#Caribbean Hermit Crabs

[beebbopp]

there is a crab inside this beautiful shell!

[memoryerror404]

Error: Distance(…)

February 22, 2015

[bubblybloob]

you remind me of caribbean hermit crabs. do with this as you will 🙏

This shell is kind of hard to move in-

FUCK I ROLLED OFF THE HILL HELP-

[hymemena]

Cephalopod, Crustacean, and Shellfish Headcanon Questions

Feel free to change pronouns as necessary, and remember to specify muse for multimuse blogs.

CW: Food

—

Peacock Mantis Shrimp: How is your muse's eyesight? Good? Bad? Fair?

Common Limpet: Does your muse have an unpopular opinion on something?

Antarctic Krill: How available is your muse for helping others?

Colossal Squid: What is your muse clinging to?

Broadclub Cuttlefish: Does your muse hide parts of themself from others?

Colorful Hermit Crab: How sought after is your muse? Can people not get enough of them?

American Oyster: Is your muse easily manipulated?

White Shrimp: What does a typical night in look like for your muse?

Acorn Barnacle: Does your muse give up easily or are they ride or die?

Tiger Prawn: What does your muse do to show off?

Kisslip Cuttlefish: Is your muse stylish?

Dumbo Octopus: What is a subject your muse pretends to know a great deal about but doesn't actually know much about?

Hawaiian Bobtail Squid: What is a subject your muse just cannot understand?

Queen Conch: Is your muse prone to stealing?

Flamingo Tongue: What does your muse think about animal prints?

Striped Pyjama Squid: What does your muse wear to bed most often?

American Horseshoe Crab: How resilient is your muse?

Shortfin Squid: Is your muse considered tall or short for their age?

Blue-Ringed Octopus: What is your muse's main toxic trait?

Flamboyant Cuttlefish: Does your muse like to dress up?

Atlantic Blue Crab: Is your muse grumpy in the mornings or are they a morning person? Do they run on coffee?

King Crab: What is your muse known for?

Geoduck: Is your muse a foodie?

Chambered Nautilus: What is something your muse collects?

Giant Pacific Octopus: What is one thing your muse will run from every time?

Vampire Squid: What are your muse's defense mechanisms?

Decorator Crab: If your muse is hurting, how do they handle it? This can be physical, emotional, or mental pain.

Humboldt Squid: What makes your muse a smooth operator?

Caribbean Spiny Lobster: What is a valuable piece of knowledge to get close to your muse?

Caribbean Reef Octopus: What is your muse's least favorite color?

Giant Triton: Is your muse a good listener?

[reinahwanggg]

I Met You At Sunrise • Masterlist

•pairing college student!beomgyu x fem!college student!reader

•genre college!au, strangers to friends to lovers, summer fling!au, vacation!au, socmed (probably will have written parts since i love to describe stuff) fluff, angst (maybe idk yet)

•synopsis beomgyu believes in soulmates (sue him), and when he was about eight years old, he had a dream that he was older, and his hand was intertwined with a beautiful person's own as they waited for the sunrise, very much in love. ever since, he's been desperate to go on vacation to the caribbean and find his "forever". and his chance comes in the form of two menaces graduating high school, and yoon keeho tweeting about being caribbean bound.

or.

beomgyu's kinda delusional, but that won't stop him from meeting the woman of his dreams (literally).

•warnings obscenities (in like the first few chapters cause i wrote it in october when i cussed like a sailor), friends that "bully" each other, "kys" "kms" "ch*ke" jokes, an obscure amount of mentions of food (because y/n works as a server at a restaurant), light mode (just in case you hate it)

•featuring TXT, Enhypen, KEEHO of P1Harmony, YUNJIN of Le Sserafim, and an original character (or several. idk yet lol. more kpop artists might make an appearance)

•status ON HOLD

•schedule whenever i can

•start date 2023.06.15

•end date TBA

•taglist ✨OPEN!✨ to be added, please fill out this form , send an ask, or comment under this masterlist!

•disclaimer this is the work of FICTION! all thoughts, deeds, actions and sequence of events that will be typed out and written here are for ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES only. it doesn't reflect any of these characters nor does it reflect how i see them. i am making this for fun and for people to read. which means, don't take this seriously, thanks.

PROFILES >

daily dose of slay || beomgyu and the soulmate hate club || jay and his six deranged kids

CHAPTERS >

CHAPTER 1 • Do It No Balls

↳CHAPTER 1.5 • Out for a Vengeance

CHAPTER 2 • Feeding His Soulmate Agenda

CHAPTER 3 • ALWAYS CRY BROKE 1.1k words (smau + written)

CHAPTER 4 • the triangle stuff

CHAPTER 5 • shocking

CHAPTER 6 • so this is pain mmhmm mmhmm

CHAPTER 7 • finals shouldn't exist

CHAPTER 8 • when in doubt; rich people

CHAPTER 9 • jay 🔛🔝 807 words (smau + written)

CHAPTER 10• frickin hermit crab

↳CHAPTER 10.5 • enjoy your flight

CHAPTER 11 • *gasp* nepotism

CHAPTER 12 • your future gf , why ?

CHAPTER 13 • walking around eggshells

CHAPTER 14 • #finalsshouldntEXIST

CHAPTER 15 • i can take you right now

CHAPTER 16 • EXTREMELY COMMON YUNJIN W

CHAPTER 17 • that’s embarrassing 917 words (written)

CHAPTER 18 •

CHAPTER 19 •

CHAPTER 20•

CHAPTER 21 •

CHAPTER 22 •

CHAPTER 23 •

CHAPTER 24 •

CHAPTER 25 •

CHAPTER 26 •

CHAPTER 27 •

CHAPTER 28 •

CHAPTER 29 •

CHAPTER 30 •

...more to be added : chapter names are also subject to change ...

BONUS >

•Director’s Cut 1 (can be read between ch.1.5 & ch.2)

• Gia and Steph (can be read between ch.3 & ch.4)

• Do I Have a Chance ? (can be read between ch.3 & ch.4)

•

2023 © reinahwanggg ... don't copy me and steal my work please ! socmed writers and writers in general work very hard to do stuff like this, and stealing their work is inhuman bro. all credit to whatever happens in this plot is reserved to ME!

[ladyluscinia]

The daemon AU headcanons I have for the fic that I will absolutely never write are that Ed’s daemon is a hermit crab and Izzy’s is an albatross. I think I saw Ed having a hermit crab in a fic before but it fits for me. It’s small and vulnerable but deeply defensive. They’re neat little creatures (and you could certainly go in a fun vanity angle with a fancy shell) but they’re not exactly seen as scary or badass. Ed would definitely keep it hidden constantly to the point where even many of his own crew think he doesn’t have a daemon, which makes him more terrifying.

Izzy on the other hand has an albatross because they’re huge fucking sea birds who mate for life. They’ve also got a sick drag-like look and they’re capable of flying for huge distances for super long lengths of time. Obviously Rime of the Ancient Mariner was written way after OFMD is set, but there’s also that association between an albatross as a sailor’s friend and something that it is shameful to hurt/betray. In my head, Izzy’s daemon is sometimes mistaken for Ed’s and people can’t figure out how there’s only one daemon between the two of them.

Idk if those thoughts do anything for you but you’re welcome to them in case they have any inspiration value.

Well now I'm definitely feeling like I'm on the right track, lol.

I've been looking at various Caribbean hermit crabs as options for Edward. I definitely like the "retreating into your shell" symbolism, and some of them come in really fun colors. At the same time, I'm also wondering if I want something a bit more dangerous... decisions, decisions, yeah?

An albatross was actually where I started with Izzy, lol, for pretty much all those reasons. Thinking on it, though, it might be a little too perfect a match for a sailor... at least in regards to how I typically look at selecting daemons. I love coming up with the matches that are a little to the left of what people would expect, in a way that says as much with what they don't settle into as what they do. Izzy's whole thing is that he has to work for everything - he's not quite enough for it all to come easily. He can't naturally command respect or leadership positions or intimidation.

So basically an albatross daemon might give him a little too much pirate cred 🤣🤣🤣 though he would love having one for that reason.

The snakebird I found is promising, but I also really want to look around a bit more, since I stumbled on that one really quickly. And I still want to ponder the crew too.

[piratesgiftexchange]

The Fish Men Go to Therapy

by beemovieerotica, for @depressedvillainobsession

PROMPT: “The crew try to make Davy Jones go to therapy (can do a modern AU or have one of the crew be the unlicensed therapist lol)”

WORD COUNT: 5,218

“It’s a crying shame, what happened with Eugenia and all that.”

“Rest in peace, you old gal.”

“Too true, lads.  Though, could it have ended any other way, what with her being eighty-two, and Jones being—sod it, how old are we now?”

The crew men of the Flying Dutchman were gathered in the shade of a palm tree on the beach, a light breeze in the air, the waves lapping the shore.  Another cursed day in the Caribbean for the terrible fish men.  They looked down at their unique assemblage of digits and began a fruitless attempt to count off the years.  Maccus’s crab leg fingers clicked as he mouthed the numbers.

“One hundred and fifty…sss…seev—six?” Penrod asked, his antennae flicking in circles. 

“Oh my God, were you a 90’s baby?” Clanker asked.

“You too?  Damn!  Who else remembers the 1590’s?”

The group began chattering excitedly, caught up in nostalgia for decades gone by; but then from off over the sand, from the great cursed ship that was beached upon the shore, came an indignant, terrible shout.

“Get back to work!” Davy Jones’ distant voice echoed upon the wind.  “This isn’t a holiday!”

That much was true: it wasn’t anybody’s vacation.  No, the Dutchman had been stranded upon the shore—a loophole to Calypso’s prohibition against them ever “making port”—for the express purpose of removing a century-and-a-half worth of barnacles and gunk from the underside of the giant ship.

It had been a long time coming.  It was just that no one had ever wanted to do it.

The ship was disgusting.

Penrod snapped his claw in agitation.  “You heard the man.  Let’s get to it.”

The group groaned and sighed and made their way back to the hull where the other half of the crew was still toiling away, scraping off sea life.  By virtue of being practically sea life themselves, the crew had a paternal attitude toward the little creatures they removed from the ship.  It was incredibly slow work, taking the time to be gentle with each little barnacle, placing them into buckets to be safely transported back in the sea.  Jones hated it, but the crew wouldn’t stop.  Angler was currently enraptured with a tiny starfish in the palm of his hand, and he let out a giddy chuckle, the light on his lure flickering.

“This one looks like you,” Palifico said.  He turned to Hadras with a hermit crab pinched between his fingers, holding it up in the light.  Hadras leaned in very close to squint at it in judging appraisal, and then he let out a scoff. 

“My shell’s nicer,” he muttered.

The work proceeded, and the crew was not concerned with the time.  Because, truly, they had all the time in the world.  It was sometime near sunset when only a fraction of the ship had been cleared of hitchhikers that Jones suddenly appeared leaning out of the wood of the hull itself.  Ghostly men that they were, all could pass freely through the matter of ships, sails, and sea. 

“How far along is it?” Jones asked, the upper half of his body coming out at an angle, the wood warping around his torso.  He struggled to turn his head enough to see along the side of the ship without losing balance and falling out.

“It’s great,” Maccus said hurriedly, striding over.  “Peachy.  We’re running like clockwork, we are.”

Jones’ gaze was still fixed upon the ship, his eyes narrowed, assessing the hull as much as he could from that precarious angle.  The crew waited with bated breath for his verdict.  A shadow passed over Jones’ face: he didn’t like what he saw.

“Nine hours, and this is all you’ve done?” he cried.  He slammed his crab claw into the side of the ship beside himself, sending a reverberating thud throughout.  “None of you will rest tonight.  No man will be allowed back on board until sunrise when every barnacle is removed from my blasted ship.”

With one final squuooik from his octopus lips, Jones receded into the hull, the wood popping behind him.

The crew rolled their eyes toward the heavens and Maccus in equal judgment.  Maccus held up his hands in innocence.  “What?” he asked.

But he knew the answer from the faces on his men: it was the first mate’s job to keep everyone in line.  To ensure the conduit between captain and crew was smooth as always—that the captain was never too unreasonable, that the crew was never too unruly.  But lately, Maccus had been doing very little of either.  Something was amiss.

“You’ve gone soft, Maccus,” Palifico said.

“You need to talk to Jones,” Angler muttered.

“You’ve got to be mean to us,” Ogilvey chimed in.  “Teach us what’s what.  Kick us in the shins.  Steal Hadras’s head.  Shoot Penrod out a cannon.”

It was Clanker who came up beside Maccus and rested a hand on the silent man’s shoulder.  He squeezed him there with a firm understanding and looked deep into his eyes.

“Go to a goddamn doctor.”

The crew frowned in confusion. 

It had gone unremarked upon by all except Clanker that Maccus had been wearing a shirt for the past few weeks.  The crew would occasionally try on clothing taken during raids of other ships—they had fuckall else to do—and Maccus’s shirt-wearing had been understood as just another temporary fashion experiment.  But Clanker had prodded and pressed him, and even followed him when he wasn’t aware—and in the dark beside Maccus’s hammock, that’s when he knew—that’s when he saw the first mate’s terrible secret.

“Behold!” Clanker cried, and with a theatrical flourish he completely ripped Maccus’s shirt from his body.

Maccus instinctively threw his arms over his chest like a blushing maiden, though there was nothing to be covered there, for the real problem was on his back.  There, where his spine erupted into long crab legs, was the problem.

Oh, but they already knew about the crab legs; he’d had those for a century.  What they hadn’t seen before was how every single leg was curled in tight, like fingers balled up into a fist—rigid, unmoving, unable to open.

“Holy hell, Maccus…” Penrod breathed, scuttling around for a better look.  He gingerly tapped one of Maccus’s spine-legs with his claw, and the thing didn’t respond.  “Did you molt this year?”

“Yes, I molted,” Maccus snapped back.  He grabbed the tatters of his shirt from Clanker’s hand, and he struggled for a moment to distinguish the arm holes and the head holes and the new holes from one other before giving up with a hiss.  He balled up the shirt and chucked it into the sand.  “I’m fine,” he said.

The whole crew began tutting in judgment, and the tutting continued for some time.  They seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to make that sound at Maccus, more than anything. 

“You sit yourself down,” Clanker began, and he bodily shoved Maccus down onto the sand.  “You take a rest, leave the cleaning to us, and then we handle this all on Tortuga.”

Maccus looked up with dread in his eyes.  “What’s on Tortuga?”

Clanker replied with a grin.

——

The establishment owned by the mysterious Signora Isabella, purveyor of fortune, omens, and occasionally shrimp soup, rested on a lone hill on the island of Tortuga, surrounded by spooky trees.

Maccus lifted a finger at the strange vegetation.  “Are trees supposed to look like that?” he asked.

They were not.  In her boundless mystery, the Signora had trimmed every tree in a thirty foot radius so that only the branches facing toward her house remained.  What resulted were several dozen lopsided trees, weighed down and bent at the trunks, like so many bowing devotees gathered in praise of her.

“It’s a bit much,” Penrod said.

The trusted mates continued up the hill and arrived at the front door, which had been painted a deep red in strange, incomprehensible sigils.  Angler brought his hand up to trace the symbols.

“What do you think it says?” he whispered fearfully. 

“It says Remove your fucking shoes.  In Italian,” a voice called.

Signora Isabella, draped in a robe the colors of twilight, emerged from around the side of the house holding a broom, followed by two chickens.  Her graying hair was tied up in a bun, sweat flecked across her face, clearly having just been interrupted in the midst of some urgent chores.  She shooed the birds away and gave a hacking cough before spitting in the dirt, wiped her mouth with her hand and then opened the front door for the crew.

“Get inside, make yourselves at home,” she muttered.

There were two things about the Signora that the crew noticed first: one, she did not seem at all Italian—her accent was something adjacent to Maccus’s.  And two, she was completely unbothered by the arrival of the monster crew at her doorstep.  The crew decided not to address the first issue, and they gladly stepped inside…barefoot, of course.

The interior of the Signora’s house was riddled with clutter: it looked like she was both in the midst of spring cleaning while simultaneously adding more odds and ends to the mix.  Books, bottles, pots and pans, blankets, and even a giant cauldron sat in the middle of the floor, hot charcoal beneath it.  Penrod cautiously neared the bubbling broth and peeked one eye over the edge.

“Were you expecting us?” Clanker asked.

Signora Isabella turned around on her heel, her pointy-toed slippers squeaking on the floor.  “No.  Why?”

“Oh,” Clanker paused.  “I thought, you know, because you didn’t seem surprised at all about us showing up.  Given how we look.”

The woman—who on scrupulous examination couldn’t really have been more than forty, though they had been expecting a wizened old crone—cast her gaze over the cursed men with tight lips.  A tense silence followed.

“I’ve seen worse,” she finally said.

The crew exchanged bewildered stares.

“Right, let’s get to it.”  She swept what appeared to be balled-up dog fur off a chair and sat down with a sniff.   “What brings you here?”

Wordlessly, the crew turned to Maccus.  A moment passed before he carefully removed the shawl he had thrown over his shoulders and back, and he revealed the curled-up crab legs, as stiff as if they’d been boiled.

“By the stars and moon,” Isabella gasped.  She rose from her chair and hurried over, reaching out a hand toward Maccus’s back.  Maccus remained still, and he allowed her to tap her fingers along his back, testing the pliancy of the legs, prodding the skin around where they emerged from his spine.  The crew watched as she made her assessment, and she leaned back, picking at her lip in thought. 

“I’ve seen this before,” she murmured mysteriously. 

The crew reeled around in disbelief.  “What?” Penrod snapped.

“Oh, sorry,” Isabella cleared her throat.  “Of course I’ve never seen it.  Force of habit.  I just say that to make the customers feel better.”

The crew couldn’t blame her for this.  But she clapped her hands and rubbed them together, a new enthusiasm seizing her.  “What you’re suffering from is something that we like to call ennui.”

Maccus tilted his great hammer head.  “What’s that?”

“It’s a French word,” Angler muttered from a far corner, holding a cat-shaped tea kettle in his hands.

Maccus let out a cry of anguish.  “I don’t want no French disease!” he wailed. 

“It’s not a disease, it’s a state of being,” Isabella cut in.  “You’re suffering from a terrible thing.  You feel listless, sad, untethered—without a true place in the world.  Nothing is enough to fill the empty corners of your life.  You seek joy and the spark of existence but find only meaningless drudgery.”  She paused.  Maccus’s eyes had grown unfocused, and he was staring off into some unfathomable distance, his lips slightly parted.  “Do I have that right?” she finished.

Maccus blinked once.  “Nahh,” he said, and he let out a snort of laughter.  “Doesn’t sound like me.”

Clanker was the only one still truly present for the conversation, as the rest of the mates were poking around the psychic’s home, uncovering all kinds of bewildering treasures.  Angler had found a dining platter with a gold engraving of a giant penis on it, which he did not seem to want to part with, and Penrod was subtly dipping various items into the bubbling cauldron to see if it might melt them.

Clanker looked at Maccus with mixed condemnation and pity.  “You’re not even going to consider it?” he asked cuttingly.

Maccus shrugged.  “I dunno.  Depends on what the cure is.”

The two looked to Isabella, who frowned in thought.  “It’s a bit tricky,” she began, tapping one toe.  “Usually I would recommend someone go out and see the world, but—well, you’ve already done that.  What I think you need,” she said, and the corners of her mouth flitted up, “is a proper spa day.”

All the crew members in the house turned with their jaws open, gasping in excitement.  Angler almost dropped his dining platter. 

“Can we?  Can we, Maccus?” Penrod asked, scuttling over.  “Can we please have a spa day?”

“I do provide group discounts,” Isabella whispered.

Maccus let out a growl, eyeing the psychic and then his eager crew mates. 

Jones had been driving them a bit mad.  Too much work, too many unreasonable demands—and Maccus hadn’t been doing his job of tempering the captain’s anger.  Why he hadn’t been standing up to Jones at all—why, whenever the captain spoke to him, Maccus could only stare at the other man’s face, his heart booming in his chest, his throat gone dry—was a question not even he fully grasped.

“Alright then,” Maccus grunted.  “We’ll do it.”

The crew let out joyous cheers.  Relaxation was on its way.

——

Six crew mates sat in a small round hut filled with steam by the Tortuga river, with nary a care in the world.  The men had wet cloths draped over their heads and little glasses of fruity drinks in their hands.  Isabella was tending the fire, pouring cold water over hot stones to send hot fizzing air wafting up toward the rafters.  Maccus peeled up the edge of the cloth from over his good eye and squinted through the mist at the rest of the group. 

They’d had to rope Palifico and Hadras into it as well, as the discount was valid for up to six: Palifico’s coral arms were dripping like a tree in a rainstorm, and he shook them off, sending spray flying all about.  Hadras had removed his head entirely to let it rest on his knees, and he was now polishing his shell with his cloth while humming a tune—both seemed to be enjoying the unexpected day off.  Angler, Clanker, and Penrod were half-asleep in their utter relaxation, slumped upon their benches, and Maccus was—well, worried as always.  The rest of the crew back on the ship (and Jones himself) didn’t know any of this was going on.  Didn’t need to know.

Maccus strained his neck to peer back over his shoulder to try and assess the situation on his spine.  The legs were slightly twitchy.

“More steam,” Clanker mumbled.

Maccus was about to protest, his skin already feeling too hot, but he figured the discomfort was all part of the healing process.  He needed to get back into top shape before Jones realized anything was amiss.  Just the thought of disappointing Jones in any way—God, he felt a constriction in his heart. 

Isabella stoked the fire, and the hut continued to grow hotter.

“Hoo, I feel like a boiled oyster,” Hadras said.

Angler let out a snorting chuckle, and the other men shifted their lounging positions to get more comfortable.  All of them except Penrod.  Maccus leaned forward in his seat and peered at the little man. 

Penrod had not stirred for the last five minutes; Maccus had assumed the man had drifted off to sleep.  But Penrod’s mouth hung open with only the slightest flutter of breath from it, and his claws dangled limp at his sides. 

His claws…

His very, strangely…red claws?

Maccus leapt to his feet and let out a scream.  “We’re cooking Penrod!”

The healthy green-blue sheen on Penrod’s whole carapace had begun to turn red—a crustacean on the verge of boiling—and a last weak gasp escaped his parched throat. 

The crew sprang to his rescue, shouting, shrieking, tearing across the hut to fling open the door flaps and let the oppressively hot air out.  Isabella panicked and dumped a full bucket of cold water on the limp shrimp man before Clanker picked him up in one arm and raced out toward the stream.

The crew followed, breathless and near tears.

Clanker lay the shrimp man down in the cool water, the sunlight glinting along the surface, the dark river stones smooth beneath Penrod’s back.  He gently held Penrod’s head up above the surface to breathe as the rest of the man’s carapace sizzled beneath the rejuvenating, life-giving balm of island spring water.  A long silence passed as the crew watched and waited—and the most distressed of all was Maccus.

Penrod’s eyes fluttered open.

Maccus fell to his knees in relief, his face wet with tears.  He was sobbing openly now, his arms clutched to his chest.  Penrod reached out a quivering claw and laid it tenderly against Maccus’s cheek.

“Go…to…therapy,” Penrod wheezed.

——

Jones couldn’t care less that one of his men had almost been boiled alive. 

The trusted mates brought Penrod back to the ship—carried between Clanker and Angler on a blanket—and they resigned themselves to telling the captain the whole truth.  There was no way to really get around explaining what had happened.  And they had expected Jones to be outraged at the near loss of someone who had served him for over a hundred years, to fly into one of his signature tantrums, to threaten to whip the crew before promptly forgetting where the whip was and then stomping off to his cabin to brood.  But instead…he grew very quiet. 

He looked at Penrod lying like a wet rat in the blanket, his brows furrowed in displeasure.  He gave the smallest hm of acknowledgment, and then he turned and walked away.

The crew was baffled: Maccus most of all.

The first mate followed after him to the bow of the ship where the captain fished around in his coat for his smoking pipe.  He was completely nonplussed.  Jones lit the tobacco and puffed silently, the smoke rising around his face like hot steam.

Maccus clenched his trembling hands.  He had to just come out and say it.  “I’m not well,” he squeaked.

Jones raised a brow and looked back over his shoulder at Maccus.  “You’re unwell?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Maccus said.  He jabbed a thumb back over his shoulder toward his spine.  “My legs are all scrunched up.  They won’t move.  I’ve got a bad case of the ennui.”

Jones swiveled fully around and stared at Maccus.  “You’ve contracted a French disease?”

“Tragically,” Maccus replied.

Jones’ eyes flickered over Maccus’s shaking hands.  Was that a flash of sympathy?  “And what’s the cure?”

It was at this point that Isabella came up to the bow—she had apparently followed them all the way down the hill to ensure that her customer had not died—and she now stepped up beside the two and cleared her throat importantly.  Jones regarded her with undisguised suspicion.

“An acquaintance of mine practices the noble art of bone cracking,” Isabella began.

“Who is this?” Jones asked, gesturing his claw at the woman.

“That’s the psychic who almost boiled Penrod alive.”

“Chef,” Isabella corrected.  “I’m the psychic chef who almost boiled him alive.”

“That’s far worse,” Maccus muttered.

“His name is Doctor Stevens, and he achieves excellent results,” Isabella went on.  She produced a leaflet from her pocket bearing a middle aged man’s likeness along with an address and an extensive list of services.  Maccus’s eyes fell upon the one just beneath “bone correction”: therapy.

He glanced sideways at Jones.  And maybe it was a projection, or maybe it was the truest realization he’d ever had, but he saw in Jones’ sour octopus face the essence of a man who truly, desperately, one-hundred-years-ago needed therapy.  Why had they never tried that?

“Let’s get the doctor on the ship,” Maccus said.

——

Dr Stevens arrived not a minute behind schedule on the deck of the Flying Dutchman with his little medical bag in tow.  He was a tall, balding man with patient eyes and a crook in his spine—Maccus wondered if that was a bad sign for a doctor of a particular problem to have that particular problem.  He decided not to think about it.

“Good afternoon, gentleman,” the doctor said, giving a nod to the crew.  “I’m here to see…” he paused, and he drew out a little slip of paper from his pocket with something smudged upon it.  “Devi Johns?”

Jones swaggered over toward the doctor, snorting in disapproval.  “You’re here to see the first mate, not me,” he corrected.

“No no,” Stevens said, flapping the paper gently, “this says it was a double booking for the captain and first mate.  A two for one special.”

Jones frowned, and he opened his mouth to protest just as Maccus hurried over.  “Yep!” Maccus called out.  “Right this way, my good sir.”

He ushered the man toward Jones’ great cabin, and with an affronted blink, Jones stalked after them.  Maccus thought Jones might put up a fight, but the captain said nothing, merely glaring between them.  Although he was definitely not pleased to have his living space commandeered for the purpose of this visit, he was—surprisingly—tolerating it.  It was for Maccus’s well-being, and this, he seemed to care about a great deal.

The door shut behind them and the doctor wasted no time in beginning to clear off Jones’ great oaken desk in the center of the room for his purposes.  Jones let out a stutter and promptly took over stuffing his personal belongings into drawers.  Maccus caught a glimpse of numerous drafts of letters, the script flowery and effusive—addressed to whom, he had no idea.

“Please,” the doctor gestured to Maccus, “lie face down.”

With a glance to Jones, Maccus clambered up onto the desk and carefully lowered himself face down, his spine legs curling in upon each other like hands folded in prayer.  The doctor then pointed Jones toward a desk chair.

“You may take a seat,” he said. 

Jones settled down with a sigh in the full belief that he was merely waiting his turn for this unconventional bone cracking session.  Which—if he was being totally honest—didn’t sound all that bad.  He’d had a time of it, getting around on his pointy leg, which did no favors for his lower back.  He watched in keen curiosity as the doctor started on Maccus.

“So.”

The doctor ran the edge of his palm down the center of Maccus’s back, and the legs crackled in reply.  He let out a low huh, shrugged, and continued on unbothered. 

“Tell me about yourself, Captain Jones.”

The doctor brought his other hand up and began to knead the painfully tense muscles of Maccus’s back, to which Maccus let out a sad, puppy-dog cry.  He resisted the urge to dig his saw-like teeth into the edge of the desk.

Though Jones was normally allergic to small talk, he was aware of the necessity for good relations with one’s doctor…if one wanted good treatment.  He sighed and spoke in a mutter.  “I was born a very long time ago,” he began, “in Scotland, a century and a half ago, and now I am still alive, lingering on, with a crew and a ship with no purpose.”

An echoing crraack! sounded from Maccus’s back, and he let out a hooo in relief.  The doctor had pressed hard on the back of one of the man’s ribs, pushing it back into its rightful place. 

“Purpose,” the doctor said, not looking up from his work as he addressed Jones.  He tested the flesh on the back of Maccus’s elbows.  “Have you met many men with purpose?”

Jones frowned, his eyes not leaving Maccus’s ever-increasingly relieved face.  “Elaborate.”

“Meaning—” the doctor jerked Maccus’s left shoulder back, and another crriick sounded out, “—is there any man you’ve come across, who has such a clear and plain sense of purpose, that he can in every moment see the path toward the end of his days?”

The other shoulder now, this time louder.  Jones licked his lips.  “Such certainty does not exist,” he replied.  “No man can anticipate where fate will find him.”

“Then why expect the very thing of yourself?”

Maccus was in a state of bliss, every muscle cramp loosening under the doctor’s skilled hands.  He had begun to drool on the desk.

Jones considered the doctor’s words.  “I had purpose,” he began.  “I was the ferryman.  But with all that—that abandonment that followed, I am merely a wandering wraith.”  His voice dropped to a murmur.  “Only love may free me.”

“Ooohh, baby, do that again,” Maccus purred.  The doctor had cracked Maccus’s neck, relieving his perpetually stiff vertebrae from all that strain of holding up the weight of his terrible head. 

“Love, hm?” the doctor repeated.  “Love is not so difficult.”

This, neither Maccus nor Jones could believe.  Both swiveled their heads around in unison—to Maccus’s great surprise, he found his neck much more flexible than before.

“Love is literally the most difficult thing in the world,” Maccus said.

“Love is the cruelest, most unforgiving thing any person undertakes,” Jones added.

The doctor chuckled softly and reached into his medical bag to moisten his hands with oil.  “It’s very interesting how your skin is smooth in one direction and rough in the other,” he remarked.  “First patient I’ve had that might give me blisters.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Maccus grunted.  “What do you think you know about love?”

The doctor let out a breathy, longing-filled sigh.  He stood contemplating for a moment, rubbing his palms together, staring off toward the algae-covered back windows of the cabin where faint beams of sunlight still filtered through.  “Falling in love is oh so easy,” he finally said.  “But invoking that love…calling it into existence, taking the other person by the hand…well, there are men who would rather go off to war and face down a row of cannons than do that very thing.”

Jones and Maccus both went very quiet. 

Maccus’s heart had begun to beat very hard, and he wondered whom Jones was thinking about.  Calypso, probably.  He chanced a glance in Jones’ direction and saw the captain staring back—they both abruptly looked away, embarrassed—but something had stirred there.

“Deep breath out,” the doctor said.

He jabbed the base of his palm into Maccus’s lower back, and Maccus let out a howl. 

Jones stood up, a great concern washing over his face.  “That will be enough,” he said sternly.  “Do not push him beyond his limits.  I need him—we need him,” he stammered.  Another furtive glance at Maccus’s face.  “Our first mate is essential to the proper sailing of our ship.”

The doctor gave an abiding shrug and wiped his hands off on his trousers.  “Very well.”  He clipped shut his medical bag and lifted it, ready to head out the door.

“Hold, are you not giving the same treatment to me?” Jones asked as Maccus climbed off the desk.

The doctor tilted his head.  “No,” he said.  “The first mate was booked for bone adjustments.  You were booked for therapy.  Though, I can’t say we made very much progress.”

A pause.  The doctor’s gaze passed over the two men who were now standing side by side, and the corner of his lip twitched.  “Or perhaps we did.”

Jones and Maccus looked at each other.  And it was Jones who noticed first that the crab legs on Maccus’s back were moving once more, stretching out like so many spider legs, but now they were reaching toward a very particular person.

“Ah,” Jones cleared his throat.  “Maccus, your legs…”

Maccus looked back over his shoulder to see the tips of his crab legs brushing at the shoulder of Jones’ coat.  “Oh, apologies, excuse me, captain—” he took two long steps back and crossed his arms over his chest.  “There we go,” he said. 

They stared at each other across this little, forced distance.  Maccus’s crab legs were now arched over his shoulders in Jones’ direction, and neither had yet noticed that Jones’ entire beard was reaching out in reply.  It was like watching a spider and a squid try to hold hands.

The doctor gave a knowing smile and ducked his head.  “I’ll send you an invoice later,” he whispered, and he trotted out the door. 

Jones’ face had turned a deep green, and Maccus couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him that color before.  No, it happened when Jones was playing his music, thinking about her—

He folded his hands and began twiddling his thumbs in anxiety, his body erupting in a cold sweat.

Jones opened his mouth to speak, and the whole world seemed to stand still.

“I…” Jones began.

Maccus’s head was spinning.  He didn’t know what he would do if he heard it.

“I think that I…”

His knees began to shake.  Oh God.  Oh Christ.

“Maccus, I think I love—”

No.

“—I love my job.”

Maccus felt his entire existence go dark.

Jones went on, oblivious, a deep melancholy overtaking his tone.  “I miss aiding the souls of those lost at sea,” he said.  “I miss the purpose it gave me, the glimpses into the wellspring of life, crossing the veil to the other side where the spirits pass on.  Do you miss it too?”

Maccus steadied himself with a hand against the desk.  “Yep,” he wheezed.  “Miss it.  So much.”

He felt like he was going to die.

Jones looked to the dim light streaming in from beyond and slowly nodded his head.  “We will return to the care-taking of the dead,” he breathed.  “You and I, in service together.”

Maccus nodded vigorously, hoping that if he made his face a blur it would hide all the tears.  “Sounds swell,” he squeaked.  “Just excellent.”

Jones turned to walk out the door, and as he passed Maccus, he placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder.  Maccus felt a sob catch in his throat.

“You’re the best first mate a man could ever have,” Jones said.

And as the captain left the room, the door shutting behind him, Maccus finally fell to his knees and let out a strangled, kicked-dog wail.

“Why are men—” he cried into the ship’s creaking, uncaring walls, “—so FUCKING stupid?”The Dutchman, in her ancient, silent wisdom, had no reply for the heartbroken man.

[ungoliantschilde]

From the Wikipedia entry:

Yes, giant Isopods are edible. And they’re kinda good, to be honest. But, they’re more of a novelty than a food source, so to speak. No one is specifically fishing for these things. They look like giant cockroaches, and you have to work to get the “meat” out of them. The meat, again, is quite good. Like a chewier, sweeter shrimp.

Let me tell you about Conch.

Conch shells are pretty. Your annoying aunt has one on a shelf. It’s pronounced “Conk”. There’s a hermit crab thing that lives in them. To get the crab out, you have to break the top of the shell and pull the critter out. About 1/3 of the critter is tasty. But you have to literally beat it with a claw hammer to tenderize the meat. Once processed, Conch is delicious. Chewy but sweet. Much chewier than Lobster, but really really good. Conch Fritters are fried balls of seafood deliciousness. Conch chowder is the shit. Delicious.

Now, Conch is all over the place in the Caribbean. Swim out 10 feet and you’ll find a couple. You’ll also find piles of discarded shells, with holes in the top. Yeah, they’re a staple.

Isopods are not a staple. They’re a thing that is caught by mistake when people are trying to catch other things. And they’re like cockroaches. There are a lot of them.

I bet giant isopods are sooo delicious broiled in butter the whole thing is like lobster meat

[caymanvisitor]

Top 3 Best Excursions in Grand Cayman

You have a 16 year old, a 10 year old, and a 5 year old. How in the world are you supposed to deliver unforgettable memories for all of them? One is knee-deep in video games while the other is skillfully crafting videos on TikTok. With these Grand Cayman adventures on your itinerary, you’ll have smiles from ear-to-ear.

Stingray Snorkel Adventure

Nothing screams “best excursion in Grand Cayman” more than VIP. On this private charter, you’ll tour the top Caribbean spots with an experienced Caymanian boat captain for views, soaks, and cultural stories you won’t find anywhere else on the island. Get up close and personal with gliding, majestic sea creatures at Stingray City and wow your little ones at a beach sprinkled with starfish (trust us; those star-shaped cuties won’t even look real!). And all throughout your half-day excursion gain an authentic perspective of the Cayman Islands from the origins, history and anecdotes shared by your captain. Included in this charter are freshly caught appetizers, a seasonal fruit platter, bottled water and a surprise Caymanian beverage. And if that’s not enough, be sure to make use of the snorkel equipment to peer into the beauty below the surface. The pictures will no doubt be digital album-worthy.

Dolphin Royal Swim

Speaking of pictures, nothing screams “beach vacation” more than a snapshot kissing the nose of a sweet dolphin. Designed for kids and adults of all ages spend a couple of hours immersed in the fun of belly rides, fun facts, and aquatic shows in this swimming with dolphins experience. In one of the best excursions in Grand Cayman, you’ll learn from experienced marine specialists about what makes these clever ocean mammals so loved and admired. The whole family will enjoy a boogie push (zoom around the lagoon with your dolphin pal), handshake, and even a stop by the turtle farm for an extra dose of sea life. It’s an animal lover’s dream.

Cayman Parrot Sanctuary

And for the last “woohoo”, nothing screams “island life” more than parrots, frigates and hermit crabs! Take a pause from playing in the sand and stop by the Cayman Parrot Sanctuary on the East End. What makes this tour one of the best excursions in Grand Cayman? It’s interactive, educational, and, well, downright fun. The Sanctuary is home to all sorts of animals — from guinea pigs to reptiles and rabbits. Carry some, feed others, or just enjoy the beautiful bird watching. Given that the Cayman Parrot is the national bird of the islands, this is the perfect opportunity for the kids to learn a little more about the rehabilitation work done to protect and ensure our Earth’s animals are healthy and thriving. And between the kid’s slides and zip lining nestled within indigenous plants and landscapes of the Cayman Islands, time will fly.

[prattlinpeach]

A visit to the flutterby, I mean Butterfly House!

A visit to the flutterby, I mean Butterfly House!

Ok, first…yes, I call them flutterbys, I did as a kid and I still do. Second, I love flutterbys, they make me happy, and third…this is a warning, if you do not like other things found in the insect world, I will let you know when to skip a paragraph and photos, I do not want anyone wigged out. Yes, especially you DLP! Not much was going on today and PSM had to work, so, after errands, I headed…

[circusfishy]

got some pictures of rocky in his new tank! he’s huge!

[dogwise]

Do crabs change color if they eat different things?

Yes, kind of! They don’t necessarily “change colors” as much as they become more vibrant with good diet — especially a lot of protein, calcium, and beta-carotene. A crab that doesn’t have a lot of variety in their diet will look more ashen grey/brown

[cephalogodess]

Please enjoy this adorable (and big!) Caribbean hermit crab, Coenobita clypeatus!

San Miguel de Cozumel, 2019 

[ladyluscinia]

Crabs that visually fuck but unfortunately aren't really giving me much on the "why specifically this daemon" front for Edward:

Blackback Crab - native to the Caribbean - up to 4.3"

Vampire Crab (Left) / Red Devil Vampire Crab (Right) - native to Indonesia - up to 2"

Royal Crab - native to East Atlantic / Mediterranean - up to 3.6"

Widehand Hermit Crab - native to the Canadian Pacific coast - up to 1.7"

(I'm exceptionally picky about this which is why I don't do it much, lol, but my main criteria I'm looking at right now are where it's from, size, diet - specifically is it predatory or carnivorous - and any specific behavior notes that could be read as a personality marker. Also crabs are cool and I'm looking at so many of them 😌)

[year2000electronics]

BIOLUMINESCENCE IS THE BEST.... i am. scuba diver. and do night dives. and in the Caribbean, when ur on a night dive, if you turn off all your lights and swish your hand around, the water will light up with bioluminescence. Its also when the hermit crabs that are the size of american footballs come out and I think you'd enjoy that.

YOURE RIGHT I DO ENJOY THAT

[fbwzoo]

So whats the difference between the hermit crabs you raise, and the full aquatic kind?

If I remember right, the hermit crabs you have are predominantly terrestrial, where as the others are predominantly aquatic, as well as significantly smaller than their terrestrial counter part.

But are they like off shoots of the same species?

I’m not sure of evolutionary development, unfortunately, and that’s more complicated than I can look up right now. I would assume they have a shared ancestor, but possibly several? Wikipedia says “The fossil record of in situ hermit crabs using gastropod shells stretches back to the Late Cretaceous. Before that time, at least some hermit crabs used ammonites' shells instead, as shown by a specimen of Palaeopagurus vandenengeli from the Speeton Clay, Yorkshire, UK from the Lower Cretaceous.“

 But these days, there are over 800 different hermit crab species, and they’re all in the same superfamily, called Paguroidea. There’s 7 families in that group, and 6 of those families are marine/aquatic hermit crabs. The seventh family, Coenobitidae, is all terrestrial hermit crabs, like mine!

The terrestrial hermit crabs include 17 species, including the largest one, the coconut crab! It’s the largest land-dwelling arthropod. We get questions about if anyone’s ever had one on my crab groups sometimes and the consensus is “Fuck no, where would you put it”.

(Photo source)

Coconut crabs are in their own genus, and the rest of the terrestrial crabs are in another. Not all of them are kept as pets, and they live in different parts of the world - there’s only two that live on the west hemisphere. One is Coenobita clypeatus, aka the purple pincher or Caribbean hermit crab. This is also the one that’s mostly found in the pet trade in North America, and most commonly kept as a pet. This is the species all of my crabs are! Also the ones that are available for adoption from Mary at the moment. The other species is Coenobita compressus, the Ecuadorian hermit crab, and they are the other most commonly found in North America’s pet trade. 

All of the other species, to my knowledge, are found in the East hemisphere, largely in the tropics. Australia has one species, Coenobita variabilis. A lot of the others are found in similar areas, on the Indo-Pacific Ocean islands. We have many members in a couple of my hermit crab FB groups that live in the Philippines and other islands that have many of these species - we’re jealous of their crabs & they’re jealous of ours! There’s differences in the color ranges, exoskeleton features, sizes, behavior, types of shells they like, and development between the different species. This site talks about each species & a lot of these characteristics for each!

Also, marine hermit crabs are way more varied than I thought! There’s a family that have matched claws instead of one being bigger, and they hide in wood, rocks, sponges, and other things instead of shells.

There’s two species that have toothed mandibles!! 

I’m glad my hermit crabs don’t have teeth.

Also you mentioned size, and while there are a lot of marine hermit crabs that are much smaller than land hermit crabs can get, there’s a lot that are quite big too! I think it might actually be more normal for marine ones to be bigger than terrestrial ones, with water helping to offset the weight of a big enough shell.

Look at this guy!

(Photo source)

I probably went overboard with this answer, but I hope it’s informative & fun to read! Thank you for the excuse to infodump about hermit crabs! ♥