#pinnaces
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#previgilance#inventoriable#infamed#air-mail#Arkport#counter-deed#astrologists#jauntiness#laboredness#pint#restatements#buchu#cinnamyls#pinnaces#Amphioxididae#epicoelar#underbaking#clupein#hospodar#CTSS
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The replica 1607 pinnace Virginia, the first European sailing vessel built in Maine. The reconstruction took about 11 years to complete and her goal is to be a “floating classroom”.
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Scrimshawed whale tooth, made by a Sailor, 19th century
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i am immature enough for one of my immediate associations with the trilogy to be all the pinnaces
#audiobooks are fun ain't they#gotta remember not to listen to hornblower#just in case there were more pinnaces than i remember#the three body problem#remembrance of earth's past#liu cixin
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The pinnace Virginia, also known as "Maine's First Ship", summer morning in Bath, Maine
#virginia#pinnace#sailing ship#wooden ship#wooden boat#boat#ship#maines first ship#bath#maine#travel#travel photography#travel photos#street photography#original photos#photographers on tumblr#leicaq2
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Chloe Couture amateur in amazing sex scene
Midna self fingering Female
CEWEK SURABAYA SANGE, NYARI KONTOL BESAR
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#ivory-tower#evocativeness#syncopal#pneumonic#unwealthy#unrigged#ragabrash#imperative#babtqftim#consanguinity#Keats#half-right#pinnace#forged#Pittism#splenatrophy#I'd#nonopprobriousness#Bucerotinae#overstimulating
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Hi, I would like to request one from Omar. List of program prompts#12 "Remember the words you said to me, love me until the day I die" Thank you in advance 🤍
It’s late on a Tuesday when Omar whispers the words, his lips chasing over your skin. The two of you are tangled up in his sheets, his bare skin brushing over yours. His hand pins your wrists above your head as you submit to him, that beautiful moan emitting from your throat.
“I’ll love you until the day I die.” He says as he sinks into you once more. He fills you completely, drinking down your pleasure as his cock rakes over that filthy little spot deep down inside of you. He’s been at this for an age, building you up until you’re at the pinnace of release before he withdraws and starts all over again.
“I mean it light of my life.” He murmurs as he looks into your eyes. “Every single part of me belongs to you.”
@kmc1989 @trublu2u @mrspeacem1nusone @greenies-green @rosaliedepp @whateversomethingbruh @anime-weeb-4-life @daydreaming-belle @burningpeachpuppy @scarlettsakura @divergent146 @upsteadlogic @malindacath @skyesthebomb @@kilikonakapamana @yezzyyae @redpool
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•Buttered and Sweet Bread•
Author’s note: This is the first chapter of “Buttered and Sweet Bread.” Change of plans, I would imagine Elvis in his army years, especially in his handsome uniform for this chapter. Here’s more information.
warnings: throughout the whole story, it’ll use the word “slave,” but the term will be briefly mentioned, harsh language, dialect and behavior appropriate for timeline.
𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹
April morning, the Mercy had briskly sailed across to the mouth of the Connecticut River and into Saybrook harbor. Francine Blair had been on the forecastle deck since daybreak, standing amongst the rail and staring hungrily at the first sight of land for five weeks. Her elbows ached from however long she’s been standing, as well as the fist that holds her jaw firmly.
“There’s Connecticut Colony,” a southern drawl, warmly tickles her ear, startling the young dame. “You’ve come a long way to see it.”
Francine turns her head and her hair, the color of russet, follows her sudden movements, bouncing along her shoulders. Her eyes twinkle, capturing the pleasant sight. The voice belongs to him, Elvis Presley, the captain’s son. Although throughout the whole voyage they’ve scarcely exchanged words, she had noticed him more often. His thin wiry figure swinging easily hand over hand up the rigging, his gold, cherry wood head bent over a coil of rope. Francine only now notices as they stand closer in conversation, that her head barely reaches over his shoulder. The young woman can only feel her cheeks burn a light crimson, as she glances to meet his sharp blue, inviting eyes.
“What do you think to it?” He questions, glancing back out the sea with a proud smile. The young woman can only purse her lips to stop herself from saying that the first glimpse of America is disappointing as it is. The sight was dissatisfying, a dirty gray and an ill green ombré splashes beneath, rocking the brigantine ship that they steady upon. The disheartening contrast to the shimmering white that fringed the turquoise bay of Barbados, her home. The earthen wall of the fortification that faced the water was bare and ugly, the houses looked no different than plain wooden boxes. She clears her throat and quips instead, “Is that Wethersfield?”
“Oh no, Wethersfield is some way up the river. This is port of Saybrook. Home to us Presleys. There’s my father’s shipyard, just beyond the dock.” Elvis beckons, and her eyes follow to make out the row of unimpressive shacks and the flash of raw new lumber. She sighed out with a smile of relief. At least this grim place was not her destination, and surely the colony at Wethersfield bound to be more colorful and sorts.
“Ever been on a ship before?” Mr. Presley breathes out, folding his hands behind his back and raising a brow to her.
“Just the little pinnaces in the islands…I’ve sailed those all my life.” Francine’s voice trails quiet, as memories flood beyond her vision. Mr. Presley nods, “that’s where you learned to keep your balance?”
So he had noticed! To her pride and joy, she had proved to be a natural sailor. Certainly she had not spent the voyage groaning and retching, as the other passengers. She nodded eagerly, now busying her eyes to the waters ahead, “‘Twas the most exciting thing I know of.”
His eyes lit with admiration, all for the ship. “She’s a stout one, the Mercy. She’s come through gust and such.” His eyes dwelt on fondly on the topsails.
“What is happening?” Francine asked, taking notice of the abrupt activity along the deck. Four husky sailors in blue clothing and bright handkerchiefs had hurried toward to the man the capstan bars. Captain Presley, in his well blue coat, was shouting orders from the quarterdeck. “Are we stopping here?” Francine’s curiosity and discourage was apparent in her tone.
Elvis snorts a soft laugh and shakes his head, looking to where her eyes have averted. “There are passengers to go ashore,” he explained then continued. “And we need food and water for the trip upriver. We’ve missed the tide, and the wind is blowing too hard from the west for us to make the landing. We’re going to anchor out here and take out the longboat in to shore. That means I’d better look to the oars.” He walked away, moving lightly and confident with authority; there was a bounce in his step that matched the laughter in his eyes.
With dismay, she saw the captain’s wife among the passengers. Had she to say goodbye so soon to Mistress Presley? They’ve bonded so kindly over time throughout the voyage and time being. In a swift move, she greeted wistfully, “Are you leaving the ship, Mistress Presley?”
“Aye, didn’t I tell you I’d be leaving you at Saybrook? Oh but child, don’t you look so sad. Tis not far from Wethersfield, we’ll be meeting again” Mistress Presley replied, her brows up in reassurance, along with a soft smile. Francine softly gasped to herself and furrowed her eyebrows, her words coming out as if she were pleading, “B-but I thought the Mercy was your home!”
Mrs. Presley shakes her head with a sigh, “Oh, child, Tis during wintertime when we sail to the West Indies. But I was born in Saybrook, and in the spring I get hankering for my house and garden. Besides, I’d never let on to my husband, but the summer trips are tedious, just back and forth up the river and such. I stay at home and tend my vegetables, and my spinning like a proper housewife. Then, come November, when he sails for Barbados again, I’m ready enough to go with him. ‘Tis a good life and one of the best things about it is coming home in the spring time.” Mistress Presley finishes with a sigh and a gentle smile, a twinkle in her eyes that are almost just the same as her son’s.
Francine looks along at the forbidden shore, only adding to her reason for a frown to droop on her plump, mauvelous colored lips. She could see nothing about it to put such a tinkle of anticipation in anyone’s eyes.
Could there be some charm that was not visible from out there in the harbor?
𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹
Author’s note: i know it seems pretty boring in the beginning but I’ve got major plans for this story! My apologies, it may be a little tedious a little longer. Also if you’d like to be added in a tag list, of course, ask awayyy!
Tag list: @precious-lil-scoundrel @starryschoolgirl and that’s really the only ones I’d known to tag for now since they sparked such creativity in me 😜
#This is the beginning of me taking a new “mature” toll in my life and creativity#I mean my humor may pop out some times-#*sighs* my childish days are over#👀👀👀#elvis#elvis presley#i love you all very much
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Rereading The Terror
Chapter Fifty-Two: Goodsir
The first thing I think it worth noting about this chapter is that I believe it's the first of Goodsir's to be written in the third person and not as a diary entry from the man's own perspective - "...the surgeon had no stomach for keeping his diary. He tossed the stained leather book into his travelling medical kit and left it there."
I find that shift fascinating and think it very much speaks of hopelessness and resignation on Goodsir's part - with death so imminent, after all, what story is there really left for him to tell in his own words?
He reflects a little on the short time that's passed since the great reckoning with Hickey's mutineers.
They've divided up what little food remains, equally and scrupulously, no man really trusting another anymore. A representative "of each class of man on the ship - officers, warrant officers, petty officers, able seamen" share the task of searching out food from every remaining nook and cranny in camp while the rest of the men watch them do so.
I find that a very interesting detail - in real life, in the book, and in the show, so much comes down to class divides and decorum and that's always worth talking about more.
Goodsir also reflects on his own grisly monologue vis a vis proper human butchery:
"...while he was giving Hickey... the anatomical details of carving up the human body to serve as sustenance, Harry D. S. Goodsir had been horrified to find himself salivating."
(Horrible From Supper, baby! Horrible From Supper!)
The three men who intend to set off across the island back to the ship have already departed carrying almost nothing - not even a tent.
In contrast, Hickey and co. have loaded their boat down with all manner of random and useless bits and bobs:
"Men all over camp...had been abandoning useless items - hairbrushes, books, towels, writing desks, combs - bits of civilisation they'd hauled for a hundred days and now refused to haul any farther, and, for some inexplicable reason, Hickey and his men had loaded as many of these rejected pieces of junk into their pinnace..."
This is another thing I find utterly fascinating and can't quite parse all my feelings on just yet. What does it mean to reach that breaking point and to finally abandon, to reject those 'symbols of civilisation'? And what does it mean to take up those same symbolic items that others have abandoned?
Goodsir watches Hickey's group depart the camp and all he can think about is the trail of now-frozen corpses they've left behind them, sure that Hickey is counting on finding those preserved bodies for his groups' survival.
"I just hope they do not find the subordinate officers' steward's body. I liked John Bridgens. He was a dignified man and deserves better than to be devoured by the likes of Cornelius Hickey."
We have a few other specific characters mentioned that also break my heart. We hear that Jopson will be dead from scurvy within a couple of days, and that Tom Hartnell, acting as Goodsir's new assistant, has volunteered to stay behind with the ill men and face certain death himself. :(((
Returning to the subject of cannibalism, we learn that Goodsir has decided already that he will never partake in it. Interestingly though, it's clear that he doesn't condemn the act outright:
"Yet he would also never cast judgement on the men here at Rescue Camp or on the expedition south who did end up eating human flesh to last a short while longer. If any man on the Franklin Expedition understood that the human body was a mere animal vessel for the soul - and only so much meat once that soul had departed - it was their surviving surgeon and anatomist, Dr Harry Goodsir."
It's a fascinating viewpoint, especially when considering Goodsir in the show - like, his actions there being indicative not necessarily of a disgust with cannibalism itself but more at the nefarious and underhanded way Hickey has gone about committing the act is not an unfair interpretation to consider, I think. ("You’ve murdered this man whom you now wish to eat and are unwilling to butcher his flesh yourself.")
Soon enough, he's summoned to a meeting with Crozier and the remaining senior crew. Contrary to their previous plan, it seems they cannot quite bring themselves to abandon the ill just yet and have resolved at least to wait at Rescue Camp a while longer. They hope that they still might be able to hunt game in that time, and that the ice may finally break up enough that they can all leave - the sick and the still-'strong' alike - in the boats.
Again, Goodsir's reaction to this is very interesting:
"Goodsir nodded slowly. He had been so reconciled to the certainty of his own death in the coming days or weeks that even the thought of potential salvation was almost painful."
Nevertheless, that plan is settled on. They'll all remain at Rescue camp for now, they'll keep an eye out for any more nefariousness from Hickey's mutineers, they'll hope for a thaw of the ice, and for game and fish to appear once they move on:
"...but [we] may have to pin our hopes on catching fish... a real probability according to such as explorers as George Back and our own Sir John Franklin."
"Sir John also ate his shoes." said Corporal Pearson.
And if that rejoinder wasn't hilarious enough, the chapter actually ends on a positive note with a bit of gallows humour as Crozier himself jokes that the reason he brought so many spare boots along wasn't just to protect the men's feet on the long march but as a secret source of food.
The absurdity of this has them all suddenly crying with laughter, poor sods.
"Shhh!" Crozier said at last, sounding like a schoolmaster with boys but still chuckling himself." :')
#The Terror#The Terror AMC#Observations#Random Observations#Meta#Rereading the Terror#Terror Spoilers#Harry Goodsir#Lots of interesting ideas raised in this chapter#I'll be chewing on it all for days#If you'll pardon the expression 👀#Particularly how reconciled Goodsir is to his own death#I can't stop thinking of that Inuit testimony describing a meeting with a group of cadaverous zombie-like Franklin men#How they built the men an igloo with seal meat but returned later finding the meat untouched and the men having devoured each other#I wonder if that resignment influenced their horrific actions too#Like they were so far gone and reconciled to their own deaths that salvation was a painful alien concept to them like it is here for Goodsi#Like they were literally unable to process the thought of it any more
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Today we are travelling to the New World with the Kalmar Nyckel. A beautiful pinas with an eye-catching design and super cute ship's cats
Kalmar Nyckel, 2014
Her history here:
The original Kalmar Nyckel was one of the great ships of the American colonial era. Built in Amsterdam in 1627, Kalmar Nyckel was an ordinary Dutch Pinnace (Pinas) of about 300 tons and 100 feet on deck, just one of a couple thousand similar small warships and gun-armed merchantmen built by the Dutch in this period.
In 1629, she was purchased by the Swedish Skeppskompaniet (Ship Company) with tax revenue from the strategic harbor town of Kalmar, on Sweden’s southeast coast, and renamed Kalmar Nyckel (“Key of Kalmar”). When not sailing on colonial voyages for the New Sweden Company, she served the Swedish Navy as an auxiliary warship until 1651. She was part of Gustav II Adolf’s famous invasion fleet at Peenemünde on the German coast of Pomerania in 1630, which marked Sweden’s entry into the Thirty Years’ War (1618-48).
Swedish Admiralty records from 1634 list her as carrying a crew of 55 men and 12 six-pounder cannon – probably typical of her wartime strength. Toward the end of her career, she saw bloody action in Torstenson’s War against the Danes in 1645 and transported Swedish diplomats across the Baltic during the negotiations that led to the Peace of Westphalia in 1648. Kalmar Nyckel is best remembered today as a colonial ship for the New Sweden Company. She launched the colony of New Sweden in 1638 as Governor Peter Minuit’s flagship, bringing the colonists who established the first permanent European settlement in the Delaware Valley – little Fort Christina, which would grow to become the city of Wilmington, Delaware.
An exceptional ship with an extraordinary record of endurance, Kalmar Nyckel would make eight successful crossings of the Atlantic (four roundtrips between Gothenburg and Fort Christina from 1637 to 1644) more than any documented colonial ship of the era. Kalmar Nyckel was decommissioned from the Swedish Navy on June 19, 1651, by order of Queen Christina herself, and sold to a Dutch merchant living in Stockholm, Cornelis Roelofsen. An inspection by the Swedish Admiralty had determined that her aging condition would make her unsuitable for a fifth voyage across the Atlantic for the New Sweden Company.
Her new owner, Roelofsen had Kalmar Nyckel – now called by her Dutch name, Kalmar Sleutel (“Sleutel” is Dutch for “Nyckel,” which both mean “Key” in English) refitted and up-gunned to 24 six-pounder cannons. She was anchored in Amsterdam harbor by April 22, 1652, just in time to be leased as a naval escort by the Dutch Navies, which were looking to acquire 150 warships in preparation for a looming war against the English. Kalmar Sleutel (Nyckel) soon joined 15 ships of the escort squadron that was guarding the Dutch herring fleet in the North Sea off the east coast of Scotland. On July 22, 1652, she would be sunk in the bloody Battle of Buchan Ness, gallantly defending the fishing fleet against a fleet of 66 English ships in the first engagement of what would be called the First Anglo-Dutch War (1652-1654).
Source
#naval history#naval artifacts#kalmar nyckel#17th century#advent calendar#day 15#age of sail replica
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well i guess one might say it all fell flat in the end lol
#even the pinnaces!#the three body problem#death's end#remembrance of earth's past#liu cixin#okay it's not the end yet#even Luo Ji is still alive somehow#this book is endless#i've read longer books that felt much shorter
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Unveiling the Ultimate Rolls Royce Collection at DOURADO LUXURY CAR
Dourado Luxury Car takes pride in curating an unrivaled selection of Rolls-Royce vehicles, each representing the epitome of automotive craftsmanship and luxury.
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Dourado Luxury Car In Dubai is a visual feast for anyone with a passion for high-end automobiles. It's more than a showroom; it's a gallery of automotive artistry. truly never seen such collection under one roof.
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Kudos to the Dourado Luxury Car Showroom in dubai for providing an extraordinary experience. The attention to detail and the stunning collection of vehicles truly set a benchmark for excellence."
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