#canvas&cove

[leo11031999]

Assetz Canvas & Cove

Experience luxury, peace, and safety at our exquisite apartments Assetz Canvas & Cove nestled by the tranquil lake off Hosur Main Road, just 20 minutes from Koramangala. With 1354* opulent units offering 2 BHK apartments or 3 BHK apartments, each space is crafted for your comfort and tranquility. Indulge in a plethora of amenities including a Fitness Studio, Swimming Pool, Futsal Court, Skating Rink, Tennis Court, Basketball Court, and Indoor Games area. Host gatherings at the Multipurpose Hall or let your children frolic in the dedicated play area. Embrace nature with a wooded area perfect for camping or bonfires, along with a Pet Corner and provisions for an organic garden or orchard. Stay fit at the Gymnasium or unwind at the Beach Volleyball court. With an indoor Badminton court and a provision for a creche, every aspect of your lifestyle is considered. Discover the perfect blend of luxury and serenity at our lakeside abode, where every moment is designed to redefine your future.

[mythologypaintings]

Circe Envidiosa

Artist: John William Waterhouse (English, 1849-1917)

Date: 1892

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide, Australia

Description

The myth of Circe, Glaucus, and Scylla originates in Book XIV of Metamorphoses. The specific scene that Waterhouse bases this painting on occurs in lines 52–65 of the epic poem:

There was a cove, a little inlet shaped like a bent bow, a quiet place where Scylla, at midday, sought shelter when the sea and sky were hot; and, in midcourse, the sun scorched with full force, reducing shadows to a narrow thread. And Circe now contaminates this bay, polluting it with noxious poisons; there she scatters venom drawn from dreadful roots and, three-times-nine times, murmurs an obscure and tangled maze of words, a labyrinth— the magic chant that issues from her lips. Then Scylla comes; no sooner has she plunged waist-deep into the water than she sees, around her hips, the horrid barking shapes.

Waterhouse's version similarly shows Circe floating over the water in the cove, pouring bright green poison into the pool below. Under her feet, Scylla's "barking shapes" already swirl in the bubbling depths below; the transformation is well underway. Neither Scylla's human form nor her monster form is the emphasis here. Rather, the power of Circe's grave face and tangible jealousy rules this scene, as the vivid colors swirl all around her figure.

[landschaftsmalerei]

Malham Cove von Arthur Streeton

(1911, Öl auf Leinwand)

[thorsenmark]

There is a Destination for My Life, But There is Still a Journey to Enjoy Before I Get There! (Great Smoky Mountains National Park) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While in the Cades Cove area of Great Smoky Mountains National Park at a roadside pullout along Sparks Lane. The setting is looking down this graveled road to the south with some trees lining the road and the ridges and peaks coming off the Western Great Smoky Mountains with Cobb Butt in the distance. The idea for this image had come from several sites I had visited before this trip. The idea to be in the center of an unimproved road, get down low, and capture an image looking straight ahead with trees and mountains as a distant backdrop. For this image, I use the LiveView LCD screen on my Nikon Z8 Mirrorless Camera to line up for composing and then focus a short ways down the road. The rest was later making adjustments with control points in DxO PhotoLab 7 to bring out the contrast, saturation and brightness I wanted for the final image.

[housingrealtybykaal]

Assetz Canvas And Cove | Flats For Sale In Bangalore

Assetz Canvas And Cove is a residential apartment complex located in Begur Road, Bangalore. It's known for offering a luxurious and modern living experience. It Offers 2 BHK and 3 BHK configurations, with the best amenities include a clubhouse, gymnasium, swimming pool, recreation rooms, children's play area, landscaped gardens, sports courts (badminton, basketball, tennis, volleyball), party hall, retail spaces, 24/7 security, and ample parking. Some sources mention unique features like private pools and jacuzzis in some units. The apartments boast a high carpet area efficiency (around 70%), meaning you get a good amount of usable space within the total area. For more information visit the website.

[z2z-gaming-and-random-art-ai]

Back Cover to AI Art S2E46 - Kirby Canvas Curse

Older video games were notorious for back cover descriptions that have nothing to do with the game so let's see what a text-to-image generator makes of these descriptions. Season 2 sees an increase in art creations for each game up from 1 in the first season to 6 for the second season

1. Intro - 00:00 

2. Back Cover and Text Description - 00:10 

3. Creation 1 - 00:30 

4. Creation 2 - 00:50 

5. Creation 3 - 01:10 

6. Creation 4 - 01:30 

7. Creation 5 - 01:50 

8. Creation 6 - 02:10 

9. Outro – 02:30 

Kirby Canvas Curse is the 18th appearance of Nintendo's Kirby since the character's debut in 1992s Kirby's Dream Land. Released in 2005 for the Nintendo DS, Kirby Canvas Curse, the first appearance on Nintendo's Handheld is an action platformer developed by HAL Laboratory. Kirby Canvas Curse received a re-release in 2015 on the Nintendo eShop on Wii U.

For more Back Cover to AI Art videos check out these playlists 

Season 1 of Back Cover to AI Art

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CGhd82prEQGWAVxY3wuQlx3 

Season 2 of Back Cover to AI Art 

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CEdLNgql_n-7b20wZwo_yAD

[aseetzprojects]

Experience luxury living at Assetz Canvas and Cove

Discover the essence of contemporary living at Assetz Canvas and Cove, situated on the vibrant Begur Road in Bangalore. Crafted by the esteemed Assetz Property Group, these residences redefine luxury with their exquisite design and premium amenities. Immerse yourself in a lifestyle of comfort and convenience, surrounded by the verdant landscapes of Bangalore. With its perfect blend of sophistication and functionality, Assetz Canvas and Cove offers a unique living experience that transcends expectations.

[aetheama]

Little babies

Day 4: Nostalgia

[huariqueje]

Patio of the Yellow House at Crystal Cove - Aimee Erickson  

American, French b.  1967 -

Oil on canvas ,  10 x 16 in.

[aethercoreheart]

earl grey

virtual radio host!rafayel x producer!reader | (ii)

“I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You roll your eyes at Rafayel’s theatrics. He takes the covered tumbler filled with tea and slides it to his side of the studio desk. You take your own cup, which is filled with coffee, and raise it to your lips. It’s still hot and you have to fight back a grimace as the coffee scalds your tongue.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would have been enough. And next time, maybe don’t waltz in two minutes before we go on air,” you tell him, trying to sound as stern as possible. “Management will chew me out if they find out I’m this lenient on my host.”

Rafayel blows you a kiss from across the desk. “And that’s why I begged them to keep you as my producer.”

He takes a sip from his tumbler, and you watch as his face lights up. “Perfect. You really do make the best tea. I mean it, I really don’t know what I’d do without you,” he repeats.

He settles into his seat and checks the position of his materials. A small canvas is propped up on a table easel in front of him, surrounded by the tools he will need to paint for the stream that night: watercolor paints, jars of water, several brushes and a few rags. He gives you a thumbs up and you nod in return, turning your attention back to your laptop and the mixing console on your side of the desk. 

You glance over at all three camera feeds: one feed showing an overhead view of Rafayel and what he will be working on, one for a close up on his face, and the last one that shows a bigger view of his side of the studio. Rafayel puts his earpiece in while you position your headphones onto your ears. You motion for him to say something to test the sound.

“Only cuties can hear this message,” he drawls. You give him a pressed smile, suppressing another eye roll. He winks at you and you count him down to the start of the stream with just your fingers. As soon as your index finger goes down, his demeanor shifts and you see him sit up straighter in his seat. He beams at the camera for his face, his eyes taking on a curious sparkle. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Hey there, my little fishies. Welcome to Rafayel’s Cove. Grab a warm drink and let’s get settled in for the night...”

—

It’s midnight by the time the stream finishes. A slow, moody R&B song is playing while you set up the queue to run automatically until the breakfast show. You shift your eyes over your laptop to sneak a glance at Rafayel. He’s finishing up his painting of the night, completely immersed in it. Your fingers hover over your keyboard as you watch him, entranced by the way he flicks the brush over the canvas, adding small, intricate details to the piece. It’s been a year since you’ve started spending every weeknight with Rafayel, watching him paint and listening to him talk to the listeners, but you’re still not tired of it. And neither is the audience. You scroll over the comments on the stream, plucking out and reporting the very few abusive or spammy comments. The overwhelming majority of them shower Rafayel with love and praise – his audience has grown steadily over the past year, and they seem to be more committed to him as well.

You look over the analytics and you nod to yourself, pleased with how the stream went tonight. You don’t read the numbers out to Rafayel. He doesn’t care about them. His only concern is making art and connecting with his audience. And that’s all you really need him to do. His previous producers, your predecessors, were hellbent on making his show as profitable as possible, cramming as many ads and sponsorships in as they possibly could, which, of course, Rafayel had detested. Management had found it a relief that Rafayel had tolerated you past your first week of working with him. Then, they were ecstatic that you had managed to negotiate between them and your host: two one-minute ads every hour, and only one sponsorship opening every three months. Rafayel wasn’t over the moon about it, but for some reason, he heard you out and actually listened to you when you said that the show needed to be funded somehow.

You take your eyes away from your screen again and go back to watching Rafayel. You study the piece: a koi fish, painted in shades of purple, red and blue watercolor. You don’t realize it, but you let out a sigh of admiration, and you see him smirk without looking up from the piece.

“Oh, stop it,” he purrs. “You’re making me blush.”

You cross your arms over your chest and scoff. “Finish up quick, Rafayel. It’s past midnight and I want to go home now.” Despite your clipped tone, you feel a warm flush spread over your own cheeks. You’re hoping that he doesn’t look up and see it.

His smirk grows into a grin, his eyes still cast downwards. “Okay, okay, my lovely producer. Almost there.”

With that, he plops the brush he’s holding into a jar of water. He holds the piece up with his faintly stained hands.

“What do you think?” he asks, turning the canvas towards you.

You nod in approval. “Beautiful, as always. Now, let’s get out of here.”

—

You grip your phone tightly, eagerly anticipating a text, a call, anything from Rafayel that would indicate that he’d be in the studio soon. You look at the studio clock, biting the inside of your cheek. The stream should have started seven minutes ago, but the show’s host is currently nowhere to be seen. The last you'd heard from him was a text thirty seconds before the stream was supposed to start.

> Gunna be late. Soz. Cover for me pls

“Dammit, Rafayel,” you mutter, hunching over your laptop. “Who even says ‘Soz’ anymore?”

You read the comments starting to come through on the chat. 

> Where’s Rafa? 🙁

> what’s taking so looooong

> WE WANT RAFAYEL

> i’m logging off ugh

You grab your phone from where you had slammed it down on the desk and you briefly consider calling your creative director. You’d rather stab a pencil into your ear than let him know about the shitshow that’s currently happening. But you’re desperate. You’re even considering cancelling the stream tonight and just queuing songs for the rest of the night. Your thumb hovers over his name on the phone and you’re about to press on it when Rafayel bursts into the studio.

His face is red, all the way up to his ears, and he’s huffing and puffing so intensely that you’re afraid he might pass out. Both of you stare at each other, speechless, and you immediately set your phone down again, scared that your hand might act on its own and actually put the call through.

Rafayel’s eyes flick towards his side of the desk, then to you, then back to the desk. He starts to rush towards it, but you stop him, shaking your head at him. You reach into your bag underneath the desk and pull out a cosmetic kit. It’s not yours, but his – you have it on hand in case he ever needs a touch up in the middle of a stream. You fish a comb out of the kit, and you motion at Rafayel to bend down. He complies, and you run the comb through his lavender hair, neatening the stray hairs that had been sticking out. You then take his compact powder out, and press the puff against the places on his forehead where a sheens of sweat had started to form. You lock eyes with Rafayel for a split second and notice that his pupils have become dilated, his breath now coming out in shallow pants. You feel your mouth suddenly become dry. You snap the pact closed and nod at him. He inhales sharply and zigzags around you to sit at his side of the desk. He sets himself up with his earpiece and looks straight into the camera, putting on a smile. You check the camera feeds and turn the mic on – no time for a soundcheck. 

Rafayel takes another deep breath before going into his usual spiel. “Hi there fishies! Sorry about the late start. I had to take a detour to get to the cove. Now that we’re here though, why don’t we get started?”

—

You and Rafayel are both silent as you wrap up for the night. You chew on the inside of your cheek, contemplating how you’re going to bring up the disaster that was the start of the show. He beats you to it.

“I’m really sorry,” he sighs, looking up from his piece of the night. “There wasn’t even an emergency. I was just late.”

You nod, choosing your next words carefully. “Can you tell me why you were late?”

Rafayel bites his lower lip before sighing again. “I was working on a piece the whole day. I got… distracted, I guess. That happens, sometimes. Certain pieces can just… eat you up.”

He chuckles nervously. “I was in a flow state the whole day, I think. By the time I realized that the whole day had gone, I was already going to be late for the show.”

You peer at him and notice that there are faint dark circles under his eyes. The whites of his eyes are also tinged with a light pink hue. “God, Rafayel, did you even sleep after the show last night?”

He shakes his head. “I napped for maybe an hour. But I was feeling inspired, so I just went with it. I haven’t felt like that in a long time.”

With that last statement, he locks eyes with you. You hold his gaze and you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach. He breaks away first, his attention going back to his piece.

“If Thomas wants someone to blame, give him my name,” he tells you. “Do not take the fall for me.” He looks back up at you, a determined glint in his eyes. “And it won’t happen again. I promise.”

—

“So you’re really taking the fall for him?” Thomas asks the question, but he already knows your answer. Your creative director taps on the rim of his coffee cup absentmindedly, awaiting your reply.

You shrug, your palms facing outwards. You shift in your seat and lean forward, just inches away from his desk. You’re determined to keep your voice steady. “I’m the producer. The buck stops with me. Anything that happens on Rafayel’s Cove has my name on it.”

Thomas lets out an exasperated sigh. “You’re just like him,” he says, shaking his head. “Both of you are incredibly stubborn.” He picks up his cup and sips from it. 

“But we can’t lose either of you,” he murmurs, squinting at you from above the rim of the cup. He sets it down on his desk again. “Rafayel is invaluable to the network and you’re the only one he’ll work with.”

Inwardly, you’re already celebrating, but you wait for Thomas to finish his lecture.

“I’ll just tell management there was a technical issue. Servers were down for maintenance. Whatever. They won’t really care at that point.”

You slowly release the breath you didn’t know you had been holding. “Thank you Thomas,” reply, bowing your head towards him. “It won’t happen again.”

Thomas waves his hand at you, dismissing you. “Of course. Go now, don’t you have a show to prepare for?”

—

You take your time making your way to the studio. You’re making plans in your head about how you’re going to get Rafayel into the studio on time, everyday. Should you call him two hours before his scheduled time? What if you picked him up on your way in yourself?

You’re still deep in thought when you open the door to the studio. You don’t notice that the lights are already on and that someone is already in there.

You’re startled, and your shoulders tense up – you’re not expecting anyone to be in the studio. You exhale quickly when you realize that it’s just Rafayel, setting up his things for the stream. Wait. You check the time on your watch. It’s half an hour before the show starts.

You head inside and close the door behind you. “You’re early,” you remark as you head to the desk. 

Rafayel looks up from what he’s doing and gives you a mirthless chuckle. “See? Didn’t I tell you? Yesterday will not happen again.”

You settle in your seat, pleasantly surprised that most of your pre-show work is already done. You could get used to this. You’re about to go on your phone and start scrolling when Rafayel pipes up from his side of the desk. 

“You stuck your neck out for me, didn’t you? I told you not to.”

You shrug, the same way you had shrugged at Thomas back in his office. “I’m your producer. I’m responsible for you and the show.” You lean in towards Rafayel, closing the space between the two of you. “And you need a producer you can trust. Someone you can always turn to.” You set your hands on the table gently. “Let me be that producer for you.”

Rafayel is silent for a few moments, but he nods. His jaw clenches and unclenches before he replies in a whisper. “Yeah. Thank you.”

You spot two covered cups on the corner of the desk. One of them has a tea bag string and tag dangling outside of it. You take that one and pass it to Rafayel. He receives it from you without looking up from his work. He raises the cup to his lips to take a sip and you see him frown into the cup.

“Ugh,” he mutters, smacking his lips together. “I didn’t make it right. It doesn’t taste good.”

You giggle as you motion for him to give the cup back to you. “Here, let me take it. Since we’ve got time, I’ll make it just how you like it.”

—

You’re a few minutes into the stream when Rafayel answers his first question of the night from the audience. He’s working with pastels tonight, and he’s just finished picking out the colors he’s going to work with.

“What am I drinking?” he reads the question from the tablet in front of him, his hand reaching for his cup. “Good question. First time in the history of me doing this show that someone’s ever asked that. Any guesses?”

Your eyes leave your screen and focus on him. He raises his cup briefly for the camera before setting it back down. You drag your gaze back to the screen and notice that the chat is flooded with comments.

> definitely some tequila in there…

> i think it’s coffee?

> No wait, there’s a tag and string, it’s tea!

“Definitely no tequila,” Rafayel chuckles. “My producer would kill me.”

He turns his attention back to his piece and picks up a pastel stick. He starts sketching roughly with it, drawing bold lines. “You’re right, it’s tea,” he confirms for the audience.

> what kind!!!

> i bet he’s a green tea guy

> What if it’s matcha?

> or oolong maybe?

Rafayel looks at the tablet momentarily, then back to his piece. He continues to draw, talking while he does so. “It’s Earl Grey, actually.” 

“It’s my favorite tea. My producer makes it perfectly, every single time. I can’t do a show without it.”

His hands work furiously on the canvas panel. “My tea has to be bold, strong and fragrant. Sweet, but not too sickly sweet. I like the kind of tea that makes you miss it and crave it, just a little bit.”

You raise your eyebrows at what he says, but continue to listen.

“I need my tea by my side, always. It’s what gets me coming into the studio and doing these streams every night.”

Your cheeks start to heat up as you read the comments coming through.

> wow, waxing poetic about tea. okayyyy

> Damn I think I need some of that tea

> are we still talking about tea or…?

You look up and notice that Rafayel is looking directly at you, his hand hovering over the canvas. He has started sketching out the outline of a tea cup and it’s looking amazing already. Your eyes flick to the camera, then back to Rafayel. You motion with your head for him to turn his attention back to the camera, but he continues to look at you, his expression unreadable. That feeling you had felt the night before in your stomach comes back with an increased intensity. You bite down on your lower lip, no longer able to hide the fact that you are blushing.

“My tea. My lovely Earl Grey tea,” Rafayel murmurs, his head tilting to the side as he continues to look at you. “I really don’t know what I’d do without it.”

[leo11031999]

Canvas & Cove

 Experience luxury, peace, and safety at our exquisite apartments Assetz Canvas & Cove nestled by the tranquil lake off Hosur Main Road, just 20 minutes from Koramangala. With 1354* opulent units offering 2 BHK apartments or 3 BHK apartments, each space is crafted for your comfort and tranquility. Indulge in a plethora of amenities including a Fitness Studio, Swimming Pool, Futsal Court, Skating Rink, Tennis Court, Basketball Court, and Indoor Games area. Host gatherings at the Multipurpose Hall or let your children frolic in the dedicated play area. Embrace nature with a wooded area perfect for camping or bonfires, along with a Pet Corner and provisions for an organic garden or orchard. Stay fit at the Gymnasium or unwind at the Beach Volleyball court. With an indoor Badminton court and a provision for a creche, every aspect of your lifestyle is considered. Discover the perfect blend of luxury and serenity at our lakeside abode, where every moment is designed to redefine your future.

[pursuitseternal]

🧜‍♀️𝔹𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕒 ℂ𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖:

🧜‍♀️ℙ𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝔸𝕌 𝔾𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝔽𝕚𝕔

Gale x Merelind (f!OC) | M | 6.7 K

Summary: Disgraced, rejected by his Queen and his former lover, Gale Dekarios hunts the seas as a pirate. But the greater shame is the Orb in his chest that rots him from the inside out. A year of searching, and his ship nears the rumored site of the Netherstones, the key to the Crown of Karsus. The object that will break his Netherese Curse. All that lies between him and the treasures of his redemption are waters infested by monsters… Those murderous, urgeful, beguiling creatures. Sirens. When one spares his life, they make an arrangement that might see them both freed. Or dead.

CW: slow burn (by P’s standards), Pirate AU, POTC influences, Gale fall first, but he also falls hard, Siren OC, DnD/POTC magic rules, flustered Gale, romantic Gale, forbidden love, Gale’s curse is rotting his body, Siren OC is Durge inspired.

Ao3 Link | Bg3 Masterlist

Nothing but jolly bright blue waters extended in every direction, the sun beating and the winds stiff from the north. His ship bobbed over the waves as if they were nothing, the worn canvas of her sails luffing only when his ship, the Tara, out ran the waves with her speed.

And her Captain stood at the rail, watching life on desk unfold under his keen, dark eyes.

How many months had it been, Captain Gale Dekarios knew not. Too many. Too long to stay festering at sea, his once noble crew turned motley.

His once noble profession of privateering, now branded as … ugh… piracy.

He hated the word. Left a sour taste in his mouth, almost more than the way his infection brought the taste of his own blood to his tongue.

This… curse… slowly eating at him from the inside out.

His fingers pressed to his chest, rubbing the site of his growing mark, the tendrils of its influence extending tirelessly over the months. He couldn’t hide it anymore with tattoos on his shoulder and neck. The lines of his infection's power reached his eye, making it milky, making him hide it under an eyepatch even as it worked just fine.

Such was his vanity. A sin almost as great as his ambition.

Gale folded his arms over his chest, the crushed purple wool of his long coat damp with spray. At least the Tara was making good time to Bhaal’s Cove. At least he might be within reach of a cure to his disease.

His folly. Gale’s folly, one might call it. For that’s what it was to love a queen, to serve her at sea and in her bed, and then to lose that love over something so stupid. He sighed to think of that time, treasured in court as her Fleet Captain, her chosen, most adored Privateer. But his romantic heart had wanted more.

And so, he had plundered the seas for the most forbidden of treasures. Damn it if they had been rumored to be cursed. Karsus’ treasure was supposedly worth it.

Supposedly. If only as he had settled for diadems or roses… but no. Gale Dekarios was a man of grand gestures. In this regard as well.

His mind grew foggy. His hand rubbed at the Orb in his chest, the pain flaring at the memory. He recalled how he had taken that locked chest with the Orb inside, only to have its claws and magic gnaw its way into his chest, making this mark and—

“Captain Dekarios! Land Ho, Captain Dekarios!” twittered an excited if maternal voice. The woosh of the Tressym’s wings blew the long dark hair off his shoulder before four paws landed smartly on its spans. Tara, the namesake of his vessel, self-appointed First and Second Mate, purred softly in excitement for her master before cleaning her patchwork of brown fur, her little pink tongue lapping the way the salt air made her fur stick. Then her paw worked to fix his tendrils of little braids and beads that held his hair back, batting the little top knot to get his attention. “Captain. You are unusually silent.”

“Perhaps this ballet of waves and wind has inspired… introspection,” he muttered, turning to squint up at her with his one good eye, fingers returning to the center of his chest to rub out the pain.

The Tressym knew better. “It’s the Orb again, isn’t it? It needs tending?” Tara sighed. Her feline head nuzzled against Gale’s temple, even as shouts of excitement passed around the crew as land, indeed, came slowly into sight. “Perhaps what lies ahead for us in the Cove will stop its pain, its hunger. Tsk.” She sucked her little feline teeth. “About time that blasted Orb found something other than your precious heart to sink its fangs into. Especially after Mystra…”

“Enough, Tara,” Gale chided. A bit peevish but none too harshly. “I deserve this fate for what I’ve done. But it won’t stop me from seeking this curse’s cure. Even if it’s just my own dea—”

“Pish posh, Captain,” now it was Tara’s turn to chide, digging her claws into the fading purple wool over his shoulder. “Not on my watch, Gale.”

Gale rolled his eyes, grateful for the excited shouts on the deck below as an excuse to reach for his spyglass and examine the virgin shore before them. Bhaal’s Cove. The shoreline was black with rock and white with sand. Scanning the geography, he spied the outcropping of legend. A strange circle of tear drop rocks on the cliff face. “There!” He called back to the helm behind him. “Bosun Ancunìn, make for that point, three points to larbord!”

The silver haired elf gave some half sarcastic means of acknowledgment, and with a roll of his crimson eyes, he adjusted course.

“Take caution, Astarion. The legends say all sorts of murderous creatures lurk in these waters. We shall be extra vigilante,” Gale turned, locking eyes with his current helmsman, a smile on his face.

A smile returned with yet another roll of those eyes. “Here’s hoping your blathering on about the mating rituals of Gnolls might bore them all away…”

“Ah, good one Fangs!” Karlach chimed back, clapping the elf on the shoulder hard before setting her cherry red hands to the mainbrace to ease the rope. As usual, a smile was permanently fixed on the Tiefling, a flicker of mirthful fire in her face and demeanor. “Maybe we will get to see something amazing! Like a selkie or a kraken!”

Gale only chuckled, knowing that her enthusiasm was only out of zest for life and an ignorance for just how fearsome said creatures were. “Not on my life, Cliffgate. Best we keep far away from mon… sters…”

For once, Captain Dekarios fell silent, head snapping back to the shoreline.

“Fucking finally,” Astarion snipped, “you know Gale, your rather pleasant when you’re…”

And the Pale Elf fell silent too, handsome face blank of its usual mischief as he also looked to the isle.

A thin melody floated on the wind. A voice.

“Oh, oh no.” Tara murmured, trying her best to flap in Gale’s face. But the lad was enamored.

Her wings beat harder, flying towards the elf at the helm, but those dexterous pale hands already had changed course. Far more dramatically than the captain’s orders, the ship was headed right for the sand. “Snap out of it!” She shouted at that angular face, hoping to knock some sense into any of them.

But the music only grew louder and louder. That female voice wrapped around them, the air itself vibrating with her haunting tune. Sad. Longing. And composed to never quite end.

Tara knew it for what it was. A monster to be sure.

A Siren.

She flew back to Gale’s shoulder, bapping her paw in his face even as he reached for the rail and leaned out over it. “Wake up, Gale! Snap out of this, I order you!”

Nothing.

Not even a blink from his one, undefiled brown eye.

To her immense dismay, all his companions and crew lined the rails, the ship's wheel left to spin and spin with loud wooden clicks. Sails flapped loudly as, but all of it was nothing to the way the music only crescendoed. A swell of this Siren song, and suddenly the whole vessel lurched.

Run aground, the whole crew spilled into the sea, knocked head over heels into the drink. Tara flapped wildly, shouting for Gale above the wooden groans of the ship. “Captain! Captain!”

She whizzed over the shallow waters, watching as the crew sputtered to the beach, some swimming, some dragging others. But there was no dark haired, eye-patched privateer to speak of.

Gale barely noticed falling overboard, nor the slap of chilling waters, nor the way his lungs burned as he swam.

There was only that song. And only silence and the echoing gasp of his own breath as he broke above the water. A sea cave, wet and swirling as the tide was coming in. The rocks were jagged and wet, and the spray and rush of incoming tide pounded the cave walls. Gale swam to a ledge, drawn by a sliver of light.

He needed to get his bearings. His eye patch was gone to the tides, as was his jacket. Only his thin cream linen shirt and breeches now covered his tanned and tattooed body.

A matter to fix once he escaped this death trap. His eyes scanned the cave as he treaded water in the rushing waves.

An opening, thank the gods. He swam for it only to find it was too small for his whole body..

Stay too long here and die, he thought. At least he’d be rid of this blasted curse. Gale almost resigned himself to his fate, to just let go and let the curse win.

But then he heard it again, that voice. She was close, just on the other side of the opening.

That lyrical flutter of her music drew him toward the opening, a crack in the wall large enough for him to reach an arm. “Um, hello? A hand? Anyone?” He knew it was silly, maybe futile, even as the wet rocks at his feet barely held him up, even as the water kept rushing in.

He waved his hand, reaching as he tried to slide further to freedom. Then he felt something wet. Something, someone, slapped his hand, followed by a cool breath… sniffing it? Gale cringed, praying whatever it was didn’t bite it off or something strange.

A little trill of music, and Gale knew who his potential savior was.

“Please, please powerful Siren,” he begged, just knowing he wanted to get free. Damn it to the depths if he would die disgraced. “I need help, and I’ll… give you anything you want. Just get me out of this blasted hole.”

First there was silence, then a purr… and then a wet hand gripped his. Gale fought the instinct to pull away, an instinct that was soon abated as she started singing again. Haunting and sad, that’s what it sounded like, this… Siren. Her song made the rocks crumble around him, widening the crack as she pulled.

But the longer she sang, the more Gale felt on fire. Enthralled. Like he could listen to this voice, this melody until his dying day.

A romantic notion, to be sure. One that was suddenly and swiftly ended as the opening split wide and Captain Dekarios went sailing through the air to land back in the open sea. The splash of his body back in the water almost rendered him senseless, but he was aware enough to feel two hands grip under his arms and drag him to the surface.

Barely conscious, lungs burning from seawater, Gale felt his vision darken. All that just to die on the beach, he grieved.

A final slight to his pride. Fitting.

He gave one last ragged breath he was sure was his last before something pressed against his mouth.

Cold and wet. Her again. Forcing his eyes open, her face consumed his whole vision.

Kissing him. She was… kissing him. Gale blushed, suddenly feeling the rush of Healing Magics filling his body, lungs clearing and pulse steadying. His eyes slid shut, mouth trembling to feel the way she pressed her lips firmly. To taste the sea salt on her kiss as even her cold lips set something burning inside him.

Magic. Had to be. Surely. But even still, he wondered how his hand found its way to the back of her head, fingers nestled in the wet strands of her sandy blonde hair. But as he felt her part her lips the smallest crack, he pulled back.

An awkward grunt as he cleared his throat, he let go of her completely. “Apologies, I’m usually better at this… introductions and that sort of…”

His voice trailed off as he looked at her. Really looked at her. The long tail of her hair hung over her shoulder, pulled haphazardly by the sea and his fingers. Pretty, to be sure. But it was her face that held his attention. That left him speechless.

Two-toned eyes stared at him. Wet and inquisitive and intense. One red like blood, the blood she should have spilt as a Siren. One clear and shining and blue as the sea itself. Rimmed in dark lids, they didn’t blink but once as he gaped at her.

Her tanned, sun-kissed skin was dotted every which way in freckles.

But the longer he gawked at her, the wider her berry lips turned in a smile.

And she started to trill and purr as his eyes drifted down to her bared breasts and her curled pale blue tail, its scales shimmering an incandescent rosy hue in the sun. Gale couldn’t help the blush on his cheeks as he took her in, ignoring the fact it was the first body he’d seen naked since his beloved Queen back home.

“I’m… I’m Gale of Waterdeep,” he murmured, soft and steady, hoping not to spook her away.

The Siren only fanned her wide finned tail on the surface of the waves that swept over the beach. A little hum of a small musical scale and she gave him a sharp-toothed smile. A bit predacious, perhaps, Gale thought, but thrilling and beguiling none the less.

Gale was undeterred, he needed to know more about this creature. His curiosity far outweighed self-preservation. “Can you understand me? Can you speak?”

The Siren nodded once, Gale thought, before tilting her head.

“Will you allow me the pleasure of knowing what you are called? After all, you saved my life and… I did promise you something in return.”

The Siren’s lips pressed tightly, she sang her wordless song once more. Gods, his eyes pricked with tears now to hear it, so very haunting and mystical. A single palm lifted, she unfurled her glass hand, revealing a single red rose bud. Her song continued, the rose opening its petals slowly, sea spray clinging to the velvety bloom.

A rose and her song. Those were her answer.

“Rose? Is that your name?” Gale chimed excited, a bit shocked as the Siren extended her hand for him, flower in her fingers for him to pluck.

She shook her head, however.

“Not Rose then… can’t you just tell me?” He furrowed his brow, desperate to learn more.

But she only wiggled her pointed ears a little, laughing loudly, clearly enjoying their little guessing game.

Her lithe body leaned back in her mirth, and his eyes drifted down to her breasts again, now noticing a shining stone pendant between them. Three points of red and pink and purple, three stones held into one triangular gem.

And the moment his eyes fell on it, Gale’s chest throbbed. “Hells,” he groaned, the lines of the Orb lighting up people under his damp white linen shirt and flaring up the side of his neck. “Where, Rose… err not Rose… where did you find this?” He snapped, voice strained in pain and hunger. “The Netherstones are just what I seek.”

He bent forward, crying out in agony, lifting his head to keep his eyes trained on her and that treasure. “Please…” Arm shaking, he reached for the stones.

But the Siren darted out of reach, afraid perhaps. Or sadistic. Even as the pain of his Orb flared, as his vision darkened, and as his body laid out on the sand now… he heard her splashing back into the sea.

The pain too great, his eyes closed as he passed out on the shore.

And he could swear he heard her laughing his name from her lips, trilled and sing-song as she bid him, “Farewell, Gale…”

Something wet and… furry smacked him in the face, and Captain Gale shot upright. “Bloody hells… Tara!” He groaned, covering his disfigured eye with his hand, even as bodies knelt in the sand beside him. Two pale hands grabbed under his waterlogged arms and dragged him further from the waveline. Astarion, Gale looked up to see that smug smirk in the dying light.

“Where is she?” he managed to say, turning to scan the waters for anything breaking the surface. “The Siren, where is she? She has the Netherstones, the treasure we came to this wretched isle to find.”

A pale face screwed in a taunting smirk of ire leaned into his vision. “Oh… oh good. And here I was worried when we found you unconscious on the beach, we should be worried you lost your mind.” Astarion scoffed, feigning to wipe his brow. “Shows me.”

“Mr. Ancunín. Lay off it and help me get him up.” Tara flapped to rest on her favorite perch of Gale’s shoulder once he was sitting up. “The Siren? You saw her then and she let you live?”

“She saved me, actually.” The Captain replied, looking at them all with his own mismatched eyes. One dark, one white. Not unlike the pair that had greeted him when he had awoken the first time on the beach.

He pressed his lips together, as if he could still taste her lips, sweet and salty. Her kiss. Well… no. Her transfer of some sort of bardic healing magic, he suspected. Not that specifics mattered when she tasted so… good. Gale shook his head to return his thoughts to the present.

“She’s remarkable. I’m almost convinced she can not only understand Common but… I think I heard her speak it.”

His name.

“C-Common, I mean…” his tanned cheeks grew hot, and dammit all to the hells, his Orb faintly flashed.

“Tsk. Gale. I saw that purple glow. Was your mermaid pretty?” The pale elf teased again, giving his captain his dry jacket, helping him to dry off in the setting sun.

Gale held up a single finger, pedantic and authoritative. “Actually, she’s a Siren. Not a mermaid. I’m sure Rose… err, not-Rose wouldn’t appreciate being confused for a lowly mermaid.”

Astarion arched a brow. “Rose?” he gave a biting giggle. “You asked her for a name? My my, so chivalrous.” His face screwed into a devilish look, red eyes glinting with humor. “Bet you got a good look at her. Your Rose. What’s she like?”

Gale fought the urge to tense up, to give a sigh and look wistfully at the sea whence she disappeared. “One eye blue like the sea, the other red like precious rubies… her skin perfectly freckled all over,” he cleared his throat as if he wasn’t also imagining the way even her breasts were bespotted. “A-and her ears were pointed not unlike yours, Astarion. And she must have powerful magic.”

He looked to the high cliff face, the opening still visible from whence he had burst forth. “I washed up in that sea cave, and she pulled me out by opening it wider with her song. And then, she conjured a perfect red rose when I asked her for a name…”

Sighing, he could almost ignore the incredulous looks he was getting from his Tressym and the elf.

It was finally the pragmatic feline that thrust her face in Gale's line of sight. “Pardon me as I interrupt your interspecie reverie, Captain, but did you say she had the… Netherstones? As in the ones we need to unlock the greatest treasure of Karsus’ treasure?”

Her voice was a bit on the shrill side, but chipper from encouragement. So close, or at least one step closer to their cure.

“Indeed,” Gale groaned, bringing himself to his feet with just a little help from his Bosun. “So I have to find her again, the Siren.”

A firm pat on the back, dexterous hands brushing the sand and seaweed off Gale’s shoulders, and Astarion led him back down the beach. “Well, all things considered, you’re lucky you survived one encounter with the monster. Can’t say as much for the ship. She’s run aground something fierce.” A sarcastic giggle punctuated Astarion’s snide if true comments. “Gives you plenty of time to seek your siren out for another near-death experience and to get your Netherstones.

He’d never admit it, but his red eyes scanned his friend, his captain’s face nervously. The lines of the Orb had extended so quickly lately, his companion stood on a precipice over imminent death… blasted curse. His concern for the better of him as he put a hand on Gale’s back between his shoulders. “We will find it, if it’s what can break your curse and bring the Orb under control once and for all…”

Gale’s milky eye opened wide at him, turning to give the elf a look of appreciation and a little bit of shock. “That is surprisingly kind of you, Mr. Ancunín.”

“Yeah well… don’t get used to it. We thought you dead,” his tone returned to sharp and snide, his hand pulling away as if he was disgusted by the intimate moment. “It was your cat that insisted we search the beach this way… current and rip tides something, something.”

They trudged in the gathering dark towards a distant light. The signs of a makeshift camp around a roaring massive bonfire on the beach was a sight for sore eyes, and Gale smiled.

Until his gaze settled on the Tara, his ship not too far off the beach, her hull snug in the sand, unmoving and trapped.

Just like they were.

Trapped, but safe. As if willed to be here, guided by a providential hand, perhaps.

His crew were half-tucked into bedrolls, the other half were three sheets to the wind to toast their survival. Not one soul lost.

All present and accounted for… save now being short what was probably several bottles of Ashkaban Rum.

Ever the dutiful captain, Gale made his rounds, making sure everyone saw him home and hale from his near-drowning.

It wasn’t the fear that kept plaguing his mind. No, no it was his saviour. Those mismatched eyes, he could swear he caught them from the corner of his eyes from the shoreline, from behind the crates of Plum Fizz… even from the clusters of palm trees on the beach.

Little glowing flashes of red or blue.

And then the night settled. Everyone laid wrapped snug in their bedrolls.

But not Gale.

Even if it wasn’t for the way the Siren had already beguiled him, the Orb in his chest ached too much to let him sleep. So close to the Netherstones, the ball of Arcane Hunger in his chest burned too great to grant him any reprieve.

Not to mention the low hum of laughter he could swear carried from the sea the moment he tried to close his eyes. He would really have to do some research on Siren biology: how far away could they see? How far could their magical voice extend? Could their eyes glow? Was their kiss potent enough to bewitch a man?

He turned face down in the leather of his bedroll, if only to muffled the groan… part from the ache in his chest and part from this equally cursed ache in… other places. He knew legends of Sirens walking among men, shedding their tails for a tenday to live as the mortals do.

To love as the mortals do…

He gripped into the leather, hips rolling a little against the warm sand beneath the bedding. Gale sat up, ignoring the burning in his chest and loins. He had to cool this pain, had to sate the hunger before the curse advanced further. He blinked, spying the jolly boat beached in the surf. Just a little jaunt over the very chilling sea water. Yes. That should set him aright for tonight.

Trudging through sand, he swore he could hear a voice on the breeze. But every time he lifted his head and looked, it would fade.

Beguiling Siren.

Hands on the hull, Gale shoved the boat into the sea, the waters unnaturally calm. The winds long abated. As if they had been stilled.

More magic? Gale knew not, only that burning that drove him to get on the water.

Oars in hand, he rowed, a patch of moonlight on the dark waters was his destination.

Sirens love moonlight…

Inwardly, he told himself to stuff it, that this was to cool the hunger his Orb had flaring…

But his heart still skipped a beat when some dark shape swam his way in the very moonlit waters he traversed.

“Gale of Waterdeep…” that voice he knew so well after a day bubbled from the surface just off his port side. “I was wondering when you’d answer your Siren’s call.”

His lips opened to reply before his mind could advise against it. “‘Tis I, precious rose,” he bowed his head, always a gentleman, even to this creature of the sea.

Her red and blue eyes caught the moonlight, giving that otherworldly glow. Her pointy teeth were almost equally bright, which made Gale nervous. But at least she was smiling. “I am not quite called Rose, even if you are close… RoseSong… or in my tongue, I am called Merelind.”

“Merelind…” Gale repeated, the music of her own name sweet like a melody and heady like the fragrance of her namesake. He gaped down in the water, that pretty face emerging from the surface, her hair pulled back to reveal patches of pink scales on her skin that simmered in the moonlight. Still water, clear water, he could see her tail in the moonlight, a pale blue that disappeared into the sundering dark. It undulated in the depths, and Gale couldn’t help but lean over the rail to catch a full glimpse of her beauty… further, and further…

Until a wet, cold hand stayed his descent and pressed on his chest.

The Siren’s hand shoved him back hand right on his Orb, a gasp from her pretty pink lips as a jolt passed between them. Purple light flared from his chest, and the triangular pendant at her neck hummed and glowed in a simultaneous flash. Air warmed and reverberated between them, a rhythmic pulse, almost like a heartbeat pounded against both their chests.

She frowned. “Ah, I was right. You are not like the others,” she murmured as she swam back the distances they had been repelled. “You come for my treasure with part of its magic already in you…” her mismatched eyes scanned the glow of purple under his shirt.

Gale also frowned. “You can sense my curse, can you?

Merelind nodded. “It is why I spared your life… You and your crew that now camps on my beach.” An eerie smile crawled over her berry-pink lips as she bobbed in the waters at his side. “By rights, according to my own curse, your life is mine, forfeit the moment you entered my waters.”

Even as he stared down at her, her skin covered in patches of light pink scales, even as he realized she could pull him body and soul into the depths to drown, Gale could only stare at her pretty, bewitching face. “F-Forfeit?” he finally stammered as her meaning reached past the veil of pining that had fallen on the poor pirate.

“Aye,” she gave a musical laugh, reaching a hand to rest beside him on the wooden rail. “But the magic in your body is like mine. This artifact that holds me cursed and bound to this servitude.” Her mismatched eyes searched his shocked expression. “What lies within you, Gale of Deep Water?”

“Ahem, it’s Waterdee—, nevermind,” he swallowed down his pedantic nature for once to answer her. “The Orb of Netheril. This blight that has infected me with its curse…” The lines of his Orb pulsed a bright purple among the other dark tattooed lines on his neck. “I’ve tried all sorts of magic to be broken from my curse, but the only thing that might free me is…”

“The Crown.” Merelind interjected, even as the same words fell silent on Gale’s tongue. “The very treasure whose keys rest about my neck. The very treasure whose existence binds me body and soul to this wretched island, that keeps these Netherstones, heavy on my neck, as my burden to bear.”

She rose from the water, her breasts bare and glistening in the moonlight, and between them shone that tricolored pendant again. Scowling, she pulled up from the water, crossing both arms on the rail and resting her chin on them. “I spared your life out of instinct, and every thought I have even now is screaming at me to save you from this cursed urge inside me to pull you under and wrap myself around your body until you grow stiff.”

Gale swallowed, the image making him grow stiff alright. He sputtered a moment as he pulled back in the dinghy to give her room. “Umm forgive me, but why resist the urge so much for me?” He couldn’t fight the smile on his bearded face. “Do you find me incomparable? …unparalleled? Inimitable?” His smile turned just a little more haughty and arrogant. “Am I special?

Merelind nodded slowly, even as her eyes locked on his own two-toned eyes. “I suppose one could say so, yes,” she gave a low-toned giggle. “I’ve never managed to resist killing my quarries before, but with you, it’s different.” Tilting her head, she reached for the faintly glowing purple lines at his neck. “Does it hurt you, your cursed Orb of Karsus?”

As her fingers met his skin, she could feel his shudder, could see his pulse jump in that same artery under his pretty tanned skin.

Gale nodded. Somehow, the usual shame that accompanied discussing his affliction didn’t rear its ugly head, not with her. “It needs to be sated. Fed. From time to time, I must consume strands of Weave or else the pain grows to be unbearable.”

His dark eyes flicked to her beside him, the way he skin glistened in the moonlight, the way it bathed each pretty freckle on her skin…. He shook his head, returning to his senses at last. “What will happen if you do not abide by your curse’s rules?” He asked softly, reaching to rest his hand on the wood rail of the vessel. So close to her elbow.

Merelind shrugged, the briefest forlorn flash on her face. “I know not. You are the first I’ve ever spared from my urge.”

“Then let me help you, Merelind,” he replied so quickly, almost speaking over her. “We can break our curses together. Once I have the Crown of Karsus, I’ll set you free from your obligation to guard it. I’ll use the stones to unlock its power, and you will be a free woman… er… free siren.” He spoke so rapidly, thinking out loud as he reached to rest his touch on that arm so close to him. Her skin so soft, if cool and damp, he noticed.

Blue and red eyes flashed up at him, wide and shocked. “You would? You would see me cured and not cursed?” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “You’d see me no longer a monster, a terror of the sea?”

“You aren’t one now, Merelind,” he spoke softly, her name sweet on his tongue, looking down at her as she seemed to creep closer into his vessel. To approach him or to drown him, he wasn’t sure. And he wasn’t sure he cared. “You are no more a monster than I.” Gale gestured to the lines of purple that marred his cheek and led to his white, milky eye. “If left uncured, who knows how disfigured I could grow, how rotten and veined my body might become…”

Merelind pulled herself to sit on the rail of the boat now, her powdered blue tail dangling into the water. Her simmering fin still caught the moonlight just below the surface. It mesmerized him, making him lean over the water a little…

…a little too far. The skiff rocked and bobbed off balance, and two wet hands gripped into the arms of his jacket to tackle him into the bottom of his vessel. To save him from tumbling into the drink… from drowning. Again.

“Oof!” Gale muttered, inhaling a sweet floral scent so close to his nose as he got his bearings. Opening his eyes, his vision was filled with blonde wet hair and freckled cheeks and mismatched eyes…

And Gale froze, surely blushing. “S-See, you saved me! You’re not a murderer!” He exclaimed a little too loudly as he sat up and shifted to give the Siren some room. “You have no reason to avoid my help and, heh, cast me off…”

The Siren looked at him for his humor, pink lips turning regardless of the pun’s quality into a smile. Another mark in her favor. “Alright. I accept. I free you, you free me or die by my hand.” She nodded perfunctorily as if it was the most logical agreement ever.

Gale’s mouth hung slack, and then shut. “Very well, my word as a gentleman. We will help each other, Merelind, cursed Siren of the sea.”

A smile on her face, and she sat herself up from being sprawled on the deck of his skiff. A burst of rosy pink light, and suddenly… that captivating tail was gone, replaced by a long and freckled pair of legs.

Bare ones. Naked ones.

Gale blushed harder, thanking the night for being dark as he took off his purple wool coat and looked away. “Ahem, for you my lady.” He extended the garment for her, praying to all the gods who would listen that it was hopefully long enough to cover to her thighs.

She took it, shrugging it on and closing it to hang loosely over her lithe frame. “You mortals and your senses of decency are fascinating,” she laughed a little. “But I suppose if I’m to join your crew, I cannot walk on bare legs any more than I can wear my tail aboard your ship.” She snapped her fingers for his attention. And those eyes, one dark and one white, they gazed at her with the briefest flash of intensity, of ardor she had only heard tales of…

The ballads and drinking songs she would listen to for a moment or two on other ships before luring them to their demise.

“Join my crew?” Gale hummed, considering as if he hadn’t been concocting ways to accomplish that very same end. “Well,” he stroked the beard on his chin, a cheeky grin on his lips, “the idea has many merits…”

“Is this is an attempt at mortal humor…” she trailed off, until she gave a wide smile that was all pointy teeth with her musical laugh. “Or are you reneging on your offer to help? Is this the part where I hold my need about dying by my hand?”

“Humor! Humor!” He gave a nervous laugh, grabbing the oars and starting to row them back towards the beach and camp. A little hard and vigorous, as if that slight threat she made against him didn’t only reignite the hunger in his lower reshoots again. “One must always be a gentleman. I would not go back on my word to you. You and I, my siren, we will both be broken of our curses.”

The sloshing of the oars was the only sound for a time as he rowed back to shore. Gale kept his eyes up, watching the shore get closer, except when they would dart over her pretty freckled face every now and then. She looked away from him, those Netherstones resting on her chest just where the lapels of his coat closed around her.

Finally it was her musical voice that broke the silence. “How long have you had your…?” Merelind turned sharply, gesturing to the left side of her face.

“My curse? This blasted Orb? This macabre blight that is determined to make me suffer?” He suddenly pulled harder at the oars, out of irritation. Anger. “It’s been a year I’ve had it in my chest, slowly driving my body into ruin.”

She looked at him, those eyes blinking slowly. “It is curious. I only know of the Crown, and these, of course,” she lifted the pendant from her neck briefly. “How did you come by it? Your cursed Orb, I mean.”

Gale paused his rowing, watching her in the middle of the sea, their boat drifting towards the shore. His tanned face looked stricken, his eyes half-lidded and distraught. “I found an ancient tome, the magic inside it lost, and angry… and hungry. I had only wanted to read to find the location of the Crown to give to my lover… to my Queen.”

He sighed, swearing he caught a flicker of silver eyes and black hair beside him.

No. He chastised himself for imagining Mystra here. Now. No. She’d not be thinking of him, so why should he, her?

“Is that why you seek the Crown now? To give to some mortal Queen?” Merelind stiffened, slightly but perceptibly. Her nostrils flared, and Gale could swear her hand clenched on the fabric of his coat on her pretty body.

“No.” That was his reply. “No, I only wish to be cured now.”

Liar… his mind hissed at him. Had he not been contemplating offering it for his forgiveness and privateering contract back intact just today? Before he had met this beguiling siren. He caught himself staring at her face, just a little too long.

How his life had changed so much in a day. Again.

This time for the better, he hoped. This time, he hoped it was a chance to break his curse, not succumbing to it like last time. His heart was pounding, watching as she leaned in, that scent of a floral perfume in his nose again. Her cool breath, he swore he could feel it on his face as she huffed a laugh and smiled.

“Then I’ll be cured too,” she crossed her legs at the knees, bouncing the top most slowly, bumping his calf. “I’ll be free. I can leave this isle, my soul and sanity intact.”

Regal. Magical. The way she was bathed in the moonlight, how he wanted to stay awhile, to drink her in.

Gods… her lips turned in a hopeful smile, a real one. “Breathtaking,” he barely whispered. “Like a queen.”

“I am no queen, just a sea monster,” she tipped her head to the side, those eyes inexplicably lowering to his mouth.

Gale almost interrupted her self-deprecation. Yes, you are. And trust me, I should know…”

Her pointed ear lowered, her legs stilling, bare foot pressing against the side of his leg. That little bit of innocent contact suddenly feeling oh so less than innocent.

Gale couldn’t bring himself to turn away, even as his Orb burned more as he leaned in closer. A little purple light flickered and glowed from it as he drew barely a breath away from her own lips. Then those Netherstones began to glow too, a wash of rosy colors shining against her own chest. He swallowed, their faces bathed in pink and purples as he… as he leaned…

“Captain,” she whispered. Turning her head away abruptly. The glow of her pendant vanished as quickly as it had illuminated. “Your crew is waiting, and dawn will not be long.” Merelind cleared her throat, pulling back and shifting on the seat.

A disappointed grunt at the back of his throat, and he grabbed the oars once more. “Ah, forgive me. It is not every day one can thank the beautiful Siren that saved their life twice over, arguably thrice now.” He gave an easy laugh, one well practiced from his days in court as the queen’s chosen lover.

“Indeed,” she replied coolly, tucking the hem of his jacket under her ass.

So regal, risen from the beautiful sea itself, he watched the Siren as the boat drew up on the beach. The moment they were shallow, she jumped over the side, strolling with such grace up the beach towards the bonfire. Her figure wrapped in the purples lines of his coat. Her hair bright in the wavering light….

He had only seen two sorts of being with such grace… princesses and predators.

Gale wondered which one she was.

Or if she was both.

🎨 by @deannamb

Thank you for Gale to @redisbetterr

Thank you to @nyx-knox for bouncing the plot and beta’ing

[lunette-png]

When The Sea Fell Silent

In which | a siren seeks vengeance for her fallen kin, but a sailor's mercy changes the tide.

Pairing: Telemachus x Reader [oneshot]

inspired by: "Siren" by Lydia the Bard

dividers by: @anitalenia

The ocean stretched endlessly, a canvas of deep blue that darkened with the setting sun. But tonight, it wasn’t the sunset that painted the waters red. Y/N hovered just above the surface, her tail gleaming like polished onyx beneath the moonlight, while Mona and the rest of their sisters drifted beside her, their eyes fixed on the grisly scene before them.

Mona’s tail shimmered in the dim light, its pale cerulean scales glistening like sunlight dancing on the ocean’s surface. A stark contrast to the dark blood staining the sea.

Bodies. Broken, mutilated bodies of their kin, their tails severed, their arms outstretched as if they had clawed at the sea for life. The water around them swirled crimson, an unnatural tide of death. Y/N swallowed the bile rising in her throat. This was not the work of mere mortals lost to the sea. No—this was a massacre.

A whisper carried through the waters from a neighboring cove, a tale spoken with hushed voices and horror-stricken gazes. Odysseus. The name alone sent a violent shudder through Y/N’s spine. It was he who had ordered the sirens maimed, had them tossed into the waves to drown, all because he feared them. Feared what they could do. Feared that they would keep him from returning to his wife.

Y/N clenched her fists. She would remember this name. She would carve it into the sea itself if she had to.

Mona’s voice was softer than the waves lapping against their tails. “Y/N, vengeance won’t bring them back.”

“I don’t care.” Y/N turned, her eyes blazing. “He will pay for what he’s done.”

Mona sighed but said no more. The sea had already decided to listen.

Years passed, but the wounds remained. Then, at last, word traveled through the tides—Odysseus’s son was out at sea. Telemachus. A name spoken with awe by men who still praised his father’s cunning. A name now whispered with anticipation by the sirens who had not forgotten.

As the dead of night cloaked the sky, Y/N and her kin waited, hidden beneath the rolling waves, watching the ship glide through the water. Mona swayed beside her, apprehension clear in her furrowed brow. “Y/N, this isn’t Odysseus.”

“But it is his blood,” Y/N murmured. And that was enough.

The sirens began their song.

"Oh, sailor dear

You're looking tired

Why don't you come to bed?

Down here with me, I'll keep you warm

Jump in and take your rest."

The melody wove through the night air like silk, smooth and sweet, beckoning, promising warmth, safety, love. The men on the ship stiffened, eyes glazing over. Some stumbled toward the edge, desperate for the embrace of the sea. Others fought against the pull, gripping the mast, shaking their heads as if trying to rid themselves of the spell.

One sailor, younger than the rest, clutched his ears and fell to his knees, murmuring prayers to the gods. Another succumbed, his body swaying before he tipped forward, vanishing beneath the waves. His comrades barely noticed his absence, too entranced by the sirens’ call.

“Come on out of the shallows and into the fathoms below.”

Y/N saw him then—Telemachus. He was his father’s son, in the sharp cut of his jaw, in the way his brow furrowed as he barked orders. But there was something else, something different. He was young, unweathered by war, his presence lacking the cruel cunning she had expected. Still, he was Odysseus’s heir, and that was enough.

The sirens struck.

The night erupted into chaos. Water splashed as men tumbled into the sea, either lured or dragged. The song turned to screams. Mona’s voice called out, but Y/N had already surged forward.

Telemachus fought like a warrior born, ordering his men to tie themselves to the mast, to plug their ears, to resist. He swung the hilt of his sword, striking one of the sirens away, but he was outnumbered. Some of his crew followed his orders, tying themselves down, sweat pouring down their faces as they fought against the song. Others were not so lucky. One man let out a strangled cry before slipping overboard, hands clawing at the air before he was swallowed whole by the dark water.

Another resisted, clinging to the rigging, tears streaming down his face as his body convulsed from the effort. But a siren reached him first, fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling—

Gone.

Y/N reached for Telemachus, voice laced with venom. “What part of ‘jump down’ don’t you understand?”

His eyes locked onto hers, confusion flickering before realization dawned. “Why?” he demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

Y/N bared her teeth. “Ask your father.”

Then, a cry split the night—Mona, caught in the grasp of one of Telemachus’s men. A dagger was pressed to her throat. Y/N froze. But before she could act, Telemachus did.

He moved swiftly, knocking the weapon from his crewmate’s grasp and striking him down—not with a blade, but with his fists. “Let her go,” he ordered, his voice steady. He turned to Y/N. “I don’t know what my father has done to you. But I am not him.”

Mona, now free, wasted no time in diving back into the water. The sirens hissed, ready to lunge again—but Y/N raised a hand, stopping them in their tracks.

Telemachus’s men, battered and shaken, scrambled to secure what remained of their crew. The sea roared around them, but the sirens did not move.

Y/N watched them go, uncertainty creeping into her resolve.

Mona’s gaze bore into Y/N, disbelief clear in her expression. “You let them go.”

The other sirens circled, their anger palpable. Hisses filled the air, but Y/N stood firm.

“They are not the men responsible for the death of our kin.”

"But their captain, the prince carries his blood", one argued.

Silence. Then, y/n spoke. “But perhaps not all sons grow up to be their fathers.”

The ship faded into the horizon, its battered crew tending to their wounded. Telemachus turned, his gaze finding Y/N’s one last time. A silent understanding passed between them, one neither of them could put into words.

The fate of Y/N remained uncertain. But as she drifted beneath the waves, she knew one thing for sure—the past did not have to dictate the future.

And once again, the sea was silent.

AN: hi- taking a break from waves of ithaca, so here's a oneshot for now. this song has been stuck in my head since it was released. i am soo sorry if it isn't my best work, i am in dire need of sleep ㅠㅠ the format is different, because frankly- i couldn't be bothered to make every line of dialogue bold and italicized, forgive me for that.

also, peep the @lisalamona cameo

[thorsenmark]

No matter which direction you travel (Great Smoky Mountains National Park) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: No matter which direction you travel from where are were to here Immerse yourself in the colors of the world around you Smell the fragrances the wind blows about Hear the symphony of birds and things that fly around Take a step forward and know everyone greets you with a fine hello And smile back that graciousness in gratitude for a life lived that moment Another work of short poetry or prose to complement the image captured one afternoon in the Cades Cove area of Great Smoky Mountains National Park. This was at a roadside pullout around the Whistling Branch Overlook to black bear that was eating here and there while crossing this grassy meadow. The setting is looking to the north-northeast with Cades Cove Mountain, Double Mountain, and Cerulean Knob as a distant mountain backdrop. In a few images that I captured at this location, I did zoom in with the focal length, but here I wanted to pull back and include some of the national parks surrounding landscape that I felt only added to the wonderment of nature here. The rest was later making adjustments with control points in DxO PhotoLab 7 to bring out the contrast, saturation and brightness I wanted for the final image.

[housingrealtybykaal]

Assetz Canvas And Cove Bagur Bangalore | Luxury Apartments

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[strawbearyry]

Hey y'all 🤠I just finished yet another something, and I'm pretty proud of this one! It took me hours to finish because I used an animation canvas to make sure the positions were right lol, but I surely could've done something simpler. But I didn't! And now we have this, I'm posting at 3 am but whatever pshh who cares am I right? Below the video is the process, looking at the time stamp on the canvas, it took me 5 hours.. Worth it totes.

I truly love this one a lot, compared to my other olba oc works! This wins first place for now, the shell piece is second, and the swing piece is the third one. Uhm. I'm not placing the sprites... Let's not talk about the sprites.. Aannnyyywayyssss, hope the people that find this enjoy the video! Like and subscribe and hit the bell button for more videos... Heh.. Hehe.... Uhm okay logging out now bye

Forgot to add that the reason I put "you won't like it here!" For the "I'm a hound dog!" Part was because little 8 year old cove didn't like sunset bird that much at the start and little 8 year old Malea moved to sunset bird like 5 days after he and his dad did? Anyways thanks for letting me Yap here bye bye