I draw a lot of dgm fanart, but I've been trying to work on my own original stuff more, lately. Youtube and Twitter are also FroggyHopscotch. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted or scraped for AI For commercial use please reach out to me privately.
Kanto: this path is blocked by a giant sleeping snorlax. you cannot wake up the snorlax except with the use of a very specific tool (which you obtained by fighting your way through a tower full of ghosts). and even after snorlax wakes up you have to either defeat it in battle and/or catch it before you can get through
Galar: could I wake these wooloo? physically, yes, probably wouldnāt be much of a challenge. but emotionally? imagine the toll
There's a book that we had in our house growing up that I was obsessed with as a kid. It was just called "PAKISTAN: PAINTINGS BY LIN YONG AND SU HUA" and it was an art book of 100+ paintings/sketches by two Chinese artists who travelled thru Pakistan in 1978 and 1981, a sort of travelogue of their trip, and to little-kid me, it was some of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. I have no idea why we had that book, but I would stare at it for hours, and it made me wish I could draw/paint/do whatever it was that these artists had managed to do.
Anyway, we've moved house a bunch of times and I lost track of the book and haven't seen it for probably two decades now. But I think about it now and again, and had struggled to find it over the years, but I finally, finally got my hands on a copy of my own and i want to cry haha
I was afraid that maybe the art isn't as good as I remembered, being just a kid and all, but I cracked it open and nope, it hits me just the way it used to. Maybe even more now. It's so fucking pretty. Have some random pages:
guy working on an artwork they knew would push them technically: what the hell why do i keep doing this wrong. am i haunted by malevolent spirits and such
I don't know who needs to hear this, but if the phrase "self care" doesn't resonate with you, try calling it "system maintenance" and see if that clicks.
#this both makes things more fun and also is a really good analogy#because there are four types of system maintenance and that makes the term much more exact than the nebulous ''self-care''#and therefore much more helpful to those of us who uhhh struggle with nebulosity#for anyone curious the four types are:#1. corrective (to fix current problems)#2. preventative (to avoid future problems)#3. adaptative (to re-adjust to any changes)#4. perfective (to work towards a better system)#I really like this idea I'm gonna make a checklist
theres too many pokemon games where you play as a kid whos full of life and full of potential. there needs to be a pokemon game where you play as a college dropout who lives in a shitty apartment
your starter pokemon are trubbish, rattata and glameow. which symbolise the trash you keep forgetting to take out, the rats living in your walls and the stray cat you keep trying to befriend but it keeps hissing at you.
you guys dont get it its not supposed to be dark and edgy its supposed to be living in a mundane setting and slowly rediscovering the wonder in the world by going on a journey with a magical trash bag that is your friend, its about love and recovery and coping with the stress of your adult life with your friend who is made of sentient garbage
You get home from work. Finally. The sun's already set outside your apartment window. At least your apartment has a window.
You discard most of your work uniform in the corner with the other laundry and click on the TV before landing in your couch with a heavy sigh. The blue light of the TV floods the otherwise dark room.
"Joining us today for an exclusive interview is Red, four time Pokemon League Champion, who also famously disbanded criminal organization Team Rocket at least twice! Thank you so much for tuning in."
Pokemon league champion, huh? You think to yourself. You used to want that. A child's dream - it was silly, really....
You'd heard of Red - of course you have, you don't live under a rock - but this was the first time seeing them up close, no filter. They looked tired. They actually looked about your age.
"Now Red," the reporter continued, "You've already told us about your travels through the world, your experiences as Champion, and your fight against Team Rocket and similar criminal organizations. I know we're almost out of time but there's one last thing we'd like to hear from you - do you have any words for the future generation of Pokemon trainers? Any advice for those just at the start of their journey?"
The Champion waited a moment before answering: "Yes. I meet a lot of people. A lot of people who used to want to be trainers. And I understand, it's not for everyone. But, people say 'Oh, you're still going at your age?' or 'Oh, I wanted to when I was younger,' or 'Oh, I couldn't now, I'm too old.'" Red shook their head sadly. "These people are my age, maybe even younger. They're wrong. It doesn't matter how old you are and it never did. It doesn't matter if you never got a Pokemon from the local professor at ten years old. It's not just for children. It's for everyone. The bond between people and Pokemon is not something you miss out on just because you had to grow up."
Red pauses again, and you realize you're paying more attention to the program than you thought you were.
"Pokemon are everywhere. The world is filled with magic. It's never too late."
"It's never too late..." you repeat under your breath. Something about the Champion's words clicked inside your brain. The world is full of magic....
As if on cue, sounds from within your apartment catch your attention: Rustling in your garbage can, scrabbling inside the wall, clawing at your window.
Cautiously you approach your trash can. It smells terrible, but then again it always does. You slowly lift the lid, and the rubbish inside shifts to reveal a green bag with white eyes. You knew that Trubbish were born from waste and preferred unsanitary environments, but you didn't think it'd been that long since you took the trash out.
The Pokemon shuffles to try and hide and knocks the bin over in doing so, spilling itself out onto the floor. You chuckle a bit.
"I guess now the trash can take itself out," you joke. The Trubbish seems upset by the quip. "Oh no, no, it's ok," you correct yourself, trying to spare its feelings. You find this creature, born of rubbish against its will, to be relatable. After all, you didn't ask to be in this trash heap either.
"It's ok," you repeat, more softly this time. "I'm. I'm trash too."
The stench from the trash can starts to dissipate as the Trubbish's... bag ties? ears? perk up at the attempted sympathy.
[A bond has been formed.]
~~~
[INVESTIGATE WALL]
You'd always blamed the noises coming through the walls on the neighbors, but this is too close to deny: it simply isn't a human-made noise. You locate a crack in the wall that you hadn't noticed before. The sound is getting louder. The sound is getting closer.
A piece of drywall crumbles away. You have just long enough to think Damn, I'm not getting my deposit back, before a very startled Rattata leaps through the newly made hole and bowls you over. You land badly on your ankle and let out a cry of pain, crashing to the floor.
That's definitely sprained... you think, holding your injured foot as you lie there in temporary shock. The Rattata seems apologetic. It vanishes back into the wall for a moment.
You swear. At least you have a compression bandage in your first aid kit. While you contemplate how best to stand without putting yourself in further pain, the Pokemon reappears, carrying a small blue fruit in its mouth. It drops the fruit beside you and rolls it towards you with a paw.
An Oran Berry, you recognize. Of course - Pokemon eat berries when they're hurt. Touched by the gesture, or perhaps not wanting to hurt the little creature's feelings, you take a bite.
It tastes terrible, but you power through it; you've eaten worse. Either by the berry's healing properties or the Pokemon's kindness, your pain eases a little.
[A bond has been formed.]
~~~
[INVESTIGATE WINDOW]
You go to your window and struggle for a moment to pull up the tattered blinds. You see two glowing eyes in the darkness. A Pokemon? They certainly don't look human, anyways. As a matter of fact, they seem familiar. The impatient scratching continues.
You open the window. A small, cat-like Pokemon hops inside, as if indignant at being kept waiting. You recognize this pokemon by the notch in its ear as the stray Glameow you've been trying to befriend.
It hisses at you. Which, for this particular Pokemon, is typical. As you go to shut the window you notice that it's favoring one of its legs while it walks.
Is it injured? Did it come to you for help? You were pretty certain this pokemon hated you. But, sure enough, you notice a cut on the Glameow's leg as it hops up onto your couch, as if it already lived here.
The Glameow seems to be avoiding eye contact. It occurs to you that it may have had no where else to go. You rummage through your cupboards to try and find a remedy. You remember seeing on the news that lemonade can be used in place of medicine for Pokemon who are injured. Moo Moo Milk is better, but you don't have any. You stopped buying it because it always spoils before you remember to drink it.
You had exactly one can of lemonade left. You crack it open and pour it into a bowl. The Glameow hisses again when you offer it, but soon gives the liquid a sniff before drinking it slowly.
You never realized how quickly Pokemon could heal. After it finishes its drink, it allows you to pat it on the head...
... for about two seconds before it hisses again. Still, the little Pokemon doesn't try to escape. It simply curls up on your couch and falls asleep.
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 Titanicās 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.
(Californianās exact position at the time isā¦controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanicās distress rockets. Itās 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.)
Carpathiaās Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanicās 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 Carpathiaās 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 donāt 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 threeĀ 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 awakeāprepping a ship for disaster relief isnāt quietāand 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.
Hereās 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 roomsāwhich, 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 sheād done that, he asked her to go faster.
I need you to understand that you simply canāt 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 recklessāitās difficult to maneuverābut it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They canāt do it. It canāt be done.
Carpathiaās absolute do-or-die, the-engines-canāt-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 wasnāt 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 Titanicās 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 Titanicās 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.
āAnd 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. Rostronās duty now was as he always saw it: to the living.ā
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 didnāt rock so much on the waves and you couldnāt 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, Carpathiaās 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 wasnāt 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, heād be helpful, and let the Titanic know they had messages waiting.
And thatās how he received the Titanicās distress signal. In spite of no longer being on shift to receive it, and therefore in order to send Carpathia galloping to Titanicās rescue, and thus saving 705 people.
All because Harold Cottam decided one night to be kind.Ā
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 Carpathiaās 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 survivorās 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 Titanicās 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 Titanicās 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.
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. Weāre not profit machines or units of production or lone fierce wolves in a bitter wilderness. We are people, and we care about people.
I wrote a post a couple of years ago, wondering why there hadnāt been a documentary or docu-drama about the āCarpathiaā rescue run.
There are probably sound reasons why not, one of which is probably that getting yet anotherĀ āTitanicā project greenlit is far easier - name recognition, pre-sold property, multiple conspiracy theories to play with (all discredited, but when did that stop theĀ āHistoryā Channel?)
Here are a couple of stories about āCarpathiaā:
As @mylordshesacactus has already said, her boilers and engines were rated for no more than 14 knots and, when she managed 17.5 for the only time in her life itās said (I hate the phrase but I have to use it) that the Chief Engineer hung his hat over the main pressure gauge so no-one - including himself - could see how far its needle was into the red.
Captain Rostron, a religious man, was seen on several occasions standing privately on the exposed bridge wing with his own hat raised and his mouth moving in silent prayer, and when daylight revealed the extent of the ice-field his ship had passed without harm, he only said āThere must have been another Hand on the wheel than mineā¦ā
Thereās another problem-of-sorts about a screenplay set aboard āCarpathiaā - an astonishing lack of that easy dramatic tool, conflict. Captain Rostron decided he was going to the āTitanicās assistance, and that was that. AFAIK not a single passenger or crewman - not one - questioned the wisdom of his decision either then or afterwards, even whenā¦
ā¦āCarpathiaā headed at more than full speed, in the dark, through dangerous waters where an iceberg had apparently just sunk an āunsinkableā ship.
Itās easier to write - and sell - a story about pride, arrogance, stupidity, rich against poor and lives lost through hubris, than it is to write one about people who rallied round and did the right thing at the right time, not for reward but because it was the right thing to do.
Hereās Rostron and his officersā¦
ā¦the āCarpathiaā stewards and cabin crewā¦.
