Can we talk about how AIDA won’t let Fitz see any footage of Jemma because, let’s be real, THE POWER OF THEIR LOVE WILL DEFEAT ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING ESPECIALLY SOME FUCKED UP MAGICAL COMPUTER CODE SHIT.
Summary: “No matter the endeavour you were on, no matter the storms you
encountered on rocky seas, or the possible threat of encountering blood-thirsty
pirates, no one intrigued you or intimidated you more than the thought of him,
of Park Jimin, the most notorious of pirates, the most brutal of men,
the devil incarnate.”
she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.
he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.
my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship.
we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair.
in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me.
my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul.
and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.
i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me.
i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty.
i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.
the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill.
when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.
for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.
i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.
i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.
at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.
after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.
i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.
but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.
and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.
i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?
it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.
i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.
when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.
my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.
this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.
the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.
even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i askthe ocean “why do you do this to me.”
i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.
in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.
the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.
i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.
the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something.
a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”
i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.
by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.
it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake.
i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly.
the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me.
i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.
i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch.
when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her.
this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.
and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.
I’ve seen a lot of fanart and fics where aged up Lance has scars on his skin,
and man do I dig that aesthetic, but what if it’s the opposite? What if healing
pods not only repair injuries to the point where there’s no scarring, but they
also repair old damage? Like, say, regenerating tissues and cells to the point
where the whole body is like brand new.
scar that Lance’s sister gave him when he was four? Gone. The old burn he had
when he was twelve and touched the stove? Like it was never there in the first
place. And siblings fight, and Lance has a lot of siblings, so he’s bound to
have many “battle” scars, but they’re wiped away, one by one
like they were
never there, like his past with his family never happened.
maybe at some point, when he only has so many scars left, Lance starts fearing
taking an injury, not because of pain and blood, but because that means another
trip to a healing pod. Another mark of his past, proof that he really is a boy
from Cuba, washed away like ocean foam. Maybe at some point, even if the injury
is severe enough to warrant a visit to the pods, but not quite severe
enough that it’d keep Lance from piloting Blue, he denies Coran when he
suggests he visit the infirmary. Maybe he wants to heal naturally, welcoming
new scars to join the old ones.
he learns to accept it, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe the birthmark on his hip is one
day wiped away, replaced by unblemished tanned skin, and maybe Lance stays up
till two crying because there’s so little left of who he used to be. What’s
left of him that hasn’t been stomped on by parades of war and sullied with
blood, tears and duty?
maybe, when years have passed and the universe is finally well off that they
can return home for a few vargas, maybe… Maybe Lance still looks the same.
Maybe all his visits to the healing pods; being exposed to their magic and
quintessence has regenerated him to the point where he still looks exactly the
same as he did when they snuck out of the Garrison that one oh so fateful
night. Maybe it’s been two years, maybe it’s been ten, but the Paladins all
look the same, to the dot, like they’re untouched by time. But Lance’s family doesn’t. His little sister, who used to only
reach Lance’s hip, all pigtails and freckles, maybe she’s now tall enough to reach his chest and
better at math than Lance will ever be. Maybe she has new scars Lance has never
seen or kissed away.
Maybe his mom has worry lines and grey hairs Lance knows she didn’t have when he last saw her, and maybe she talks less than he remembers. Maybe she has to pinch herself when she first sees her son after however many years, because he hasn’t changed a bit. Maybe she breaks into tears at the sight of him, and her hug is just as warm and three times as tight as Lance remembers.
Maybe his siblings give him a new scar to cherish before there’s another planet, another crisis that needs Voltron.
as someone who’s favorite animal is also a shark, here are some things that lance 100% did when he was younger
hoarded shark info books
he’ll write down one on his christmas list every year, and will always look forward to a new and different book
he has a hefty collection of these shark bio books by the time he’s in middle school and can spend hours just looking through all of them, even if he’s read them before
any time he has guests over he’ll show them one, all excited like “and this is a thresher shark! they’re one of the least aggressive species, and this long bit on their tail is used like a whip, since their jaws aren’t as strong as other sharks”
whenever his family would take trips to the aquarium he’d mope along the walls of fish and stingrays until they got to the real attraction, then would just sit down against the glass of the shark tank and stare
then, of course, he’ll go and sneak off into the gift shop when they’re leaving and beg his mom to buy him the shark plushie
he has an array of shark-related items (multiple plushies, figurines, even a snapper toy with a shark head) sitting next to his collection of books, all taken from aquarium or ocean park gift shops
since he grew up practically living on a beach, he’d constantly hear people whine and complain about the possibility of sharks in the water, and because he has no “this is a stranger maybe i shouldn’t intervene” mentality when it comes to stupid people, he’d go ahead and inform them of all the reasons they have nothing to worry about and are just being dumb
um, yeah, he still does this
playing pretend (hoooo boy what a nerd)
any time he’s in the water it’s always: Lance: “no mom i can’t get out of the water, i’ll die!” Lance: “i really need some new goggles, how am i supposed to be a tiger shark if i can’t even see where i’m swimming?” etc. etc.
his favorite shark will change nearly every week, but more often than not it’ll either be a thresher, a blacktip, or a hammerhead
He was born from the ocean,
Birthed directly from the waves themselves.
He was perfect.
He was flawed.
His scales gleamed an iridescent obsidian,
But they were cracked.
Every few inches along his tail were spots where his scales tinted pink and flaked off,
Exposing his cool blood to the saltwater around him.
He kept swimming,
Trying to push through the pain from his burning tail,
But, alas, he failed.
He collapsed upon the coral, alone,
Waiting for the pain to put him to sleep.
He learned to carry pain long before he learned to carry love,
Because from the second he was born,
In the dead of night in the middle of the sea,
Darkness and pain consumed him.
It was the ocean’s way of showing him that she cared, but it hurt him,
And as her silk waves crash into his wounds,
He slowly fades away.
Something along the lines of "I love you, but your breaking my heart"
He’s kind of like the ocean. He walked into my life and everything was calm. He was breathtakingly gorgeous and made me feel as though I could call him home. Then he hit me like a wave, and pulled me under making me drown. But I never really blamed him for making me drown, because the ocean is too beautiful to be brutal.
“God I love you darling,” I said, “But you’re breaking my heart and I can’t do this to myself anymore.”
Even the most beautiful things can be impersonal and unforgiving. He was kind of like the ocean; always moving and never stopping to see that I was still swimming above the surface.
Taeil: Comes prepared with fins and full faced goggles. Would’ve brought his wetsuit but couldn’t find it because he packed last minute. Sits in the water away from everyone else and looks at the little fish that circle around his feet. Enjoys himself the most and doesn’t want to leave when everyone starts to pack up.
Johnny: Refuses any sunscreen from Taeyong. Falls asleep 15 minutes after they arrive and is asleep directly in the sun for the full two hours they’re there. Is burnt to a crisp and gets laughed a by Haechan who calls him a lobster.
Taeyong: Has packed 10 tubes of sunscreen and 15 sandwiches but won’t let anyone get in the water until half an hour after they’ve eaten. Wants to get in the water but is too worried the sea water would ruin his hair and wash away his sunscreen. Taking selfies and videos of everyone having fun.
Yuta: Immediately rips off his shirt as soon as he arrives. The first one in the water trying to convince everyone it wasn’t that cold which was a lie. Tells Chenle he can finally be with his people and offers to help him find some dolphins.
Doyoung: Builds a sandcastle with Renjun because he’s scared of the fish in the ocean but doesn’t want to admit it. Occasionally stands on the shore dipping his feet in the water as he watches over the younger members making sure they don’t drown.
Ten: Was in charge of bringing the beach toys for everyone to play with but forgot them at the dorm. Screams when a piece of seaweed touches his foot and tells everyone it was a big fish but no one believes him.
Jaehyun: Spends the entire time in the water only coming out for the food Taeyong brought them. All the girls are swooning over him and he doesn’t realize it.
Winwin: Wears a shirt and a rashguard, refusing to take either off even though he was dying of heat. Gets pulled into the water by Yuta and has a splashing fight with Yuta and Jaehyun until he got water in his eye and complained he couldn’t see for 10 whole minutes.
Mark: Brought a book that he swore to himself he was going to read until he dropped it in the sand and got sand in all the pages. Keeps getting in and out of the water, getting bored and hoping somehow going back and forth will change something. Trips while trying to get out on multiple occasions.
Renjun: Refuses to get into the water, afraid sharks are going to hurt him. Stays on the shore building a sand castle with Doyoung. Builds the coolest sandcastle on the beach that included a three story palace, palace walls, and a moat full of water that he made Doyoung collect from the ocean.
Jeno: The only one being somewhat normal. Is sent to go back to the car to get everything people forgot. Tries to convince Renjun to get into the water but Renjun is having none of it.
Haechan: Doesn’t really want to be there claiming he easily burns. Sits under an umbrella most of the time. After eating his sandwich he ran into the water without Taeyong noticing, got a cramp, and had Yuta come save him. Was scolded by Taeyong and wasn’t allowed in the water anymore.
Jaemin: Brought cookies with him to eat when he got hungry but the seagulls found his stash and ate all of them. Taking aesthetic photos of himself by the ocean and almost drops his phone into the water on multiple occasions.
Chenle: Brought a frisbee to play with Jisung and Jaemin. Accidently got hit in the face with the frisbee by Jaemin and decided he wanted to go in the water instead. Tried to see if he could breathe underwater which he quickly found out wasn’t possible.
Jisung: Comes to the beach in jeans and a longsleeve shirt and no one knows why. Goes in the water fully clothed and when the members ask him why he says he’s not sure himself. Is convinced he’ll get a cramp if he goes back in the water after he eats and waits an hour instead of 30 minutes even though Taeyong said it was okay.
A man once made his own chicken sandwich completely from scratch - He grew his own crops, slaughtered a chicken and boiled ocean saltwater for sea salt. In the end it cost him over $1000 and half a year. He didn’t like the taste. source
Plot: You met Jimin through your favorite online video game. Finding out that he lived on the other side of the world from you. You both quickly fell for each other, and dealt with the issues that come with online dating. Although, some temptations are too hard to turn away. Especially when your significant other is nowhere near.
You bust through the door of your apartment, if you had swung the door open any harder in your haste you would have torn it off it’s hinges. You threw your keys and bag on the floor in the entryway, and made a beeline for your desk where your laptop had been sitting.
As you waited for your laptop to awaken, you checked your appearance briefly. Making yourself look as presentable as possible after a long day at work.
You mindlessly drummed your fingers on the desk as the butterflies in your stomach became relentless. You heard the whoosh of Skype opening through the speakers on your laptop and immediately sat up straight, excitement of seeing your long time boyfriend for the first time in a week.