Crowds in Yorkville gather around the platform at the 86th Street station as speakers pay tribute to the about-to-be torn down Third Avenue El, 1955.
Photo: Al Pucci for the NY Daily News via Getty Images/Fine Art America
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New York, 1903. "R.M.S. Majestic -- outward bound farewells." Photo via Shorpy.
The ship was under the command of Edward Smith, who served as captain until the following year. In 1904, White Star started assigning Smith as captain on their newest (and largest) ships as they were launched: the Baltic in 1904, the Adriatic in 1907, the Olympic in 1911, and of course, the Titanic in 1912.
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Rumor is information distilled so finely that it can filter through anything. It does not need doors and windows--sometimes it doesn't even need people. It can exist free and wild, running from ear to ear without ever touching lips.
It had escaped already. From the high window of the Patrician's bedroom, Sam Vimes could see people drifting towards the palace. There wasn't a mob--there wasn't even what you might call a crowd--but the Brownian motion of the streets was bouncing more and more people in his direction.
Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay
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tw death via huge crowd, gore
"Finally. Finally!" Whumper rubbed their eyes, making sure the sight was real; after several sleepless nights, this wouldn't have been the first of their hallucinations. "I did it!"
In the corner of the room, the glass container that had stood empty for months on end now housed a small, seemingly unbothered creature. The deity of prizes and rewards. It was a bit... underwhelming in appearance, even more so than the illustrations had suggested. But if the sources had been correct in their other information, Whumper couldn't have cared less about looks.
"Give me my prize!" they demanded with all the intensity of a powerful, entitled mage who had spent the past year working towards a single goal, day in, day out. "I summoned you! You owe me! You owe me the prize I want for besting you! I caught you, I win, so give me the prize."
The creature blinked at them. "Can't you hear it?" it asked calmly.
"What?" Whumper looked around, searching for some sort of sound that was out of the ordinary. "I don't hear anything. Don't try to trick me. Do not try to trick me, because I swear-"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Whumper looked towards the door of their workspace, now with fear written all over their face. "What is that? What did you do?" The steps seemed to multiply and get louder, and they backed away. "What is that?"
"Your prize," came the passive reply.
A moment later, the door was broken down entirely, and a huge crowd of people swarmed inside. They were all chanting Whumper's name, seemingly overcome with such immense adoration that they just couldn't contain themselves.
Whumper's eyes widened, and they tried to get away, but multiple sets of hands grabbed them from all sides, all angles, pulling them back, as if the crowd was one huge entity, swallowing them whole. Hands, hands, hands everywhere, touching, feeling, groping, trying to tear them apart, to get a part of them to take home as a souvenir. They cried out, but the sound was drowned out by the excited screams.
The deity didn't stay for long enough to see Whumper's body be ripped to shreds by their devoted admirers. It slipped out of the glass prison and left the mortal plane once more, leaving the foolish mage to be devoured by their own vanity.
~
@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump
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(from "Blue Blood")
I loathe people who raise their voice
only when they're in the crowds.
They have the red blood,
which simmers only in the dark.
And you have to face them
almost every night, unless
you have the sufficient territory.
In front of your tiny tight place,
they resonate with the vulgarity
and cruelty of life, always
spitting their red blood.
It's like a real hell, honestly.
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