#share the crab

[chaoticstateofaffairs]

[crabsnpersimmons]

Time to introduce myself and my current hyperfixation!

I'm Crabs and I love the Daycare Attendant!!

[aceofstars16]

Warming up for crab day 🦀

[ecc-poetry]

BALANCE THE PARTY

social justice barbarian Never met a nazi they wouldn't punch. Never met a cop they wouldn't call a nazi. Treats the soft animal of their body like a lance to the heart of a tyrant. Their anger is a gift from God– it transubstantiates.

social justice necromancer Reads her history. Says their names. Goes through cemeteries leaving flowers, grave-borrowing tactics. Coaxes the spirits from their beds to let them dance; we realize we have always been beautiful.

social justice rogue Unplucks the landlord's tapestries at night. She covers her face, she code-names, wipes the prints from her hand after shaking. She's a lot. A blade in the dark that daylight can't soften. She hums a mantra called mission; it's all the warning you'll get.

social justice bard Makes his sincerity a lute and plucks fingers raw upon it. Has brass knuckles on the inside of his throat. Knows what to say to soothe the scared guy sleeping rough, to make the officer laugh instead of shove.

social justice druid Gives you grace and space to grow. Makes a weird balm to calm your hurts. Turns into a panther once a day dispensing courage; turns into a dove once a day dispensing peace. Serves the world from the half-empty vessel in their heart.

social justice warlock Sold her soul to do DEI for a Fortune 500 company. Walks each day through thicketed razors, carving footholds in a hill of glass. The job takes its pint of blood so slowly, it is possible to believe she doesn't feel it.

social justice paladin Always knows the words. Is afraid of what will happen if they forget them. It's not an excuse, but it is sandpaper, truths nailed into the shoebeds. They're implacable from the outside. They can't believe I would love them without their fury.

social justice cleric The people tell her, "Your mouth ruined our movement. You suffer in silence all the time–what's one more?" She believes in a love whose demands cut friends and enemies alike. She cleanses, sad surgeon. She is martyred twice. From the ground where her tears fall, a perfect flower grows.

social justice warforged Has a fuckin' truck!!! He rolls up to mutual aid and the people rejoice at his truck. He is become a mover of things, a Christ-bearer: mattresses and gasoline, the girl who needs a ride across the state. She says bless you, bless your truck, and his heart swells. He never knew he could be so needed.

social justice giant crab Strength +1. Intelligence -5. She is a crab. She has 13 hit points and claws for hands– but she can breathe water and air. She knows what the surface looks like from underneath. She carries wisdom in her crab body that the arc of the universe will always bend to rediscover. Don't you get it? That we all have gifts to give?

-elisa chavez

[marshvlovestv]

I came up with an alignment chart specifically for video game protagonists.

An example using the protagonists from all the games I'm currently in the middle of (based on my own personal experience with playing them, of course):

[crehador]

FULL DISCLOSURE you know this part in ep2 where rei wanted to smoke and kazuki was like “oi dude the kid”

and then rei looked over at her like “hm?” while kazuki was making nod nod nudge hint nudge motions

i fully thought rei was going to misunderstand COMPLETELY and just walk over and offer her a cigarette a;dsklfj;kljd

[therantingsage]

New thought. For the fic/au idea. The party isn't...there, in their bodies, obviously. That part I established. But despite the light being missing from their eyes, as far as Siffrin can tell, they're behaving entirely normally.

This, of course, freaks out everyone involved. Mirabelle hates looking at herself from an outside perspective. Every time Bonnie sees their body they just shout "THAT'S NOT ME, TELL THEM TO STOP BEING ME THEY'RE NOT ME" because the intricacies of the situation are a bit beyond them. Etc etc no one is happy about this.

But they seem to be behaving entirely normally. To the rest of Dormont, but to Siffrin too, because Siffrin is intimately familiar with the script at this point. And they're following it perfectly.

One of the voices in their head, probably Odile, poses a question for one of the bodies. Siffrin sends it through, to the wooden actor, and-

Something shifts in the body's expression. Posture not what it was before. They're smiling. They're smiling wrong. Their eyes gain a shine they hadn't before. The eyes are wrong something is wrong why are they looking at him like that-

that's not your family

it's not

it's not

IT'S NOT-

And they loop back, heart racing, and return to the script. The actors act exactly as they're meant to.

........Siffrin hadn't gotten Memory of Change God before their family's minds all jumped ship. Siffrin has no idea what's going on. They've got no idea who's puppeting around the bodies. And without the context, they live in constant fear of whatever mask this is slipping and the stranger coming into the light. They can pretend everything's normal until they ask a question they wouldn't normally. And the actor's smile. Voices wrong, all the wrong cadence, they speak of change. The melting pot of ideas before them is unprecedented. Don't worry, Siffrin nomiddlenames nolastname! I can help with your script! It's the least I can do! I'll improv when they don't have lines to give! You're welcome! <(˘ ˘ ˘)>

[anotherscrappile]

I HAVE MADE A DISCOVERY 🦀

[hitlikehammers]

eating fancy

rating: e ♥️ cw: domestic fluff, not-quite-but-not-not-dirty talk, playful banter, silly boys being silly asf, love is when the food is also kinda foreplay, first encounters with a crab rangoon, eddie munson's mouth makes innocent food obscene—fact ♥️ tags: established relationship, fluff, domestic fluff, slice of life, idiots in love, softness

for @steddielovemonth day nine: Love is sharing food (@sparklyslug)

you may recall a very important scene that takes place over crab rangoons for the rockstar!husbands in  je ne regrette rien; this would be their first go-round

“Ooo, we eating fancy?”

Steve rolls his eyes and plops the bags on the countertop, the grease already drawing wide circles on the paper.

“Chinese takeout?” he snorts and raises a brow Eddie’s way because oh yeah, very fancy, but he unloads the bags and padded them to Eddie to open up so they can grab from them, they’ve learned it’s easier to just eat out of the containers and pass them back and forth, but then he’s folding the bag up and he catches his beloved fucking boyfriend—

With all of the little white boxes arranged, and very clearly not opened, but almost making…a snake or something. Maybe a path?

“I like the little cartons,” Eddie comments brightly, with that innocent sort of grin of his that goes and melts in Steve’s chest and drips like honey over his ribs, draped molten, every goddamn time: “they’re like mini houses, you could build a city,” then his head snaps up, eyes wide and glinting, molten just the same his lips part and his grin because something bigger, fuller, taking up more dimensions at a time:

“Oh, fuck, I could,” and he’s moving the boxes around quick, and Steve knows him well, can tell when he’s devising a plan and his hands fly manic to excuse the vision: “a whole new campaign, I could map it out with—“

“How about one,” Steve catches Eddie’s palm on top of the cashew chicken; “you finish the campaign you havefirst,” and Eddie tries those eyes at him, the pleading edge of them almost widened to their fullest advantage but Steve’s developing some degree of tolerance, now, and can at least tip his head just so to indicate that he doesn’t intend to budge—it works, on Eddie and himself, about thirty-percent of the time; and this is one of those third-of-the-time occasions, because Eddie pouts his lower lip and pulls a hand back from building his kingdom or whatever, which means Steve can give a little in return, because that’s what they are, they’re give-and-take almost relentlessly. They’re a fucking team, and a damn good one at that.

“And two,” Steve takes it upon himself to start untucking the tops of the cartons and sticking forks in; “we order, like, just a bunch of white rice for that, so your little buildings aren’t full of fucking grease.”

Eddie brightens up for that, excitement hitting first before he looks at Steve and softens in a breath, looks so fucking huggable, kissable, touchable—

No. Not yet: they have dinner. Maybe not fancy, but Steve would like at least the first round eating what he bought to be warm-ish before it goes the way of leftovers-straight-from-the-fridge.

“So smart, baby,” Eddie croons, and Steve bites his lip over a grin, and yeah, maybe his pulse still flutters a little when Eddie’s voice hits that pitch, or when he says that kinda shit, and means it—Steve not gonna pretend otherwise, or fucking apologize for it.

He’s down to the little bags of eggs rolls and almond cookies, the shitty and really-unnecessary-but-they-come-with-so-they-have-to-try chopsticks, and oh, yes.

He grabs one of these babies out of the little crinkly bag with the bleeding ink and pops it straight into his mouth in one peace, champing it gleefully before smiling at Eddie, who’s grabbed his set of stick and is poking at the bag carefully, almost warily, like something’s gonna bite him.

“What the fuck is that,” Eddie’s eyes dart between Steve’s mouth and the still-half-ensconced wanton-y things in the bag.

“Hrah hanhoo,” Steve tries to talk around his food but it’s a lost cause: he did eat the whole thing in one go.

Fucking worth it though, and Eddie just stares until he swallows, then stares while he swallows, follows the motion down his throat and Steve can clock how his pupils dilate for it; never fails to give him a rush as he clears his throat and breaks his pair of chopsticks apart to scissor them clumsily against the point of another piece:

“Crab Rangoon,” Steve says simply, but Eddie’s eyes just…kinda get wider?

“So is it crab, or,” he asks, very carefully, measured and hesitant: “or is it raccoon?”

Steve’s lucky he didn’t put another one in his mouth yet for the way he goddamn snorts.

“Rangoon,” he tries not to laugh too hard; “crab and cream cheese in a little fried,” he gestures to the pointy crispy could-be-a-ninja-weapon-if-ninja-weapons-were-delicious.

Wait, could ninja weapons be tasty?

“Aww, it’s kinda little a star,” Eddie’s saying as he lifts one out from where he skewered it straight through with one of his chopsticks, which Steve was about…ninety-eight percent sure wasn’t the right way to use them, like, at all.

“And the crab is,” Eddie takes his other chopstick and pokes at the top where it’s all gathered in together and crisped: “oh, a little pouch that’s all,” he moves his head around to study it from all side; “puckered up, and kinda red,” and oh, his tone hasn’t changed but Steve knows this man; “also kinda,” and yep, the tone stays perfectly even but he gives himself away in the way he licks his lips:

“Kinda milky—”

“Stop,” Steve cuts him off, and for good measure he knocks Eddie’s clinical examination of the food out of they way to inexpertly-but-at-least-there’s-no-stabbery-involved lift the wanton up and shove it at Eddie’s lips until he bites half, and shuts up so Steve can make plain his term:

“Not in front of the food,” he declares, and then drops the other half on his tongue because fuck, they’re good.

“You don’t even know which end I was referring to,” Eddie whines a little once he’s chewed through his half.

“Honestly, either fucking pucker is not what I am focused on right now,” Steve nails him with a stare—not a glare, it’s not angry, it’s just pointed—as he goes to finally fucking open the rest of the cartons and start goddamn eating dinner.

“Hmm,” Eddie pouts, and yes, Steve is very much aware he’s displaying one end’s pucker for a fucking reason like the petulant dickhead he is: “that’s a pity.”

“It’s gonna get cold,” Steve volleys back easily because it’s not like this is new. It’s not like he doesn’t know the rules of engagement here, the terms of the game.

It’s not like he’s not head-over-heels in love with this jackass, or anything.

“Fair,” Eddie concedes, and it’s….it’s too easy.

Steve lets himself give into the pepper beef but…he’s careful. He doesn’t take his bites too big, lest he choke on whatever Eddie’s cooking up.

And right on goddamn cue:

“Are you rimming the rangoon?”

“No,” Eddie says as he slowly slurps his tongue back between his teeth to look at Steve dead in the eyes before diving back in:

“I’m making sure,” and he licks; “I get all,” and he swirls that tongue, the fucker, he’s unhinged; “the creamout,” and Eddie may only just make it without grinning as wide as it’s very clear he wants to, but his eyes.

Always: his eyes give him away.

“You’re absurd,” Steve huffs evenly and very much does not shift a single inch for the weight starting to strain at his jeans.

“Just making sure you have a full understand on what you might be missing,” Eddie notes blithely, as he pulls gently at the points of the wanton wrapping and stretches the pouch out for Steve to see and…Chinese takeout should be this obscene. It really shouldn’t. It wasn’t built for this.

And yet here’s Eddie Munson, everyone: so of course it was going to be making its pornographic debut in that sinful fucking mouth, Jesus Christ.

“We fucked on this table like, two nights ago,” Steve points out, almost incredulous but he can’t even pretend to be because this is Eddie, so: this not wholly unprecedented beahavior: “I’m gonna fuck you when we go to bed in a couple hours,” he adds meaningfully, because it’s also fucking relevant; “I am not missing anything.”

Eddie dips his chin and eyes Steve shrewdly, almost pityingly, god.

God.

“You’re missing me licking you like a crab raccoon right this moment, though,” Eddie counters with something like dismay, or, or, like lament in his tone. “This singular sliver of time,” he sighs, and shakes his head: “and you’re sitting there with your lo mien.”

In fairness: it is Eddie’s lo mien. They share all the cartons but Eddie is the one who orders the lo mien, who brought that into the order that’s become their regular; theirs.

But that’s just technicalities.

“It’s delicious lo mien,” Steve sniffs, juts out his chin and sticks his nose in the air a little before he gives up the chopsticks to spin the noodles round-and-round dizzy on the fork.

“Not compared to me,” Eddie tacks on, leans in almost touching just as Steve lifts the fork to his lips. He pauses.

“I do not compare my boyfriend to food,” directly, or like, out loud; “just because two things are edible doesn’t make them,” he licks his lips to finds the right word: “equatable,” yeah, that sounds right enough.

Eddie snorts in disbelief, shakes his head:

“Says you.”

But then he’s turning to stab a stick in the crinkly bag again, and Steve grins before he impales another crab-pucker—oh Jesus, shit, he’s gonna equate those now, isn’t he, that connection’s stuck in his brain forever, holy fuck.

“They’re good though, right?” Steve asks as he comes to terms with this new horrifying association he’ll never be able to escape.

“Fucking delicious,” Eddie admits, grin curling so his dimples pop and he glows: “let’s definitely get more than one bag next time. I, umm,” he Pickens a little before he flicks his eyes up to Steve just shy of apologetic; “I maybe ate more than my half of them?”

Steve chuckles and shakes his head, swirls some more lo mien on his fork before he replies:

“Don’t sorry, babe,” he gestures with his noodly-utensil; “I’ll have my share of red-milky puckers later on.”

And Eddie chokes a little, and fucking good: Steve damn well better not be the only one stuck with the consequences of that fucking image in his head.

The bad ones…

And of course also the good ones.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch

♥️

divider credit here

[firelordfoureyes]

A lot of crabs have been entering my dad's house and have taken to stealing the cat's food

[bloodyarn]

Babsi fun fact of the day: She can't remember first names very well. Last names, however, are much easier for her. Something something working behind the tailor shop's counter and only ever having to remember family names.

[lacecap]

my fav forever and ever

[crabsnpersimmons]

i was possessed the other day to draw a cute little sunguy in this style

please enjoy this cute little sunguy as he goes out and enjoys some simple everyday joys like ice cream, moon plushies, and being ignored by a cat

[rnoonjelly]

New Stardoo game✨

[just-a-drawing-bean]

Would you guys be sad if I also posted art from Another Crabs Treasure… it’s a reaaallyyyyy good game and I love the characters so much. Going insane over it rn. It’s that and Ghost in the Machine (dca au) my beloved brainrots.

[katarinanavane]

Two more shadowbox pieces using the new Black 4.0 paint from Stuart Semple. Even in my super bright photo lightbox it's still so dark!