINGS: a bit suggestive, i think? Just the cast getting mushed between your chest

Note:

Ohohohoho

Rubs my hands together*

Noob

Oh they are full on FLUSTERED

This non-binary would not survive one second vro🙏

After it they would be a stuttering mess

They can't look at you, not the same way at least

Gosh they wonder if they would be able to be trapped like that with you again

WHAT WHO THOUGHT THAT

They're crumbling and would be spotted staring at you chest RESPECTFULLY

Elliot

Oh he does not expect it at ALL

He's blushing, confused, flustered, all mixing emotions, no negative ones.

He'll quickly get out the tight space and breath heavily to either control himself or he's been holding his breath while squeezed between your chest

Oh he will definitely STARE with Noob, RESPECTFULLY

Bro still hates you but damn he can't deny LMAO

Shedletsky

WOAH WOAH WHAT

Oh he's both embarrassed and flustered

Both due to getting mushed between your chest

He pulled back before saying 'fuck it' in his mind and rest his face between it

Bro succumb

Maybe from that one interaction alone he's questioning if he truly hates you lol

Builderman

Being the shortest has it perks huh?

He's full on embarrassed about it

He can't think, he malfunction

He refused, in denial, that he enjoyed it

Will push you away the moment his face gets between those chests like you're full of germs

Dusekkar

Why is his fire burning hotter?

He's embarrassed and flustered, yet he just floats higher to be face to face with you

He's not dealing with it, nor does he want to think about it

He does think about it after like what if he didn't float up

Two time

They're just standing still

Not moving

Fella is smiling, either giddily or just from flustering

They does not mind at all

They actually enjoys it and would sniff

You quickly throw them out of the hiding spot

Chance

He doesn't know if he's lucky or unlucky

But if they're told to make a bet, he's lucky

WHY IS HE NUZZLING FORWARD BRO YOU FREAK

They don't mind and will not move even after the killer is gone

It's up to you if you wanna push him off or not

But if you do they will look like a kicked puppy

Guest 1337

Will pull back instantly out of respect

Bro is not staying, he will go out and fight with the killer from sheer embarrassment alone

Safe to say he did think about it once afterwards

007n7

Oh like Noob, he's full on FLUSTERED

He short circuits, he doesn't know if he should pull away or not

He's a stuttering mess, apologizing a lot

He expressed that he's embarrassed but gosh does he want it inside

Note: I've done Taph before, so i won't do him here

[soupdweller]

Embrace the Abyss

Oneshot Ao3 Link

Insomnia is an unfortunate truth of your everyday life, until one night you are visited by a nightmarish entity that disrupts the status quo. Fear renders you immobile over the course of several nights, as you learn of the creature's true nature, as well as your own.

sleep paralysis demon!moon x reader

warnings: strong descriptions of fear and terror word count: 3820

[nonranghaes]

heads up: food mentions (they're cooking together <3). poly fic :)

"oh, baby... don't cry." jisung's teasing you already as you try to wipe your eyes with your sleeve without touching your face with your hands. "did minho say something? should i beat him up for you?"

minho smiles a little as he continues to peel potatoes, glancing up at the two of you. you just try to turn away from jisung as you press the edge of your sleeve against your eyes as carefully as you can, only for jisung to turn you back to him as he reaches up to wipe away your tears. your eyes are stinging, but you had insisted on being the one to dice onions tonight.

"i'll beat him up," he says, pressing a little peck on your cheek, before he picks up the knife, picking up from where you left off. "i'll do the rest for you--oh, fuck--" and he's already recoiling away, eyes already watering. this onion is either particularly pungent in the normal-onion-way, or the two of you are wimps.

you're personally leaning toward the latter. no offense to jisung: the two of you hate doing this for a reason, and minho's the one who seems to come out more unscathed by comparison. that, or he pushes through it better than either of you do.

minho pushes his way in front of jisung, stealing the knife from him as he takes over. "you two do the potatoes then," he says. "i'll handle this."

"but--" you pout just a little. "i can do it..."

"next time," he says. "just let me finish it this time." he looks at the two of you with this fond smile, ever the doting one of you three. "i'll start on the rest once i finish this."

ever in tune with each other, you and jisung move to pick up from where minho left off: he peels, you begin dicing. "thank you, honey," the two of you say together after exchanging the tiniest glance to make sure you're on the same page.

and minho just hides a smile as he turns away from you, heart and soul forever bewitched by the two of you.

[bluerosefox]

Little Danny's Big Adventure

New idea.

Okay now hear me out.

-Pulls out AU idea cauldron and tosses stuff into it-

Let's put in some Ghost King/Prince Danny.... But also some deaged to toddlerhood Danny that gets yeeted into the DCverse!

Like imagine, tiny baby Danny with his tiny crown of ice floating above his head and his galaxy cape wrapped around him and uses it like a baby blanket. He didn't mean to fall into a different universe, a natural portal opened up and he was being a curious little thing! He didn't mean to trip and fall in during his nap time.

Nor was he expecting to fall into this realm during a rogue attack and knock out said rogue cause they were being a meanie and harming people and now Danny just wants his nap time cause he spent a lot of his tiny engery and he wants to find a nice spot.

Danny finds a place to crash, snuggling himself into his cape and the astronaut bear Danielle got him during her last visit that he takes everywhere since.

He's out like a light as the door to this safe house that belongs to one of the Bats opens up.

Meanwhile. In the Infinite Realms, Queen Regent Jazz is going into Mama Bear Jazz Mode trying to find her deaged brother, keeping the Realms in check, and is resisting the urge to put CW in time out Soup Time because he's being cyptided again about Danny whereabouts!!! UGH!

[smokescreenimusprime]

not my usual but it was too perfect to pass up and the idea was NOT leaving my head. Decided to write a snippet for @keferon's IMMACULATE Mecha Pilot Jazz AU, though apologies if the charactization is a lil funky, this is my first time writing either of these characters and double apologies for the undoubted slew of grammar and spelling errors

but that aside, I hope you enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is It Self Sacrifice If It's Not Really You?

Despite the cacophany of the battlefield, Prowl's scream cut through it with with the ease of a freshly sharped blade through flesh and found it's home nestled into Jazz's ears.

He barely had a second to look up, hardly more than a glance, but it was all he needed to make out familiar white and black.

A Quintesson, one of the smaller but more freaky looking ones, was looming over his collapsed frame. He was pinned, his back to solid rocky walls and the Quint at his front, jamming it's tentacles into every crack of his armour they could.

He was putting up one hell of a fight, but something was wrong.

"PROWL!" he shouted, shifting his weight in preperation to bolt. "HOLD ON, I'M COMMIN-"

But the screech of the Quintesson he was currently grappling with forcefully stole his attention back, barely any warning given before it's gaping maw latched onto his mech's forearm.

It pulled, joints and plates creaking with the strain but still holding strong. It shook it's head and Jazz brought a hand up to brace against the outside of the monster, if only to stop the arm from being completely ripped out of the socket. He landed a few solid kick as it lifted him off the ground, but it's movements were still largey effortless, like his frame weighed as much as a tin can.

Prowl screamed again. This time it was louder.

Against all common (sane) sense, Jazz looked away from his enemy and toward Prowl

Some of his external plating was damaged, gouges in messy circle patterns with rivulets of blue energon sluggishly bleeding out. He seemed to be smoking too, thin curls of smoke wafting off his cables. His eyes were flickering wildly, something Jazz had grown to associate with too much damage and too little power.

All of the damage paled in comparison to where Jazz's focus was.

Now, Jazz didn't know how these guys had their mechs built, but they could hold up to some serious punishment. Their engineers seemed to keep an even more meticulous eye on any damage, and Prowler and the other's all had frames clealy meant to last.

But they were all still vulnerable at their cores.

And the Quintesson's tentacles, sparking with a terrifying yellow and red electricity, were pulling and prying right at the plating above that core.

It was starting to show some give too, a testimate to the true strength of the offending monster. Chest plating, no matter the make, didn't come off easily, intent to protect the most vulnerable parts of a pilot.

The electricity was already frying his frame, if it got a straight shot of that to his chest-

Jazz needed to do something.

Jazz needed to do something.

But what, what could he do, whatever it was it needed to be quick, he didn't have time to finish off this Quintesson, there wasn't time for finesse, he just needed to go to help to F I G H T -

Jazz readjusted the braced positioning of his legs, thanking for what was probably the thousandth time the engineers who'd made the adjustment to give him more flexibility and agility, and brought his free arm high above his head.

And brought it down.

His trapped arm creaked, the plating denting and squealing as the metal controted, sparks going flying and red error messages flashing in his vision.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

He made sure to keep his blows aimed at preciscely where he knew it was weakest and made sure to push with his legs as hard as he could, swaying side to side and focing the joint to bend in ways it had never been meant to. His movements became a dance to the orchestra of cables snapping and metal ripping and electricity cracking and his arm b r e a k i n g , the dance growing faster and more determined the louder the music played.

It felt like eternity, and the phantom sensation was disorienting. There was no pain, only uncomfortable pressure that built up and up and up, perfectly in time with the warning messages he forcefully dismissed. It was far from pleasant, but it was nothing compared to the cold burning terrified angry fight flight save him running full blast in his brain.

And with one final crack akin to lightning, he was free.

It was the furthest thing from a clean break, and to his mild surprise it didn't break at the elbow but rather a bit above it. In the second of freefall he had, he couldn't help but admire the shredded stump and mourn how he knew Ratchet was going to have his head for all the extra work.

He hit the ground in a roll and popped up running, stumbling and nearly falling face first into alien dirt at the sudden uneven weight distribution but he simply let his partial fall carry him forward until he was sprinting full speed.

With his remaining hand he grabbed the Quintesson and pulled, not letting go until it wasn't tearing into Prowl's front and instead embedded several feet in the ground. He dashed, not giving it even a moment, standing tall in front of Prowl.

The Quint got back up, enraged screeches and chitters coming out of it's mouth.

"Back off," Jazz growled back.

The Quintesson attacked, and everything became the hyperaware blur combat always became.

Dodge, dodge, punch, dodge, kick, kick, punch, dodge, jump, kick jump-

One of it's tentacles latched right onto the open stump and set a wave of electricity in.

His mech's vision went bright white, sparks exploding out even inside his cockpit and the smell of burning metal filling his nose. All the protective insulation was made useless from the direct route into the mech's systems.

Jazz jerked his arm stump back and headbutted it.

He got a tentacle to the face for his troubles, grabbers squeezing and cracking the visor. He planted his feet, one on solid ground the other on the slack of the tentacle, and pulled as hard as he could.

A decent chunk of the face came left it, not deep enough to affect any systems or his vision anymore than it was already damaged, but enough that it certainly wasn't pretty.

He kept more distance after that. Wouldn't do any good for him or Prowler if he got fried too. But the Quintesson was desperate, like a cornered animal, grabbing and clawing at anything it could gets it's tentacles on. The same gouges Prowl had began to litter his own armour as it kept making grabs, and the beastie even managing to get a few more much briefer electrical surges in.

It was obvious only one of them was going to walk away from this fight, and Jazz was not going to let it be the Quint. Prowl would kill him if he did

Finally he managed to get in a lucky shot, albeit at the cost of his feet. The Quintesson tried to get in a bite like it friend had, only to be met with the full force of Jazz's feet pressing them apart.

The teeth and other horrors might've torn through his feet but dammit if it wasn't satisfying to hear the crack as its jaw snapped and the body went limp.

The battle was still going on around them, but it was starting to wind down. A trio of bots had even started attacking the one Jazz had left behind.

The immediate area was clear, and there were more than enough bots he could shout out to for backup if he needed it.

"Prowler, you okay?" he said, though he noticed his voice had a bit of static lacing it. Maybe getting his face ripped off did more damage than he thought, or it could be lingering damage from the electricity. "Sorry it took me so long to come getcha, talk, dark and bitey kept me a bit occupied."

He wiggled his stump with a chuckle, leaning in closer. Kneeling down was difficult with the leaking hydraulic fluid and Quintesson salivia making it hard to get a solid grip, but with the current state of his visor he didn't want to risk missing anything on Prowl. To his relief, despite the extensive denting and electrical burns, Prowl's chest was thankfully uncompromised. Hopefully his mech was insulated

The electricity seemed to have done a number on his connection to the head though, the eyes were still glitching wildly and his normally expressive face seemed stuck.

"J-Jazz..." Prowl stuttered, and Jazz found himself frowning. Maybe Prowl got a bit more banged up on the inside than he thought. "You- your-"

His eyes were flickering wildly about Jazz's mech, and he could practically hear his friend's battle computer crunching away.

"Ah, don't worry bout that," he rapping his mech's chest with a fist. "This old frame's gone through worse. Nothing delicate got smashed, and I've barely got a scratch on me. Ratchet'll have me right as rain before you know it, so don't worry your pretty little head one bit."

"Speaking of, I'm gonna go find 'im," he stood back up, looking around the battlefield. "The fight's pretty much over, and I'm not sure if it's a great idea for you to be moving after all that zappy nonsense. Just sit tight and-"

"No!"

Jazz startled a bit at the sudden shout, looking back down at Prowl. The other man's mech suddenly lunged up, sitting straight and looking at him with wide eyes.

"Prowler? Is somethin wrong?"

"I will contact Ratchet," he says in a rush. "A comm message will be more efficient than searching on foot, not to mention I'll be able to tell him what to prepare for,"

Jazz raised a brow.

"Go right ahead, Prowl," he chirped despite his suspicion. He was fairly certain Prowl was hiding something from him, but prying would just make him clamp down tighter.

Prowl didn't seem like the sort to hide things from medics but...

He sat his mech down and leaned back against the wall. "You don't mind if I wait with ya, do you?"

Just to be safe.

Despite his initial assumptions, Prowl actually seemed to relax at his suggestion.

"Not at all."

[preciousbabyrat]

look I get why people are pointing out that periods syncing up isn't backed by science but this is Dan and Phil. they would find a way. you know this in your heart.

[mildeleef]

Daughter of the True Eye

[gothamite-rambler]

Batman and his 2nd Robin chat during a boring patrol

Batman and Robin were perched together on a rooftop, scanning the city for any signs of trouble while engaging in lighthearted banter.

Robin!Jason: So, are Chicken McNuggets actually made from white chicken meat?

Batman: That’s a mystery I’ve pondered for years.

Robin!Jason: And are chicken nuggets just the chicken version of hot dogs, but all breaded and deep-fried?

Batman: …No. The processes for making hot dogs and nuggets are vastly different. I can see why you might think that, though. Do you consider a hot dog to be a sandwich?

Robin!Jason: Nope, it’s a taco.

He chuckled at his own joke, not expecting Batman to find it amusing. To his surprise, he soon heard Batman’s deep laugh echoing in the stillness of the night.

Robin!Jason: Hang on, if a taco is a hot dog… does that mean melted ice cream counts as soup?

Batman: That’s disgusting… and maybe.

The two shared a hearty laugh, basking in the rare tranquility of the night. With crime low, it was the perfect opportunity to enjoy each other's company.

[sourle]

I actually love the yearning touch au you made like nearly everyone dislikes or just don’t wanna be involved with the reader and that’s something I don’t see much people do! And do you think the reader will snap? Like from to much pressure, or when their being left to die?

Something amidst.

Tick tock tick—

WARNING: Gore, etc(THAT IDK HOW TO CALL SO FORGIVE ME IF I MISS ANY WARNINGS THAT I SHOULD'VE WROTE). I also didn't proof red these, so i apologize for any misspelled or mispronouns

Note: Snapping? Oh no, Dear Soup. No, no, no, no, no..

During one of the rounds, others would leave you behind whenever you hopped on a generator to go spawn knows where. Yet as the round progresses, you can't find where they are.

You limp, barely escaping death. You're low and bleeding from the wound Jason left on your body. You hope Jason did not follow you inside the mansion.

You sob, leaning on the walls near the closed door and sulk into yourself. The wound gasses and bleeds, you sadly don't have any medkit to patch yourself with.

With a heavy weak sigh, you slowly got up. Walking out the mansion careful not to be detected to try and find a medkit.

You hope and wish someone would find you and help, maybe Elliot? No�� he would never help.

You reached the high mountain-like place, seeing Elliot and Builderman. Great, just great. Two people you hoped to avoid.

Builderman caught a glimpse of your limping form and furrowed his brows, watching as you climb up the steps to the top.

Upon reaching the top, Elliot let out an annoyed sigh but kept quiet as he sat next to the dispenser. You approached, sitting the opposite of where he sat. You could feel the glare burned on the back of your head and on your side, but you just ignore it, focusing more on resting and healing.

I'll just go once I feel a bit better.

Hearing a shuffle, you saw Shedletsky got to the top and once he met your gaze he put on a grimace but it quickly left his face. He turned to Builderman, mentioning how Chance and Guest is helping Dusekkar.

You decide to get up once you feel a bit better. Though you can't help but listen to them talk a bit longer. You listen as Elliot offers Shedletsky a pizza which he gladly took even as he has more health than you. You just shrugged it off and left. Hearing their relief sigh.

The timer was almost down, seeing as your cooldown finally gone you decided to help the two sentinel protect Dusekkar. Arriving at the graveyard, you took one glance at how tired Dusekkar was and heavily injured Guest is whilst Chance gamble away.

Quickly you took out your gun, aiming it precisely to stun Jason. Letting Dusekkar escape. And without a thank he left with Guest, though you don't understand why Chance lingered.

Seems like Jason precisely or knows how much weakness Chance has and turns his attention to the gamble addict. Chance would still gamble while being chased, he runs up you and—

SPLAT

You choked, feeling the burning pain of the machete making contact with your neck. Unfortunately, it didn't go through. Staying lodged into your neck, half way into cutting it.

Jason tilted his head before pulling it back with a quick motion, deepening the graze of the wound. Blood spray out from the gashing wound like a fountain. Some skins surrounding the wound were torn and some barely hanging.

You choked out bits of blood as it flowed out your mouth. Jason, oh seeing how sweetly nice to see you suffer, left you to bleed out and resume his chase with Chance who, I remind you, still gambles away with a blank face. Though you cannot lie he has bits of guilt etched at the corner of his lips.

You fell to the ground, covering the wound with your hand as if it would stop the heavy bleeding, draining your body from its source of oil.

The time ticked to zero, but— it didn't end.

You've had enough, your feelings were mixing with grief and agony. You just wanted to move on and yet the people around you treat you as if you're the same old you.

The hatred in their eyes and the disapproval glance would keep you awake at night. Spinning your head makes it hurt to the point you can't think of anything else other than your unwelcome presence.

You want to repay, you want it to end. You put more pressure onto your wound, finding the strength in your to get up.

Now. Do it. End it. STOP IT.

Shedletsky looks both confused and worried, the round supposed to end. And yet there they are, still in Yorick's resting place. The other ex-admin and the owner looks as confused as he is, they don't remember any extra rounds for today.

"Where are you?"

The words caught everyone's attention, it echoes through the map with an eerie underlined tone. It sounded familiar, yet he can't recognize it due to the gurgling over the voice, like they're chocking.

Taph was the first to recognize, his body shift with nervousness, hoping it was not the person he knew.

He watched as Builderman , Shedletsky, and Guest left the mansion— to investigate— leaving him with Chance and Elliot. Two time had left long ago.

At first he heard a shout, then screams followed by someone choking on something and Builderman running inside in a hurry. "Everyone go and run out through the ba—"

A sword, specifically Shedletsky's sword, penetrates through Builderman's eye socket. The eyeball hangs on the tip of the sword out of its socket. A glitch seems to seep into Builderman's body, covering his face as the sword was pulled back.

The said support limped before reanimated to life, judging it's due to the glitch. It stares.. no.. it watches Taph's and rest movements. Both Reanimated Shedletsky and Guest peeked on either side.

They're nothing but puppets controlled by the gui. Forced to hurt their once fellow survivors.

The rest didn't stand still as Elliot yelled for Taph to move it as he ran out the back door with Chance.

Taph turns back, the traps triggered by the reanimated corpse. He runs out, following behind Elliot's and Chance, he tries to keep up with their speed but he's slow from his worries. Where are you?

"There you are..!"

That familiar voice echoed and glitched from the owner behind him. It carries cold winter instead of the warm summer it used to have. The tone felt hard and not soft in the way they would always talk.

Taph slowly turns and there you are, standing, watching his movements. Your smile widens once you finally get their attention.

"Tap— THAT HURTS!!?!"

You screech as a bullet hits your head, you cover your face to try and regain your sight. Once you recovered from the injury you saw Chance behind Taph.

"oh. You're with them."

The next second was a blur, all Taph could describe was a chase before his end. The last thing he saw was their face, softening into guilt before they whisper in that ever so warm tone,

"I'm sorry."

[thoughtkick]

I love her for all the best reasons that a man loves a woman. In the end, I love her because she makes more of my world and my life than I can make of them by myself.

A Second Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul - Ron C. Eggertsen

[hipstergecko]

Waking Up.

Hey so remember that DPxDC prompt I wrote awhile back? I've been writing it! Here's a brand new chunk.

Ghost in a Box: Danny experiences extreme sensory deprivation after getting trapped in a coffin like box his parents invented. His box is opened on the JL watchtower after being found in an underground bunker. Humans can't do sensory deprivation for too long. Apparently neither can Danny.

Original Ghost in a Box prompt here.

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Black bat was waiting. She was quite good at waiting. Sometimes on a mission you had to be patient. Still and silent. Waiting.

The boy that had come out of the box had been in the intensive care unit for days. He had been dehydrated and was terribly emaciated. He had been starving. How long had he been in the box?

They couldn’t ask him until he woke up. So she had been waiting.

Cass sighed and walked silently down the hall to the ICU. After they had gotten the boy into the medical wing, she’d gotten the whole “that was incredibly dangerous” spiel from her dad Batman. He was proud of her though. She could tell. It spoke through the lines of his shoulders and the tilt of his head. The softness of his hands. Hopefully that softness would be given to the boy from the box.

There had been multiple debriefs and meetings to discuss how to proceed with the boy. The majority of heroes were loath to continue opening boxes. What if they were full of creatures much like the boy? Capable of so much damage and danger. They didn’t even know what he was.

The documents they had uncovered called the boy a ghost. But after checking his vital signs, they found he had a pulse. He had a heart, breath, and blood. He was human.

But he was in the box. So he wasn’t. The members of Justice league dark had been contacted and were due to arrive any day now. They had been on assignment somewhere else. Cass hadn’t bothered to find out where they’d been.

None of that mattered anyway.

What had mattered, truly, was that the boy from the box was afraid. Afraid and unable to communicate. And Cass understood him. He was terrified and desperate. And Cass saw him beyond the horrors.

He was a child and he needed help.

So he was hers now. No matter what anyone else said. She reached out to him first and he was her new brother/son/child. Bruce would have to deal with it.

She had stayed on the watchtower, with Bruce’s blessing, since the box had been opened. She barely left the boy’s side much to Bruce’s chagrin. He was not pleased with the possibility of her being in danger. But Tim had pointed out that she was plenty dangerous herself.

She loved her brothers.

She stayed on the watchtower all the time now. Staying with the boy and only leaving the observation room to shower and eat on her own. The doctors had insisted, gently, that she should take some time to herself after those first few days. So she does. Today she took a hot shower and attended a few meetings to keep up as to what they planned to do with her new brother. She also got to spend some time with Spoiler who had just so happened to be on the watchtower that day (she sent a thank you message to Tim over the family chat).

She looked through the observational window, a frown hidden behind her mask. The boy was hooked up to various machines to monitor his vitals. His eyes were still covered and the headphones were still firmly on his head. He looked so small and frail against the bed linens. There wasn’t much more they could do until the JLD members arrived.

The doctors inside the room were gently cleaning the boy. Running a warm soft wipe down his arms and legs, checking his vital signs, laying a warm blanket over him for comfort. She watched impassively at first, then with intense interest as some of the monitors showed brain activity.

Signs of waking. Her new brother was waking up.

She was the first one in the room when the boy jerked awake with a gasp.

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Consciousness.

Discomfort.

Gravity.

The air tastes funny. His arm itches. His legs feel heavy.

Weird.

Danny floated on the edge of wakefulness. Or at least what he thought was consciousness. It was hard to tell anymore. Everything was a cycle of dreaming and waking, or was it dreaming and dreaming? It was hard to find reality. Nothing changed except the hallucinations his mind conjured. And even his mind had started to get things wrong.

He couldn’t trust his memories anymore. He couldn’t remember what life was like. If he saw his mother in the box with him, he couldn’t make out the details of her face. Or His father’s laugh. Or his sister’s hair. Everything was fuzzy. Distant. Faded from his memories.

Did he even have a family? Was that something he made up?

He couldn’t remember.

How long had he been in here? He’d stopped counting the days when his eyes ceased to glow. Recycled ectoplasm was good at sustaining a ghost, but not good at feeding a ghost. And him being only a few years dead, he was still developing powers. Well he would be if he wasn’t essentially being purposefully stunted in this stupid box.

What a stupid box. Can’t even sit up in it. It was more like a coffin than a box. It would figure that he finally got put in a coffin. Specially since he died all the way but not quite once already. How lame. Someone somewhere was probably laughing about this.

What was he thinking about? Oh yeah. His eyes stopped glowing. Made it harder to see what was real. He couldn’t see the shadows of his real hands and the lack of them on the images his mind conjured. It was hard to tell the difference. If he could even tell the difference anymore.

He probably couldn’t tell at all anymore really.

He floated beyond consciousness for a moment more, resisting the press upon his mind to wake. Better to sleep. After all, there wasn’t anyone coming to get him. The whispers were silent when he wasn’t in his mind. The voices stopped. The hands didn’t pull at his mouth and eyes. It was the only chance at peace he got.

Something touched him.

Weird.

Wait…

Something, no, someone was touching him. Moving his itchy arm. He felt hands on his legs, moving them under the heaviness.

The hands were touching him.

Danny jolted to full consciousness with a gasp. He violently jerked away from the hands and scrambled back. They’d never moved him before! They’d only tried to! He had always fought them off! They were just hallucinations!! His mind only thought he was being touched!! What happened?! How?! WHY?!

His breath came in larger gasps of air as he spiraled into panic. The hands, glowing and green, decayed and skeletal reached out of the darkness. Whispered words filled his ears, static and chiming all at once. He flailed out at them frantically, touching nothing. He whimpered. They weren’t real they weren’t real they weren’t real.

One of the hands grabbed his arm.

He cried out at the contact. The weak and raspy sound pulling painfully from this throat as he lashed out at the hand and fell back. The ectoplasm felt firm and plush beneath him.

Wait, was that really ectoplasm? Was this real?

Somehow in his retreat, he reached an edge. He slipped.

He fell.

He hit a hard surface and felt the air whoosh from his lungs. He choked on the strange air and grasped blindly around himself. There was no ectoplasm, nothing swishing around him as he moved. He struggled to breathe and reached frantically out to his sides.

There were no walls.

No walls, no ceiling, no swishing stale ectoplasm.

What…

He… he wasn’t in the box.

This couldn’t be real.

He scrambled back along what he felt was the floor until he hit something hard. A wall? He didn’t care. This wasn’t real, but it felt real enough to use as an anchor, so at the wall he stayed.

Danny grasped at his arms. Nails dug into muscle, piercing the skin and drawing ectoplasm. He felt the pain and it grounded him. He was real. He was still real. His breathing was still harsh, the panic still real. The hands still reaching for him weren’t real. The floor and wall weren’t real. He was just trapped in another hallucination.

He just needed to calm down and wait until he came out of it naturally or hurt himself into reality. Either way he would still be in the box.

Abandoned in the box.

He dragged his nails down his arms, leaving behind gashes that wept. He wasn’t concerned though. His ghost form would heal fast enough that it wouldn’t make a difference. All he needed was to stop seeing things that weren’t real. He’d shed enough tears over illusions of his friends and family. Been through enough terrors and memories to doubt his mind. He knew he was in the box. Once he found the box again he could try to go back to sleep.

He’d lost the will to do anything more what felt like a lifetime ago. All he had left to his obsession was protection. Self protection. Survival. Keep his human half alive. By staying a ghost and surviving the horrors of his mind.

It was all he had left.

He ran his hands up his arms to start tearing at his skin again and found… wetness? He hadn’t healed yet? He lifted a hand to his face and licked the wetness on his fingers.

Copper tang. The faintest taste of ectoplasm.

It tasted like… blood?

Danny’s heart stopped in his chest. Wrong. His heart stuttered in his chest and he scrabbled at his neck. He fingers found his pulse.

Oh no.

He had a pulse. He was human again!

The darkness surrounding him was suddenly suffocating, pulling at his breath and stealing his rational thought. He was real, but he was going to die. Humans can’t survive as long as he had without food and water and air! He couldn’t keep control of his ghost form and his human half was going to die! He had to change back or he would fail at doing the only thing he had left!!

He started hyperventilating and desperately grabbed at his ghost core. An immediate searing pain shot through his chest. The sound he made was akin to someone tearing paper and he fell over on his side. He began trembling all over.

That hurt so bad. That hurt so bad.

He couldn’t think. He could breathe but that just brought him closer to death. Tears welled from his eyes and caught on something just beyond his eyelashes, turning the blackness somehow darker. He was going to die and the recycled ecto had failed and he was going to die and the static wouldn’t stop and the hands wouldn’t let him go and he was going to die alone and forgotten he was going to die again nopleasenopleasenotagain-

Something touched his hands.

Danny jerked back and away, nausea surging up his throat. He pushed himself up only to vomit stomach acid. The only thing in his system. It burned as it came and went. His stomach clenched so hard that he curled over on himself. His muscles shook with strain as he hyperventilated. He couldn’t get enough air. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move…

Something touched him again. A gentle pressure on his back. Warm and soft.

He tensed beyond what he thought he was able. Rigid, but shaking in fear. He had no thoughts beyond the sheer terror of what he thought was unreality becoming reality.

Moments passed. And nothing happened.

The pressure on his back stayed. It did not grasp at him like the hands did. It remained gentle and soft. A warmth. It was different. It was scary.

It felt nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Danny’s breathing calmed. Slowly, he felt things around him. He felt the blood trickling down his arms. The cold floor under his legs. The soft, long shirt on his body didn’t close in the back or reach down past his knees. He was warmer than the floor which was strange, but made sense. He was human again. He couldn’t even remember the last time he turned back human. It was his greatest fear. To turn human in the box and die alone and small in the dark enclosed space.

But he wasn’t dying. He was breathing. The air was fresh. It tasted strange. His hands fluttered along the wounds on his arms. He felt pain and knew it was real. And the pressure on his back felt real.

Did… did someone open the box?

Hope hit him so hard that he began to cry softly. He couldn’t let himself hope, but he couldn’t deny it. Not when this all seemed so real. His crying grew harder. Harsh stuttering breaths that he couldn’t even hear. Which was kind of odd. Why couldn’t he hear himself? Did he still have ears? He slowly reached up and felt where his ears should be. There was something covering them. A hard plastic thing that went up over his head. Slowly his hands moved in front of his face. He found his nose and his mouth. They were still there. Then he touched the places where his eyes should be. He felt cloth.

His eyes and ears were covered?

Another hand touched his own and he jolted. It was as gentle and warm as the other hand. He could finally hear his ragged cries as the hand took his gently and intertwined the fingers. A gentle squeeze had the tears coming hard and fast. From fear or hope? There was no telling. A sheer outpouring of emotion.

Someone had opened the box.

And they were holding his hand.

He desperately hoped this was real.

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That's it for now! Honestly I'm just writing snippets of story beats and then stringing them together when the anxiety has quieted. I have an AO3 account now, but I'm still posting everything here first!

Nyeeeh keep an eye out for more I guess.

[cozylittleartblog]

9th annual nick valentines day (ft. soup again) + doodle i made last year that i forgot about, from when bethesda gave us that free update