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#the park
lascitasdelashoras · 1 month
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Gustav Klimt - The Park
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twixnmix · 6 months
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Ike & Tina Turner performing at The Park in North Baltimore, Ohio on July 25, 1971.
Photos by Mark Scheerer
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des-vanecido · 2 months
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The park, Bogotá Colombia, 2024.
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fishoe · 5 months
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Just a beautiful sunset in Omaha.
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howlingday · 7 months
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Raven: You know, a lot of people idolize their children. You hear them talking about their kids and just the way they talk... their voices make me wanna fucking vomit.
Raven: "My angel loves to sing~!"
Raven: "Little Blake is so good at reading~!"
Raven: Fuck those people! You give up nine months of your life carrying them, traumatize yourself giving birth to them, and then you spend the rest of your life as their slave!
Raven: Just wiping asses, and mopping up piss, and feeding them to do the same shit all over again. They're little life-sucking monsters who just take and take and take until...
Raven: You go insane. And any parent who pretends otherwise is just being dishonest. It's choice-supportive-bias. Me? I am honest. Yang really grinds my gears, and she owes me everything. Everything.
Raven: It serves the little shit right that I just abandoned her.
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te-xt001 · 5 months
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fruitless-vain · 7 months
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Sham came and laid down behind Yo to protect her back because Peanut struggled to settle and kept pacing Too Close
Which was low key kinda cute of him to do
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deadmeatdave · 6 months
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At some point you gotta realise that Benson really did this shit to himself. On their very first day Mordacai and Rigby literally summoned a ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS wizard cuz they go too many ties in a roe when fighting over a chair they didn't want. The wizard literally destroyed the park and he still hired them. If that wasn't a sign, then what is.
And all those times he kept saying that he was going to fire them for their bullshit, he should have just done it cuz those mfs were egregious. I swear he did it to himself.
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startrekvsfaceapp · 1 year
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Posters for Star Trek Picard
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siremasterlawrence · 1 year
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The Park
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We agreed to meet Eric in the park after so many odd years with lust for me to fuck him over the years.
He is completely obsessed with me claiming to have miss me over time yet never reaches out to me.
It’s been year and after year leading to my meeting him in the park finally after all of
these years.
I cannot believe it exiting the car to the park as preplanned I make my way up of the stair case.
He waves at me calling me over to his side he stood up walking over to me I feel a bit of
rage.
Taking him by the hair I yank him a bit then letting go and sit next to him in completed disbelief.
My eyes are previewing the area per view of my seat I can see the bathroom from right exactly where I am.
The bathroom opens up I nudge him to get up and follow me into the bathroom with a great effort.
One hard shove I push him inside and into the stall and close behind us with dark like glee.
“Mwahahahahaha”
“You are going to open your mouth and your ass.”
“Yyyyyeeeeessssss”
“Sleep”
“You will obey”
“Sleep”
“Turn around”
“Face me”
“Kneel”
“Suck me off”
“Make me proud”
“Ooooohhhhh mmmmyyyyy gggooodddd”
“Oh Master”
“My God”
“I love you “
“My king”
“Will you own me?”
“Use me, fuck you”
“Sir Yes Sir”
“Will you marry me?”
“Hell no!”
“What?”
“Move in with me?”
“I’ll do that “
“Yay!”
“Thank you sir”
“Yeah!”
The end
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yahoo201027 · 2 months
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Day in Fandom History: February 2…
Grizz, Panda, and Ice Bear enjoy their day over at the town park with Grizz trying to get some exercise to get in shape, Panda setting up shop to sell his art, and Ice Bear trying to do something to spend the day away. “The Park” premiered on this day, 6 Years Ago.
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stepfordgoth · 9 months
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Turtles at the park yesterday 🥺
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lilst4ri · 1 month
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Went to the park with both my bros (and played daycare with youngest *pos stim*- he kept rolling down a hill for some reason). Since all the swings were full I got/had to use the baby swing (idk if pos or neg as I got no pushes so barely swung).
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When we got home I watched Tangled the Series, Roleslaying with Roman and Bluey.
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Rusty so me frfr (I work so hard at hockey it’s like 24/7 all the techniques- tho I do that with everything #highachiever [hopefully soon I get some new gear as we’ve moved overseas and I miss practicing]).
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Then Sting asked me to show him Bluey (he loved it!!).
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Lastly, since we were both having a good time with eachother we had a sleepover (with Merry!!).
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wordacrosstime · 2 months
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Bad Actors
[Bad Actors, by Mick Herron. 10 May 2022. Publisher - Soho Crime. 360 pages. ISBN-10: ‎1641293373. ISBN-13 - 978-1641293372. Weight - 1.18 pounds. Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 5.75 x 1.17 x 8.52 inches. (publishing details thanks to Soho Crime)]
In 2010, writer Mick Herron published the first of his 8-book series centered on Slough House, an MI5 property that houses the discarded refuse of the British intelligence apparatus.  The slow horses (a play on the name of the facility) are embittered, disillusioned, and disgraced, but evidently not quite to the level of termination.  Instead, they labor on pointless, soul-crushing assignments for the Mother Ship of MI5, located at Regent’s Park in London (and prosaically dubbed The Park).
Heading up the slow horses is Jackson Lamb, himself a disgraced and hyper-cynical spy who, for reasons that are never made entirely clear, relishes his command position in this Purgatory of the intelligence community.  Lamb is ugly, foul-mouthed, misogynistic, anti-social in the extreme, and has repulsive personal and professional hygiene.  He claims to have total disregard (or possibly no regard whatsoever) for the people in his charge, whom he refers to as his joes.  But underneath the crass and off-putting demeanor lies a profound and singular intellect and an exceptionally keen understanding of the ways of the world, especially that part of the world dominated by intrigue, deception, treachery and violence.  And though he would never, ever admit it, he actually cares about his joes.  If anything is to happen to them, it had better be by his hand, or woe be unto the person or persons who got in the way.
The volume under review here, Bad Actors, is the eighth and final (?) book in the Slow Horses series.  In addition to Jackson Lamb, many of the usual suspects remain from the preceding seven installments:  Diana Taverner, the ruthless and rapacious First Desk at MI5; Roddy Ho, Slough House’s tech genius, a legend in his own mind only; Claude Whelan, who used to head up MI5; Catherine Standish, Lamb’s gal Friday and the bulwark standing between him and the chaos beneath him; and many more.
In this episode, a Downing Street superforecaster – someone who can predict, with startling accuracy, how policies will influence the electorate and advises the Prime Minister on same – has disappeared.  Claude Whelan has been assigned the job of finding her.  The trail leads back to The Park and Diana Taverner.  Just what is she up to?  Are her labyrinthine schemes for control of the Intelligence Service coming to a boil?  Or is something else at work?  Simultaneous to this domestic intrigue is the sudden arrival of Taverner’s opposite number in the Russian intelligence machine, who enters Britain under a false name and promptly loses his MI5 handlers.
Amid the tumult, the Slow Horses become involved in these machinations, for two reasons:  One, because they are terminally bored and eager to do something to set their personal records straight and perhaps – just perhaps – inveigle their way back into The Park, even though the history of Slough House suggests that this cannot happen; and Two, because Jackson Lamb hates Diana Taverner and The Park and loves to poke the hornet’s nest whenever and however he can.
Throughout this and the other seven Slough House novels, Mick Herron seamlessly interweaves caustic rhetoric with surprisingly poignant moments.  He plays off the Slow Horses against one another to varying degrees while Jackson Lamb lurks like a spider in his darkened corner of proceedings.  But when Lamb strikes, they all know to get out of his way (well, all but Roddy Ho who can’t seem to get out of his own way, much less anyone else’s) and let him do what he does best – whatever that is.  Lamb, both figuratively and literally, knows where the bodies are buried, and knows this not only within his own agency but with other intelligence services around the globe – including the Moscow directorate.  And though Slough House will never get their contributions acknowledged, even Lamb knows that sometimes the only solution to a sticky situation is a few Slow Horses – his joes.
Unlike many of his peers, Herron brings a decidedly literary quality to his writing.  Fans of John le Carré will find these novels great fun; they certainly move ahead more swiftly than, say, his Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy or Len Deighton's Funeral In Berlin.  There is a modern sensibility to these novels that will catch the interest of most readers of spy fiction and thrillers.  And if one can ignore Jackson Lamb’s foulness, one will be rewarding with some of the most sardonic humor to be found in modern fiction.  Herron’s writing pairs nicely with a chewy red wine and some spicy crisps of an evening.
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Image credits from top : Cover with thanks to © publisher. Portrait of Mick Herron with thanks to photographer © Mikael Buck and Hachette
Kevin Gillette
Words Across Time
19 January 2024
wordsacrosstime
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blue-kyber · 7 months
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Fellow writers.
I didn't even make the "More stories we loved" list for the Writer's College short story contest.
I know there were 800+ entries - and they had to weed it down to a few - but....
What was wrong with my story, "The Park?" (link to the wattpad page)
What didn't they like?
Why didn't it make even the lowest "More Stories We Loved" list?
Was it the sentence structure? The word choices? The format? My style? What?
Fellow writers, in your experience, what could the reason be? What can I fix so that I make the list?
I need to know what I did wrong so that I can learn from it and fix it.
It took so much mental effort and time to tell this story in 2000 words -which was their word limit. Short stories are seriously hard for me to write.
Here's the story under the readmore if you don't want to click the link.
THE PARK
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Sam never walked through Wisteria Park if he could help it.
Sure, the community prioritized its maintenance, and reputation as one of the safest places in town - its deep heritage made it the pride of the community - but his avoidance didn't stem from that.
In fact, the park could fit snugly within a heartwarming romcom.
Joggers enjoyed its well-lit meandering paths day or night, people relaxed in the cooling shade of its trees, children played in a colorful playground near a duck pond, and sunlight warmed a grassy knoll ideal for viewing firework shows.
But what truly made it special grew within a grove at its heart; an ancient wisteria tree with lacy lavender boughs sheltering an old Victorian gazebo.
Everyone loved it.
Except him.
It gave him the creeps.
All his life, he could feel an ominous aura permeating the entire ten acre blob-shaped hole of nature in the middle of town.
It legitimately frightened him to the point where he refused to go in.
People dismissed his reactions as ridiculous, invalidating what he felt and couldn't block. He became known as the weird kid afraid of a park.
As he grew up, he learned to keep quiet and lie while forced to endure it in isolation.
It was torture.
So, he poured it into stories instead. Sam quickly found solace in writing.
By twenty-two, his debut novel had gained more literary cold shoulders than lead in a pencil factory.
Today marked the arrival of the latest copy/pasted 'thanks-but-no-thanks.'
Dejected, he headed to the corner cafe with that knife in his chest to drown the pain in copious amounts of caffeine and his work.
The rumble of a brewing storm expertly accented his mood.
His phone pinged.
He opened it...
And stopped.
The text originated from his own number.
Sam: Go through the park.
"What?"
Confused, he read the timestamp.
July 24. 7:10pm.
Same day, same time. Next month.
Someone had hacked his phone.
Sam: Who is this?
Imposter Sam: You're gonna love this; I'm you.
His brown eyes narrowed in irritation, "Oh, you picked the wrong phone, pal."
Before he could finish a masterfully worded evisceration that would make his English professor proud, another text popped up.
Imposter Sam: You're standing in front of the main path right now. I know, because I stopped there last month to tie my shoe.
He looked down. Sure enough, his laces came undone, "How in the–"
He tied them.
Sam: Whoever you are, this isn't funny.
Imposter Sam: It's not a joke.
Sam: Alright, "Future Me," tell me something only I would know about myself.
Imposter Sam: The 'SHRRRIP' sound of velcro feels like steel wool scraping your spine.
The storm's booming crescendo hit with orchestral precision.
He'd never told anyone to save himself from further public humiliation. Imposter Sam couldn't possibly know about that - let alone that exact description.
Future Sam: Believe me now?
Sam: ...I – HOW?!?
Future Sam: Dig through your Nerd Wheelhouse. You'll figure it out. Now stop staring at your phone like you lost your only brain cell and MOVE. You're running out of time.
"I'm hallucinating," he pinched the bridge of his nose, "I gotta stop staying up 'til 3am."
Future Sam: You're stuck taking a mental inventory of your sanity, aren't you.  Check your 'crazy' meter later. MOVE!
Not once in his life had he felt torn about entering the park until now, which meant there might be something to this.
He took a deep breath. "I gotta be outta my mind."
Bolstering his courage, Sam ripped the roots of his feet from the sidewalk and entered Wisteria Park.
A cloud of unease instantly engulfed him.
He could feel the villi of that mysterious force creeping over him with each step.
Despite feeling like a hunted Ichabod Crane, he followed the path's gentle undulation through the landscape's tenebrous vibe.
The storm's unwanted ASMR didn't help.
Sam: This is a horrible idea.
Future Sam: Keep walking, Samwise.
By the time he reached the grove, the storm had reached him.
He stopped at its entrance over an arching bridge where the path met a broad ring of interlocking paving stones.
What loomed ahead made his pulse quicken.
Bathed in the yellow light of antique lamps, dead-center in the grove, beat the heart of that eerie force.
The gazebo.
A miasmic cloud of disturbing energy oozed from its white hexagonal frame.
Its decorative flourishes showcased the majestic purple curtains of the wisteria behind it.
Warm internal lights glowed on its ring of benches, and a lamp illuminating the tree created a picturesque scene of idyllic romance befitting the aesthetics of a Jane Austen novel.
He didn't want to go near it.
Future Sam: Get in the gazebo.
Sam: NO.
Fuck you.
Me.
Fuck me.
Future Sam: You're surrounded by trees in a severe thunderstorm, you colossal dork. Get in the gazebo.
He'd rather eat carpet tacks.
The storm opened up a deluge.
With no other form of protection, he had no choice but to shelter inside the source of his nightmares.
Sam's quivering hand gripped the wooden rail. He swallowed hard, stomach in knots, pulse racing, and up the old stairs he went with the heavy steps of a man sentenced to die.
The hairs on his forearms rose at the creak of the cedar floorboards' haunting greeting.
He bit his lip to keep from screaming from the brain-tingling sensation flowing through him.
Rain needled on the conical roof.
The gazebo protected him from the raging storm, though he felt anything but. And he didn't feel alone.
He shivered.
Sam: You'd better have a damn good reason for subjecting me to this.
Future Sam: I do. Wait here. And while you're doing that, think about the right thing to say.
"For what?!"
He clutched clumps of his shaggy brown hair, "What am I doing? I'm in the middle of a cursed park in a cursed gazebo, texting Future Me," he shouted at the ceiling, "who's being annoyingly cryptic!"
He exhaled, "I need a distraction."
He sat in the middle. If he had to be stuck here, he might as well get some work done.
The sound of feet splashing through puddles spiked his anxiety.
A woman around his age ran into the grove, scanning the ground.
He set his phone down and moved to the top step, "Hey, Miss?"
She looked up, pushing her cropped brown hair back, "You didn't find a house key around here, did you?"
"No, but you might want to get in here. It's not a good idea to be outside right now."
"I know." She sighed in frustration, "Alright. Gimme one minute."
"Seriously. Get in here. I'll help you look–"
SIZZLE-CRACK! BOOM!
A brilliant bolt of lightning seared through a nearby hickory tree in an explosion of heat and sound, splitting it in half.
Sam hit the floor unconscious.
When he came to, his world became a painful mess of confusion. A loud ringing filled his ears.
Trembling, he pushed himself up to a sitting position.
He touched his ears, wincing in pain. His fingertips came away with blood.
The shock wave ruptured his eardrums.
A small hole burned through his right shoe.
Lightning... He'd been struck by lightning.
He wasn't even outside, but the girl–
"The girl," he gasped.
Sam grabbed his phone to call 911, struggled to his feet, and stumbled out of the gazebo into...
"What...?" Breath caught in his throat as he stared in awe at frozen chaos.
Raindrops formed motionless curtains of silver beads.
The wisteria halted in mid sway.
Even the dying thread lightning paralyzed amid a heavy spray of wood shards.
His eyes followed the jagged streamer up to the graphite clouds, illuminating everything in a ghostly periwinkle hue.
Nothing moved.
Except him.
Time had come to a complete stop.
He passed his hand through the raindrops, sending water fanning out in a zero G effect. "Whoa."
He clicked record on his phone, angling it to show himself before turning in a slow circle to capture everything. No one would ever believe this.
His heart lurched when he spotted the girl hovering an inch above the ring - directly in the path of the tree's suspended death descent.
Time began to crawl as though it could no longer hold its cryonic state.
The deep groans of popping and snapping permeated the cotton in his ears.
Sam reacted on instinct.
He dashed through the slow motion no-man's-land of raindrops and shrapnel in a race against the tree. With strength fueled by adrenaline, he scooped her up and bolted back.
Time resumed the moment he entered the gazebo.
The tree crashed to the ground with a seismic boom that rattled his bones, taking out two lamps in a shower of sparks.
He lifted his head when the cacophony settled.
The decimated hickory tree narrowly missed the gazebo.
Sam sat on the floor among a few wood shards and the muffled, apathetic patter of rain, staring in wide-eyed shock.
"...Holy shit..."
His phone next to him recorded everything.
Something had stopped time long enough for him to recover, and save her.
No... Not something.
Him.
What he'd sensed all his life wasn't a malicious force, but a thin point in the fabric of space-time.
Motion from the girl snared his focus.
He tucked his hoodie under her head. Blood darkened the fabric from a deep gash on her right temple.
"Oh no. Oh god." He grabbed a handful of napkins donned with story notes from his pocket, and pressed them to the wound. The shine of her blood covered his hand.
He called 911.
Her face twisted in pain, "Ow," she squeaked.
"Stay still. You're gonna be ok. Help is on the way." He took her hand, "Can you hear me?"
"Barely," she whimpered.
"What's your name?"
"Kayla."
His voice wobbled as he tried to smile with his adrenaline still off the charts, "I'm Sam."
"Hi, Sam," she rasped.
He felt her grip tighten when she began to cry, "I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me that easily," he shrugged, "Sorry."
"What...happened?"
He glanced at the destruction, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Please?" She struggled to stay conscious.
If it kept her awake, so be it.
"Ok."
—-
The ambulance lights reflected on the wet street as it rushed them to the hospital.
Kayla lay on a gurney receiving care.
Sam sat with a shock blanket over his shoulders and a bandage around his ears. His whole body hurt coming down from the trauma.
A paramedic applied burn cream over a lichtenberg pattern on his foot.
Sam grimaced, "Will she be ok?"
The paramedic used speech-to-text on his phone, "She will be, thanks to you. Her phone took most of the charge. You both took an indirect strike, so go easy."
"I felt so helpless. All I could do was talk."
"Whatever you said kept her fighting. Words have consequences, Sam," he secured the bandage, "You saved her life."
He slumped with a heavy breath and opened his phone. He'd forgotten about his future self in the chaos.
Future Sam: I got a chance to change things. I hope you found the right thing to say.
The reply box grayed out.
He had changed not only Kayla's future, but his own.
He grinned.
This would make one hell of a story.
"Sam?"
He couldn't hear her, but he recognized the shape of his name on her lips.
The paramedic let her use his phone to translate, "About what happened..."
He braced himself for the inevitable.
She spoke into the phone, then showed it to him.
His heart skipped.
He looked from the screen to her, searching for the lie in her smile, but found none.
She'd given him more validation in three words than he'd received in a lifetime - words he'd never heard, and didn't realize how badly he'd needed to hear them.
Words that changed his life forever.
"I believe you." 
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whatameshugenah · 6 months
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I was walking through the park one day...
(Bird is a cormorant, migrating through).
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