Anime/my Fav

pnf revival challenge day 4: driver’s license!

Hosted by @howtonerdoutovereverything!✨

I wanted to add a page where they get pulled over by cops but ironically I spent 10 hours driving myself today and I’m falling asleep at my desk kfbshckm anyway here’s a bonus meme:

Sure thing ^^

Harold Anderson is a pure-hearted child-in-spirit man who lives to make toys, give to charity, and be a better man. I know this may seem far-fetched, but I based his character almost like a pure form of Everyman. At the same time, however, he understood the need to fulfill his own curiosity. One fine day, he happened to stumble across a demon (won’t say how or what demon) and instantly became curious. He began to research about it, finding time outside his love life (which was lovely!) and his work to study more about Demon Magic. 

David Anderson, however, grew up oblivious to this until his engagement with his wife. As he came to reveal the news to his father, David saw Harold casting a spell on the mansion (The Hell-borne barrier). David flew into a rampage, asking if he had been using magic to help the family or do harm, but Harold only used his energy and knowledge to protect the family and him. David could not see his father as his father anymore and shut him out of his life.

Art by John Loter and Goodname Studio

(Not the best name, I know)

Zudona was and had been many things.

A Goddess. A protector. A friend. An avenging angel. Zerdione’s roommate.

Never had she been a mother.

With them meeting Coco’s family, a family that was beyond letting the differences of worlds keep them apart, it had opened up opportunities. It changed things. It allowed them to learn more of the Smurfs that called other worlds home.

Such as three special ones that Poseidon had mentioned once in conversation.

Once again, Slouchy x Sassette ! 🎷🧡

And they hug, cause it’s good for your health

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.

According to The Marine Executive and several other sources, events even began with a dramatic coincidence:

Radio Operator Harold Cottam was at the end of his working day and taking off his shoes before bed, but still had his headphones on, listening to a last few messages from Cape Cod before shutting the radio down for the night.

He decided to finish his shift (though he’d already run over by ten minutes) by contacting the radio operators on Titanic, one of whom was his friend Jack Philips, and who had been snowed under with commercial messages all day. 

15 April 1912, 12:20 AM:

“I say, old man, do you know there is a batch of messages coming through for you from MCC?”

(MCC = Marconi radio station Cape Cod) 

He wasn’t expecting what he got in response.

15 April 1912, 12:21 AM:

“Come at once. We have struck a berg. It’s a CQD, old man. Position 41.46 N 50.14 W” 

(CQD was the old pre-SOS distress code. Titanic was soon making the first ever use of SOS as well, for all the good it did.)

If Cottam had ended his shift when he was supposed to, or not bothered checking in about a bunch of messages that weren’t his problem, or even just taken his headphones off before unlacing his shoes…

Screenwriting this would also lack a lot of conflict-drama, because I can’t recall reading a single report of any passenger raising angry or panicky objections - not that Captain Rostron would have listened - as Carpathia headed at more than full speed, in the dark, through dangerous waters where an iceberg had apparently just sunk an “unsinkable” ship.

Instead, though Rostron’s orders were made to his crew and his principal concern for his own passengers was to keep them out of the way, on their own initiative those passengers donated their bedding, blankets and even their spare clothes, many doubled up in cabins to make room, and some even vacated their cabins entirely and slept on deck regardless of the icy conditions.

Carpathia was a remarkable ship with a remarkable captain, and she carried remarkable people. Worth remembering indeed.

Captain Arthur Rostron:

Wireless Operator Harold Cottam:

RMS Carpathia in New York:

…and at sea:

Her crew:

Some of the 705:

Reblog if it's OK for other artists to draw your OCs

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