hi seas

Most people who have survived a storm at sea are so shaken by the experience that they never want to speak of it again, and so if a writer wishes to describe a storm at sea, his only method of research is to stand on a large, wooden boat with a notebook and pen, ready to take notes should a storm suddenly strike. But I have already stood on a large wooden boat with a notebook and pen, ready to take notes should a storm suddenly strike, and by the time the storm cleared I was so shaken by the experience that I never wanted to speak of it again.

Lemony Snicket, The End

The first night home following the creeping shadow incident is troubling. Lockwood finds that, with everything they’d discovered—and, more importantly, everything he and Lucy had experienced—he is completely unable to sleep. His head is full of half-finished ideas and memories he doesn’t know how to process. Theories about what Rotwell had been up to clash with feelings that he has no outlet for, and the end result is a spectacular mess of thought and emotion that demands his complete attention.

He sits awake for what feels like hours, trying to organize the noise into something manageable. Mostly he just feels like he’s drowning.

When he does surface from his self-made sea of chaos, it’s because someone has stepped on that squeaky floorboard at the bottom of the stairs. Lockwood is still long enough to comprehend what he’s heard before he’s throwing himself out of bed, his stomach twisting in irrational panic.

Keep reading

This is a little bonus piece done for Lobo, who was my RBB partner. They wrote the fanfic The Quiet Storm for my fanart…. and then I drew additional fanart inspired by their fic of my fanart! <3 

A red-figure pot sherd depicting the “Morrison” children, found at the archaeological site of Illios.

He wasn’t the smartest boy (his sister took that title) and not the strongest (that was his brother’s) but he was the bravest. While his sister cared for the household and his brother held the beaches with the remainder of the army, Jack braved the sea with his father and fought alongside him with the preliminary forces.”

These animals are phantoms as well as monsters. They are, because they exist; if they were not, reason would be justified. They are the amphibia of death. Their improbability complicates their existence.  They border on the human frontier, and people the region of Chimeras.  You deny the vampire, the octopus appears.  Their swarming is a certainty which disconcerts our assurance. Optimism, which is the truth, nevertheless almost loses countenance before them.
—  Victor Hugo, still completely losing what little chill he possessed over the existence of the octopus. 

sentient-teapot  asked:

"Accidentally capture the wrong base"? .....tell us more? Please?

this was before we got agent agent back as our handler, and part of the reason why he finally turned up for work again. 

so the thing about clint is that hes 1. not a good listener and 2. hes deaf. mostly. these are separate issues because being mostly deaf doesnt stop him from understanding what people are saying most of the time, it just means that you have to be sure he knows youre trying to communicate with him before you say something. (and also that you should make sure your mask doesnt cover your mouth so he can lipread, but whatever.)

we had this agent—incredibly boring guy in the worst sort of way–who’d requested clint, nat, and i for an op. nat and i were supposed to hit two of the leaders of a crime syndicate while clint got the third. easy peasy, kill some guys, free some hostages, small country liberated, total cakewalk. but the agent running the op and the briefing took FOREVER. he was talking us through like none of us had ever overthrown a country before, explaining every minute detail. nat and i could just kinda zone out and let things wash over us, picking up the pertinent details, but clint cant really do that. his hearing aids help but they weren’t perfect, so he also had to be kinda lipreading just to keep up. which takes a lot of focus for incredibly boring info. naturally he zoned out too.

which was how he missed the fact that his guy was not actually staying in his incredibly fortified base-slash-villa. his hostages were, but he wasn’t. 

luckily, they covered this in the briefing packet we were each provided with, which was a mere 362 pages. 

so obviously none of us actually read it.

we poked through, got blueprints, guard schedules, alarm systems and so on, but didnt bother with most of the rest of it. 

they dropped us in the air over each of our respective targets, clint last. i had the cliffside resort, nat had the downtown headquarters, and clint had the base-villa. nat and i handled ours like pros, of course, corpses everywhere, and clint did too–mowed right through the security, got the hostages, and then called in that his syndicate leader wasnt there, what the hell, who gave me this bad intel.

which was when he was informed that the big bad wasnt IN the villa, he was on the ISLAND ACROSS from the villa, and that hed been supposed to covertly infiltrate the beach house there and quietly capture him. ideally without ever setting foot in the villa; he was just supposed to steal a boat from the villa docks and not get spotted by security. 

unfortunately, clint had blown up all the watercraft at the villa’s docks to keep syndicate members from escaping. which meant he still had to get to the island and capture this guy, but now there were no motorboats left. and if this syndicate jerkoff got away, fury was gonna have his hide.

and thats how clint wound up launching a one-man amphibious assault on an international crime syndicate from a paddleboat.

and also why clint reads his briefings now. 

These lights illuminated the man clad in black; his profile, of a young and charming complexion, was outlined against the dark background with the purity of a medallion; he leaned his elbow on the corner of a panel of the door, and rested his brow on his left hand, an unconsciously graceful attitude, which set off the height of the brow by the smallness of the hand.
— 

Victor Hugo, frigging MURDERING ME, because he’s describing the obligatory Hot Young Man of the book and  Y’ALL 
Y’ ALL KNOW WHAT GESTURES HE’S DESCRIBING RIGHT


THE FRIGGING  

VICTOR 

HUGO 

TRADEMARK 

LEAN. 

WHAT AN UNCONSCIOUSLY GRACEFUL GESTURE. WHAT ELEGANCE. WHAT POISE. 

EGO HUGO. 

9

Kale from Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas: requested by @somehow-you-will

5

My take on some Trespasser end slides for the DA2 LI’s. 

Can the reader picture that (octopus) lying-in-wait?
Not a bird would dare to brood, not an egg would dare to hatch, not a flower would dare to open, not a breast would dare to give suck, not a heart would dare to love, not a spirit would dare to take flight, if one meditated on the sinister shapes lying in ambush in the abyss.
— 

Victor Hugo 

apparently convinced that thinking about an octopus will actively destroy life on earth