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wandering-words · 1 year

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prompt 25 for avanine 🤭

(We talked before and you know I already got this one so thanks for sending in a backup request!)

This fulfills prompt 27 - humming/singing.

Set after 2x09 Sick Day.

~~~

Janine talked to the camera crew more than most of the staff at Abbott Elementary did.

Even Ava, the one who invited the camera crew to film the school in the first place, had a picture-perfect mask to present to the camera. She was a showman first and foremost, it was how she’d survived and gotten to where she was now, but Janine wasn’t used to projecting a personality to the camera.

She could barely find people who saw her for her and didn’t tease her for it. Even Tariq, the man she dated for nearly twelve years, didn’t really know who she was. Janine was so used to giving and giving and giving to the people around her, her boyfriend, her mom, the staff, the school, and no one seemed to give back, just sucked her energy out of her like a clew of leeches without wondering how she was doing.

Maybe it meant she projected too much of herself. Maybe people were too quick to dismiss her trauma, her cries for help, all of it. And maybe the camera crew weren’t really her friends, but at this point it was her only outlet to express herself, though a part of her knew logically that the camera crew were listening to her so that they could also extract knowledge that would better their Abbott Elementary documentary.

The camera crew was meticulous, filming them from 7:30 when school started to when the kids were let out at 2:30. There were also other extraneous filming times when some of the staff members interacted outside of school, but generally the filming schedule was largely the same. Janine was impressed at how they were able to find the most dramatic moments of the school day and compile them into 25 minute episodes.

Janine was one of the staff members that did talking heads the most, who shared her stories the most, who they painted as the protagonist despite Ava’s protests.

Part of Ava’s TV persona was hating Janine, but Janine couldn’t help but feel like it was personal.

The camera crew was suspiciously protective of their camera footage (the teachers saw the documentary as episodes were airing), but Janine was able to pull some strings to change that the day she got sick and couldn’t make it into school.

She knew Ava liked sabotage—even if she didn’t, she performed it flawlessly—and Janine wanted to make sure that it didn’t affect her class’s learning.

When Janine returned to Abbott that Monday, she asked two of the crew members if she could see some of the footage of Ava being a substitute teacher, just to make sure that everything was running smoothly.

Members of the camera crew shrugged, picking out pieces of footage they’d collected from the day and showing Janine the parts they planned to air.

What Janine didn’t expect was the lump that rose in her throat when she heard Ava playing her coloring playlist for the kids, singing along softly to “Pick Up Your Feelings” by Jazmine Sullivan. Janine couldn’t help the shy smile that spread over her face when she heard Ava attempt the vocal run, not doing a half-bad job at it.

It was a surprisingly wholesome moment. Watching Ava’s tough exterior go slightly softer for the kids made an unrecognizable feeling travel through Janine’s veins and she felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips.

Ava was genuinely trying, and even though it was likely for the kids’ benefit rather than Janine’s, Janine couldn’t help but feel as though she’d seen a vulnerable moment from the taller woman, watching the showman mask crack just a bit so that the kids could be comfortable learning from her.

Janine was a bit too good at forming unhealthy attachments to people. Barbara was the closest to a mother figure she’d ever had, Melissa was the hard-assed aunt she never had, Gregory was… a great friend, and now she was feeling some type of way about Ava.

She just knew that her affection wouldn’t be reciprocated because Ava had made it pretty clear that she hated Janine’s guts.

Janine came back her usual sunshiny self, and she was pleasantly surprised when Melissa and Barbara welcomed her back. Not quite with the most open of arms, but Melissa’s small smile and Barbara’s fond gaze were more than enough.

The more surprising reaction was Ava’s: she walked into the lounge with her usual swagger, but she was quiet. As she poured her usual mountain of sugar into her otherwise black coffee, her eyes were glazed over, a victim to her own thoughts.

What was even more surprising was that not only was Ava quiet to everyone in the staff room, but she usually had a few petty insults ready to snark out before she left, and she didn’t even look at Janine before she was swinging open the door and heading back to her office.

Janine looked directly at the door, not realizing she was lost in her own mental world of wondering where Ava was, what she was feeling, why she was even wondering what Ava was feeling, when she heard Melissa’s smug voice break through her thoughts.

“You’ve been staring at the door as if Ava’s coming back.”

Janine felt her face flush and she looked down demurely, but not before she heard an “mmm” from deep in Barbara’s throat, agreeing with the redhead. It was then that Janine tentatively moved from her chair, opening the door and making her way to Ava’s office, feeling her throat constrict and her entire body growing more and more tense with each step.

She also felt the faint bass and heard the soulful voice of Jazmine Sullivan, though muted, coming from inside Ava’s office. Janine noticed Ava humming along as she flipped through paperwork, and Janine felt some of the tension in her body melt when she noticed Ava being so… unconstricted. Free from her usual unaffected, snarky mask.

It made Janine’s heart constrict with a new feeling, adrenaline pumping through her veins and making Janine feel a way that she’d only before felt when in the presence of Tariq or Gregory.

But why Ava?

“What the hell are you doing out here, Janine?” Ava said, opening the door to her office and looking at Janine with an unaffected expression, her mask effectively slipping back into place.

“Uh…” Janine wracked her brain for an excuse, “I wanted to thank you again for watching my class. You didn’t have to do that.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Actually, I did. I’m not having the superintendent try to fire me again.” Her words were hard but her eyes were soft when she looked at Janine. She looked back at the documentary crew, the one she hired, before snapping at them to cut the cameras.

To Janine’s surprise, they actually did turn off the cameras. Maybe it was because Ava was ultimately paying them to do this and she would likely try to cut their wages if they filmed her without her consent, but either way, Janine watched the tension seep out of Ava’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Janine.”

Her eyes were still soft when they looked at Janine, and Janine felt as though her entire body had been set on fire.

Janine was so tempted to throw her arms around the taller woman, hear her heartbeat thumping in her chest, feel the comforting weight of Ava’s head resting on top of hers, feel safe, but before she could destroy any sense of self preservation she had, Ava was gone.

#abbott elementary #ava x janine #ava coleman #janine teagues #avanine #I am a jazmine sullivan stan #so referencing that moment was just right #also loved exploring the camera crew’s role #I imagine the staff watch the episodes the way we do #also to everyone who's sent in requests #thanks for your patience

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hertzwritings · 2 years

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The high seas

A/N: The way Tumblr kind of connects people truly astounds me. Through my writings, I met this amazing, sweet, kind, loving and downright perfect person who puts up with my weird ramblings and even weirder headcanons. @buckyshattergirl honest to all the gods in all the universes, I love you and you make me feel all asjkhfdæfdgsfk. Thank you for you.

You can buy me a coffee here, and I’ll write you a personalized drabble, one-shot or multichapter fic – anything you want, really, the sky is the limit!

Remember, feedback feeds the soul and my requests – and askbox – are always open – there’s no limits, because I am me, and I have none.

MASTERLIST

SEBASTIAN STAN MASTERLIST

REQUESTS/ASK ME ANYTHING

Pairing: Pirate!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Contains: language, pirate-y things, suspension of disbelief just a little bit, mentions of sirens, mentions of blood, mentions of swords, Pirate!Bucky (because that is indeed a warning in and of itself), SMUT (MINORS DNI), just a quickie ish, p in v, unprotected sex

W.C.: 4.470 (SORRY)

The High seas

Captain James “Bucky” Barnes was many things. Feared, enormously talented with both a sword and a pistol, a brilliant navigator and his name traveled further than his ship did. He stood often at the rutter, salty sprays of seafoam coating his face as his eyes, that matched the sky above him and the sea under him, wandered to the far-off horizon, always looking for the next adventure and plunder.

When The Winter Soldier came across a shipwreck near Clew Bay and he saw a woman resting on jagged rocks, his brows furrowed. A white shirt, slightly wet from the sprays of the sea against the rocks, flowed in the wind, while a leather corset – the brown tones of it blackened by use – rested on her torso, male trousers on her legs and high boots. She looked like she was expecting them. Steve had looked questionable at the sight of a lone survivor, especially a woman, sitting on the rocks surrounded by pieces of wood and dead shipmates, but Bucky had barked an order to let her on the ship. The men didn’t dare disobey his order, even if they believed her cursed.

She hadn’t spoken for a few days, but at first sight of rebellion from the crew, she had squashed any and all inklings to her being nothing more than bad luck, when she threw her dagger and caught a feather to the mast, whilst she still stood near the rutter, eyes barely looking back at the mast. Her eyes searched the sea more often than his did.

From that day, nobody dared say anything. Even Sam had once spoken loudly that it seemed like she was good luck, seeing as they hadn’t had troubles with enemy-ships, nor the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of the water.

Bucky was inclined to agree.

He learned her name was Y/N, and that her ship had unfortunately gone down near Clew Bay because of a foolish navigator, that followed a siren’s song instead of his eyes. Many men had lost their life to the sea like that.

When they docked at St. Mary’s Island, the sun slowly setting, he let his eyes follow Y/N as she wandered off the ship to the nearest inn, her fingers twirling her silver dagger. He hummed and followed her and his crew, his long leather jacket flowing in the soft breeze, his boots echoing around the wooden docks. Yes, he was, in any man’s eye, frightening and his demeanor was more than enough to scare off anybody who tried to approach him. But not Y/N. She had followed him with her eyes through the inn and finally given him a small nod of respect when he sat down. He nodded back. He didn’t care about her gender; she was a brilliant navigator and an even better fighter. There was nothing to judge.

Sam had sat heavily next to him and looked at Y/N through narrowed eyes as she drank, seemingly very bored with the rowdy crowd around her. “Sometimes I find myself thinking that she’s not quite from this world, Buck.” He said. Sam’s eyes never did him a disservice. He spotted most if not all things, most people wanted to hide – it made him the perfect man for scouting and finding flaws and chinks in the armor. It was the reason he was called Falcon in common tongue. “Hm. What makes you say that?” Bucky amused the conversation, eyes on her. He was a man of few words and even fewer, when he found his eyes on her; she was a vision, truly, and when her hair whipped around her face, her eyes closed against the bright sun, he was almost ready to take her to his quarters. Sam shrugged.

“If I knew, I’d tell you. Just know I’m not the only one thinking it.” He said in a low voice, looking to Tony and Scott, who were whispering conspiratorially and glancing at Y/N – she had seen it as well, tipping her glass with a smirk to them.

A grimy man, dressed in the Queen’s uniform long since discolored by drink and wear, stalked to her and Bucky nearly got out of his chair to kill the man, who put his grimy paws on Y/N, but Sam held him back. “Watch.” He pointed to her hand, that held a tight grip on her dagger. “A woman sitting here, acting like…” The man hiccupped. “You are worth nothing more than what’s between your legs.” He sapt at her and Bucky saw read, as the glob of spit hit her cheek. She calmly wiped it from her face and turned her body slightly, a soft, dangerous smirk on her face. “Well, then.” Before he could see what had happened, the man screamed out, her silver dagger buried at the knuckle of his finger – she nudged it back and forth with slender fingers, slowly, but surely, severing the finger from the hand. “Touch me again, speak to me again, and I’ll make sure you see nothing more than the darkest pits of the sea.” She stood and threw the finger out through a window, before sheathing her dagger again. She nodded to her crew. “Boys.” And with that, she left.

Bucky had never experienced love. He had experienced several women during his life, but only for a night or an hour, hobbled somewhere in the back of an inn or in the dark corners of the streets, knees bruised and rum running thicker than blood in his veins. But never love. At least not until this moment, when Y/N left the inn with a saunter that rivalled his own and a smirk plastered on her face. Sam chuckled and Bucky shot him a glare. Steve laughed loudly on the other side of him. “Well, captain, seems as though you’ve got yourself in trouble.” Bucky didn’t answer but gathered his belt and pistol, trailing after her into the darkened night. She was wandering away from the docks, headed towards the small cove along the shore – her hair shone in a million diamonds when the moon hit it.

He kept his pace slow and distanced from her, his coat billowing against the wooden planks, he so often had walked. She almost disappeared in the darkness, but the moon shone brightly enough to illuminate the sand under her, and he settled on a large, flat rock near her, still hidden by shadows and the cover of night.

She toed her boots off, and as the wind died down, he heard her sigh contently as the water lapped at her toes.

It wasn’t exactly news to him that he might have feelings that were more than just loyalty to a crewmate towards her. He had noticed it more and more the longer she had stayed on the ship, how he would subconsciously drift towards her, their hands almost touching as they strolled the deck, keeping lookout during storms. She had given him the last orange before they reached St. Mary’s with a shrug and told him that he looked like he needed the comfort. She had rushed to his quarters one night when she had overheard his screams from another nightmare, that seemed to plague him less and less the more she was around. Her entire being called to him in the same, gentle and alluring way as the sea did; she was simply unavoidable, deep as the chasms in the seafloor and as much in uproar as the darkest of storms, but it made him feel at ease. He knew her fire and her spirit just as much as he knew his own.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a soft tune hummed in the very air around him; he blinked a few times, trying to gather his bearings, but the song was enticing and hard to hold from his ears. He almost wanted to walk to the sea and swim.

His eyes flew open and quickly dug through his coat pockets and withdrew two lumps of wax, rolled perfectly to fit his ears – a siren, and Y/n was unprotected and alone. He rushed to stand, putting the wax in his ears, when he saw her; a beautiful woman, her face hovering just above the waterline, eyes trained on Y/n, who simply stood still, looking at the siren in the water. He was almost running, when he felt the hum of her song stop and he stilled himself – Y/n was sitting down just near the edge of the water, her eyes on the siren… And she was smiling.

He slowly removed the wax again, the rush of the world coming back to him, and he heard Y/N’s voice clear as the blinding sun – he would hear that voice through maddening crowds, if he was being truthful.

“You shouldn’t be singing so close to the docks.” Y/n said, and Bucky took another step forward, the sand shifting under his feet. “You shouldn’t be alone.” The siren responded, her voice alluring and dangerous. Y/N laughed. “No, I probably shouldn’t. good thing, I’m not.” She turned to face Bucky, who stopped dead in his tracks. “Well? Coming?” She asked, patting the soft sand next to her. The siren hissed. “Easy, Frey, he’s…” She looked at him again. “He’s trustworthy.” He slowly made his way to her, the siren’s eyes on him, and sat down next to Y/n. A little closer than he normally would. The siren’s eyes glowed reddish and her hair billowed around her face in the soft waves. “Now, you bring news?” Y/N asked her. The siren tore her gaze from Bucky and focused back on Y/N. “I do. The ship known as red Skull’s has been spotted near Tortuga. I cannot say by who…” She glanced at Bucky again. “But I know they’re looking for a certain treasure.” “Amaro Pargo.” Y/n whispered, her eyes alight with the promise of new adventures. “That is thought to be lost, isn’t it?” Bucky asked. The siren tilted her head to the left. “Perhaps. Perhaps it’s only lost to those, who cannot find it.” Bucky restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Sirens were, apparently, full of immeasurable riddles. “Hm.” Y/n hummed. “Can you lead?” She asked the siren earnestly. “Me?” She looked back at Y/N. “Have I not led you to more treasure than you can hold? Helped with more enemies than you could’ve hoped for?” Y/n nodded and Bucky finally understood why Y/N had been such a good navigator, how all ships seemed lost when they found them, their crew dazed. “Frey…” Y/n sighed. “I expect nothing from you, but I am asking, pleading that you help.” The siren sighed and looked to the docks. “I will try.” She nodded once, very strangely, to Bucky. “Man.” It seemed like a goodbye. “Fare thee well.” She nodded in the same strange way to Y/N, and then she was gone with the swell of the water.

They sat in silence for a while, Bucky trying to figure out what had just happened. “She has been… Sort of my companion for years.” She said into the silence. “Huh?” She ran a hand over her hair, tugging at a braid. “She came to my aid when I boarded my first ship. She had seen me board, seen the way the crew looked at me…” She glanced at Bucky. “let’s just say it wasn’t a coincidence that I was the only survivor, when you found me.” Ah. “And she… Helps you navigate?” He asked, intrigue coloring his words. He never knew sirens to have any type of relationship that didn’t end in death and the last breath full of salty water. She shrugged. “Not really. She tells me where there’s trouble. If her voice is left, I veer right. She might be a companion of sorts, but she’s still very dangerous and I’d prefer her not to become too close to you.”

Bucky didn’t outwardly show his emotions, if it wasn’t anger. But now, with those words, he couldn’t help the heat on his cheeks and the way his lips twitched.

“Alright, then.” He stood and offered his hand. She took it and pulled herself to her feet, their chests touching as he looked down at her. “Shall we find a lost treasure with the aid of a siren?”

----------

It had been a hard journey. The sea was unrelenting and with a swaying deck, rain falling in heavy, angry drops, he fought several of Hydra’s crewmen. The clanging of swords hung heavy around the ship, the smell of gunpowder stifled in his lungs, and yet, as he cut another man down, his eyes wandered to the vixen on the lower deck. She was grinning maddeningly, her eyes blazing with fire as she circled two men, that towered at least a head over her. She had blood-spatter on her white shirt, that clung to her chest, nipples pebbling under the cool rain. She lunged and blood flowed from the man’s throat, his crewmate’s mouth wide in shook as the woman danced around him. Bucky lunged and cut the second man down, who had swung his sword too wide to be able to block him, and he saw red when a man neared her back. He jumped on the railing and grabbed a rope – but before he swung, he saw Frey’s eyes peer up at him, a wicked smile on her lips.

“MEN! WAX!!” He shouted through the mask, he wore over his lower part of his face, and all as one swirled and pulled wax from their pockets, ready for whatever carnage Frey was about to bring. They had seen it before – Sam had even hollered that he knew Y/N had been different, when they first saw Frey talk to Y/N with her soft voice. Most of them seemed surprisingly fine with the prospect of a siren trailing their ship. The few that didn’t, happened to simply disappear overnight.

He nearly didn’t have time to get the wax in before the song started, and he swung down from the rope to Y/N’s side, where he stood back-to-back with her, fending off whoever dared near her. He felt the song in his chest and saw the men slowly lower their swords, daze already in their eyes. He grinned wickedly at them, spotting Red Skull hiding in shadows by his own ship; he was steering away, leaving the men he had on the Soldier, behind. All of them wandered around to the rails, leaning over the side. Frey swam gently through the swell of the waves, her eyes a perfect mirror of the color of the sea, now, and heads popped up around her; her song had called the few sirens nearby to her, joining her. Slowly, one by one, the men toppled to their watery grave, being pulled under by beautiful women who turned to hauntingly, beautiful and terrifying creatures as soon as their prey landed in their arms. Bucky watched, mesmerized by the sight of men going under, when he felt a hand on his arm. Y/N. She looked up at him with wide eyes and wiped her thumb across his cheekbone in an intimate gesture unlike anything, she had done before – her thumb came away covered in blood. The other crewmen looked everywhere else, trying their best to ignore whatever happened between their captain and Y/N, all of them still slightly on edge by the sirens that crowded their ships. Y/N looked behind him and nodded once, gesturing for him to remove the wax. He did, the thrumming of the song still embedded in his chest, but he turned to the sea and looked to Frey, who smiled wickedly, sharp teeth catching on her lips. “Thank you.” “Thank me not, pirate.” She disappeared under the water.

All the men drank happily after another victory, their shanties roaring from the brig. Bucky sat in his quarters, fiddling a small dagger and stared out of the open window into the darkness, when a few clatters sounded. He frowned and took a step and found three beautiful shells and a handful of colorful, shiny rocks littering the wooden floor. He glanced out the window, and despite the consuming darkness of the night, he couldn’t avoid seeing the red glow of Frey’s eyes. “Why rocks?” He called. “She likes things shiny.” And with that, her eyes were gone. He collected the strange rocks and shells in his hand with a slight smile on his lips. A soft knock sounded on the door. “Yes?” Y/n stepped inside, holding a bottle in her hand and a needle and string in the other. He rolled his eyes. “It’s superficial.” He said, pointing at the gash on his arm. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last. “Even so.” She handed him the bottle. “I took the last bottle of the rum, we procured in Port Royal.” She grinned. “If the men knew, they’d have my head.” He sat down and chuckled. “No, they wouldn’t. They would fear for your friend of the sea.” She sat down next to him and eyed the cut. “It won’t take long.” She mumbled and slowly began threading the needle, eyes focused on his arm. He couldn’t help but flex it, just a little and was rewarded with a soft whine. She began stitching him, and he didn’t dare move a muscle, but simply took a large swig of the bottle of rum, relishing in the warmth of the spirit. Minutes passed in silence, and he glanced at his table, where the collection of rocks and shells rested. “All done.” She mumbled and wrapped his arm in white linen, before standing up and wiping her hands on her pants. Her shirt was still spattered in blood.

He stood as well, and a swell of the waves around the ship made it tip slightly, which none of them were prepared for; she tumbled into his chest, fingers on his collarbone and his hands flew to her waist, trying to steady her. She found his eyes.

A carnal need overcame him, the very air became hard to breathe in, and he couldn’t stop himself. He kissed her deeply, a small gasp coloring the kiss in beauty, and her hands flew to his neck, wrapping around him to meet his kiss. Their tongues wrestled and he pulled her close to him, fingers moving to swiftly undo the damned laces on her back. She breathed a moan as the corset loosened and finally fell from her body – he grabbed her leg, holding her behind the knee and turned her, laying her on the bed. Their movements were frantic, desperate, and longing, so many months of glanced, near-touches and unsaid words hanging thickly in the air, and she clawed at his shirt, finally pulling it out of his trousers. He groaned as she rolled her hips against him, and he let his tongue dance over hers before he ripped her shirt to shreds. She gasped. “Buck, that was my favorite!” She bemoaned. He chuckled, kissing her neck. “I’ll buy you a brig’s worth of that shirt when we reach shore.”

She grunted and pulled at the lace on his pants, as he did the same to hers, Her chest was heaving and he couldn’t help himself – he lowered his lips to her hardened nipple and sucked it, teeth scraping against it and he was sure the sound, she made, would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life.

She finally managed to undo his pants and quickly pushed her hand inside, moaning as she touched his hard length, wrapping her hand around it. He rutted into her hand and his fingers had a hard time getting the fucking pants off her and she giggled, fully giggled as she lifted her rear up to make it easer for him to move the pants down her legs. The leather of his own pants were straining against his hard cock and her hand, and he quickly released her nipple with a soft pop to sit up straight and push his pants down. She clearly decided to use it to her advantage, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, removed her hand from his member and flipped them.

He grunted at the impact, but quickly swallowed any grievances when he saw her on top of him, straddling his hips. Her lips were swollen and red from the rough kisses and his beard, her chest heaved and tattoos littered her skin, drawing intimate pictures, a story of her. She positioned herself better, and grabbed his length again, lining him up. “Darling, don’t you…” He wanted her to feel good, but she quirked an eyebrow, a clear challenge. “You don’t believe me capable, Captain Barnes?” He had never loved being called a captain as much as he did now. “I believe you more capable than me.” He simply said, cock twitching in her hand. She grinned and lined him up with her dripping folds, sinking slowly down on him.

He might’ve thought the sea was his home, his calling, but at this moment, he knew he had been wrong – she was his home. She was tight and wet, the sounds tumbling from her lips were sinful as she lowered herself on him; he worried about her feeling pain, but her eyes rolled back in her head as she was finally seated on him, and immediately began rolling her hips, riding him with long strokes. he growled and held her hips, steering her and he felt her clench around him, her wetness growing on his lower abdomen, and he rutted up into her, craving more and sped up, not daring to slow down now, not with the way she pulled him deeper, and her moans grew. He fucked her deeply, grabbing at any bare skin he could as he nails dug into his chest. “Please…” She moaned. “Please, deeper…” He would never tell her no. He fucked her deeper and harder, feeling her clench around him and she threw her head back, stilling her hips as she came undone around him. He had felt many women reach their peak under him, but never had it felt as good as it did with her. He craved to see it again, the way she twirled her hips and used him to get more out of it, more of him. She leaned down and kissed him deeply, all teeth and tongue, and he lost control – he flipped them again, swallowing her squeal and began pounding her; her legs wrapped around him, lips warm on his, and he would die happily here, buried in her. She was moaning his name, like a drowning man’s last breath, and he sped up, dragging against her walls, that fluttered against him. “Buck….” She moaned again biting down on his shoulder. He growled and thrusted deeply, his cock twitching. “Fill me.” She whispered, her breath cooling the spot, her teeth had just been on and he damn near lost it. He fucked into her frantically, his arm weaving under her leg and hoisted it, clutching it under her knee, her walls tightening around him and with a roar, he spilled inside of her at the same time as she clamped down, another wave of pleasure running rampant through her body.

They rocked slowly to a still, his cock still twitching inside of her, and he kissed her languidly before slowly pulling out and laying down next to her, wrapping his arm around her. “You made my stitches open.” She mumbled, fingers gently swirling against the new red-splotched linen. He chuckled and let a finger follow a tattoo that ran from her collarbone to her elbow. “Worth it.”

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When they came out of his quarters the next morning, their hands intertwined, the crewmates all whooped, and Steve yelled the loudest that it was about damn time. Bucky didn’t care, not even about the lewd comments, because Y/N managed to send a dagger flying towards Sam’s hat and pin it to the railing behind him when he shouted something obscene. They stood at the rutter together, the pirate and his queen, and stared into the endless horizon. He saw Frey following the ship just out of the corner of his eye, and he tipped his hat to her.

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 2 months

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Today in Christian History

Today is Thursday, February 22nd, 2024. It is the 53rd day of the year in the Gregorian calendar; Because it is a leap year, 313 days remain until the end of the year.

1072: (or the 23rd) Death of Peter Damian, in Faenza, Italy. A reforming monk of the Benedictine order, he will be remembered chiefly for De divina omnipotentia which questioned the limits of the omnipotence of God (e.g.: can God change the past?) and will be declared a doctor of the church in the nineteenth century.

1225: Hugh of St. Cher dons the habit of the Dominican order. He will become a notable Bible scholar and head a team that will create the first really useful Bible concordance.

1297: Death in Cortona, Italy, of St. Margaret of Cortona, a Franciscan tertiary, who had established a hospital for the poor.

1632: Zuni Indians (tribe pictured above) kill Francisco de Letrado and dance with his scalp on a pole. He had been among Spanish missionaries attempting to impose a Christian regime on the Pueblo Indians.

1649: The Westminster Assembly adjourns, having held one thousand one hundred and sixty three sessions over a period of five years, six months, and twenty-two days. They were known for their solemn fasts and long hours of prayer.

1703: General Codrington bequeaths two plantations in Barbados for medical mission work to the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, on condition that professors and scholars be maintained there to study and practice medicine, surgery, and divinity in order to “endear themselves to the people and have the better opportunities of doing good to men’s souls whilst they are taking care of their bodies.”

1822: Samuel and Catherine Clewes Leigh sail into a New Zealand Bay to begin work among the Maori. Samuel’s Ill health will force them to leave the following year, but the mission will continue under other workers.

1845: Death in London of Rev. Sydney Smith, wit and literary critic, author of The Letters of Peter Plymley. He had once tied some antlers to donkeys to pretend they were deer when an aristocratic lady was visiting. His daughter wrote, “My father died in peace with himself and with all the world; anxious to the last to promote the comfort and happiness of others. He sent messages of kindness and forgiveness to the few he thought had injured him. Almost his last act was bestowing a small living of £120 per annum on a poor, worthy, and friendless clergyman, who had lived a long life of struggle with poverty on £40 per annum.”

1870: Missionary James Gilmour sails from Liverpool to work in China and Mongolia. Made chaplain of the ship on which he is sailing, he shares the gospel with every member of the crew during the night watches.

1892: W. T. Satthianadhan, a leader of the Church Mission Society in Madras, relapses into a serious medical condition and will die within days. He had been a representative to Anglican councils in England, author of books in Tamil and English, an educator at Madras University, vice-president of the Tamil Central Church Council, and founder of benevolent associations.

1901: Charles and Lettie Cowman arrive in Japan where they will become co-founders of the Oriental Mission Society.

1911: Death in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, of Frances E. W. Harper, an African-American woman who had labored in the anti-slavery cause alongside workers such as Julia Ward Howe and Frederick Douglas. She had published a volume of poems when twenty-one years of age.

1930: Soviet agents arrest more than sixty Orthodox clergy and laity in Tomsk for “counter-revolutionary agitation” and “grouping of church people.” They will execute fifty of these individuals.

1954: The first “Voice of Tangier” program airs over a 2,500-watt transmitter. Programming is broadcast in Spanish and English. Within two years, the station will be broadcasting in more than twenty languages.

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derryderrydown · 2 years

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I’m disgusted. OFMD has got something nautically and historically accurate.

They’ve let me down; they’ve let the fans down; but most of all, they’ve let themselves down.

“What have they got right?” you ask.

Yardies.

No, not hurling yourself off a yard for fun and profit. The closest I’ve come to that is flying a spinnaker like a kite with me attached to it.

But while Roach was up on what appears to be one of the royal yards, I thought, “My god, what revolting sail stowage. I love it!”

Because I’m used to sailing on modern tall ships, where sails are sea-stowed like this:

The corners of the sail (the clews) are pulled straight up to the far ends of the yards by the clewlines. The belly of the sail (the bunt) is also pulled straight up by buntlines. (I’ve stolen this image from Wikipedia because it’s better than anything I could draw. Clewlines are green; buntlines are red.)

The end result is that the sail is pulled up level and the whole thing is kept tight to the yard. This means you can stow your sail from the deck, which is obviously safer than sending crew out onto the yards. Even with modern fall arrest systems, accidents happen. With the sail kept tight to the yard, it also gets less weather damage.

When you look at Revenge, that is not a sail stowed neatly by modern standards. The clews are pulled in towards the centre of the yard, the edges (leeches) of the sail are tied up with gaskets, and the bunt is kind of piled up in the centre.

“Ha, ha,” I thought. “They’ve been deliberately terrible because these are terrible pirates.”

But then I thought, “Hmm, I wonder when buntlines were invented?” And I went investigating. And these bastards are fucking CORRECT.

This is a painting of HMS Royal Sovereign from the studio of Peter Monamy, early 1700s.

As you can see, her clews appear to be pulled inwards. But it’s a painting. How about an actual ship of the era? Well, I don’t have access to one of those, but I do have photos of the incredibly accurate replica of HMS Endeavour that sails in Sydney. Sadly, only photos – I’ve never actually sailed her – and she is fifty years later than Revenge. But…

My god, her clews are pulled inwards, too! And she doesn’t appear to have buntlines!

So this is a SECOND time OFMD has been nautically accurate (see my previous rant about dinghies), and I’m thoroughly disgusted. This is my silly happy show. It shouldn’t go around being accurate.

#ofmd meta #our flag means death #derry's ship talk

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mrwooglewogle · 3 months

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Been listening to the SEA soundtrack and all I can think of is “did the team who made this know it’ll be the last one they all will work on together?” It makes the music feel a whole lot more sullen.

#her interactive #nancy drew #nancy drew games #clew crew #clue crew #nancy drew pc games #sea of darkness

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stillanobsession · 9 months

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Things I Never Noticed About Danger on Deception Island

This was the second Nancy Drew game I ever played and it still remains one of my favorites. The overall game storyline is amazing, I love how it incorporates the mysterious appearance of the orca with the history of the area. But man is there a lot of back and forth traveling.

I never caught that Katie’s research was on deep sea parasitic growth or that she even did research at all

The sad part about playing this game is knowing you grew up in Washington, but you never went to the Puget Sound Islands or had clam chowder

Apparently you can have a PhD on the study of sea monsters

Nancy's fixation on finding Andy Jason all because of a business card

The audio game really should keep the ones lite you have correct if you miss one

So how long would Hilda have waited for someone to piece together all her coordinates and discover the box on the hidden beach before taking matters into her own hands?

I always forget Hilda was the mayor

I just gave Katie a sandwich without leaving to go make a sandwich…

This is the second Nancy drew game I’ve ever played and I’ve only ever been able to trigger the convo with Holt about the Atlantic Herring once

It would be so nice if you could leave/enter underground tunnel from the lighthouse without having one of the two doors be locked

So what exactly was Andy's plan after purposely bringing Nancy to where he was doing the smuggling? Did he really think his men would kidnap her as soon as she was on board?

#her interactive #nancy drew games #nancy drew pc games #nancy drew #clew crew #clewcrewplaythru #danger on deception island

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smokeys-house · 2 years

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Pirate tales from Puukko (3)

The winter air threw chills all through the valley, and especially across the Lonely Mountains. You're only certain of one person who would be awake this late into the season, and decide upon making your way to Puukko's place. You can smell the warmth of a fire and see the smoke pouring from her chimney as you approach.

You hear a jaunty yet sonorous song ringing out, muffled through the grand cabin's wooden walls. The voice is far from shy.

"--Here's a health to the King and a lasting peace. To faction end, to wealth increase. Come, let us drink while we have breath. For there's no drinking after death!" You can hear a woman humming for a moment before reaching to knock on the door, but before your second knock the door is already opening.

"Oh, a guest, have we? Well come on in out the cold. Ye caught me at a fine time and in finer spirits!" The large moomin woman leads you into the warm, cluttered interior. She sits on a floor cushion in front of a low table, the fireplace crackling just across. "On nights like these there's only one thing for it." There's a menagerie of things littering the table; a mug with an amber liquor in it, a bottle with its cork set to the side, and various tools or utensils you're unsure of.

You take a seat on a cushion similar to hers and tell her about your journey. She nods while she prepares a few things and listens to your tale intently. She unfurls a wax paper bundle and begins to chop finely a mixture of herbs and tobacco coated in molasses. She pours you a glass from the bottle, it steams in the mug and smells of cloves. She watches you sip gingerly and chuckles a bit at your grimace as you feel the warmth spread within your chest.

"Y'know, when the snow chills your bones I find that equally bone chilling tales take a bit of the edge." She sprinkles the chopped tobacco into some kind of ceramic bowl. You can only assume she means to smoke it, but you're unsure as to the method. She scoots a tall instrument over to her, placing the bowl at its peak.

"Have you ever seen a ghost ship?" The question catches you off guard. You'd heard the stories, but spent little time at sea. You say as much as you watch her, finally feeling the last of the cold leave your clothes.

"Aye, I know, another old story from an old woman. But this one strikes me as one you'd particularly find agreeable." She fishes some coals off a trivet resting near the fire with a pair of curved tongs, and places them one by one on the top of the ornate instrument before her. You can hear sizzling as they meet the tobacco, and the scent is far more pleasant than you'd imagined.

"Me and m'crew were out at sea. We'd recently taken a galleon for all she was worth, and had quite the haul. Plan was to head back to port and... live it up as one does." You can tell she had a hard time searching for polite words about what she got up to when docked. She took several long draws from a handled hose protruding from the standing pipe.

"Trouble was, there were to be an awful storm that evening. Wise move were to clew up and batten down. Furl all sails and the like. But I weren't so wise as I am now. As such we rode the wind at a quick pace. Squalls was screaming in the scuppers and hooting off the cannon barrels, like when you blow into a jug. Fog rolled in thick. Whole crew was on edge on account of just how downright ominous it was! That and there would no doubt be other ships on the lookout for us." She took a moment to sip from her mug, and for the first time since beginning her story she looks to you. You notice that she tends not to make eye contact unless she's quiet, as if she's checking in on you.

She takes another long draw from the pipe, letting the smoke cascade from her maw and gently into the air. She normally wouldn't smoke with a guest in the house, but you gather she already had plans for the evening from the array of things on the table.

"Lookout calls down from the crows nest. He says in not so polite terms that he can't see anything, but he has an awful feeling that a ship is soon to be upon us. He clambers on down the rigging. Everyone on deck can feel the chill on the wind." She mimics the sound of whooshing wind. It's silly, but you can't help but enjoy the way she tells a story.

"Marion shouts, undaunted. 'Crosstrees to starboard cap'n! Fog's too damn thick!' and it feels as though the whole world is silent. No more lapping waves. No more wind. Not even a breath drawn from any crew aboard m'vessel. We were goin' at a fair speed, but it felt like we were stiller than a sandbar..." She'd been gesturing along with her story in a rather animated fashion but as if to emphasize her point, she stopped with her paws out and her head cocked.

"There she was! Clear as day and as silent as the sun rises. A galleon not unlike the one we took that day. Sails were tattered 'n ragged, planks peeling back as if they were tryin' t' escape, and gunports wide open. She's hauled up pretty right next t' us like she means to board. Not a single sailor could be seen 'cross the way. My crew was all but lying dead! Not a one of them could even eek out a word. Marion's stiff but she were stalwart as any, and braced herself against my back."

Puukko's house was hardly drafty, and the fire was warm, but you feel the need to wrap yourself in a nearby blanket. She squints mischievously at you, knowing you'll likely have to stay up late with her after this. You know she's fond of cozying up with a friend for an evening, but you also know she'd never take it onto herself to ask. Was this her plan the whole time?

"I gave Marion a pat on the back 'n stepped over to the side of the ship. I put on a brave face like any capitan worth their salt would." She stood up and put her foot on the table, striking a gallant pose.

"I be the capitan of this here ship. And I'll not stand idly at your provocations!" Her voice was starkly different from how she had told her story up til now. It was deep and gravely, and to be honest, very intimidating. It felt to you as though it shook the room with her confidence. She mimicked drawing a sword from her hip and resting it at her shoulder.

"Show yerselves and I may show ye quarter! Prepare to be boarded, or soak in your own cowardice! I've ne'er tasted the sting of defeat, not from any man nor beast!" The emphasis she put into certain words would have any ordinary sailor quaking in his boots. She demanded a respect none could give, and her commanding presence was shown through the way she carried herself.

You had never really thought about how she was as a capitan. She seemed to be nothing more than a sweet old woman, and had always been known to you as someone with an endearing if eccentric kindness. This side of her was inspiring if frightening. She sat back down as if she'd done no more than continued her story.

"I have a bit of a habit of smirking proudly when I'm frightened. Worked to my advantage as a pirate if I'm being honest. So I'm standing there ready to climb aboard and a voice booms from the beyond." She takes another long draw off the pipe, and begins speaking through the smoke to deepen the sound. "I be not man nor beast... I be as them down among the dead... I would count you along with us... should you board the vessels of the damned..." She coughs a little, and shakes her head. The humor in that small moment provides you a small relief from her tale.

"I figure the only way out is through. I care deeply for me crew an' I don't reckon there's a way through all this without a fight. I've got a vice like grip on my sword and all sorts of fire brewing in my chest. I chance a look to Marion, and blow her a kiss. Ye never truly know if it's yer last, and this one was shaping up to be quite the fright!" She seems a little nostalgic towards the sentiment. You can feel the warmth behind her words.

"I leap over from the railing as I mean to board. I let out a fearsome yell and raise my sword high! Me crew's shouting along with me, my theatrics having done their job. I feel a shocking chill across the whole of my body. Shivered me--" You interrupt her to say "me timbers?" And she sighs loudly, but lightheartedly.

"I was going to say 'to my core' but... aye. Shivered me timbers. Iffin' that be what ye wanted to hear." She gives you a warm grin and squints happily. She finishes what remains in her mug before continuing.

"Well ye might be rememberin' I said this were a ghost ship. The chill I felt was the icy cold water below! I fell right through the ship as if it weren't there at all! And y'know what I heard after? Laughter! The same voice making claims moments ago was laughing at me among dozens of others! I look up and aboard the ghost ship must be fifty or so sheet-cloth wearin' lil fellers 'avin the time of their lives. Er, unlives?" She tilts her head quizzically. "Anyway they were having quite the laugh at my expense, the gits!"

"I shouted a few things at them, nothing... worth repeating in polite comp'ny. Apparently ghosts are rather fond of pranks. Who would've thought?" You feel less frightened after hearing the end of the story, but you're still a little uneasy at the idea of actual ghosts, even if they are harmless pranksters.

Puukko chuckled languidly, and leaned back onto her paws. "Was a challenge to climb back aboard. Spent the whole night shivering in my cabin. Marion stayed with me, she made sure I had plenty of layers of blanket. She always took care of me."

"Well. I'm off to bed! You know where the guest room is, help yourself to whate'er ye like." She trots off to a nearby doorway, partially closing it before peaking out. "An' if yer feeling a might skittish... well ye know where the capitan sleeps. An' I don't mind a lil friendly comp'ny." She lets out a small yawn and gives you a comforting smile, disappearing into the room beyond but leaving the door just open enough. You're unsure if you'll take her up on her offer, but the idea of being in the same room with a brave old pirate sounds safer should you hear a bump in the night.

#whetstone's whispers #moomin oc #this one got a little long but i think its cute!#i hope it sounds... platonic enough #bc its supposed to be platonic and sweet #thats a real song in the beginning btw!#also the lookout said someth like 'cant see shit capn! thicker than-' u get the idea

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thesailstore · 6 months

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Sailing Downwind Blissfully: The World Of Spinnaker Sails

The spinnaker sail, a colourful and expansive sail that billows out in front of a sailboat, is a striking and distinctive sight on the water. But what exactly is a spinnaker sail, and how does it work? Let's delve into the world of sails and explore their functionality and purpose.

The Anatomy of a Spinnaker Sail

A sail is a large, balloon-like sail designed to catch the wind at specific angles. It is typically made from lightweight, durable materials such as nylon or polyester. The sail consists of three primary parts: the head, the tack, and the clew.

The head is the top corner of the sail, which is usually attached to the spinnaker halyard. The tack, located at the bottom of the sail, connects to a line called the tack line. The clew, positioned at the other bottom corner, connects to the sheet, a line used to control the sail's position and shape.

When and Why to Use a Sail?

Asymmetrical Spinnaker sails are specifically designed for sailing downwind, where the wind is coming from behind the boat. They are not suitable for upwind sailing due to their shape and design. When sailing downwind, using a sail can significantly increase a boat's speed and performance.

One of the key reasons sailors opt for sails is to harness the wind's power in light wind conditions. Spinnakers are especially effective when winds are light and variable, as they can capture even the slightest breeze and convert it into forward motion.

Setting Up a Sail

Setting up a sail can be a bit more complex than handling other types of sails. It involves multiple lines and careful coordination to ensure a safe and efficient launch. Here are the basic steps to set up a sail:

Attach the halyard to the head of the sail.

Secure the tack and clew to their respective lines.

Hoist the sail using the halyard.

Trim the tack and clew lines to control the shape of the sail.

Adjust the sheet to steer the boat and maintain proper sail tension.

Sail Handling Tips

Sailing with a sail requires skill and practice, but the results can be incredibly rewarding. Here are some essential tips for handling a sail effectively:

Communicate with your crew: Good communication is crucial when handling a spinnaker. Make sure everyone on board knows their roles and responsibilities.

Watch the wind: Keep a close eye on wind conditions. Spinnakers sails are most effective in light to moderate winds. Be prepared to douse the sail if the wind picks up too much.

Be patient: Setting up and taking down a sail can take time, so be patient and take it step by step. Rushing can lead to mistakes.

Practice gybing: Gybing with a spinnaker can be tricky. Practice gybing manoeuvres in a controlled environment to gain confidence.

Sail Safety

While sails can be exhilarating, safety should always be a top priority. Here are some safety precautions to keep in mind:

Wear life jackets: Always wear appropriate safety gear, including life jackets, while sailing.

Use a harness and tether: When sailing in heavy winds, it's a good idea to use a harness and tether to prevent falling overboard.

Have a safety briefing: Before setting sail with a spinnaker, provide a safety briefing to your crew, emphasising potential risks and how to respond to emergencies.

Be ready to douse the sail: If the wind suddenly increases or a situation becomes dangerous, be prepared to quickly douse the sail.

The spinnaker sail is a versatile and dynamic addition to a sailor's toolkit. Understanding its purpose, setup, and handling is essential for maximizing its benefits while ensuring safety. With practice and experience, mastering the art of sails can elevate your sailing adventures to a new level of excitement and performance. Whether racing, cruising, or enjoying the open water, the sail is a fantastic tool for capturing the wind and gliding gracefully across the waves.

#spinnaker sail #Asymmetrical Spinnaker sails #Sail #Online Sails #businessusa

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boutny · 8 months

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Mast-er-ful, mast-er-less

The planned route - as long as we made good progress along the South Coast, it seemed achievable

Boutny was on a buoy in Falmouth harbour, where she had hosted Anna and Esme while I was in Scotland for a few days. The first week of September looked just right for completing Boutny's voyage of the summer - the plan had been to get from Faro to Brightlingsea in Essex, and it looked as if Wednesday to Sunday would bring 70 hours of Southerlies and South Westerlies, and then maybe 30 hours of Easterlies. So if Boutny made the 200 miles or so to Dover in the 70 hours, the Easterlies would allow us to make Brightlingsea the next day after turning the corner from the Channel to the North Sea.

That was the plan. And as I have quoted before on this blog - what does God do when they want to laugh? Watch people making plans...

I emailed the group of potential crew the weekend before, and I was delighted that John once again put his hand up. He knows Boutny and he knows me, and he is both a hugely useful person to have aboard and a great sailing companion. We took the overnight train, me from London, he from Basingstoke and met up at 7am on Truro station, where we connected with the train to Falmouth.

Lovely way to travel ... except sleeping while sitting is an art

We got to the quayside too early for the late-rising water taxi. The port was still and we had a little bit of a ticking clock - we needed to get to Madgik, John's boat, to collect his wet weather gear before his mooring dried onto mud.

Waiting for the water taxi at Falmouth town pier

The wind started light, and the dolphins accompanied us out of the Fal estuary.

The first of many dolphins who'd accompany us over the next 36 hours

We soon got the big Spinnaker up, and it would stay up from about 11 on Wednesday to 5am the next morning. We had a full supermoon and a blue moon, and despite cloud cover, the night Spinnakering was magical. Here we are in the evening, the filming obviously designed to show how well we eat on Boutny.

The moon, of course, also meant Spring tides, and one of the challenges of the route is that the tides around the headlands can be pretty ferocious. Portland Bill is the famous tidal race, but the other headlands have mini versions of these going too.

The Samsung phone camera trying to cope with a moonlit sail. Of course, the sky was grey-black, not that absurd blue it has filled in

It settled into wind with rain, and was surprisingly wonderful sailing. John surfed some lumps and thought he might have broken at Boutny speed record. When I was helming, I preferred to gaze at the sea and make the occasional tiller correction to maintain our heading. We hit the contrary ebb off Salcombe, and despite Boutny giving every appearance of powering through the water, the lights ashore were hardly moving. I took down the Spinnaker early in the morning because the wind was backing, and we needed to stay offshore to clear the Portland Bill tidal race by a (very safe) 15 nm.

We hit the ebb again off Portland in the early evening of Thursday, and we were looking forward to the turn, and being powered at speed. By then, the wind was fresh, and we had taken a little gib in and taken the foresail down entirely to have a calm night. There was a messy swell, and to stop unwanted sail movements, I had tethered the clew of the main to cleat on the outer beam. We were powering along very nicely, John and I chatting in the cuddy. We reckoned we were in with a chance of making Dover before the winds turned.

And that is when it happened.

A great cracking sound.

"That's the mast breaking!" was John's immediate thought. I was not sure - maybe my echo-location is not so good. We were frozen for a moment.

"Do you agree I should take the main down?" I asked.

Yes, John agreed, and I pulled the main down as fast as I could. We looked up, and there was the crack. About 2m from the top of the mast, a great big split in the planking.

"How are we going to stop that falling on top of us?", asked John, very sensibly...

As quickly as I could, I took a hoist from the foremast, secured it to a hoist on the main, and pulled both of them up - if the top of the mast was going to finish breaking off, it would dangle off the foremast rather than fall onto us into the cuddy.

We sailed into Portland Harbour on the gib. The tide turned in our favour and we made 4kts-5kts and arrived around 11pm. Enough time to anchor safely and get a good night's sleep. The next day we had the wonderful surprise of finding a really helpful crane crew at the Weymouth and Portland National Sailing Academy - hugely recommend the place - and the split mast was soon lying flat on Boutny's deck. I will be repairing the mast, and inspecting the foremast thoroughly, over the next few weeks in Portland.

So ... what are the lessons from this adventure?

The first is simple - be patient. Boutny spent 18 months on the hard in Sete. I really went over the hulls and decks thoroughly. But for some reason, I never decided to take down the masts and give them the same treatment. Soon before launch, in June last year, I had gone up the masts and found a bit of rot here and there as well as traces of old repairs.

My departure had been delayed by all sorts of frustrations - mainly to do with a bad choice of epoxy primer undercoat paint - and I was feeling frustrated. I should, of course, have decided then to take the masts down and give them a good servicing. But my impatience to get going led me to the wing & prayer strategy instead. Very short-termist, obviously.

But not just short-termist - just misguided. When sailing, the point is not really to get anywhere. The goal is the way. The end is the means. The means is the end. So frustrations like that, of having one more step before being ready, really have no place. So maybe the second lesson is to have a regular reminder when wishing for speed: are you actually constrained? are you doing this for the way or the end?

Of course, on Friday morning in Portland, I started out with feelings of frustration - I had to jettison all those plans I had related to Boutny having reached her winter destination ... I would be able to empty her of 18 months of accumulated stuff, I would be able to start to think about the rain-cover/tent, indeed, I would be able to plan the proper refurbishment of the masts.

But the more the day progressed, the more I found myself surrounded by the helpful crew at the academy, and the more I reminded myself that my destinations were fictions, on this adventure with Boutny, the happier I found myself in Portland Harbour. I quickly started to look at it as somewhere that might be home for the winter, and what had seemed in the morning like a disaster was now appearing in a quite different light. So maybe if I had been able to do that in June last year, I would not have been in Portland that day at all.

Evening on a visitor buoy in Portland Harbour; the guys in the boat were catching Bream, the kite in the background had delighted us all evening with their foiling.

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