I don’t know if this has been thought of before but I can see Holster quoting Sean Spencer from Psych like to EVERYONE in the house but mostly Ransom. He doesn’t do it constantly just when he thinks someone on the team is a little stressed or frustrated:
Ransom worrying about being a good enough leader to the tadpoles. “Rans, don’t be a gooey chocolate chip cookie.”
Dex looking like he is about to explode if Nursey says “chill” one more time during this roady. “Dex, don’t be a giant snapping turtle.”
Chowder being sad because he still hasn’t gotten that shutout this season. “Chowder, don’t be a gloomy you.”
Bitty got distracted (texting Jack) just for a second and burnt a pie. “Bitty, don’t be an incorrigible Eskimo pie with a caramel ribbon.”
Justin “coral reef” Oluransi being annoyed he got an 98% on a quiz. “Ransom, don’t be an old sponge with hair hanging off of it.”
Shitty fucking hates this douche canoe in his Criminal Law class. “Shitty, don’t be Nic Cage’s accent from Con Air”
Jack being really grumpy because this history documentary he’s watching is inaccurate. “Jack, don’t be the one game at Chuck E. Cheese that isn’t broken.“
Nursey completely losing his chill after tripping and pouring coffee on himself. “Nurse, don’t be both Ashlee Simpson albums.”
Whiskey still being a bit closed off and quiet around the team. “Whiskey, don’t be the American version of the British you.”
Art is by the magnificent @thegoldenlocks. Mermaids? Friendship being magic? An excuse to write tough but angsty sailor!Percy? I never stood a chance.
Title: In the Heart of the Ocean
No warnings apply.
Summary: The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea. Percival de Rolo had had enough of the first, had run dry of the second, and was only recently experiencing the full brunt of the third.
Bad news on the horizon. The call came down from the crow’s nest of the Sea Nymph as black storm clouds rolled across the sky, sizzling with lightning. The storm had been waiting for them to meet it all day, pacing on the edge where the sea met the sky. It stretched from one end of the horizon to the other, like a wave arching over the ship.
When pressed to go around the storm, Captain Bane had only smiled and said, “She’s weathered worse.”
She and I both, Percy thought, as the rope to the main sail opened cut and callous in his palms. His arms ached from pulling the same as they had his first day on deck, but at least now he could bear it better. The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea. Percival de Rolo had had enough of the first, had run dry of the second, and was only recently experiencing the full brunt of the third.
A wave slammed against the port side hull and he shifted his weight to account for the accompanying rock of the deck beneath his feet. A year ago that would have sent him flying. A lot can change in a year.