Susanamode - SKII's Space

Star Trek AU: Spock and Bones get cursed and swap bodies. They can’t tell anyone (for reasons). Basically Freaky Friday in space.

apologies for the terrible video quality but i NEED y'all fellow Spirk enjoyers to see this freakin' blooper

So going to go on a follow spree

Reblog if you post/reblog

Supernatural Gabriel (RSJ) Almost Human Sleepy Hollow Loki (Tom) Doctor Who Sherlock

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.

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 responsibility 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.

Just wanna see if it works

oh god what did i do

IT SUMMONS MAIL EVERYONE TRY IT

#SiSoy

Me: *aggressively refreshing my mails and my carefully curated AO3 search page*

Me: come on, AO3. Do your thing. Do the magic. Where are the updates, where is my fix? Will you really make me reread a comfort fic for the millionth time? Don’t think I won’t *shakes fist*

AO3:

Me: *sobs* pretty pls?

{   f o r   s c i e n c e   }

@probably-drunk-madara

#52     [ prev ]  <<  >>  [ next ]

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     But, much to Madara’s disdain, Tobirama doe not care one bit for the condition Madara is in. He had seen Madara in various states of disarray, with his face messed up, bloody, with twisted arms, and then beyond. Strangely enough, he thinks the wild battle-rage type of a look fits Madara more than any proper look ever could. And this is coming from him without any other intentions in mind. Just that. A simple appreciation of one’s aesthetics. If it can even be called that.

    Yet, luckily, Tobirama’s appreciation for seeing Madara all beat up does not show that much on his face. That would be awkward. Instead, he looks almost tentative. Thoughtful. Carefully he presses his fingers to Madara’s nose, feeling along one of its sides.

    “It’s not broken. Merely fractured, probably. There is nothing necessarily to fix there. Just better get some painkillers and ice for it. As for the discolouration, well, buy yourself some make-up strong enough to cover it if you mind so much.”

    It really isn’t anything too tragic and Tobirama isn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved, so he settles on being somewhere in the middle, using his other hand which he places on Madara’s jaw to turn his face a bit to see his nose from a different angle just to make sure that there indeed is no bump or any visible damage besides the bruising and dried blood.

    Speaking of the blood, Tobirama moves aside to throw away the bloody tissues seeing as Madara no longer needs them - the nosebleed has long since ceased. All that remains are the dried bits. For that, Tobirama reaches into his messenger bag, digging around for a while before he finds what he’s been looking for.

    “Here, you might need this,” he then thrusts a small packet of wet tissues at Madara’s chest, holding it there until Madara decides to take them. Which he should unless he wants to risk Tobirama wrestling him into that too.

    “You are lucky,” Tobirama adds as an afterthought, Not that he would want to absolutely ruin Madara’s visage per se, but at least he doesn’t have to suffer the consequences and Madara is still the same old. Hawk nose or not. Tobirama prefers him this way and so does everyone else. Or at least he thinks so.

    “Stay here and clean yourself. I’ll run in and get the painkillers. If they see you, they will call he cops on us and I am not getting banned from a pharmacy of all places.”

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something different.

an attempt in figuring out how to write a dom tobi / sub mada

i really don't know about this. 🤔 ah well whatever. scrap for me but you may read for fun.

--

Madara narrowed his eyes.

There were flowers on his desk. There was also a box of dango, and they both made a rather odd sight because people just didn’t leave flowers and dango on his desk. However, they were there, and they stood out prominently.

“If you stare at them any longer, you’ll set them on fire,” Tobirama said. 

“What is this?” Madara asked, flinging an arm out at the rather offending items.

“What do you think?”

Madara glared at him. “That is not an answer.”

His dynamic was not a secret, but his demeanor kept people from acting upon the fact. A very good thing because Madara thought most doms were idiots. They had not a single clue how to navigate a conversation, much less a relationship. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would be approached, being a key member of Konoha and supposedly easy to take advantage of, never mind the fact that he alone could face Hashirama Senju. However, Madara did not expect to find such deplorable gifts this early in the morning or in his office.

“It is,” Tobirama said. The man was infuriatingly calm, and that was—

“You,” Madara said, and he had a hold of Tobirama’s kendogi before the man could blink. Tobirama didn’t resist, allowing himself to be dragged closer toward Madara. “You did this.”

Tobirama merely blinked, white lashes soft and slow against the top of his cheeks. “Yes.”

“Why?” Madara shook him just a little, and he swore to god that he thought Tobirama was the more sensible one of the two Senju brothers.

“Why does anyone leave flowers and sweets?” Tobirama retorted, and his hand came up. His fingers were cool against Madara’s hand as he pried himself out of Madara’s grip. His red eyes looked at Madara, keen. 

Madara studied Tobirama for a long moment. There was nothing in that face staring back at him impassively. The only hint was the slightest fluctuations to Tobirama’s chakra, normally smooth and steady as an undisturbed lake.

And it was easy to stop forward, push Tobirama into the desk. This time, a dark pink flush graced Tobirama’s cheeks.

“So…” Madara drawled. “You wish to court me, is that right?”

Tobirama swallowed, and Madara’s eyes tracked that bob of throat easily. “Yes.”

“Why, Tobirama? What makes you think you can be in charge of me?”

Because Madara wasn’t going to just let any dom court him. Tobirama Senju may have been a better choice than most, but he was also one that would induce the most headaches. A relationship between them was never just a relationship between them, not with their clans and duties to the village.

“I don’t,” Tobirama said, and a smile curved onto those lips. “Anyone who thinks they can be in charge of you is a fool, but—”

Madara found their position reversed as Tobirama flipped them easily, and this time it was Tobirama pushing him into the desk. It was a nice show of strength for a man so whipcord thin, enough that Madara didn’t fight the way Tobirama pressed him further down just narrowly missing the flowers and dango there.

“ —if you allow it, if you wish it…I could take charge as you please. I could keep you on edge, numb your senses to the world.”

“Is that so?” Madara asked, and he was surprised to find his own breath a little short. Tobirama’s face was close enough for him to see clearer into those red eyes, dark and filled with promises. Their lips were mere centimeters apart.

“My nature does not dictate me in the way I work, but when it comes to this, to you…it can only be as you wish and please.”

“Are you truly that sort of dom?” Madara asked. Words were words, and he trusted the man enough to build Konoha alongside Hashirama but not here. Never here where it was personal and close to his heart, where Madara needed to guard himself.

“Have I forced you to lie beneath me like this?”

“No.”

Tobirama smirked. “Why then do you lie before me so, enticing and enchanting, and I still have yet to kiss you?”

Madara swallowed. “You jest.”

“Ah,” Tobirama said. “You allowed.”

“So I have,” Madara replied, and he had not known when he had trusted Tobirama enough for that to happen. That he allowed Tobirama to maneuver him without complaint or fight.

“Your submission is earned, not forced.” Tobirama pulled back until he was no longer looming over Madara. “I have declared my intent, but you may wait to give me your answer. I only ask you not to…to tarry.”

And Tobirama’s chakra wavered, dipped a little, and Madara could see the pinkness to those cheeks had not faded but rather deepened. The man wasn’t quite as smooth or confident as he portrayed, and this time it was Madara’s lips curling into something dangerously wicked as he pushed himself up to sit upon the desk.

“I have my answer.”

“Al-already?” Tobirama asked, his voice strangled. “You, you do not need to be hasty. I would—”

“You may.”

Tobirama’s mouth snapped shut. He stared at Madara in disbelief. Then, “I—I may?”

“Where’s your bravado?” Madara asked, and he allowed his legs to part in invitation. “You may have one kiss.”

“Oh,” Tobirama said. “Oh!”

Madara tried not to laugh as Tobirama almost tripped to stand between Madara’s legs, and then he had no words as Tobirama gently tilted his chin up. Placed a soft sweet kiss onto his mouth. 

He shivered, feeling a tingle down his spine, and he closed his eyes allowing Tobirama to guide the kiss into something deeper. When they finally broke apart, Tobirama’s eyes were a bit hazy as if clouded over.

“Hm,” Madara hummed. Tobirama Senju would do.

me when i find a new otp: