Glock, paper, scissors...I win

Weredaddy AU

If Stiles is going to come and go as he pleases on Hale territory, then Joseph will simply have to claim Stiles as a part of it.

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.

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. 

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.

I love Stiles as a teacher fics! Here you go nonnie! Mostly Sterek with 1 Stackson -Raiven

Bicycle Flavored Ice Cream by words_reign_here

(1/1 | 29,083 | Teen | Sterek)

Derek finally has everything where it should be. His pack is good, strong, back from college and they are a cohesive team. Other than the occasional witch, hunters and blip in the road, this is what it should have always been like. A pack in the Hale house, watching out for Beacon Hills.

Until I Stayed Away Too Long by melofttroll

(4/4 | 14,847 | Explicit | Sterek)

NY Times bestseller Derek Hale hates a lot of things about being a modern author. Like being recognized, like needing a social media presence, like not being able to buy his own boxed spaghetti noodles without being asked for a selfie. Facing writer’s block, he escapes to his old hometown of Beacon Hills, at his sister’s insistence, for some reprieve and hopefully motivation. It’s there his attention is captured by a gangly, socially awkward teacher, and the tiny little toddler at his side who know him only as that one basketball player who fled town at fifteen after his girlfriend burnt his house down.

Little Miss Matchmaker by clotpolesonly

(1/1 | 8,210 | Gen | Stackson)

Little Miss Elizabeth Jacqueline Whittemore might just be the perfect child. Teaching kindergarten is not easy, especially with Scott complaining about his (very) pretty-boy jerk of a coworker at every opportunity, but with a student like Miss Jackie, Stiles can probably make it through.

Synchronized by braedens

(1/1 | 3,636 | Gen | Sterek)

Stiles can admit that the world isn’t always in his favor. For fucks sake, he’s a third grade teacher. 95% of his day consists of conversations with children under the age of ten. But at least he spends the other five percent with people he cares about.

Derek was already teaching when Stiles started his student-teaching program after graduation. Derek had the honor of mentoring Stiles in his first year at BCE. Forced mentorship turned casual acquaintance ship turned saundering friendship made Stiles realize how much he and Derek have in common.

And also how much of a raging crush he has on him, despite Derek showing almost no interest.

See? Not always in his favor.

Whatever, he’s accepted his residual fate.

Blackmail 101 by ArientheSun

(1/1 | 3,572 | Gen | Sterek) 

Stiles peeks around the cold bumper of the Prius, open mouthed in shock and awe. Even though the street is black and silent, he keeps his voice a whisper, as though yelling might break the majesty of the situation. “The greatest thing in the history of the world is happening just down the street.”

Lydia shuffles closer, awkwardly crouching in her heels, jostling to see around the car’s headlight. “What is it? I don’t see - OH! Who is that?”

“Derek Hale.”

“The Derek Hale. The hot colleague you won’t shut up about?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And the car belongs to?”

“Our boss.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” Stiles’ open mouth shock morphs in an exuberant, triumphant smile. “Derek Hale is vandalising Principle Greenburg’s car!“

Haven’t you heard the rumours? by fairyfey

(1/1 | 2,163 | Teen | Sterek)

Stiles is a drama teacher who tends to overshare, Derek is a nerdy english teacher who somehow makes cardigans sexy and the students think they should be together.

or

Like, the Pevensies end up the royal family in large part because everyone’s like ‘it has been prophesied that you will come and rule us and everything will be great!’ and, well, in-universe I can’t really fault them on that; if I were a young teen or pre-teen in a completely foreign country, I too would probably just go along with whatever seem to make people friendly to me.

“He read the letter again, but could not take in any more meaning than he had done the first time, and was reduced to staring at the handwriting itself. She had made her “g”s the same way he did.”

Patreon ✨

Hi, you may or may not know me. I go by Tyramir, and I’m an author. Mostly I write fanfic, but I have also published a book at some point. (Yes, that was a subtle plug – don’t feel obligated to click the links, they’re there to justify to myself why I’m doing this so I can say this wasn’t 100% altruistic because I’m a crusty old troll)

So, recently, Tumblr has made something of an announcement regarding what kind of content they will and will not host in the future. And you know what, that’s okay. It’s their site. They can do what they want. Just like I’m free to say, “Hey, @staff, go fuck yourselves with some sandpaper, you masochistic fucks.”

Ah, that felt good. You know what else feels good? Moving to Pillowfort. I’m in no way associated with them, beyond that I am now a user. I just bought a key. More than one, actually. I bought a whackload of them. I am not rich. See: author. Very poor profession if you’re not ultra-successful. However, what I am is angry, and disappointed with the direction this site is taking. 

This site is home for the marginalised, for the outcasts, for the misfits. It’s also the home for a lot of fellow artists, like myself. Ones that might not have a little extra cash in their wallets. So, as a Christmas gift (and as a way of sharing that link up above advertising my book, see self, you’re not totally altruistic), I’m making this offer.

Reblog and like this post. You don’t have to follow me. You don’t have to buy my book. You don’t have to tell anyone it exists. You don’t even have to click that link. Just like and reblog. Anyone who likes it will get one entry for drawing for a key. Anyone who reblogs it will get one. Anyone who does both will get two. And on December 17th, the Day of Ignominy, I will draw ten names, and I will gift ten keys. I’ll even wear a Willy Wonka hat while I do. You won’t be able to see it, but the spirit will be there.

If you want to get the word out, but don’t want to get an entry (say you already have a Pillowfort account), just reblog and tag the post with “no entry,” or some variation thereof. I’ll exclude you from the draw, but thank you (in my mind, I’m not gonna actually thank people, but that requires effort, yo) for helping others learn about this opportunity.

Here is the full version of my first comic for The Nib, which went up yesterday.