#sailors and seadogs

[flaredonut]

Sailor/captain/first mate vaporeon tests

There ain't so much depictions of a sailor-outfit vaporeon...

[leiascully]

with halloween coming up i’ve been dying for a spooky mermaid/siren au… scully being a beautiful scary ass mermaid and maybe mulder being a captain of a ship or something? maybe she just wants to lure him to his death or maybe it’s smutty or both? (i love your work you have no idea!! ty!!)

Scully snapped the telescope open and peered into the fog. There it was again - that flash or glint. It looked like metal, but there wasn’t any metal out there. Surpassing strange. She holstered the telescope at her hip and went to find her captain.

“Sir,” she said to Captain Skinner, “I think there’s something out there. I keep seeing a flash, like light reflecting off metal. But there’s no light, and no metal.”

“It’s the fog,” Captain Skinner said. “It’ll play tricks on your eyes, Scully. I’ve seen things over the years you wouldn’t believe. Keep your head level.” He patted her shoulder with a firm hand. Far firmer than he would have had he known she was a woman. Scully had run away to join the Navy, disguising herself as a man named Daniel. So far she’d managed to maintain the charade, padding out her uniform a bit and binding her breasts down. She shaved her face diligently every day while the crew teased her aspirations, and she had a sack full of sand that she tucked into her breeches to mock a member. She’d worked herself up to become Skinner’s first mate. They were on a little-regarded ship — the crew joked she ought to be called The Exile rather than The Exhilaration — but Scully was still proud of the accomplishment.

“I’ll return to my post, sir,” she said.

“Sometimes it feels like the fog is alive,” Skinner said. “Trust an old seadog. Keep your eyes to yourself.”

“Yessir,” she said.

The fog seemed thicker as she returned to the bridge. Scully couldn’t see any of the other crew members from her lookout spot under the figurehead. They sat at anchor; most of the crew were in their hammocks below decks. It was as if she was alone in the world. She leaned on the low railing and peered into the blankness. It was strange to see so much fog in the Caribbean; the waters had been clear when they’d left Bermuda, and the sky had been cloudless.

There it was again: a flicker of light, anomalous and uncanny. It flickered again and again, almost like a signal. Scully couldn’t see anything. She unholstered her telescope again, gazed out over the invisible water. There! A sinuous curve broke the surface, gone as quickly as she’d glimpsed it. And then, oh, a face! She saw it so clearly through her lenses: it had a square jaw and deepset eyes. A man, in the water. She skinned out of her jacket and rolled her telescope into it, tucking them against the hull of the ship. She kicked off her boots and stepped onto the rail. For a moment she balanced there, hesitating, but no, there was someone in the water and it was her duty to rescue them. She dove neatly into the sea.

Almost as soon as she’d delved under the surface of the water, she was swept up in a strange current. She opened her eyes, trying to get her bearings. The salt burned, but she could see something circling her. The coils of something tightened around her until she could feel scales sliding over the thin material of her shirt and breeches. She was embraced from shoulders to knees. She couldn’t move. She ought to be panicking, but she felt strangely calm. And there was the face again, those deep eyes peering at her.

(read the rest on AO3 - 4300 words, M for sexual situations, Navy sailor Scully has the time of her life with a merMulder)

[stardustbarbarians]

Go to Sea No More

A Daniel Wagner / Sam Kiszka fic

Summary: You can take the sailor off the ocean, but you can’t take the sailor out of the man.

Tags: humor, fluff, hijinx, very very light angst at the start, ofthecaravel's Brandy au

Words: 3.6 k

A/N: Hi I missed the Brandy world a normal amount so I wrote this. This all began when I started to hyperfixate on shipwrecks and fell down a rabbit hole. All of the superstitions I use here are REAL I did not make a single one up. Huge shoutout to the youtube channel Maritime Horrors for posting about all of these hilarious beliefs. Dedicated to @ofthecaravel because yeah this is her universe. Title taken from Go to Sea No More by Sean Dagher. Enjoy everybody! <3

+++

Old expressions float around and are used almost daily. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. When it rains, it pours. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. But one old phrase in particular haunts Sam near daily: You can take the sailor off the ocean, but you can’t take the sailor out of the man. Sam was very aware of that when Jake had chosen the sea over his own family for two years. Even more so when the man he loved had abandoned him in the middle of the night for that briny, fickle mistress. 

However, both men had returned to port and promised to stay forever. Sam had never been more elated, finally feeling complete with their constant presence. All of them knew that while Josh was able to hold his own with his twin out at sea, Sam was worse off. Each time Jake would visit or send letters and gifts, it would make Sam more temperamental and anti-social. 

But, that was the past. With Jake and now Danny remaining in his life for the rest of the time they were able to spend on this earthly coil together, Sam was practically unrecognizable to his bitter counterpart. Instead of clipped conversation with shopkeepers and vendors, he was pleasant and amiable. While this could be blamed on the return of those he loved, Sam was also just tired of being a curmudgeon. He never wanted to be that venomous firecracker of a man, it was just his defense mechanism. But just like the change of the current is controlled by the sun, when Danny stepped into his life with the promise of forever, Sam had slowly shifted and made himself a better man. 

That wasn’t to say that their relationship didn’t have its quirks. 

Sam, having been born and raised in a port town, knew firsthand how superstitious sailors could be. He’d always signed off all those ridiculous fears as nothing but the salt water rotting away those seadog’s brains. While he paid them no credence, he found it was mighty easier to simply follow along with these fallacies. He’d long since tired of hearing “you’re trying to summon pirates, boy!!” roared at him after accidentally letting the dinner knives cross as he served men their dinners. 

And then he started living with a sailor. Suddenly, all those old seadog tales that Sam had scoffed at had to be heeded with the utmost respect. It was always extremely strange for Sam to watch the very level-headed and reasonable Daniel to act superstitious and fearful on a dime. It seemed logic and rational thought were all thrown out the window when it concerned the volatile nature of the seas. 

It all started one day when Sam was doing chores around the cantina. He had opened the windows to let in the cool ocean breeze to combat the scorching hot summer day, hearing the calming crash of waves against the shoreline. As he was apt to do, Sam was whistling while he worked hard to maintain his family’s bar. It was an old shanty that had been rattling around his skull for a few days now, hoping that whistling it would finally relieve him of the cursed tune. That was when Daniel had made a mad dash towards Sam, clamping his large and calloused hand over Sam’s mouth. To say the least, Sam had been startled and slightly afraid of Danny’s now erratic behavior. Sam had started to fear that perhaps some of Danny’s enemies from his old job had been spotted - Danny silencing Sam to avoid being noticed. 

It wasn’t until Danny had hissed a reprimand at him that Sam understood Daniel’s reaction. 

“Are you mad?? Are you trying to summon a gale?!” Daniel had this almost crazed look in his eye as he spat out his scolding. He kept his hand firmly pressed against Sam’s mouth as he leaned out of the window Sam had been mopping next to, screaming: “Apologies, Neptune!! He doesn’t know what he’s doing!!” 

Bewildered and more than a little annoyed, Sam managed to wrestle Danny’s hand off of his lips. “What are you doing??” 

“It’s bad luck to whistle! You’re challenging Neptune! Next thing you know there’ll be a hurricane battering us!” 

Sam looked out the window to see nothing but a clear blue sky and calm waves lapping the harbor. 

“You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.” Of course Sam knew Danny was a sailor, it was hard to forget. However, he had, apparently wrongly, assumed that Daniel was better than all those superstitions. 

Danny only blinked at Sam, sparing one last nervous glance out at the cloudless sky before slithering behind the bar to grab a bottle of wine. Sam watched on incredulously as Daniel walked towards the door with a bottle of the bar’s good wine in hand as if he were a soldier given direct orders. 

“What on earth are you doing now?” Sam cried, trailing after his sailor as he tore through the Caravel Cantina and out the door. 

“Making an offering to the sea god,” he solemnly answered, not even glancing at Sam as he spoke, his eyes dead set on the shoreline a few hundred feet from them. Sam could only watch on in dismay as the man he loved more than anything kneeled down onto the rocks of the shore, raised the wine bottle as Cain had raised the club on Able, and smashed the dark green bottle onto a rock, the crimson alcohol splashing everything in the vicinity. The former seaman watched as the briny water drank up his offering, picking out shards of glass from the rocks. Kids toddled this beach very frequently or else he would’ve left the glass shards as an additional appeasement to Neptune. 

Later that night when Sam would talk to Jake about it, he far from expected the man to take Danny’s side on the matter. 

“You should never whistle where the ocean can hear you, Sammy,” Jake had told him very solemnly. He had even taken on a somber look as he lowered his eyes to lock them with Sam’s. It had unsettled Sam to no end. That was when he knew there was credence to his belief that spending too much time out on sea rots your brain just like the driftwood she spat out from the shipwrecks she claimed. 

Making sure neither seafarers he kept company with were in sight, Sam stood on the pier and whistled a tune into the still waves of the night. When nothing happened for the few minutes he stood there, Sam walked away with a self-assured smile, proving to himself all those pointless worries by the sailors were just that. 

The near gale force winds the next day were just a coincidence. 

+++

Despite knowing how ridiculous it was, Sam kept his whistling to himself when Jake or Danny were near. However, that was far from the only superstition they subscribed to. Sam would learn all of these the more time he spent living with Danny. 

For instance, Danny just about had a heart attack when Sam handed him a salt shaker rather than set it in front of Danny for him to grab. He went pale as a sheet and refused to take the shaker out of Sam’s hand. 

“You don’t want to give me bad luck, now, do you?” Daniel nervously bargained with his boyfriend, an anxious smile tugging weakly at the corners of Danny’s lips. 

So, now Sam had to make a conscious effort to place the salt shaker in Daniel’s reach and not hand it straight to him. 

Another fear, the most ridiculous in Sam’s opinion, was that of bananas. It was agreed that Danny and Sam would trade off weeks getting groceries, writing down items that were needed on a list in the kitchen. So, when Sam had brought home the groceries one Tuesday and set down a bunch of bananas, he hardly expected to see Daniel gazing at them as if they had killed his sister. 

“What? Don’t you like bananas?” Sam innocently asked, glancing between the yellow fruit and Danny. It was eerie the way Danny refused to take his eyes off the fruit. 

“You don’t know? You’ve lived around sailors your whole life and you don’t know?” Daniel finally looked Sam in the eyes, that haunted yet slightly afraid look in them Sammy had come to associate with another superstition. 

The land-lover sighed heavily. He felt himself deflate as he forewent unpacking his groceries to lay his hands on the table to ground himself. You love him you love him you love him- 

“If you tell me they’re bad luck-”

“THEY ARE!! They’re nasty little buggers that rot all your rations and harbor poisonous snakes and spiders!!!” Daniel raved, his arms flailing as his eyes went wild. Sammy loved Daniel. He really did. Daniel was the only one who had wanted him for him and not just his pretty face. However, he was making it very hard to remember that at present. 

“Daniel,” Sam started, gently taking his lover’s face in his hands, making sure those picturesque hazel eyes were trained onto Sam’s, “you mean so much to me. I have been abiding by all your superstitions and asinine fears. However, I am not giving up bananas for you. So for the love of the sea you regard so highly, please let me have this one little thing.” 

After Sam’s speech, Danny took a deep breath. He leaned himself into Sam’s touch, sliding his rope-hardened hands to cover Sammy’s. “Alright,” he breathed. 

Laced into his single worded reply was an apology. Sam had heard it, Danny didn’t need to say it. As a sign that he accepted his mea culpa, Sammy left a tender kiss on Danny’s tanned forehead. 

“I’ll put them in the cupboard so you don’t have to look at them. How about that?” Sam offered, keeping his hands in their place at Danny’s cheeks. 

“You’ve got yourself an accord, matey.” Daniel’s smile was wide and dazzling, reaching his eyes and making them crinkle at the corners. 

Sam couldn’t help himself, he started to pepper Danny with hundreds of kisses all along his face. 

+++

The next few superstitions all came in a batch of a few weeks. And there was a good reason for that. Jake and Danny had finally saved up enough money to buy a two sail, forty-two foot cutter. It was an older girl, perhaps a few decades spent traversing the blue brine, but it was nothing that two experienced sailors who were former pirates couldn’t handle. Sam helped where he could with the maintenance, but there was only so much he could do. It was as if you asked him to speak Latin. But, he lent a hand and some elbow grease when the occasion called for it. 

Within a few months, the old battered cutter was more than seaworthy. Sam had wanted to get out on the water right away, eager to see the mighty and vast ocean he’d only glimpsed at from his port city his whole life. However, as usual, there was a superstition preventing that from happening. 

“It’s bad luck for a ship not to have a proper name, Sammy,” Danny gently explained, tucking a piece of Sam’s hair behind his ear. 

“It’s amazing she hasn’t sunk yet,” Jake strained, his torso hanging over the port-side bow of the ship, taking in the chipped paint where the name was meant to be. 

“But, it’s such a beautiful day out,” Sam lamented, looking longingly out at the sparkling, cerulean waves that seemed to beckon him with every undulating swell. 

Danny, glancing over at Jake to make sure he wasn’t looking, snuck a quick kiss to Sam’s temple. They weren’t a secret, but Danny had always wanted to save his former captain the grief of seeing his little brother getting kissed - Danny knew he’d appreciate it if Josie’s boyfriend did the same. 

“Tell you what,” Danny started, lacing his finger’s with Sam’s, “you can christen the ship. How does that sound?” 

“Why does he get to do it?” Josh whined, no longer distracted by the fish swimming along the harbor. 

“Well, it is traditionally done by a woman,” Jake mused, unable to hide his teasing smirk. The mirth in his eyes was all too telling that he knew he’d gotten right under Sam’s skin. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Sam spat, not really meaning it. Jake knew this, shoving Sam on the arm with a chuckle. Sam reciprocated the gesture, giving a begrudging smile to his older brother. 

“Josh, why don’t you pick the name?” Danny suggested. 

Josh pondered for a second, kicking his dangling feet off the railing of the ship. “What about The Clarice?” 

“Josh, all due respect to you and your daughter, but I’d rather walk around with a pegleg, an eyepatch, and a parrot on my shoulder before I name any ship I sail after a chicken.” From the look on his face, Jake was not kidding either. He picked off a piece of flecking paint from the railing Josh was sitting on, casting it into the water below. The paint job was the last thing on their to-do list, wanting to pick out a name for her before finishing up the maintenance. 

Josh grumbled, a knit in his brow as he said something under his breath that sounded like “you’re a terrible uncle”. 

“What about Calypso? It’s pretty close to Clarice,” Sam suggested, his thumb absently rubbing Danny’s knuckles. 

“I love it,” Danny added, instantly backing Sam’s idea. 

“God, you guys disgust me,” Jake groaned, rubbing at his eyes, “but, it’s a really good name. Nicely done, Sammy, you actually had a good idea for once.” 

Sam flipped Jake the bird, causing Danny to purse his lips to keep himself from laughing. 

Josh sighed, conceding to the fact that he was outnumbered. “I still think The Clarice is better.” 

When the time came to finally set sail on their fully refurbished boat, it was hardly recognizable from the near derelict ship it was months prior. Calypso had been carefully painted in neat print in a beautiful dark green on both the port and starboard-side bow, Sam watching Danny dutifully sketch each letter as he sat on the pier. 

Now, Sam was standing on that same stretch of pier, bottle in hand the same color as the paint Daniel used, his heart pounding in his ribcage hard enough to bruise. Just like everything else in his life after Daniel became a permanent fixture in his life, this moment was colored by superstition. A bad christening for a ship is the same as a death sentence, Sammy, Danny had told him one night, the two of them lying in bed after spending their day fixing up the new ship. 

“Swing it as hard as you can, Sam!” Jake cried, sending his little brother two thumbs up and a reassuring smile. As cheesy as it sounds, the fact that Jake trusted him helped ease Sam’s nerves. 

With a steadying breath, Sam clenched his jaw before swinging the bottle of liquor above his head and bringing it down against the side of the bow as hard as he could. 

To his absolute relief, the sound of shattering glass filled his ears. 

In an instant, he snapped open his eyes to see amber liquor pouring down the wood of the ship, the smell of saltwater mixing with that of a fruity aroma. 

“I thought you were supposed to use champaign,” Sam breathlessly inquired, his head turning to take in Danny standing at his side. He was the one to hand Sam the bottle used in this ceremony. 

With a blinding smile that made Sam’s heart flutter in his chest, Danny shrugged his shoulders. “Figured brandy would be more fitting. And this way I know this ship will be lucky if you distilled her christening liquid.” 

He pulled Sam into him by his waist, planting a kiss onto the top of his head. Sam all but melted into Danny like butter against a hot knife. 

“Blegh! Get a room, you two!” Jake pushed himself between the two lovers forcefully, the pair of them giggling at his discomfort. 

Josh smiled at them, always the more romantic of the twins. “Don’t listen to him. I thought it was delightful.” 

With the christening done, they were finally able to sail out on the ocean. As soon as Sammy stepped onto the deck of that cutter, he knew in his heart he was going to run into numerous more superstitions. However, he was far from expecting to run into one as soon as they finished shoving off of their port. 

“Right,” Jake started, glancing over at Danny standing to his left, hands on the helm he was manning, “you know what we have to do.” 

Before Josh or Sam could even ask a single question as to what that vague and slightly ominous statement meant, they watched helplessly as both sailors produced a herring. Their confusion only mounted into abject horror as, almost in slow motion, the former pirates bit off the heads of the fish and began to chew. 

It wasn’t clear who screamed first, but soon both land-farers were shrieking in terror. They were both frozen in place as the sailors not only continued to chew the heads of those poor fish, but swallowed them whole. 

“Oh, stop your whining! We did this for you, you know!” Jake yelled, tossing the rest of the half-eaten fish off the side of the ship and into the water below. Danny followed suit, his face scrunched up in distaste. 

“How was ANY of that for us??” Josh shrieked, his arms thrown out in dismay at the horror show he just witnessed. 

“It’s frightful bad luck to shove off on a Friday,” Danny explained, going about checking the various knots and lines along the deck. 

“So that means you’ve gotta eat the head of a raw fish?!” Sam cried, feeling like he was on the brink of tears. 

“We had to make an offering to Neptune! This way he may forgive our transgression and keep the seas calm for us,” Jake defensively shouted, his eyebrows knitting together. 

Sam and Josh looked at each other. They didn’t have to speak a word to understand what the other was thinking: they’re insane. 

“God, it never gets easy, though,” Danny lamented, picking a scale off of his tongue before tossing it overboard as well. Sam had to hold back his gag, a hand flying to his mouth to keep the bile threatening to purge itself at bay.

“I’m never kissing you ever again.” There was a firmness in Sam’s tone that lent severity and weight to his words. 

That solemn promise only lasted a few hours. Daniel had brushed his teeth under Sam’s watchful eye. Three times. 

+++

While Calypso was meant to be crewed by at least three people, you could get by with only two if you were only going out for a few hours. And after a few weeks of Sammy asking Danny and Jake to teach him the ropes (quite literally), he was deemed trained enough to go out with just Danny on the water. 

It was going to be a fun day out on the water, Sam helping Danny pack enough food for lunch and dinner. There were also a few bottles of liquor carried aboard as well, the day well prepared for. 

After they had shoved off without a hitch (and not on a Friday, thank you very much), Daniel had stepped away from the helm and sauntered up to Sam. The inexperienced sailor was tying off a knot as he felt a rough hand cover his own, ceasing his movements. 

“You know,” Danny started, his voice low and rumbling like a roll of thunder, “it’s bad luck for a lady to be on board.” 

Sam was, understandably, shocked. In a dramatic move, he swiveled his head around to look for whatever lady the man was referring to. “Daniel, it’s just us two.” 

“Unless she’s naked. Now, unless you want to piss off good ol’ King Neptune,” Danny continued as if Sam hadn’t spoken, “you might wanna lose all your clothes.” 

For a moment, all Sam could do was look at his boyfriend in shock. The man in question held his gaze with Sam, a wolfish smirk growing on his lips. 

“I’m not a lady, Daniel,” Sam spat, throwing down his rope and crossing his arms over his chest. 

This only seemed to amuse Daniel more, teeth poking out of his crooked grin as his raven curls haloed around his head at the behest of the wind. 

“Don’t you want to be my Brandy girl?” His voice had dropped to a lower register, sounding as smooth as the very liquor Danny was invoking. It had worked unfairly well to Danny’s favor, the other man weak in his knees. Sam had to grab hold of the wooden railing on the ship to steady himself, his cheeks getting hot. 

“You’re pretty enough to be a lady,” Danny continued, reaching a hand out to caress Sam’s jaw and beckon his eyes to meet the sailor’s, “I don’t think the king of the sea would be able to tell. Better safe than sorry.” 

Sammy couldn’t suppress the shiver that wracked his body, feeling the warm breath of Danny’s honeyed words ghost across his skin. He knew he’d lost the battle, but he was far from upset at having to concede. 

“Yeah,” Sam swallowed thickly after his voice cracked inside his throat, “better safe than sorry.” 

That evening, under a burning red sunset and with their blood humming with brandy, the Calypso was christened once more. 

+++

tags:

@doodle417 @sammykiszkasunusedshoes @jmks-housewife @ageoferin @alwayssotiredbutneverofyou @etoilesnoor @ascendingtostardust @godlygreta @s0livagant @gretavanflowerpower @morganic-goods @dannythedog @baguettejuliette @fan-girl-97 @gaby-gvf @age-of-nyahh @mzbrightside @myownparadise96 @xserenax-13 @sammysvanfeet @loofypoofy @chalametpwk @seventieswhore @razorbladekiszka @capturethechaos @unfortunatelykristin @welightthefire @gretavanfleas @sammiejane22 @satanplayshisfluteforhim @starsasone @mintysammykiszka @writingcold @tearsofbri @gretasmokerising @streamofstardust @lunaindigoraven @jakeydoesit @tripthelightfandomtastic @sunfl0wer-power @wingedgardener2000 @gretavanbitches @teddiie @gardensGateDaisy @sparrowofthedawnsworld @angelbabyyy99 @sammysprincess @whollyfreeamongststars @gretaswhore28 @l0rdoffli3s @kay-jordan @lightmyloverry @kenzie18 @gotavansleep @roosterbbradley @freckled-wonder @flower-power-anthem @Gabyvanfleet @Sarakay-gvf @Mamalikes-gvf @josh-iamyour-mama @st4rdust-ch0rds @pr41sethemoon @fallonfatality @earthlysorrows @jessicafg03 @rossy1080 @hippievanfleet @spark-my-nature @hayley1623 @schleeble @gretavanflipflop

[beanbagbuddies4life]

Seadog the Dog

via

Born July 22, 2001

I love to feel the ocean breeze When I sail on the open seas A sailor’s life is right for me There’s no place that I’d rather be!

Interestingly, Seadog isn't on the Ty birthday calendar online.

[aramis-dagaz]

Writober Day 1: Skeleton, Armor

((Jacky is from Faded Scars and used with permission))

The prince was nowhere to be found in the smashed and seawater-soaked stateroom, which meant they had to search the rest of the ship.  Jacky felt it was a fool’s errand as he most likely was thrown from the ship when it ran aground on the jagged rocks of Goblintooth Reef, his body washed out into the bay to gods know where.  Maybe he was on the rocky beach nearby, dashed against the cliff upon which the relit lighthouse stood, or tangled up in one of the several shipwrecks nearby.

The very thought of it made her exhausted.  She already had enough death and horror for a year from delving under the lighthouse, let alone the day after.  A part of her wondered if searching among the corpses of the sailors for one person in particular would hold any further revulsion for her, and whether that would be a good thing if it didn’t.

At least I didn’t make these.

A pile of smashed and rotting timber was pushed against the forward deck of the ship (the fo’c’sle, she recalled hearing some old seadogs calling it), pinned in place by the collapsed mainmast, keeping it from being washed out to sea by the fierce tides.  A skeletal hand, the bones picked mostly clean of flesh by the crabs, dire whelks, and other scavengers, poked out of the wreckage.  It leaned against the waterlogged wooden shards at an odd angle at the wrist, a forlorn and macabre image of a sailor who may have clung to life, their body crushed and buried, until even their spirit gave out.

Jacky stared quietly.  She had nearly died in many terrifying ways over the years, but she imagined that watching your only sanctuary get torn to pieces by storm, sea, and rock was pretty much up there.

She shook her head clear.  She didn’t have much time to waste before the tide came back in.  With a sigh, Jacky rolled up her sleeves and made her way to the pile.

“If you end up being possessed by some restless ghost and try to grab me, I will shoot you, friend,” she grumbled to the hand.  The bones laid still.

Moving the rubble proved to be more difficult than Jacky initially thought.  She quickly discovered that the reason why the splintered wood hadn’t washed away was because it had been pressed together so tightly under the pounding of the waves and the mainmast laying on top of it.  All of the planks formed an interlocking mesh, forcing her to find the right piece and pull hard, hoping that others weren’t as heavily pressed against it or that the rotting wood would give way.  She was about to call for Rails to come help her when the plank she was trying to push out of the way crumbled, taking a huge section of timber with it and sending her tumbling into a large puddle of dirty saltwater.

By this point, it was no use trying to dry herself off, so she shoved the broken pieces aside and peered into the tangled mass.  She gasped at the sight that greeted.

Bones.  Far too many to count.  Some recognizable and intact, but many shattered and ground into indistinct shards.  She had no idea how many sailors were in there, pressed together into a single lump of death.  Perhaps at least half a dozen, but she couldn’t tell if the pieces of skull she could see were separate people or the shattered pieces of one individual.  Tiny scavengers scuttled away from the encroaching light, leaving only the wet gleam of bare bones and the reek of seawater and rotting wood.

She couldn’t look away, her eyes trying to pierce through the gloom and muck, trying to keep the excarnated horror at bay by trying to find…she had no idea what she was looking for.  A prince, so probably someone tall and strong, or so Rails told her, but…she had no idea where one person ended and another began.  They were all mashed together in a single mass.  Whatever distinguished them as individuals in life ceased to be meaningful now.  If there was a way to differentiate them in this state, it was far beyond her abilities.

Jacky felt her head swim, become sickeningly light.  A chill gripped her beyond what the sea could inflict on her or the noonday sun’s capability to banish.  She turned to look away, to try–and likely fail–to salvage her resolve, but a glimmer of metal caught sunlight overhead.  Somehow that managed to still the rising horror in her, gave her something else to focus on.

It was two objects, one silver and one gold, both of them seemingly cradled in a nest of crushed and splintered ribs.  Jacky slowly reached towards them, flinching a bit when her hand brushed wet, slimy bone.  She grit her teeth, then exhaled slowly.  As much as she wanted to clear the bones away, it felt wrong to do so.  These are…were people.  Instead, she eased her hand into the mass of bones, gently brushing them aside as she reached further in, straining so that she didn’t fall into the tangled pit.  Her hand closed around the two objects, and fighting the urge to yank it out, she carefully removed them, managing to avoid getting them tangled or cutting herself on splintered shards.

Only then did Jacky allow herself to fall away from the charnel pit, landing on her tail and scooting back as fast as she dared.  She felt the horrific sight start to overwhelm her, her heartbeat increasing rapidly and her breathing becoming quick and shallow.

The metal objects.  She held them up, gazing at them like talismans.  They momentarily banished the sight from her mind, just as they did before.  The reflected sunlight briefly blinded her, the absurdity of the moment further helping to still her disturbed mind.

In her hands were a golden gorget and a silver necklace.  On the front face the gorget held a coat of arms, lovingly engraved and inlaid with precious stones, seemingly untouched by time and the elements.  Jacky didn’t recognize it, but it looked very important.  She was willing to bet quite a lot that she had found their prince.

The silver necklace, in contrast, was heavily tarnished.  It was a locket, the front dented to the point where it couldn’t close properly.  Jacky had seen dents like that before: this locket had stopped a bullet sometime in the past, and no doubt the prince carried it like a lucky charm.  She certainly didn’t blame him.  If she had been lucky enough to have a bullet stopped by a necklace, book, or any other trinkets she heard countless tales of over the years, she wouldn’t let it out of her grasp for anything.

Very carefully, she opened the locket.  The sea had ruined the picture within, rendering the person beyond recognition.  On the front side, circled around the dent, was a ring of what looked like a tightly rolled scroll of black paper.  It was somehow still intact, but Jacky wasn’t about to try to fish it out and open it up.

She stood up, quickly turning away from the carnage and towards the door leading to the other wardrooms.  “Rails!” she called, her voice surprisingly weak.  “Rails!” she called again after clearing her throat.  “I think I found him!”

Rails was at the doorway immediately, his pant legs and shirt sleeves soaked up to his knees and elbows.  Jacky held up the gorget and locket, and he made his way down the sloped deck as quickly as he could.  He took both from her, examining them closely.  His mismatched eyes grew somber and he let out the breath he had been holding.

“It’s Prince Friederich, all right,” he said.  “This is the coat of arms of the House of Felskopf.  Only members of the royal family would wear it, and he was the only royal aboard.”  He opened the locket.  He was silent for a long moment, tears spilling from the holes in his metal mask and dripping from the jagged points of the roughly hewn stylized teeth.

“Poor Masuma,” he said.  “She was deeply…”  A quiet sob caught in his throat.

“I…I’m sorry, Rails,” Jacky said.  She reached out, hesitated, then lightly touched his arm.

“Where…” he said after a moment, “where is he?”

Jacky clutched at her arms, trying to keep the image of crushed wood and bone out of her head.  She pointed a thumb over her shoulder.  “In there.  He’s…”  She shivered, despite the warm weather.  “I’m sorry, Rails, but he’s…they’re all…just…together.”

Rails walked over to the mass, heard a quiet “Oh” over the lapping of the incoming tide.

“Do we…” Jacky finally said, “I mean, can we–”

“No,” Rails said.  “We’ll leave him–them–here.  He never much liked the idea of being buried in a glittering mausoleum while everyone else was put in holes in the ground, as he would put it.  I think…he might’ve preferred it this way.”

Jacky let out a tense breath.  “Okay, so we’ll take the gorget and locket as proof, right?”

“No, just the gorget.  Cousin Masuma said that when she gave it to him he vowed to never be parted from it, and I’m not going to do that to him now.  Just…give me a moment.  I’ll meet you at the shore.”

Jacky walked to the broken gunwale amidships and waited.  As much as she wanted to be away from the wooden grave, she also wanted to stay near for Rails.  He took the news of the prince going missing hard, and she knew how hard it was for him now.  Better to be nearby so he didn’t have to walk away alone with his grief.

Over the rush of the waves, Jacky could hear Rails’s deep, rough voice even as a whisper.  “Farewell, cousin.  We all considered you family already.”

Two sets of tears fell into the waves, joining a sea of grief.

[rustbeltjessie]

I went back as often as I could, to sing with him, get stoned, watch the boats. His name was Jack. Shorn-headed white boy into soul, ska, and reggae; always in a flat cap and black pants torn off just below the knee, fraying. He had bright blue eyes which I can’t describe except to say the bright didn’t lie in their color, but something behind them. A St. Elmo’s Fire raging inside him. He dreamed of one day sailing on one of those tall ships. Autumn came, then winter, and we met at the pub, and I followed him like a lost seadog and he the lighthouse.

—Jessie Lynn McMains, from "Jack Was Every Inch a Sailor" (Tupelo Press 30/30, Day 4)

Each day's poems can be found here. My fundraising page for the month is here.

[mixergiltron]

Arrr Laddies!

Aye,be it that time o' year a'gin. The day where we speak the tongue o' the buccaneers. 'n t' save ye seadogs from scurvy,I've a pair o' grogs t' make ye merry. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

Mix #227 Peg Leg

1oz Plantation 3 Star 3/4oz Lemon Hart 151 3/4oz lime juice 1/2oz simple syrup 1/4oz Demerara syrup 2-3 dashes grapefruit bitters

Shake wit' ice 'n pour inta mug.

Sink me,t'is a beauty of a riff on the traditional grog/daiquiri. Birthed by a landlubber named Kyle Davidson,a barman in the former tavern Blackbird in Chicago,this will send you t' Davey Jones if ya have t' many. Blackbeard hisself would'a drank dis.

Mix #228 Capt Vadrna's Grog

2.5oz spiced rum 3/4oz lime juice 1/2oz white grapefruit juice 3/4oz Demerara syrup 1 dash Angostura bitters

Shake wit' ice 'n pour inta mug.

That 'ol seadog Beachbum Berry made dis t' honor his matey Cap'n Stanislav Vadrna. 'tis a bit tart,but then mayhap so was his heartie? The 'ol pirate Hemingway would'a toasted Calypso with this'n.

'n here be some more pirate drinks I've done,t' keep ye smilin'.

Mix #10 Traditional Grog

1.5oz navy strength rum 1oz lime juice 1/2oz Demerara syrup

Shake with ice and pour into glass or mug.

Mix #11 Navy Grog

1oz light rum 1oz dark rum 1oz Demerara rum 1oz honey syrup 3/4 oz lime juice 3/4oz grapefruit juice 2oz club soda

Shake everything except soda with ice. Pour into double rocks glass and top with soda.

Mix #12 Sailor's Grog

1.5oz spiced rum 1/2oz 151 Demerara rum 3/4oz lime juice 3/4oz orange juice 1/2oz falernum 1 dash Angostura bitters 1.5oz ginger beer

Shake everything except beer with ice and pour into double rocks glass. Top with beer.

Mix #15 Black Beard's Ghost(mine)

2oz light rum 2oz orange juice 1oz lemon juice 1oz blackberry brandy 1/2oz orgeat

Shake with ice and pour into mug.

Mix #14 Pirate's Parley

1oz Demerara rum 3oz pineapple juice 3/4oz lime juice 1/2oz apricot brandy 1/2oz orange curacao

Shake with ice and pour into mug.

Mix #13 Corsair Punch

2oz Appleton Estate 8yr Reserve 2oz orange juice 2oz pineapple juice 3/4oz lime juice 3/4oz grenadine 1/2oz orgeat

Shake with plenty of ice and pour into mug.

Mix #51 Blackbeard's Ghost

1.5oz white rum 1/2oz demerara rum 1.5oz orange juice 1oz lemon juice 1oz falernum 1/2oz apricot brandy 2 dashes Angostura bitters

Shake with plenty of ice.

Mix #84 Mariner's Ghost

3/4oz dark rum 3/4oz light rum 1oz mango juice 1oz grapefruit juice 1/2oz lime juice 1/2oz allspice dram dash of simple syrup

Shake with ice and pour into mug.

Mix #94 Skull & Bones

1.5oz Lemon Hart 151 rum 1/2oz Bacardi Gran Reserva Diez rum 3/4oz lime juice 1/2oz passionfruit syrup 1/2oz grenadine 1/8tsp Pernod 1 dash Angostura bitters

Shake with ice and pour into your spookiest mug.

Mix #124 Tortuga

1oz Demerara 151 rum 1oz gold rum 1oz sweet vermouth 1/2oz orange curacao 1/2oz white creme de cacao 1/2oz lime juice 1/2oz lemon juice 1/2oz orange juice 1/4oz grenadine

Shake with plenty of ice and pour into classic style Tiki mug.

Mix #116 Buccaneer's Bounty

1oz Navy rum 1oz dark rum 1/2oz Demerara 151 rum 1oz honey syrup 3/4oz grapefruit juice 3/4oz lime juice 1/2oz cinnamon syrup 2 dashes bitters

Shake with ice and strain into glass with fresh ice.

Mix #130 Yellowbeard's Grog

2oz Pyrat XO Reserve rum 1oz lime juice 1/2oz Pierre Ferrand Yuzu 1/2oz Small Hand Foods orgeat 1/4oz Demerara syrup

Shake with ice,stagger-stagger-crawl-stagger,then pour into upturned skull of someone you don't like. Garnish with Mr Prostitute's moustache and a speared piece of Spam.

Pleasant seas me hearties,'n here be a pirate's blessin':

May your ANCHOR be tight, Your CORK be loose, Your RUM be spiced, And your COMPASS be true.

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond! Scripting: Expanded Shatterverse

In One More Hero, after OMT!Tails had recovered from the crash-landing in Boscage Maze (Dimension PR-GRO-2023), he and Nine were walking through the expanded jungle.

Nine: You know, Boscage Maze wasn't always like it is today.

OMT!Tails: It got expanded?

Nine: A lot of the Shatterspaces have, Tails. Funnily enough, me and Thorn are really the only two that actually remember what transpired in the past, and yet no-one else does.

OMT!Tails: Oh? How so?

(Logmill Marshland sprites by DanielMania123)

Nine: Well, after Sonic and Shadow were forced to leave to protect our realm, it made the Shatterverse expand beyond what I knew before. It even caused Shatterverse counterparts of them both to come into existence, alongside three sets of people I never knew prior. Over in New Yolk, for instance, Sonic's counterpart is Enforcer Sonic, who was said to have traded his freedom for the safety of the critters in the city before we kicked the Chaos Council out, Shadow's is Prism, but made by me from abandoned blueprints the Council left, and there are three more named Crème Brûlée, Nitroxide and Lodestar Nova.

Nine passed Tails a sheet listing all the major ones between dimensions. (Sonic and Shadow ones (alongside the Temperature Split bunch) are owned by @son1c)

New Yolk City: - Myself (Tails) - Renegade Knuckles - Rebel Rouge - Rusty Rose - Denizen 1998 (Big) - Enforcer Sonic - Prism (Shadow) - Crème Brûlée (Cream) - Nitroxide (???) - Lodestar Nova (???) - The Chaos Council (Eggman) Boscage Maze: - Thorn Rose Scavengers - Prim (Rouge) - Gnarly (Knuckles) - Hangry (Big) - Mangey (Tails) - Halcyon (Shadow) Newer Residents - Windthrow (Sonic) - Shroomik (Eggman) - Hoodie and Topian (Cream and Cheese) - Wildcard Nitro (Is that second word the name of the yellow hedgehog? Odd...) - Hostas (???) No Place: - Knuckles the Dread Dread's Crew - Sails (Tails) - Black Rose - Batten (Rouge) - Catfish (Big) Neutrals and Other Crews - Gale (Sonic) - Bermuda (Shadow) - Sailor Cream and Seadog (Cream and Cheese) - Skipper Nitro - Rogue Nova - Captain Robotskis (Eggman) Temperature Split: Freeze Team (Deepfreeze Domain) - Alabaster (Rouge and a Pink Wisp) - Hatchet (Tails and two Yellow Wisps) - Rocketeer (Nitro and an Orange Wisp) Burn Team (Heatwave Hearth) - Roundgear (Eggman and a Cyan Wisp) - Blister (Knuckles and a Black Wisp) - Ardent Rose (Amy and a Blue Wisp) - Aquatic (Big and a Green Wisp) - Constellation (Nova and an Indigo Wisp) Neutrals - Syzygy (Sonic) - Callisto and Jupiter (Shadow and Maria) - Star and Power (Cream and Cheese, a Heart Wisp)

(What the four Nitro Shatterverse counterparts look like, in the order mentioned in that list:)

OMT!Tails: A whole book about them? Hmm... Let's see...

OMT!Tails had a flick through, finding it pretty interesting.

Nine: Some of their stories are quite interesting and shaped who they are today. Lodestar saved Nitroxide from being turned entirely robot, Shroomik is one of the few humans here in Boscage and has been helping out on terra-firma, Gale's been one of THE strongest versions of Sonic I've seen, and Callisto's essentially a Shadow-Wisp fusion that's a friend to all Wisps.

One of the points in the book caught OMT!Tails's attention.

OMT!Tails: Wait, Star lost her mother?

Nine: Yeah, I'm afraid so... Thankfully, Syzygy took her in with some other younger companions away from Temperature Split's main planet, in hopes of trying to end the Wisp Races for good.

OMT!Tails: Honestly? I can relate to Star's pain.

Nine: You... You can?

OMT!Tails nodded.

OMT!Tails: Before we met back at New Yolk, a monster known as OMT attacked my world, and... left some nasty scars on me... Vanilla, my Cream's mom, never came back from that, so I had since adopted Cream as my little sister. It's been a year since then, and I still haven't been able to move on...

Nine: Hey, Tails. You're a strong guy, I know you are. I mean, come on! You made it out of that crash-landing practically in one piece AND fought off "Agen" or whatever his name was, so that deserves credit!

OMT!Tails: Heh, thanks, Nine.

Nine: But, you know... For both of us, I guess it just isn't the same without the Sonics we knew...

OMT!Tails: Hey, Nine? I know I'm not the best with advice, but I know neither of our Sonics would want us dwelling on the past and what happened before. He always told me that if I want to do something, that I do it right away and when I can.

Nine: Heh, I get what you mean, buddy. Even then, it's a shame the grown-up Sonic couldn't be here to hear this.

OMT!Tails: And he wasn't even the best mentor, either... When do I know if I'm ready?

Nine: You're not meant to by normal means, Tails. The way you know you're ready is to find that courage in yourself. And to do that, all you need is the will to take that first step.

OMT!Tails: "Take that first step"... Honestly, I never heard that advice before, but it can work! Thanks, Nine.

Nine: You're welcome.

Nine noticed a small canister Tails had.

Nine: What's that you got there?

OMT!Tails: Oh, this? They're the remaining particles from OMT.

Nine: Once we get back, I'm gonna put some study into them. I might have something to invent that can give you a helping hand back home.

OMT!Tails: Awesome! Well, here you go.

He passed the canister to Nine.

Nine: Well, we should go get you some practice around here.

OMT!Tails: Ah, yeah! Thorn said she'd be setting up some targets around the jungle for me to work with, right?

Nine: Mhm.

OMT!Tails: Then let's do it to it!

He raced off, ready for his target practice, as Nine followed.

[fandomsideworks]

favorite ‘90s films -- muppet treasure island (1996)

a reworking of robert louis stevenson's classic tale in which the muppets take to the high seas in search of buried treasure. young jim hawkins is given a treasure map by a mysterious sailor and sets sail with his friends the great gonzo and rizzo the rat. among the crew is the mutinous seadog long john silver, who has his own plans for the loot.

[yeetmetotheforbiddenwildwest]

I dOnT kNoW hOw HoRsE GeNeTiCs WoRk

Artemis is a seal brown

Jorvik Name: Quailquiver

Coat: Seal Brown

Gender: Mare

Professions: Archery, Soul riding, Exploration, Ranger work

Original Owner(s): Harriet and Larry (The totally not pirates)

(The Championship pirates- oh sorry. In Harriet’s words, “This Seadog is my Brother Larry. Don’t be afraid; We are NOT pirates. We are respectable sailors who unfortunately got seasick a lot so our captain marooned us on this Island.” The ‘Respectable Pirates- Sorry! Sailors. Respectable Sailors (totally not pirates) at Fort Pinta and… Pari the parrot. Larry’s parrot. I think they’re pirates. Or at least they were?)

(So, apparently the ‘totally not pirates’ siblings are afraid of horses… but they agreed to run a championship at which they were guaranteed to see horses every day and arrived on Jorvik with five horses. Four beautiful high-end stallions and one beautiful mischievous Trakehner filly (Artemis) who they were all too glad to hand off to the 14-year-old who had gone for a walk on the beach to investigate the new championship. …eh, whatever it’s Jorvik, there are horses everywhere you look. Doesn’t matter where or what direction, there are horses everywhere.)

Sarafina or Hera (Artemis' mother) is a Dutch Warmblood x Trakehner cross stolen by the totally not pirates' crew (the liver | I was also thinking that Bay Quarter could be her coat color)

Nightfall (aka Neo, nicknamed for Catherine's horse Nemo but short for Neoptolemus) is a Chestnut Sorrel (more on the brown side though)

His mother is a chestnut/sorrel DWB except her coat is duller in color and more brown

Breed: Jorvik WB-Mustang cross x Dutch WB crossbreed

Barn Name: Neoptolemus (Neo)

Jorvik Name: Nightfall

Past Owner: Thomas Moorland

Owner: AZ's Ranger uncle

HC(s): Has star and snip face marking

Shasta is a Flaxen chestnut (also on the brown side)

Mistdrift/Misty is his mother

Calypso is a Bay Pangare gotland pony.

Barn Name: Callie

Name: Calypso

Jorvik Name: Leafpool

Coat: Bay Pangare

Gender: Mare

Owner: Rhiannon (Wild Warden; Keeper of Aideen; Druid)

Rider: Arizona

Here's her mother

Their father is a Norfolk Roadster(HC: the breed is extinct everywhere but Jorvik) x Ardennes cross Starbreed named Nanook.

Please bare with me. Wait until January when the Ardennes are released, I will get back to you on what Nanook's coat color is.

This is a lore post. Forget genetics. They're a family. I may give them different mothers because people tend to breed stallions with multiple mares.

Spent way too much time on this. Thanks for reading my ramblings.

[disneydarlin]

Muppet Treasure Island —Aesthetic

Movie Description

The Muppets take to the high seas searching for buried treasure in this reworking of Robert Louis Stevenson's classic tale. Young Jim Hawkins is given a treasure map by a mysterious sailor and sets sail with his friends. Among the crew is the mutinous seadog who has his own plans for the loot.

[chetttt]

captain foxy

[knightoflodis]

Hm. That’s fair. Also. This just reminds me of how cool grizzled and experienced guy workers can be. Like electricians, mechanics, engineers that have been in the business for over a decade that know what they are doing and are tired of other people’s shit. I would bet that if I met an old seadog or sea wolf that they would remind me of the cranky old men that I work with.

Also. If we have a sea werewolf that is hiding from the moon. I think it would be fun if that character was also a cranky old sailor with a heart of gold.

[absolutewifey]

I'm doing research for my Seadog Summer DnD campaign and I'm looking at different gods because each community the sailors visit is going to have an INCREDIBLY different and isolated culture from the others. So I was looking at pantheons from different cultures and I am so into these different creation myths.

Genuinely gonna try to categorize them all and see if there are any details that stay consistent throughout every human culture.

[a-solitary-sea-rover-backup]

Albatross Elseworld Notes

Civil War GG Albatross: The basics seem pretty clear— Clipper ship captain Colin Rodgers, Intrepid Victorian Lady Naturalist Lora Saunders, Steampunk gadgeteer Kurt Burdett, etc. The hardest thing might be coming up with an excuse to have them in the United States interacting with the rest of the Golden Generation who would be more directly involved in the war. Interestingly, Colin would be among the first generation of British colonists born in New Zealand and would probably think of himself as British. (And in any earlier AUs he probably would just be British.)

Albatross 1886: Not all that much different from the above except that it’s peacetime and we could actually do a plot set at the America’s Cups of that era and have Riptide be a robber baron’s spoiled son. Maybe this one is more outright Steampunk whereas the previous was straightforwardly “historical but with superheroes”.

Golden Age Albatross: Just works as a pre-WWII sailor in the final days of sailing barques, had his origin in the Southern Ocean as usual, lots of WWII-set adventures in the Pacific Theatre, maybe regarded as more of a New Zealand patriotic hero. Colin might have a full beard as a “stereotypical seadog”. Lora could be a scientist/spy lady working for the British government who’s his official contact. (Thankfully this is a modern comic so Joey and Tori would be depicted with a lot more sensitivity than we might expect for Māori characters in an actual Golden Age comic.) Silver Age Albatross: This is actually the hardest, with the first famous single-handers and the OSTAR and Golden Globe Race, Colin could have his origin as a sport sailor in the late Silver Age, but he’d be a “debuting during the mid-late 60s” character, not a 50s-into-60s character. (It’s not that ocean racing didn’t exist, there were transatlantic and transpacific races, the Sydney-Hobart is just the only example anywhere near the Southern Ocean IIRC.) I almost wonder if his origin might be altered to be more “scientific” rather than magical, as with the Silver Age versions of Green Lantern, Hawkman, etc— given weather control powers by an accident with a weather control machine? Could have his mustache and long hair (but not quite a mullet) in a hippie-like look, or be clean-cut if the emphasis is on him as a scientist. FIORE definitely get to shine, since this is the era of superscience and enthusiasm for “the conquest of inner space!” There would probably be a lot of comics about fighting giant monsters created by pollution.

Bronze/Iron/Dark Age Albatross: With his superhero debut in in-universe 1982, standard Albatross IS a Bronze/Iron Age character (but not particularly dark.)

Frozen Mana Now/“If the Golden Generation Started Today” Albatross: This is pretty easy— “the last edition of the Race before the current one” moves Colin’s accident up to the 2017-18 Volvo Ocean Race, and the boats, gear, and technology change accordingly, but broadly things follow the same lines as his usual 1980s history. Instead of a direct parallel to Peter Blake, Colin could be someone inspired and perhaps mentored by him or a fictional counterpart. He might have a mustache or beard in the currently-fashionable styles. Instead of coincidentally resembling Peter Burling despite being based on other, earlier people, Kurt is probably a direct parallel.

[grantgoddard]

My life as a seadog : 1985 : The Voice of Peace, Tel Aviv

The prostitute was perched on the edge of my bed. Using the elementary Hebrew I had learned from children’s television, we chatted about her young daughter and the disastrous economic situation in Israel (inflation nearing 1,000%) that had forced her into this profession. I had been asleep in bed when the room door had opened, the light was abruptly turned on and I opened my tired eyes to see a ‘Little & Large’ couple framed in the doorway. Having ordered her client to take a shower before starting ‘work’, she had ample time for a conversation with me.

Was this another chapter of my punishment, to share a hotel room with a fat drunken Dutch sailor whose mission was evidently a missionary position in every port? I had come ashore after spending a week of nights sat alone on the ship’s bridge as ‘lookout’, tossed from side to side by the stormy Mediterranean. This was the sentence handed down by a Dutch captain angered by my point-blank refusal to enter the anchor chain locker alone and clean it of seabed debris. I cared not a jot that other DJs on board had accepted his prior orders to execute this task. I was adamant that I had not signed up as a seaman. I was there as a radio DJ. Neither the captain nor his crew had ever been required to assist us in the radio studios, so why was I expected to take on ship duties? Besides which, I suffered from claustrophobia.

Well, how did I get here? I had spent 1984 living at my mother’s house, unemployed and submitting applications for every UK radio production job I could find, none of which proved successful. All I had been offered was a six-month contract to work as a volunteer DJ on pirate radio station ‘The Voice of Peace’ in Israel. I promised myself that, if no proper job turned up by year-end, I would pursue this as a last resort. That was why, in the New Year, I was on a flight to Tel Aviv with two suitcases. It was sheer desperation. I had to convince myself that ‘doing radio’, almost any sort of radio, would be better for my career than trying to get work in radio but failing.

The deal on offer was that, for each month’s work on board the ship, I would receive US$100 in cash and be granted one week’s shore leave in paid Tel Aviv hotel accommodation. However, the seas proved too rough for crew transfers during my first three months on board, depriving me of returning my feet to land until April. It was particularly frustrating during that period to be able to clearly see the twinkling lights of Tel Aviv city at night from the ship but to have only spent a few hours there between my airport arrival and having been ferried on board.

The only ship I had experienced before was a cross-Channel ferry, so my first few weeks were spent being seasick and adjusting to the meals served by amiable cook Radha who professed he had pretended to be a chef to land this job. Initially there were plenty of DJs on board and my shifts presenting on-air were reasonable. However, as the months went on, most of my colleagues either completed their six months or quit early and were not replaced. There were occasions when I was required to present programmes for more than twelve hours a day when our number was reduced to two. I consoled myself that, detained in a floating prison, it was better to be kept occupied than to spend time reflecting on the notion of freedom.

Nominally in charge of the station’s programmes on the ship was the genial Daevid Fortune who, I seem to recall, had previously worked on Twickenham AM pirate ‘Radio Sovereign’, a station that had existed for eight months in 1983 playing only oldies. At the ripe age of twenty-seven, I was older than most of my colleagues and more experienced, having previously worked full-time for UK commercial local station ‘Metro Radio’ not only as a presenter but as a manager who had implemented an innovative playlist system to reverse its dwindling audience. However, within the ship’s radio team, I maintained a low profile as there was no incentive to propose improvements or seek additional responsibilities without decent compensation.

The many hours of off-air boredom were relieved by listening to previously unheard stations from Lebanon, Cyprus and Egypt. There was a television room on-deck where I would watch the afternoon post-war American movie of the day on Jordan TV. I would write letters to my thirteen-year-old sister back in the UK. I would read cover-to-cover all the English-language music magazines, including heavyweight weekly ‘Billboard’, that we received. I would comb the small record library and listen to previously unheard discs in the second production studio. Once the weather became calmer in the summer, it was an idyllic existence to live without day-to-day responsibilities. My hair grew longer than it had ever been, my skin turned dark brown and my body became even thinner as a result of seasickness and Radha’s meals.

The station’s Persian founder and owner, Abie Nathan, was a peace activist who had been making grand publicity-seeking gestures in Israel to promote his cause since the 1960’s. He bought the ship second-hand in 1973, allegedly with the financial assistance of John Lennon, and had installed the radio broadcasting equipment. However, after more than a decade continuously anchored a few kilometres off Tel Aviv, the ship and its facilities had seen better days by the time I arrived.

Like many station owners, Nathan was given to flights of fancy, calling up on ship-to-shore radio to demand airtime for content that interrupted our on-air routines. During my stint, Nathan hired a duo of British ‘radio consultants’ to improve the station. Their big idea was to split the station into two different services on FM and AM during certain dayparts, requiring both studios to be used simultaneously for live programmes. This proved not such a practical idea when the station was so regularly short-staffed. I was allocated the evening FM show, for which I used Steely Dan’s ‘FM’ track as theme music and selected soft rock songs. I was rewarded with a letter from a listener in Finland who had heard my show and sent me a cassette recording postmarked the following day to prove it (remember this was pre-internet).

If there was one lesson I learned from my six months at sea, it was the first occasion I had worked with self-styled ‘radio consultants’ who seemed to talk endlessly about their successes, obviously possessed the gift of the gab, but who were revealed as less knowledgeable than they might appear. In those pre-digital times, I was surprised to be the person on-board who was asked to explain which of a quarter-inch reel-to-reel tape machine’s three heads has to be used for marking up edits. In future years, I was to meet more ‘consultants’ who promised to deliver radio ‘success’ but who seemed to lack the requisite skills to achieve anything more than talking about it.

My experience presenting programmes for hours every day on-air confirmed my thinking that being a DJ was not my ambition in radio. I was told I possessed a good ‘radio voice’, I could operate the equipment and loved playing music, but I much preferred a production role in which I could contribute creatively beyond just opening my mouth. One of the most enjoyable programmes I created on ‘The Voice of Peace’ was a ‘special’ to mark the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Sharpeville Massacre with a selection of pertinent African and American music. I wish I had put a cassette in the studio tape machine to record it!

After having been denied shore leave during my first three months, I now had to endure an hour of bonking noises from the second bed on the other side of our small shared hotel room until the lady of the night slipped away, leaving the seaman to snore loudly until daylight. The hotel turfed us out during daytime, so I regularly retreated to the nearby White House café where office staff, hangers on and the station’s most loyal listeners would sit at a roadside patio table and chat ‘radio’. I came to love Tel Aviv during my total three weeks of shore leave … despite the ongoing war, the terrible economy and random acts of terrorism.

Once my six months were completed, I visited the station’s Tel Aviv office to collect my final wages. I reminded Abie Nathan that I had worked an additional three weeks beyond my contract as a result of having been denied shore leave during my first three months on board. Would he pay me an additional US$75? He adamantly refused. Unlike some of my DJ colleagues, I harboured no intention of returning for a further six-month stint. Rather, I never wanted to work or live on a ship again. Surely there must be a radio job I could secure that did not necessitate me being sick in a bucket after eating unidentifiable meals.

In 1993, I was working in East Europe when I read that the ‘Voice of Peace’ ship had been deliberately scuttled at sea by its owner after two decades’ broadcasts, the final day having comprised non-stop Beatles songs. I have never mustered the enthusiasm to attend subsequent ‘offshore radio’ nostalgia events but my experience of Israel left an indelible mark on me. Pass the halva!