posting now because it's talk like a pirate day and the full moon

bad moons call

prompt: siren and asexual pirate who doesn’t understand why all his crew are losing their shit that person has a nice voice sure but what the fuck is happening. (source)
rating: k/general audiences

they send me away to find them a fortune, a chest filled with diamonds and gold
the house was awake with shadows and monsters

The first time he sees it out there it’s just a bolt through the churning waters - ghosting through the low fog and stealing light from the waxing moon. It’s easy to convince himself he’s dreaming, that it’s just so late on lookout and the old legends of Calypso told over dinner get to his head, so he does. It’s his first voyage across the great seas and whatever he sees moves too fast for him to be sure of what it is - most likely a group of fish migrating to the warmer waters or even the crew fooling him to call out and fall into some grand trick or another.

A splash and a terrified shout from the bow jerks him out of his reverie. “Siren!”

A gust of wind howls through the shrouds and more voices rise up. He leaves his station at the stern and sees the silhouette of someone shooting blindly into the water. Her existence is cursed and seethed and spat on as half of the crew stomps back up to the deck from the cabins. They lean over the sides to catch a glimpse of the nightmarish creature and clumsily gather towards the center. He realizes that he should be shaken and alert whenever she appears.

But he’s never been one for superstition.

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8:16 [1/1]

A/N: So @ive-always-been-a-pirate and I were talking speculation today about why the time on the clock in Underbrooke moved between 5x12 BTS and 5x14 BTS. Then mindyourhelm posted this little thing and my muse just screamed at me to write it. So here it is. 

Rated: K

Since the dawn of time the clock had been there.

Its shape had changed over the centuries, molding itself into whatever image the ruler of this realm chose. In days of old it had been a sundial, echoing the simple world its inhabitants had come from. An elaborate Victorian tower had been its image for years, iron beams blending it into the surrounding buildings that changed as time moved forward in the outside world. Its current incarnation was a modern clock set in the crumbling remains of a tower, embedded within the very pavement that ran through the town.

The clock had always been there, but its hands never moved.

Day and night came, seasons changed, and eons passed for the realm’s inhabitants but the clock remained silent. Its hands were forever frozen, mocking those who walked by because this was a timeless land, where age and time spent there didn’t matter. Even when it had been a simple sundial the shadow that marked the time never moved, forever locked on that same hour and minute. Some inhabitants had been there since the world was nothing more than brimstone and fire, others filtering in over the years as their souls left the mortal world. They were all used to the unmoving clock, the one constant in the realm no matter the shape their world took, many forgetting the ancient fixture was even there.

But not him.

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