Thank you for the tag @blind-the-winds! This is from Ocean’s Heart (sailor vers).
“That makes you quite lucky, actually.” A note of interest, rocking the before-steady cadence of her words.
Then, highlighting the interest he was doubting, she moves closer. The weight of her attention falls ever heavier, in the closer proximity.
Time holds frozen like that, for a measure that is either hours or moments. He does not know. His attention is trapped, stuck in her appraising riptide stare, leaving him unaware to all else.
I’ll tag (no pressure): @thezestyone @wynter-of-dusk @cherrybombfangirlwrites @authorangel525 @aj-sketches (and anyone else who’d like to share their last lines. say I tagged you).
Amphitrite has always ruled over the deep, the cold chill and the creatures that dwell there. She is built to thrive there — stinging hair, deep shine eyes and a bioluminescent heart that glows through her translucent skin.
She is made for the deep, to rule it, and that is what she does.
Even as she befriends a goddess of a deeper deep, as she weds a god unmade for the life of a sea king, as she takes mortals to bed and slay as her whims come.
She is goddess of the deep, no matter anything else.
“Davy Jones,” he admits, fearful, voice rough and raw from half-swallowed sea water.
Role: Main Character
Personality: Loyal, Hardworking, Reckless
Davy Jones has always been fascinated with the ocean. With everything about it. It’s no surprise when he becomes a sailor.
It is a shock when he survives it. The Kraken is a constant threat, a thing that could come to any ship, at any time, in any place. There’s always a possibility of it rising. And of the outcome of it is a guarantee — death.
But Davy Jones survives.
And when there’s a woman, leering above him in his waking, there’s no doubt that she’s of the sea somehow — a nymph, a siren, a nereid, a goddess.
He expects to meet his end with her, or, if she is a nereid, that she will take him to shore and that will be the end of it. Both things are a sort of true, but it is not the last time he sees her.
Thanks for the tags @emelkae and @enchanted-lightning-aes. From LAWLB.
The god stumbles in the transition. She grips his hands harder, holding him upright. “I did warn you the sea was nosy,” she says, because it had to have been pressing him down despite her order, for him to lose his footing once he’s re-met with air.
“It was pushy,” he says, nose wrinkling. “And heavy.” He shoots the door a look, one she’s never gotten the nuance of but has received in broader sense, only very nearly identical. “You didn’t warn me of that.”
“It likes you.” She skids a thumb over the back of his hand. “And it is eager, and impatient, for this to be done. Apologies.”
Tagging (with no pressure): @blue-kyber @novus-star @orionalumn @dearestdoe000 and @sheabutterskyes
In which Scylla confesses to harboring a fondness for Calypso
Scylla’s mouth, she thinks, pressed against her own, must have been crafted from the gentlest currents, from water so slick it is reminiscent of silk and feathers.
Calypso is the one to back away this time, and she smooths her thumb over the nymph’s mouth. What work the Fates did, crafting her and her kiss. How long did it take, to complete her design? “So you bore of mortal eyes,” she says.
Scylla nods, though it wasn’t quite meant as a question.
“And,” she continues, as though the other had not responded at all, “you decided to take me as deterrent.”
That was a question. A little hidden, a little bit of a puzzle, but there’s an answer she’s waiting to hear all the same.
The nymph’s face flushes. “Not just for that.”
Calypso arches a brow high, skims her thumb over her cheekbone, hooks her fingers around her jaw to tilt Scylla’s face up in longing tease of another kiss. To thicken the mood, give the implication that she is willing to give another, once the moment ripens. “What else then?”
“You.”
Coral spiking in her chest, edges sharp. “Oh?”
Her chin presses down against the fingers holding her jaw. To hide? It’s too late for that. “Yes. I-- I want you,” Scylla presses, “the way all the men want me.”
“Women too,” Calypso corrects, because it’s never just men that soak in the sight of Fately beautiful women, no matter what the stories say.
↳ "You're going to be trouble one day," she warns, stepping out of the tide.
Genre -> Greek Myth Retelling, Tragedy, Romance
POV -> Third Person
Themes -> Opposites, Duality, Fate, Pride and Downfall, Beauty, Love (is a feeling incapable of miracles).
Vibes -> a forgotten book of fairytales, reflection of a sunrise on open water, long shadows at dusk, the peace that only exists before a catastrophe, whispered forbidden confessions and the way palms linger on a lover’s hips.
Status -> First Draft/Planning
Blurb -> It is common for women divinely beautiful to be born and it is common for them to face horrid fates. It is not common for a goddess to stand witness to a nymph's fall to tragedy.
Tags To Follow -> wip maidens and monsters, ocean fable
To Be Tagged -> Ask! Current taglists are at the bottom of my pinned post and they’re made by demand.
Synopsis under the cut.
Synopsis:
Calypso enjoys listening to stories of foolish mortals -- it is amusing, how they never learn. Tales of beautiful mortal women are some of her favorites. She's been adjacent to some, since beauty is drawn to sea, but it has never been drawn quite so close before. It has never been born to it.
How can Calypso ignore a story in the making, one unfolding in her very home?
Scylla is as beautiful as she's heard. One glance and hearts are lost.
Calypso keeps hers safe, perks of goddesshood and foreknowledge, learning that Scylla is woefully unaware of what her future has in store. Unaware, of course, except for a glitch warning caution anchored in her bones. After so many of these women, there is a sense of unease in all those that follow.
Fate’s touch is unavoidable but not unseen. It leaves its mark.
It makes for a better story, perhaps, when the tragic heroine comes to the realization at the end that she was always meant to end up that way. That the shatters of her heart shredding her innards was always doomed to occur.
Calypso wonders what that would look like. What expression would one make in that moment? How would they act in the quiet moment after disaster has struck?
There’s a satisfying edge to tragedies and Calypso is curious and bored. How much more fun would it be, she wonders, if she watched the story first hand, exactly as it unfolds, untainted by mortal’s embellishments?
Courtesy of @marinesocks being a kind human, a snippet that I’m unsure of. Feel free to share your thoughts on it.
She falls into sleep in much the same way, sinking, sinking, sinking until she’s gone.
Woe-plunged rapture melts across her subconscious. Ageless dark sun sliding through her hands, silken foam. Honey-mead eyes locked on hers and eclipsed with deviating longing-fear-longing-fear. Laughter transitions into weeping, like blistering midday turns into a storm. Smoking rain plummets and pounds a world of ice. Spill, chip, tumble. Soft to softened unyielding. Orange moon silver sun. Ruthless-cutting kindness.
She dreams of Scylla.
So. I don’t know if it’s good or not? It’s supposed to be a little messy/pretentious because it’s a dream and how often are those clean and humble (especially considering it’s Calypso) but. It might be a bit too much? Thoughts?
