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MOOP!

@sorcyress / sorcyress.tumblr.com

I am Kat, or Sorcy. I am into mathematics, dance, various bits of fandoms, and lots of webcomics. I am still not entirely sure why I have this tumblrbeast. If you would like to follow my more NSFW thoughts, they are at emmglorious. (For reference: 25ish (b.1989), white, FAAB, genderqueer ("they"), bisexual, polyamorous, neuro-mostly-typical, able-bodied, American, geek.)

Chris, the Ghost, and Mono

The other night, I told this story to my sister, who had somehow never heard it before. She demanded that I write it down. (I sincerely hope she’s not planning to use this as some kind of college life advice for my nephew.)

There are three things you need to know to understand this story, provided you are not my sister:

  1. I started college at 15.
  2. I almost immediately got mono and didn’t realize it, assuming that I was sleeping 16 hours a day because sleep was the best thing in the world and I’d suddenly gotten really good at it.
  3. I made most of my bad decisions – like, most of the bad decisions I would ever make, and almost all the ones I could think of – before starting college.

These were not things I had in common with my freshman cohort. Any of them, as far as I could tell. They were all older than I was, they seemed to have all the energy in the world, and they had come to college to make those bad decisions they’d been dreaming of all these years but apparently couldn’t quite commit to until they were away from parental backup and support.

Someone I’ve known for 20+ years just posted this on my Facebook wall and I’ve never felt more seen in my entire life.

Reblog to be visited by the Jeff Goldblum of Happiness, who will help you recognize that Everything Is Fleeting, Including Sadness.

Research has shown that pleasure affects nutrient absorption. In a 1970s study of Swedish and Thai women, it was found that when the Thai women were eating their own (preferred) cuisine, they absorbed about 50% more iron from the meal than they did from eating the unfamiliar Swedish food. And the same was true in the reverse for the Swedish women. When both groups were split internally and one group given a paste made from the exact same meal and the other was given the meal itself, those eating the paste absorbed 70% less iron than those eating the food in its normal state.

Pleasure affects our metabolic pathways; it’s a facet of the complex gut-brain connection. If you’re eating foods you don’t like because you think it’s healthy, it’s not actually doing your body much good (it’s also unsustainable, we’re pleasure-seeking creatures). Eat food you enjoy, it’s a win-win.

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what

no seriously

what?

Of course, the real way to tell whether you’re in a Hard SF novel is if people keep providing you with unsolicited explanations of basic physics and everyday technology which you should, by rights, already know.

So every single woman is in a Hard SF novel is what you’re telling me

…You know, it’s occurred to me that this would actually be a very good way to do exposition in hard SF novels without needing anyone to break character.

oh my god, sexist dudes aren’t mansplaining, they’re providing helpful exposition to your audience

“MARK. I INVENTED THE TECH BEHIND THE SK-400. MARK!”

Can we talk about how in zombie shows/movies/books they always find a veterinarian and not a surgeon? Are veterinarians deemed more likely to survive the apocalypse?

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Yup.

  • One of our professional skills is ‘not being bitten by patients’
  • We actually have a good broad knowledge base for both surgical, medical, and GP things
  • We’re used to improvising equipment because a lot of stuff is just not made for animals
  • Meat safety is part of our training
  • Our cars are often full of equipment, especially in mixed practice
  • We probably weren’t in the human hospital at the initial outbreak

This post is deemed culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant as certified by the National Shitpost Registry.

How do you write creepy stories

  • Over describe things
  • Under describe things
  • Fingers, teeth, and eyes
  • Short sentences in rapid succession build tension
  • Single sentence paragraphs build dread
  • Uncanny valley=things that aren’t normal almost getting it right
  • Third person limited view
  • Limited explanations
  • Rot, mold, damage, age, static, flickering, especially in places it shouldn’t be
  • Limited sights for your mc -blindness, darkness, fog, refuse
  • Real consequences
  • Being alone -the more people there are, the less scary it is
  • Intimate knowledge, but only on one side

I don’t know I just write scary things but I don’t know what I’m doing.

Rule of Thumb: your reader’s imagination will scare them more than anything you could ever write. You don’t have to offer a perfectly concrete explanation for everything at the end. In fact, doing so may detract from your story.

so i know it’s not the mcu, but if it WERE:

Annie and Dan are visiting his parents back East when the aliens hit New York, and then all the flights are canceled and the catsitter they hired doesn’t have any extra openings, so it’s Eddie to the rescue. 

There’s some kind of irony in Anne finally trusting him to feed the cat a year after ending their engagement. He’s walking up the hill to their apartment, Annie on the phone telling him the system Dan uses for watering his plants, because of course Dan has a system, when Venom starts freaking out hard. 

EDDIE, he says, so urgently that Eddie almost drops the phone. Eddie, something is wrong.

“What?” Eddie asks, looking reflexively around them–it can’t be Carnage again, unless–? But the street is quiet. The nearest person is an old woman pushing her bubbe cart.

“Eddie?” Anne asks, distant. “Everything okay?”

Something is very wrong, Venom repeats, and he sounds nearly distraught. He lurches sideways in Eddie’s chest, and Eddie does drop the phone this time.

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie says, “What’s wrong?” Instead of responding, Venom abruptly manifests, taking control of their body and scaring the pants off of the rest of the street.

“Jesus, V, what the hell,” Eddie says–or tries to say. He suddenly feels it too: something indefinable but essential is–wrong, and getting wronger.

“No,” Venom snarls out loud to the street, where the old woman–jesus christ. Where the old woman has just collapsed into dust, leaving nothing behind but her cart and her purse. A car slams into a lamppost, the driver’s seat suddenly empty. Someone is screaming, and they aren’t even screaming at them. “I said no.

Oh, Eddie thinks, as a passenger tries to escape from the car’s backseat, and crumbles into nothing as soon as she reaches the pavement. Oh, that’s what’s happening to us. “It is not.” Venom is surrounding him, is in him, deep as they always are, close enough that no one could tell the difference. Eddie can feel Venom repairing him, hanging onto his brain and his heart and feverishly binding atoms together that want to fall apart, and he can feel that it isn’t going to work, that not even us can stand against the unyielding pull of entropy.

I love you, V, Eddie thinks, fierce as he can. “Don’t leave me,” Venom orders, frantic, hanging on as hard as they can, with every part of themselves. Eddie’s lost his view of the street, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s lost his eyes, or because Venom is shielding him from whatever there is to see, if the last thing he’ll see is that familiar blackness. “Don’t leave me alone, Eddie.”

Eddie tries his best to project gratitude with the last shreds of himself he can reach. He hopes Venom knows how much his life was changed, how much he wants––

*

-I think we’ll go with a little Bohemian Rhapsody, gentlemen. -Good call!

Wayne’s World (1992)

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I know this is a dumb almost-stoner movie, but looking at these clips almost made me tear up, because the need to sing along with your friends at the top of your lungs is just so delctably human and it makes me happy every time I see it.

Katharine Hepburn as Amazon warrior princess Antiope & Colin Keith-Johnston as Theseus in stage production of The Warrior’s Husband (1932) (Corbis)

ok. ok

all right I’ll allow it

Okay so some fun and interesting tidbits of info that @queer-taako gave me a while back regarding Katherine Hepburn: she may have possibly been either nonbinary or transmasc. She had a male persona, and gay men (as in exclusively gay men, men who only had sex with and were attracted to other men) had sex with her. They viewed her as just as much a man as any of them. In fact, the only reason I’m still using “her” and not “him”/“them” is because it was never confirmed (and let’s be real, it could have been very dangerous for her back then). But that information is out there.

This is a pretty good article going into detail about Hepburn’s identity as well as how the era sort of impacted her experience. She described herself later in life as “the missing link between genders” and even as a child, had a secret name for herself which she preferred to be called among friends (Jimmy) and the information she gave about her childhood like not getting why everyone seemed to treat her like a girl, not wanting anything to do with feminine things, having a secret name, at the very least resonates with gnc and butch women, trans men and nonbinary people.

We have no way of knowing what she really was, and we cant really ascribe an identity to her, but she had relationships with men and women and wanted pretty much nothing to do with womanhood in her private life. Being non straight and/or not cis in Hollywood, especially back then, was such a minefield to navigate, and there was virtually no language to express yourself if your identity was anything other than gay or straight cis person, and even the term ‘lesbian’ wasnt used as often as youd think.

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Honestly, the whole Tumblr flagging debacle reminds me of nothing so much as the official White Wolf forums back in the 1990s, whose automatic profanity filters were so overzealous that they ended up censoring terminology from some of their own games.

(For the uninitiated, the starkest example was probably the filter that automatically converted “ass” to “butt”, including when the string A-S-S appeared as part of another word. The trouble is that White Wolf’s most popular game, Vampire: The Masquerade, included in its lore a prominent vampire clan called the Assamites, who stock-in-trade was assassination. Under the forum’s profanity filter, players were reduced to referring to them as the Buttamites, and their missions as – you guessed it – buttbuttinations.)

A clbuttic mistake.

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Buttbuttination is one of my favourite ever words, even moreso than Scunthorpe

Bruh if you misgender someone because you don’t think they’re “really trans”

You’re what’s wrong with the community.

Misgendering anyone is fucking transphobic it doesn’t matter who you misgender or whether you’re trans yourself.

Misgendering people is fucking transphobic.

i agree so long as they dont use neopronouns. in which case i just say they unless they say theyd prefer he or she ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

theres nothing helpful about misgendering some one- even if theyre not trans. if they’re not really trans then theyll realize and so long as they dont premote harmful stuff then why bother misgendering them. that being said a trans person misgendering some one obviously faking it isnt transphobic. its rude and unhelpful but not transphobic. (especially if that person uses neopronouns smh)

good to see i agree with you guys on something though ahah

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But you don’t agree—you just admitted you’d misgender people who use neopronouns.

neopronouns are not pronouns theyre made up words. they/them is often a synonym so im sorry im not gonna use some obsurd ‘pronoun’ thays often difficult to pronounce? and unessasry?? i wont misgender someone if i think theyre faking being trans. that was the point of the orginal post :)

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ALL WORDS ARE MADE UP

and pronouns are no exception; they didn’t spring fully-formed from Zeus’ brow.

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Do I hate neopronouns? Sure.

Will I use them if someone prefers them though? Fuck yes.

Why? Because I’m not an asshole, and my personal linguistic preference isn’t more important than possibly ruining someone else’s day.

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2019 is coming up and if i don’t become louder than god’s revolver and twice as shiny then what’s the point

I dont know what this means or what its referencing; but like, #mood

Reblog to make the future bulletproof and the aftermath secondary.

Anonymous asked:

Any advice on how to write a heist story something like oceans Eleven?

Well, you can start by watching Ocean’s Eleven, and Ocean’s Eleven, and then Leverage, and then Burn Notice, and then The A-Team, and then Mission: Impossible, and then all the other heist stories like The Italian Job or Heat. Watch, read, uncover as many stories about criminals as you can from fiction to nonfiction to reading security analyst blogs. Read the spy memoirs, the thief memoirs, the fake ones and the real ones. Check out magicians, hypnotists, card tricks, and sleight of hand. Watch the making ofs and director’s commentaries looking for clues behind the thought process of these stories. The hows and the whys as you look into the research they did. Burn Notice, for example, is famous for using stunt props and technological rigs that work in real life. Like using cell phones to create cheap bugs on the go.

The worlds of criminal fiction and spy fiction rely on being able to present (or convincingly fake) a world which feels real. A heist is all about exploitation. So, you need a world with security structures to exploit. You’ve got to know how things work before you can craft a way to break them. Social engineering, hacking, and every other criminal skill is about breaking the systems in place. So, you’ve got to get a baseline for how law enforcement and security analysts work. What security systems are set up to look like. The ways we go about discouraging thieves. Better yet how people behave. Real, honest to god human behavior.

So, you know, pick somewhere in order to start your research. Get an idea of what you want write about stealing, then learn everything about the object, the museum, the city, the country, and its customs as you can.

If you’re setting a heist in a futuristic or fantasy setting then luck you, you get to make all of it up.

Learning the plot structure and conventions of the heist genre is the first step. This means watching lots and lots of heist movies, shows, and reading books. Over time, as you become better at critical analysis, you’ll begin to see specific story structures and character archetypes emerge.

The Heist Story is a genre. Like every other genre, it comes with its own structure, cliches, archetypes, plots, and genre conventions which necessitate the narrative. The better grasp you have of those, the better you’ll be at writing a heist.

For example, a heist story like Ocean’s Eleven relies on a collection of thieves rather than a single individual. The character types are as follows:

The Pointman - Your planner, strategist, team leader, and the Jack of All Trades. Can also be called the Mastermind. They’re the one who can take the place of anyone on the team should they fall through. They’re not as good as a specialist, but they’re very flexible. Narratively, he plans the cons and subs in where he’s needed.

The Faceman - Your experienced Grifter, here for all your social engineering needs. These guys talk their way in.

The Infiltrator - Your cat burglar or break-in artist. Basically, the conventional genre thief. Your Parker, Catwoman, Sam Fisher, or Solid Snake. The stealth bastards, they’re all about silent in, out, and playing acrobatic games with the lasers.

The Hacker - The electronics and demolitions specialist. Usually this is the guy in the van overseeing stuff remotely. Your Eye in the Sky. Their skill set can be split up and swapped around as necessary.

The Muscle - The one who is good at fighting. They’re combat focused characters, usually with mercenary and special forces backgrounds. Though, that’s optional.

The Wheelman - The one who handles the getaway. They’re your often overlooked transport specialists. It’s not just that they can drive, they’re skilled at getting lots of people around, figuring out how to move your valuables, and exiting hostile cities or countries undetected. They get the team in and they get them out.

For an example of these archetypes, I’m going to use Leverage. Nathan Ford, The Pointman (technically, he’s written like a Faceman). Sophie Devereaux , The Faceman. Parker, the Infiltrator. Hardison, the Hacker. Eliot, the Muscle. They all take turns being the Wheelman.

Other examples like Burn Notice: Michael Westen, the Pointman. Sam Axe, the Faceman. Fiona, the Muscle. They all take turns with explosives, Michael will invariably take all the roles during the course of the show.

Ocean’s Eleven has multiple variants of these archetypes, all broken down and mixed up.

You can mix and match these qualities into different individuals or break them apart like in Ocean’s Eleven, and more than one character can fill more than one role, but that’s the basic breakdown. For example, your hacker doesn’t need to be a guy in a van overlooking the whole security grid. One guy or girl with a cell phone can sit in the lobby of a building with an unsecured wireless network and crack the security. Welcome to the 21st century. The skills don’t necessarily need to take the specific expected shape.

What you do need is the basic breakdown:  You need someone to plan the con, you need someone to be your face or grifter, you need someone to break in, you need someone to watch the security/electronics, you need muscle to back you up, and someone’s got to cover the getaway.

These shift depending on your plan, but this is the expected lineup for a heist narrative. The first step of a heist narrative is not the plan because we don’t have one yet. We’ve got an idea. Pick your target. Maybe it’s a famous painting. Maybe it’s a casino. Maybe it’s a rare artifact from a private investor’s collection loaned to a museum for a short period of time. Maybe it’s art stolen by the Nazis during WWII. Whatever it is, figure it out.

The next step is simple. If you want the thing, you’ve got to find a way to get it. This is a big job, your standard thief won’t be able to pull it off alone. So, you gotta go recruiting. Get your team together. Make sure to establish the goals of the different members for joining. Who they are. Their pedigree. One might be an old flame or an old enemy. This is where we lay out some character driven subplots.

When everyone’s together, we’ve got to lay out the plan. Before we have a plan though, we need to establish where the object is and the issues in getting it. Why this has never been done before. So, what are the challenges? Invariably, an object worth a great deal of money will have a lot of security protecting it. Figure out what that security is, who the item belongs to, what sort of retribution do the thieves face beyond what they might expect. Lasers, pressure plates, cameras, security, other career criminals, mob bosses, the rich and powerful, whatever.

After that: How do you get it? Then you’ve got to plan the con, while taking everything into account.

Then, We prep the Con. There will be steps to take before the con can be put into place, your characters taking their positions in plain sight. Stealing whatever pieces you need to make it work. Casing the joint. Etc.

Then: Run the Con. This is the part with the actual stealing. Better known as the first attempt. Things go well, there may be a few mistakes, but things are going well and then we…

Encounter Resistance. While running the con, something goes wrong, pieces fall apart, the thieves come close to success but the object gets moved and they suddenly need a new plan. New information may pop up, it may be one of your artists was running a con of their own separate from the rest. If there’s a double cross in the works then this may be when and where it lands.

We’re ready now, so it’s time hit up: Steal the Thing, Round Two. Your characters put their new plan into play and get about thieving the object of their desire.

Lastly: The Get Away. This is the part where your thieves make for the hills with their stolen treasure. This can be short or long depending on the kind of story you’re telling and other double crosses may occur here. It could be the end of the story or the beginning of a new heist.

Heist stories are like mystery novels. They’re all about sleight of hand and misdirection. You’ve got to keep just enough information on the table to keep your audience on the hook, and just enough information off the table to surprise them later on the twist. Yet, when they go back to re-read the novel again, they’ll find the answer was there all along. They just didn’t see it coming.

If anything, learning how to write a well-done heist or a mystery or any kind of novel in this genre will teach you a lot about how to manage your foreshadowing and create superb plot twists. Like any good con, you need to lay out all the conflicting pieces where people can see them, let them draw their own conclusions, withhold the critical context, and then hit them with the whammy.

Like lots of audiences, new writers (and even some old ones) can get distracted by the shock and awe. They see they’re impressed by the conclusion, not the lay-up. If you want to write any kind of fiction, you need to learn to see past the curtain and pay attention to the critical pieces leading into an important moment rather than the moment itself.

Good writing isn’t modular, you can’t just strip out pieces and run with them because you’ll end up missing the crucial, sometimes innocuous pieces that ensured the scene worked. Like the Victorian Hand Touch, every moment between the two leads and most of their scenes with secondary players are working for that singular instance of eventual, gleeful catharsis.

If you’ve got a plot twist coming in your novel, every sentence from the second you start writing is working towards it. You start laying out your pieces, funneling in your tricks, and playing with misdirection. You may have multiple twists, to cover yourself, divert your audience, congratulate them for successfully guessing your ploy, and reassure their initial suspicions before catching them again on the upswing.

The clever writer is as much a con artist as their characters. The only difference is the target of their con is their audience. The tricks in their bag are narrative ones, and they work with the understanding that it doesn’t matter if someone guesses the end so long as they’re entertained by the journey. A great story stays entertaining long after the audience has figured out all the twists.

So, don’t get caught up in Red Herrings and frightened about not being able to outsmart other people. Tell a good story with conviction and heart about a bunch of crooks out to steal their heart’s desire.

That’s all there is to it.

-Michi

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*adds ‘plant press’ to the list of scientific tools i want in my home*

You can make one, for like… $20 worth of stuff from a hardware store! (less if you have a habitat for humanity or other recycling place you can get to)

You will need:

  • 2 quadrangles of plywood (or singe-piece if you want to be extra fancy) in the size you want, as long as they’re the same size and shape
  • two hunks of the thickest felt you can get, slightly bigger than your quadrangles (it will gradually shrink as it presses the water out of plants, so you want to leave selvage)
  • 4 bigass bolts. You know, the ones almost as long as your forearm? those.  If your quadrangles are very large or significant’y longer than wide, you may wish to get extra bolts
  • corresponding number of appropriately sized wing nuts for your bolts.  you *can* do this with regular nuts, but they’re a pain to work with.
  • drill to make holes in your plywood. Go ahead and borrow this from a neighbor, you’ll only need it for like five minutes.
  • some sandpaper
  • baking supplies, if you are Not Good With Tools

HOW TO THING:

  1. Sand your quadrangles so you don’t end up with a fucktillion splinters every time you use it.  if you want to be SUPER fancy, you can stain it too.
  2. Drill appropriate-sized holes at least 1 inch in from the edge on each corner of your quadrangles, so that you can fit your bolts through easily*.  If you are dealing with a large or oblong set of quadrangles, add additional holes so that they are approximately evenly space, with no more than 12 inches between them. *If you are Not Good With Tools like I am, make baked goods for Your Neighbor Who Is Good With Tools and ask nicely for them to do if for you. 99% of the time, they’re thrilled to be helpful.
  3. Thread bolts through holes.  Thread wingnuts onto bolts
  4.  cut notches into the corners of your felt so that it can rest between the bolts. DO NOT attach felt to quadrangles- you’re going to need to replace it eventually, and the pressue of the press will keep them in place JUST FINE.  place notched felt squares between quadrangles like the chocolate in a really weird s’more.

You are almost ready to press!  Some more notes:

  • Fuck blotting paper.  newspaper works FINE.
  • Once you have selected a specimen you wish to press, lay 5 or six sheets of paper over your felt on both sides, and arrange your specimen in the shape you want it before pressing.
  • Unless you’re doing seaweed or something REALLY fleshy, in which case, more like 12-20 sheets.  Just stick the whole sports section in there.
  • TO PRESS: one you specimen is arranged between newspaper, tighten wing-nuts until press is snug, then gradually tighten a bit more over the next few days as specimen dries out.  Your pressing times will vary greatly based on local humidity and how fleshy your specimen is.
  • Once your specimen is ready VERY CAREFULLY remove from newspaper and mount on nice paper.  Frame, if you want to look REALLY cool.
  • If you want to press more than one thing at a time: GO FOR IT.  That’s why we got the REALLY LONG bolts- just add more newspaper between your specimens and you can have STACKS of them- great fore field trips.

YAY!  You now have a hella fly plant press with works way better than those fancy ones and you’ll also look super-handy and badass in front of the other botanists.

Please make a post about the story of the RMS Carpathia, because it's something that's almost beyond belief and more people should know about it.

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Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a respondibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

I think the least we can do is remember them for it.

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wow okay i’m crying now

“And even as he watched the rescue unfolding that morning, he would have understood that for the living, everything which could have been done had been done: not a single survivor was lost or injured being brought aboard the Carpathia. For those who had gone down with the Titanic, save for reverencing their memory at the service later that day, there was nothing more that he or anyone could do. Rostron’s duty now was as he always saw it: to the living.”

I looked up a bit about this because the post is so movingly written that when I read it aloud to my husband and mother they both wept like babies, and something else really struck me about this story.

So Carpathia was not a top-end luxury liner. Her reputation was for being Jolly Comfortable - she was very broad in her proportions, and not super-duper fast, and the result was that she didn’t rock so much on the waves and you couldn’t particularly hear/feel the engines. She was solid and dependable, and lots of people liked using her, but she therefore occupied a lesser niche than Titanic or Olympian or whatever - and crucially, as a result of that, she only had one radio operator on board. This means she only had radio ops for a certain window in the day, unlike Titanic, which had 24 hour radio ops.

So on that night, when Titanic went down, Carpathia’s wireless operator - one Harold Cottam - clocked off his shift at midnight, and went to bed. While he was getting ready for bed, though, he left the transmitter on for the hell of it, and therefore picked up a transmission from Cape Race in Newfoundland, the closest transmitting tower sending messages to the ships. They told him that they had a backlog of private traffic for Titanic that wasn’t getting through. So, even though his shift was over, and it was now 11 minutes past bloody midnight, and he just wanted to go to bed, Harold Cottam decided that nonetheless, he’d be helpful, and let the Titanic know they had messages waiting.

And that’s how he received the Titanic’s distress signal. In spite of no longer being on shift to receive it, and therefore in order to send Carpathia galloping to Titanic’s rescue, and thus saving 705 people.

All because Harold Cottam decided one night to be kind. 

I dunno. That’s just really stuck with me.

Cottam also ended up staying awake for something like 48 hours straight trying to send survivors messages and a list of survivors home, but due to Carpathia’s limited radio frequency range and with no other ships to act as a relay, this was rather patchy. However, he tried his damn best to make sure the survivor’s messages got home, and was also bombarded with incoming messages of bribes to spill the details of the disaster to the press.

Rostrum had ordered that no messages to the press be sent out of respect to the survivors, for they would have their privacy destroyed as soon as they reached New York. Cottam respected this order, even under extreme duress of fatigue, stress, and the knowledge that in some cases the bribes were almost three times his annual salary.

He eventually went to bed but not before working with one of the rescued Titanic’s radio operators, Harold Bride, to transmit as many messages as possible. Bride was injured (his feet had been crushed in a lifeboat) and had just passed the body of the second of Titanic’s radio operators aboard (Jack Phillips), so neither of them were really in the best shape to keep working, but they did.

In the face of extreme adversity, both men refused to do anything but their duty (and exceeding their duty) not just because Rostrum had ordered it, but because it was the right thing to do. They could have profited considerably from the disaster and they refused for the dignity of the survivors.

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This is hopepunk. This is what we can be, what we are, when instinct takes over. This is what we are when we choose to care about each other. We’re not profit machines or units of production or lone fierce wolves in a bitter wilderness. We are people, and we care about people.

This is human nature. Don’t give up on it.