#soup au

[radish-snail]

She sent them away to military boarding school. Oh the horror!

[sandwichedbread]

Dude I haven’t talked about my superhero au at all I completely forgot

if any of you guys remember my hermitcraft superhero au that I posted about maybe twice, i have since repurposed some of the ideas for an au of rock, bling, ten and the gang

I say “my” but it’s more like a shared thing between me and my good buddy @f1shsz

[s-jwoo]

in celebration of my move and passing all finals have a few quick sketches of some of my favorite platonic dynamic in transformers

<3

The Amicas Ever

are you even best friends if others around you don't question whether you're dating or not? i love when authors make rodimus call drift "babe" etc. platonically. the kinda homoerotic best-friendism everyone needs in their life. these two definetely help each other with their paint jobs and detailing while talking about gossip important ship business

Prowl and his bodyguards

i love the trope where prowl takes the twins under his wing after they've been transported and seperated multiple times around the bases. who's better to handle the terror twins than the guy with infinite patience? i feel like the twins would slowly start to respect him even if they also keep annoying the shit out of him.

this eventually would lead to them being prowl's self appointed bodyguards whenever there's apparent need for such. and being generally protective over prowl cuz like, yeah they moan and groan about his rules all the time but that's also their protector and the only guy who's stood up for them, so anyone who's genuinely thinking of hurting him gotta go through them first.

Kossip

THESE TWO. oh my god to me these two are such toxic bsfs that start up shit and gossip just cuz they can. they are peak mean girls but it's not like anyone can go against The Winglord or one of the highest trained medics and fastest racers on Cybertron. i also like to think that they're both peak beauty standard for their respective frame types, if for nothing else then to add to their power <3

all these are a part of my huge continuity soup AU and favourite headcanons (or designs: ie. cat-ear-starscream) <3 maybe one day i'll go deeper with it, maybe not

[amberishrose]

So Skizzpulse are married in my Soup au but now I actually can't decide on what their last name should be? I've seen people use Esvee and Leman for imp and skizz last names before but I can't decide if they would go with one of those? Or should I choose a diff last name? I'm too indecisive help

[monosminecraftmania]

come. see what fate has written for you.

ignore my finger.

@thatgaydemigodnerd

[i-spilled-my-soup]

"you and i shall forever stand apart, now that the gods have cursed me for my pride and barred me from the solemn gates; not even in death can i join you."

[krispyswips]

Cooked with Love

Someone in the DinLuke server said there was no soup AU so I decided to fix that with a little fairytale-esque oneshot. The King of Mand’alor is hosting a contest to find the best soup in all the land, and a mysterious participant appears.

This is not my art! But art at the end of the story by the amazing @gravity-loves-me​ and the one true soup king that inspires us all to drink a little more soup.  <3 <3 <3 Story under the cut:

There was a rumor about the kingdom of Mandalore. Not those rumors. Not the rumors about it being war-torn, or its ruler being a warlord, or its people being uncouth and ruthless. But the rumor about the king’s son and his voracious appetite. You see, the Mand’alor’s son was something of a connoisseur. It’s said that he would either run a whole restaurant dry or only care for the finest things, running chefs in circles for his wants. They say he could stomach the spiciest tingilar without a sweat but could also demand only cookies for the whole day. For anyone outside Mandalore, these were all just rumors. The country itself along with people was a mystery, closed-off, people seldom came and went, and no one could say how the Mand’alor’s son truly was except for the stories. So when a contest was announced, it stirred great curiosity and excitement. The announcement that called for the best chefs, the best cooks, restaurateurs, connoisseurs, and critics. In honor of the prince’s birthday, the Manda’alor would like to hold a contest for the best soup in all the world. The prize for such a contest is Mandalore’s highest honor. People from all over the world began the journey for Mandalore answering the contest. People brought recipes that had been handed down from generations. People brought the finest and freshest ingredients for their soups. People brought their iron pots, and steel tools, their emulsifiers, and food mills. And everyone descended upon Mandalore in a great parade for the prince’s birthday. There was one cook however that did not seem to take a part in all the fanfare. He did not stack up his cart with ingredients, he did not bring along his whole kitchen, he did not wear a high chef’s hat, or wear a coat decorated with his achievements. Instead one cook made the journey all the way to Mandalore just after visiting the local market along with his trusty, steel spoon, and he hoped that they would provide a pot. This stranger watched the parade and celebration, the demonstrations of strengths and skill from afar, sneaking along the crowd. On the way to the palace, he stopped here and there, a handful of spice only found in Mandalore, a fruit he did not know the name of, and a few extra vegetables he knew well. When the contest began the Mand’alor stepped out with little fanfare as if he were only the opening act for the prince who tawdled alongside him. The prince was a rather short boy, standing only two feet tall, wearing a smile almost as big as him. He was adorable, endearing, and a strange sort of green. The crowd of Mandalorians went wild as he stepped out, the whole room erupted with elation for the green prince. The Mand’alor also looked at his son with that same type of energy, a look of all the love and pride in the world, and the contest began. The first soup was presented to him, a chef from Naboo’s royal kitchen. It was red and spicy, and soon the boy was dipping his spoon into it. He looked at the concoction and then to his father then shook his head. The chef gasped and fled the scene in tears. It seemed this would be a difficult contest. The second soup was presented, a white broth with chunky vegetables. The child smelled it and frowned, not even taking a bite. The third soup was presented, viscous and a green color just like him. The boy tried it and then a second bite before shaking his head. The boy tasted 10, then 20, then 30 soups. This continued for the rest of the day until he reached the last soup and the boy seemed dejected as if he hadn’t tasted a soup that lived up to his standard. The Mand’alor looked down at his son and patted his head, “People of the world, thank you for coming today to celebrate my son’s birthday. We have tried many great soups today and—” Suddenly the doors burst open, the stranger stood in the center wearing a pair of oven mitts and holding a boiling pot. He seemed frazzled, his apron was dirty, his hair was a mess, and he rushed to the front of the room. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he gasped. “I thought they would provide a pot. But I finally found one!” The stranger set down the pot and scooped out a bowl. The Mand’alor cocked his head wondering if this was against the rules. This competitor was well over the time limit but the prince had stepped down from his perch and was eagerly sniffing the contents. The stranger handed the prince a bowl and he tasted it. His eyes suddenly lit up and he looked up to his father with a joyful expression. The prince eagerly gobbled down the rest of the bowl and was jumping up and down for a second serving. Once he was finished with a second bowl, he offered a third bowl to the Mand’alor. “Patoo!” the prince proudly declared and no one seemed to know what that meant except the king. The Mand’alor nodded and stirred his bowl. “Are you sure?” He asked the prince and the prince eagerly nodded. “Then we have our winner! Stranger, what is your name?” The stranger stuttered, processing what he just heard, “L-Luke. My name is Luke.” “You are our winner, Luke. You see my son…is not by my blood but my son all the same.” The king admitted. Luke glanced at the green boy and nodded. “And we have been searching for this recipe. It was his favorite, and it seems that we have found it, so I thank you, Chef Luke. You are our winner.” The whole hall erupted in an enormous wave of noise and cheering as the Mand’alor bestowed the achievement to Luke. In the middle of the commotion Luke’s attention was not on the crowd. Instead he was focused on the prince who was clambering toward the pot on the floor, the small boy threw off the lid and started to climb into it, eager to take a third serving of his own.

[graveyartblog]

CLICK [[HERE]] TO FIND HOT SINGLE VIRUSES IN YOUR AREA