#crab writes fics

[dazais-crab-addiction]

Need to write a little oneshot where Ranpo gives Karl cotton candy and gleefully watches him dip it in water and even gives him more so he can just, keep dipping it and be devastated when it disappears. Meanwhile Poe is frantically trying to get him to stop because of how sad Karl looks.

Secretly this is 100% to make up for the fact my two ranpoe fics don't have Karl in them because I may or may not have forgotten to add him.....

[dazais-crab-addiction]

“Ne, Chuuya. What do you think happened to the bodies of those missing people?”

Chuuya leaned back in his chair, ignoring his paperwork for a moment. “I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to be the genius? What do you think happened to them?”

Dazai was silent for several long moments. Then, quietly, he spoke.

“I’m at the bottom of the lake.”

Writers, this is an invitation to reblog this with an out of context quote from your WIP.

Why? Because I just like hearing things with no context.

[crabsnpersimmons]

every time i see a moot in my notifs:

based on this iconic Spongebob scene of course

[myokk]

fast sketch of my one-shot with Ominis💓

legilimency

Word count: 1.700

Rating: M (language)

Ominis Gaunt is a lost case - lost to the whims of one very determined Gryffindor sitting at his side.

They sit in the back of the History of Magic classroom, the only two students not lulled to somnolence by their professor. He: trying his hardest to focus on Professor Binns’ droning (easier said than done). She: trying her hardest to distract Ominis while not being entirely sure of being successful or not (easier attempted than understood).

Professor Binns is completely insufferable, of course. Ominis wonders if the ghost is as blind as he is: Binns willfully ignores the fact that all of his students use his class as an excuse to get a nap in (maybe he simply doesn’t see them sleeping - only one of many reasons why Ominis has decided he could never be a professor), rambling on and on in the most boring way possible. As if he were trying to be as dull as possible (maybe he does it to avoid interacting with the students which…can’t be to blame). In a different life, Ominis could see himself quite liking the subject, but as things stand he despises it.

Especially now.

Ominis fervently wishes that he could fall asleep.

Then, he might avoid hearing her thoughts - they’re consuming him and he can’t ignore them as much as he would like to.

Normally, he loves this class - not the subject, obviously - but the class itself, for the sheer fact that it is the only time where he gets some peace and quiet. Everyone’s minds nice and quiet and shut off for the time being while they sleep. Although he has gotten used to ignoring the thoughts of everyone around him, their various voices mixing and mingling with each other into a dull thrum in the back of his mind, it is nice to have some quiet once in a while.

But right now, with everyone asleep except for the Gryffindor at his side, her thoughts are so loud it’s like she’s screaming at him.

So here he is, wishing he could fall asleep, leave the class, maybe turn off the infernal legilimency that has haunted him his whole life.

(His parents and Marvolo insist it’s a gift handed down from Slytherin himself, just like the Parseltongue Ominis despises. It is not. It is a curse.)

He is stuck listening to her.

It doesn’t help that she seems to have caught on to him - something he had managed to avoid until now. Nobody else, not even Sebastian or Anne, has ever suspected a thing. But, in all fairness, those two are extremely loud and say every single thought that passes through their minds out loud even when they should remain quiet, and nobody else has had the opportunity to spend enough time with Ominis to begin to suspect anything.

Until her.

He had to go and let that blasted girl worm her way into his life, not leaving him alone ever, always looking for excuses to talk and ask his opinion, and being so intelligent that he wanted to invite her to study with him and talk with him and…

Since it happened a few nights ago, he hasn’t stopped cursing himself for that stupid offhand comment he made. They had been studying in silence in the library together, by the history books where nobody else ever ventures (thank you, Professor Binns), and he could have sworn that she asked him if he was finally going to walk her back to her common room (he blames a lack of sleep and wishful thinking for this mishap). His traitorous face had flushed and he had jumped at the chance to escort her - maybe she would let him carry her bag, or… - only to feel his whole body go cold and his stomach drop when her response wasn’t what he’d expected.

A pause: then: a confused voice: ‘Ominis, I didn’t say anything.’

His Gryffindor wasn’t stupid like Gryffindors were normally wont to be. He knew her, and he knew that after his monumental mistake, the gears in her brain were turning and he was terrified that somehow she had figured it out.

(His Gryffindor?)

She had been unusually quiet around him since then, although he bitterly noticed that she was still acting normally with everyone else. Still finding every opportunity to punch Sebastian in the shoulder and laugh with Anne, still whispering with Natsai about Merlin knows what, still…

But she had been avoiding Ominis. He couldn’t stand it.

Well, avoiding him right until this stupid class, when she had to go and sit right next to him (ignoring the fact that she always sits next to him in History of Magic, that everyone already has and adheres to their unofficial seats), and he can’t ignore her.

She’s pretending to take studious notes, but he knows better. The scratching of her quill blending with the droning of Professor Binns’ voice but not drowning out her thoughts. They float above the other noises, her voice sweet and piercing. Ominis wonders vaguely what she’s actually writing, because he’s positive it isn’t notes.

Professor Binns looks so sexy right now with his medieval hat, talking about…whatever it is he’s passionate about. I wonder if he would let me talk to him after class without floating through me like he normally does…

Ominis is determined not to react. She’s obviously trying to bait him. But…what if she is attracted to Professor Binns? Is he an attractive man? At the thought, the fist that’s resting on top of his desk clenches, but he works to make sure his face remains impassive. Apart from a twitch of his lips, he thinks he’s been quite successful.

She: huffing and shifting in her chair, her robes rustling as she crosses her legs. He: keeping his head facing forward, steadfastly ignoring her.

She changes tactics.

Maybe she’s just as insufferable as the other Gryffindors, after all.

I wonder what Ominis would say if he knew I woke up moaning today after a dream about him -

He shifts slightly in his seat, hoping that she’s so busy taking notes (who’s he kidding) that she won’t notice his discomfort as his trousers tighten -

…the girls in my dorm have been bothering me nonstop about who I’ve been mooning over but I don’t want them to…

His hand is in such a tight fist it’s a wonder he’s not breaking any fingers as he tries to remain as still as possible, but his traitorous arousal is making her thoughts harder and harder to ignore. Had he ever been able to ignore her?

…his tongue was deep inside me as I screamed his name…

He feels his face heat up at the thought - where had she learned such vulgar language? - and his whole body stiffens. He’s sure that she can feel the tension and warmth radiating off of him in waves but that…she…his insane little lion keeps shouting at him in the silence of the classroom. She’s now stopped all pretense of taking notes and is sitting stock still.

…his cock deep inside of me as…wait…what else did I hear Garreth say to Leander that night?…um… She shifts uncomfortably, her knee grazing Ominis’s as she moves to squeeze her legs together. It’s all he can do to not groan and remain impassive. Oh god…I…what’s that feeling? This was just supposed to get back at him for probably - maybe - reading my thoughts and I’m officially insane because how would he even be able to do that?…his ears turning red from embarrassment are so adorable and I can’t stand this anymore and…

Ominis tries his hardest not to move his head in her direction. His jaw flexes. Maybe he can drown her out if he starts reciting potions ingredients, or if he focuses on what Professor Binns is saying, but even he knows its futile. He’s hanging on to her every word - thought? - and his head slowly turns in her direction as she keeps going.

…does he know how much I think about him? Oh god, what if he dreams of me the same way I…

He slams the open book in front of him shut, the loud noise causing Sebastian to jerk awake and babble incoherently for a moment before slumping back over his desk, drooling and snoring lightly. Nobody else in the class seems to notice except her of course. Blissfully, she has stopped talking - thinking - and he can finally -

It’s no use. He needs to get out of there. She has invaded his mind and…What if she starts up again with her filthy thoughts that are bleeding into his own and -

Did he hear me? I didn’t actually think…oh god, can he hear me now? What have I done?

Ominis very slowly brings his hand over to where he knows hers is. The quill falls out of her hand and he hears a sharp intake of breath at their contact. His fingers trace her knuckles and then he slowly trails them up her arm. His fingertips are so sensitive that he could swear that he feels every thread that he passes, her skin warm and alive underneath the fabric. Then to her neck, her throat bobs and he feels her erratic heartbeat. Finally, he reaches her face. She remains very, very still as his fingers brush over her features for the first time.

He has never touched someone like this before.

Her skin is like velvet, soft everywhere he touches. Now that he knows what it feels like he’s not sure he can go back to before. His fingers trace the curve of her eyebrows - he finds that her nose is straight before it flares up a tiny bit at the tip - his fingers ghost over her impossibly soft lips. He drags his thumb across her bottom lip as her tongue darts out to wet them. It’s impossibly intimate and the world has melted away and it’s just the two of them in that moment.

He leans forward.

“Ominis, I…” she whispers, stricken.

His hand moves to tuck some of her loose hair away from her face - does she always wear it like this? - and his lips brush against her ear. He inhales deeply, her sweet smell invading his senses. She shivers under his touch and he breathes, “I heard everything.”

[crow-caller]

I had fun with the crunchy collage but today got into more artsy design. So I've done like 10 pages. so. I'll do more and share them when ready :3c

Text is from Creatures Of Heaven, my Forbidden Ship fic

[callsigncrab]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley Additional Tags: Non-Sexual Intimacy, Showers, Fluff, Post-Mission, I really don't know how to tag this beyond its them being disgustingly sweet and soft and fluffy Summary:

The comedown after a mission is always hard. Adrenaline is slow to leave, sludging through their veins and keeping them awake, alert. For Soap, it leaves him with jitters. With no outlet to express it in, his body moves nonstop, even in the smallest sense. And he knows for Ghost, it’s clear in the way he holds himself still, yet restrained, chest heaving with big breaths like he’s run a mile. The best way to work it out is to get Ghost moving, get him a task to complete until it drains away. Soap also knows that once it goes away, Ghost crashes hard after a mission, and all he can think about is sleep.

[jessicas-pi]

don't mind me. just making myself cry with my own fanfiction at 11:23 PM

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Thursday: Baby Croc Chaos

(For context, the first time the boys were allowed outside, someone took a shot at Croc, because you don't see that every day. It ended up injuring his leg. Jak attacked the man, and Damas was called to break up the fight. Despite being presumed too young for Arena trials and not having cleared the necessary obstacle training course, Damas gives permission for Jak to demand a duel on Croc's behalf. Normally this would be done by the guardian or parent of the injured child, but it's clear that the boys have no parents. Obviously, Jak won.)

Most expected the angry shapeshifter from the Arena to start making more frequent appearances after the battle trial. He had his first amulet -- earlier than most orphans in the youth barracks got them -- and his gate pass now, making him eligible for the work roster. He could start finding artifacts of his own now, and earn enough to support the creatures he called his siblings. With the ferocity he'd shown in the ring, it had been assumed that he'd jump at the chance to carve out a place for himself in Spargus.

And yet the king had sent word that they were to be returned to C-Ward in the tower the moment the Arena settled. And no one had seen them since.

Perhaps it was a confinement of sorts. The king had been fairly displeased to find the foundling boy and Tarn in the holding cells after the market brawl. He'd been even angrier when he learned the context of it.

Those who had been in the market that day, and had witnessed the scaly spirit-child thing, suggested that Lord Damas was simply being cautious. As strange as "Croc" was -- even disturbing to some -- it was a child, unmistakably. There'd been no call for Tarn to fire at it -- and firing willy-nilly in the market was a good way to get a shell to the head anyway.

The matter came up during the city's weekly review of the wall defenses. Hutch, head of the city architects' guild, handed over the blueprints for his wall turret proposal and glanced to the far edge of the throne room. Strangely, the shapeshifter was there, sitting amongst the date palms with the talking animal and the spirit infant.

What a time to be alive that such a sentence could even be thought-!

Had Damas summoned the boy? For what purpose?

Hutch saw the orange creature point to one of the trees, and the boy moved as fast as lightning. He slapped a palm to the trunk as if trying to crush something, then took a small spray bottle from the mustelid.

Ah, the king had put them to work removing pests from the trees. Fifteen of the palms filled the room in large planters, and the architect pitied the foundlings for the unenviable task of applying pesticides to them all. Maybe they were being punished for something.

The king scanned the blueprints carefully before passing them to the director of finance.

"This design is compact enough that adding it to the wall wouldn't put a burden on the city's budget. However, I am concerned about the amount of eco an automated turret would consume. What do you plan to run it on?"

"S- solar...power...actually," Hutch answered sheepishly. "I've just realized my proposal for solar panels is still sitting on my desk."

Lottie, the finance director, looked at him dryly. "Probably would've helped to start with that one."

The architect flushed slightly. "It's been a busy week," he protested, "The monks have been at me for old archived blueprints of Tributary!"

Then he wearily asked, "Should I go home and get the other proposal, sire?"

Damas didn't answer right away, which was unlike him.

Instead, his eyes were fixed on the trio of inhu'men orphans working in the artificial grove. (What were they? Hutch didn't think they were actually spirits, but darned if he'd ever seen a Lurker with so little hair!)

After a moment, the king seemed to shake himself.

"No, that won't be necessary," he said quickly. "Just...explain it to Lottie when we adjourn for noon rest."

Unexpectedly, that week's patrol leader for the gate wall spoke up.

"They get noon rest too, right, sir?"

Evidently the presence of the shapeshifter and siblings had concerned him as well. Odolan shifted uncomfortably, whether because of the boys or because of -- apparently -- calling out the king himself.

"Shouldn't they be in the barracks during meetings?" Odolan pressed.

"No," answered the king. He sounded almost disinterested, as if the matter barely merited comment. "They have a room here. They just don't stay in it."

Now his other advisors began to shift and frown between each other. The only people who should've been living in the tower were the ruler of Spargus and his personal guards, a detachment of medics and patients in the warriors' Convalescence Ward, and the staff of the water treatment and kitchen facilities. Underage foundlings -- almost always rescues or defectors from Marauders, not exiles -- went to the youth barracks. They had to make connections with their age mates, to form Squads! It was a well-established part of Spargan culture by now. Why in the world would their king deny the new foundlings that? Was it because of their appearance?

Odolan looked deeply uncomfortable as he asked, "Is- is this because of how the boy killed Tarn? He was well within his rights to do so."

"Mhm. That's partially why." Damas didn't look up. He scratched notes quickly into a pad of recycled paper. "Here, Hutch. Look this over and tell me if it's sound."

He handed him a rough diagram of the front wall with alternate turret locations, then twirled the pencil between his fingers.

"Er...mostly, sire. But that junction there is above several wall residences."

"Ah, right. Scratch that one then." Damas took the pad back and drew a line through the box meant to represent a turret.

"Actually- here. Draw me those solar panels you're on about. Show me where you'd put them before you discuss it with Lottie."

When he finally glanced up, he saw that half the guild heads and advisors were still casting confused or curious glances over at the boys in the grove. The children were eavesdropping, of course. The chores had been implemented in an attempt to mitigate that somewhat, but with the amount of scarring and eco healing marks in their bones, Damas suspected they'd learned to listen carefully no matter how busy they looked. He couldn't explain to his council why he indulged Jak’s refusal to go back outside until Croc's nightmares stopped. Or admit that his own curiosity was keeping him from sending them to a barracks RA to sort out. It may have been -- he had trouble admitting it, even to himself, without pain -- the age of the youngest. He was no older than Mar had been when he was taken. He was small, and helpless, and the youth barracks were for teenagers, not toddlers. Separating Jak from his younger sibling just seemed cruel. And too much like how he'd lost Mar.

With a long-suffering look, Damas asked dryly, "Does anyone else have concerns about the gremlin gang they'd like to voice so that we can focus on the task at hand?"

Taking it as an invitation rather than sarcasm, -- she'd never been good at detecting sarcasm, in her defense -- Lottie remarked, "Who's going to look after the wee creatures when the lad enters his first Squad?"

Damas waved that off immediately. "They're not ready for Squads. Not in the least."

"Not ready for Squads?" Hutch muttered to Odolan, not quiet enough to go unheard, "How can a foundling not be ready for basic training?"

At that moment, the nature spirit thing came scampering out of the palms with an excited trill. Scuttling along before him was a very panicked scorpion -- no doubt it had been sleeping in the soil brought up for the planters. The scaly toddler crouched, tail lashing, then pounced. He held it it up by the tail, proudly showing the small arachnid to the adults, then his brothers.

"Good catch, Croc!" Jak ducked out of the palms. "Let me see it."

He ignored the presence of the council and crouched to examine the absolutely furious scorpion.

"Cool. Never seen one this small before. Check out the carapace-"

"Urr?"

"Hard shell. Body."

"Urr!"

"It ain't a juvenile. That means this sucker's got some pretty major poison in that stinger."

Damas opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again and shook his head. Perhaps eventually the council would learn what he had: it was completely and utterly useless to try to interrupt Jak when he was excited about something.

Carefully, Croc set the scorpion down and pinned it in place with his foot claws. With chubby fingers and the SparSign common to infants and toddlers, he asked, "I eat dat spicy bug?"

"Yeah sure, just not the tail."

Instant panic amongst the adults.

Damas launched out of the throne.

"Oh for the love of- Croc! No! Do not eat raw scorp-"

Too late.

The wide, wide mouth opened, and with a noticeable crunch, the scorpion met its end. While the adults stared in wide-eyed expressions ranging from disbelief to bravely stifling explosive laughter, Jak relieved Croc of the stinger.

"We'll put this with the other ones."

Jak finally looked up and stared impassively at Damas, still ignoring the council.

"What?"

"He's an infant, Jak! You don't know he can eat scorpions safely," Damas sighed.

The boy shrugged. "He's eaten way worse and been fine."

The orange one scurried out and up onto Jak’s head.

"Bald-faced lie. Eatin' KG gave him the most unholy flatulence and you know it."

Jak pretended not to hear this.

"Besides," he said, sounding cocky, "Dax and me ate scorpions plenty of times when we were little. It didn't hurt us."

This got an...interesting reaction from the Wastelanders. In what environment were young children allowed to catch and eat scorpions regularly? They were supervised, of course, they would have had to be-

"You realize," Daxter said with a hint of bitterness in his voice, "That we wouldn't have had to hunt scorpions if your absentee uncle had actually fed us instead of spending the grocery money on treasure maps every month."

Well then.

As one, the advisors turned to look at Damas. He simply gestured to the boys as if saying "you see?"

Dry as dust, the king asked, "Any other objections to continued adult supervision?"

Odolan shook his head and wondered how the strange orphans had even lived this long.

"I withdraw the question."

[dazais-crab-addiction]

Just wanted to have this on my main blog too since not everyone follows my personal one.

Unfortunately this does mean that all of my fics are on hold and I will not be able to participate in dazatsu week like id planned :( but I 100% plan to continue writing once I'm able to. As stated i dont know when that will be but I am focusing on trying to get better so hopefully sooner rather than later!!

Alright, so I was offline for almost a week and might end up being pretty absent in the upcoming future as well. I just wanted to explain why instead of just completely disappearing.

At my most recent doctors appointment I finally got diagnosed with eds (ehlers danlos syndrome) and got a referral to see someone about getting a pots diagnosis. Im endlessly thankful for this because the problems I've been having have been getting worse. This last week I have had a lot of days where I couldn't stand up for long and even had to be laying down a lot.

Im really sad that this has led me to not be able to be online a lot and focusing has been difficult. I was super excited about my writing projects and ive had to put them all on an indefinite hold. Im hoping this isn't my issues getting worse but just a fluctuation that might shift back to not being as bad like I've experienced in the past. Im a bit worried because this is the worst its ever gotten but fingers crossed!!

I will definitely try to keep updating and you will definitely see me on here sporadically just reblogging things. But interacting and creating content is a lot more difficult, so its unlikely to happen as of right now.

[dazais-crab-addiction]

Guys I need people to peer pressure me into working on the ranpoe cotton candy fic. In these trying times we need the fluff

[hailsatanacab]

Are you still doing the wip ask game? If so, can i ask about number 5?

I love this one and I'm so embarrassed that it's still a wip oh no!!!! This should have been completed a long time ago to celebrate hitting 1,000 followers but uh... it sorta snowballed into way more than I thought it would and this cute little oneshot is now way more than that. Whoops.

It started as a @stealingyourbones prompt that I added on to, which you can read here! Then I posted a wee little wip wednesday sneak peek, and this snippet (is it still a snippet if it's over 1k words?) carries on from there :)

👻🦇👻

Danny doesn’t join him for what is, unexpectedly, a pretty great meal.

“Holy shit, you guys,” he murmurs, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "You’re missing out.”

“Come on, Jay, it can’t be as good as the Big Bat Deluxe.” Dick whines in his ear. “You love those.”

“No, I love the Red Hot Hood Bites. That’s all I get at Bat Burger, and don���t let me hear you telling the others that I get anything else.”

“Please, Jason, don’t think we don’t have everyone’s BB order on file, who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Fuck off, Timbits. Go eat at Red Robin.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

Jason elects to tune out the ensuing list of threats in favour of finishing his burger. He’s heard them all before and he’s like 80% sure that Tim won’t actually hide his body in a Red Robin—if only because it wouldn’t take the World’s Greatest Detective to figure out who did it and he'd be so deep in the fucking shit that he may as well join Jason.

Aside from the food (seriously, that sauce! He’s going to need to rustle up a copycat or something, he can’t leave here without a recipe), the Nasty Burger is a pretty sad affair.

It’s a little run down, the vinyl covers on the seats peeling and suspiciously sticky, and incredibly quiet. The only other people around are the two teens behind the counter, bored and on their phones, and two kids, probably around Danny’s age, sitting in the corner quietly arguing amongst themselves. There’s an ungodly amount of food in front of them, but only the guy seems to be eating.

Jason sighs and looks at the rapidly cooling Supremely Nasty Meal meant for Danny. Taking a few of the fries won’t hurt, will it?

He peels the paper bag away from the greasy mess and digs in. Huh, they really skimped on his lot, there’s only like half a carton in here.

“So, you gonna bring us back something or are we going to have to starve?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“What a shame,” Timbo starts, with a theatrical air, “for I am still trying to decide whether or not to tell you everything I’ve learnt about the Fentons. Perhaps we could come to some sort of arrangement?”

“You finally made yourself useful and got through those firewalls?”

“Yeah, once I managed to get my hands on a native laptop. It’s weird, but whatever was keeping out my tech lets anything bought directly from Amity in. Having such localised security—to the point where even my stuff can’t penetrate?— is beyond strange. I don’t like it.”

Jason leans back, and reaches for Danny’s milkshake, finding it surprisingly light when he lifts it up. Seriously, what is with the half portions here? He turns round and glares at the spotty teen behind the counter, who doesn’t look up from his phone. Whatever. It's not like Danny’s going to drink it anyway.

Looks like the two kids in the corner have made up, if their stifled laughter is anything to go by. Most of their own food is gone now, too, so perhaps the real reason it’s called the Nasty Burger is because they stiff you on the food.

“This place is weird.” says Dick, in a rare case of being right.

“You don’t know the half of it…” Tim sighs but doesn’t offer up anything else.

Jason’s been trying his best to ignore it.

The weirdness, that is.

There’s an electrical charge in the air so strong it almost feels like he’s swimming through static. Each breath makes his steps bounce like he’s walking on the moon. If he turns too quickly, if he stands up too fast, his head spins like he's breathing too much oxygen.

No matter what Tim thinks he knows, it’s not the full weirdness of Amity Park, Jason's sure about that. Being here itches under his skin, and he resolves not to delve any deeper into it. Not with the way the green swims on the edges of his vision. 

The sooner they figure out what’s happening here, the better.

“What’s your price?” 

“Two Supremes and a six pack of Nasty Nuggies. Cake shake with two shots of espresso.”

Jason rolls his eyes as Dick splutters in concern.

“Shake and espresso? Tim, you have a problem.”

“It’s just a frappuccino. There’s no difference.”

“Then get a frappuccino.”

“I want a shake.”

“Then there's a difference! And the difference is that Alfred will kill us for enabling you!”

“As riveting as watching Timberly’s mental and physical wellbeing disappear before our very eyes is, what’s your info?”

“The same for me, please!” Dick butts in, yet again. “Except with a coke instead, because I’m normal.”

Both Tim and Jason snort. 

“Yeah, not gonna touch that. Tim, info, come on.”

“Alright, alright. Hey, so, what’s your favourite thing about being adopted?”

“Tim, I swear to God, if you don’t get to the point right now, I’ll—”

“You’re right! It’s that none of us are actually related to you.”

“And yet somehow, I’m still stuck with you all. Point, Tim, get to it.”

He grabs the burger meant for Danny and begins to unwrap it. If he has to listen to Tim being all smug about whatever he’s found out, he’s doing it with a burger in hand.

“Did you know that Willis Todd’s Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather was a Nightingale?”

“What’s a Nightingale? Aside from the obvious.”

“A Nightingale is about two generations away from becoming a Fenton.”

“Oh, what the fuck? You cannot be serious!”

“Serious as a cake shake with two espressos in it.”

“No, my… Someone ate my other fucking burger!”

Danny’s burger has a huge, bite-sized chunk taken out of it. Literal teeth marks in the bun. A slice of tomato slops limply onto the table, painting his shirt with splatters of weak tomato juice, the red half moon taunting him. Sauce dribbles out mournfully.

The two kids in the corner are staring openly now, faces red with how hard they’re laughing.

Jason sinks into his chair with a groan.

This fucking town. 

Is this how they treat outsiders? Take bites of their burgers while they laugh on—but then why only do it to his spare and not both meals? The teenagers behind the counter aren't even paying any attention, so why bother pulling a prank like this if you're not going to—

Danny.

Jason whips his head around as if he can catch the invisible little shit, but just like on the street, there's no sign of him.

Has he been here the whole time, invisibly eating the food Jason offered him? Except the packaging was still perfectly wrapped, the sticker still attached, how in the hell had he managed to eat the burger without damaging it? Did he get to it in the kitchen? Or does he—

“Wait, hold up. What the fuck did you just say?”

[scottie-draws-sometimes]

Some GotG Boatem scene drawings. They’re all dancing, listening to music, and all that together :)

While it was drawn with Fooled Around and Fell in Love in mind, i realized I could also see Southern Nights or Cantina Band fitting. But honestly it could fit w whatever song yall feel like

[dazais-crab-addiction]

The absolute jumpscare of being the only one tagged aha...

It didn't take very long into that arrangement for their relationship to evolve. Dazai had known very quickly after meeting Chuuya that what he felt for the redhead went quite further than it should. An infatuation that easily turned into a strange, twisted devotion. He was hesitant to properly label it for a long time, but upon being yanked into a kiss one morning he finally did. He was irrevocably in love with Chuuya. It had never crossed Dazai's mind that Chuuya might feel the same way but he'd never been more delighted to have been wrong.

This particular morning could have been a wonderful one. Waking up on their day off, soft blankets surrounding them, sunlight filtering over their tangled legs, and a warm hand resting on his hip. Unfortunately, while Chuuya couldn't dream, Dazai very much could. And his monsters had decided to come knocking once again.

Listen, I somehow keep putting characters having traumatizing nightmares into my fics and I swear it's an accident. I'm projecting just a little too much pfft.

Anyone who knows me knows tag games come to me and die. I dont tag people because I'm too scared of being a bother, but anyone can feel free to join in!

no-context WIP tag

tagged by @frankenjoly ty for the tag!!

from a fic that is. very self indulgent <3 it remains to be seen if i'll ever actually finish it but i'm at least having fun writing the beginning

“I had Naomi-chan distract him, then nabbed his notebook and used the copier while he wasn’t looking,” Lucy explains. She plucks the papers from Aya’s hands, “But have you seen this shit? It almost makes me think he doesn’t actually want a partner at all.” “I have seen it,” Atsushi assures her. Akutagawa takes the papers. He removes his sunglasses, then begins to read over them. Almost immediately, his expression sours.

tagging (with no pressure): @rejectscanon @that-was-anticlimactic @justadino-ig @starrynightarchive @feralshadowdemon

[crabsnpersimmons]

Sun! Sun! MaKe mE SpRiNg RoLlS PlEaSE

‐hungry anon-

oooh springs rolls sound yum! what kind of spring rolls are your favourite?

[crabsgate]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Astarion/Gale (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Gale (Baldur's Gate), Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Tara (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Winter Summary:

“Welcome back, Astarion,” the insufferable mage says, when Astarion is but a breath away from touching him.

“Here I thought I got the drop on you,” Astarion tuts as he winds his arms around Gale’s plush waist and tucks his chin over Gale’s shoulder.

((Title stolen from the song by the same name by the velvet underground))

My Bloodweave Tower Secret santa fic!!

[the-sparkling-diamond-satine]

62. airport crabs for the wip ask game 🦀🦀

WIP Ask Game!

MR! Christian x Satine

“Christian, help!” Satine shrieks, trying (and failing) to climb onto his back while Christian doubles over with laughter. “Get me out of here! They’re going to get me!” Satine shouts, jumping out of the way as a crab scuttles right past her foot. “You’re scared of them?” Christian asks, hysterically giggling. “But they’re so cute!” “They most certainly are not!” Satine exclaims, outraged. “They’re like spiders from the ocean.” “Look!” Christian says excitedly, holding one up to Satine’s face, its little legs and claws waving about. "See?" Satine screams, making everyone in the vicinity wince, and smacks Christian on the arm with her purse. “Put it down! Put it down right now!” Satine exclaims, hitting him again for good measure as delighted tears stream down Christian’s face. “You’re the worst! I cannot believe you’re laughing at my suffering. You are sleeping on the couch for a week, mister! No—make that a month!”