The words hung in the air, they were simple, and they were easy to anyone else that was not Daryl. To Daryl it was the equivalent to a bomb going off, or a walker herd in the distance. Actually, this was probably worse. Daryl Dixon could fight anyone, get out of any situation alive even though sometimes it seemed like he would not. This though, this was something much scarier to him. This was something that Daryl Dixon looked at with wide eyes and a shocked expression, as though everything he knew was falling apart. In a simpler world, hearing those words would not send Daryl running to the hills, in a simple world, a kiss would just be a kiss, and not something that would drive him insane with thoughts of self-deprecation and flashbacks to a darker day of his life.
Paul wished that he could climb inside Daryl’s mind, and understand him. That was not an easy thing to do.
“You don’t know me.” Daryl said.
Paul shrugged, not altogether sure that that had to do with him wanting to kiss Daryl, but he didn’t say that out loud. He was learning what to say, what not to say, or how to choose his words carefully around Daryl.
“I know enough.” Paul murmured. “I’ll learn more.” He added, smiling leisurely. He took a step forward, but Daryl looked at him as though he was an enemy, and that broke Paul’s heart a little, so he stayed put. “What are you thinking?” Paul asked.
i want a villain who only likes doing minor inconveniences like guiding a giant herd of ducks into the street so citizens have to sit and wait for a hundred ducks to cross the road and like the villain is so fucking proud and thinks they’re doing the most evil thing
Duck tails ….disturbing content, be forewarned.
Pictured above is my campsite at the Manchester Koa. Nice place, though a tenting site costs as much as a cheap motel. Go figure. In any case, see the pretty pond in the background? There’s a fountain feature and lush green lawn and all kinds of sitting benches. Lovely! And ducks. Lots and lots of ducks. Domestic ducks, mostly grey and white or black and white. They moved about in a few duck herds - what’s the name for a group of ducks? A quacking? A waddle?
In any case I was spending an idyllic evening on a bench , reading a book, when I noticed a disturbance. It was the ducks. I realized what was in fact happening after a few minutes. The different groups of ducks was deliberate. There was a large group of females who stuck together pretty tightly. Then there were a couple of looser groups of males.
At random intervals a few males would break into the group of females, drive one out and chase her relentlessly until they drove her to ground at which point they took turned jumping her. Not willingly either. They’d hold her down by the neck and she’d be quacking frantically. Once they were all done they’d wander away and she’d rush back into the female group.
My reaction was WTF! I thought ducks did the mate for life thing. For sure not these ducks. Eventually all groups wandered away peacefully to peck at the grass and I returned to my reading.
Cut to about 1 am, full dark but hot as hell and I’m sweltering in my vinyl tent coffin. All of a sudden, just outside my tent and not far from my head there was a rushing and fluttering and the plowing of webbed feet and frantic quacking as apparently the ducks couldn’t sleep either and a female had been chased directly toward my tent. Not just toward it, around it, then on it. Several duck bodies bounced off the outside of my tent. They would have landed in my lap had the flap been open.
Talk about a wake up call!
Soon enough the furor faded, but sleep ignored me for a couple more hours after that. Next morning I noticed a lone female with a couple of tiny fuzzy ducklings at her feet. I predict a population explosion in the months to come.
Remington was glad that they had waited until the afternoon to go to the park. There would be more people there and thus it would help with Scribbles socialization, though he honestly doubted that she needed help in that department. From what Remi could tell the peppy little Boarder Collie was well behaved and adored interactions. Even despite her hyper personality she was well mannered. Now that it had warmed up outside and the clouds drifted away there was nothing but blue skies. The perfect atmosphere for a trip to Hareshire Park.
The red-headed man searched the supplies closet for a retractable leash, thinking that might be more suitable for Scribbles curious ways. He wouldn’t want to prevent her from exploring on their walk to the park. Surely there would be smells that she wouldn’t be able to resist. Once he found the device he headed back to the kennels where he was met with her full blown excitement which he found to be completely contagious. “Here we are, Scribs. I found the perfect leash for our adventure today. Now, why don’t you go ahead and shift and we’ll put this bad boy on ya. I’ll put your toys in a bag so I wont have to carry them all.” The boy chuckled lightly at her gathering of toys, not wanting to leave any behind. Today was her day after all. With a click he unlocked the kennel and knelt down, hoping she would shift without any complaints.
On our way back from Rach Gia, we happened across this unique site: It appeared local farmers were herding ducks down the river. There were THOUSANDS of them – this is just a glimpse Carol captured – so interesting!
TITLE: How the Other Half Lives CHAPTER NUMBER: Chapter 1 AUTHOR: theothercourse WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Jonathan Pine GENRE: Drama, Mystery, Crime FIC SUMMARY: A year after Jonathan Pine helped Angela Burr capture Richard Roper, he is still working with MI6 to bring down some of the world’s most elusive crime lords. Undercover, Jonathan is running surveillance in New York City on Nigel St Clair, an ex-pat known as ‘The Accountant’ for the Wallace Empire. Ten years ago, while charming NYC clients, Nigel met a young singer/actress, Kristiane Taylor. Enchanted from her first note, he became a mentor for her, enabling her to pursue a career as a Broadway star.
At the age of twenty-nine, Kristiane is about to take the theatre world by storm, stepping into the leading lady role of a highly anticipated new musical, unaware that her world is about to collide with one of NYC’s most prolific crime families and England’s most adept spies. RATING: Mature (for smut) AUTHORS NOTES: If you’d like to read the background where this story came from and why I’m writing it, you can click this link. Any likes, reblogs, comments, constructive criticism are all helpful. Thank you for reading! This story is dedicated to one person, and she knows who she is. This wouldn’t have been possible without you.
How the Other Half Lives
“Wh-wh-where are you taking… me?” Kristiane giggled at the back of her friend’s head, rushing to keep up with his hurried steps.
Nigel St Clair took a stiff turn from 41st Street onto Broadway, his hand squeezing hers as they cut through Times Square’s late afternoon tourists. The sun had descended behind one of the many skyscrapers, but the day was still very much alive, the hum of the city buzzing at an energized clip. Taxi horns, bus engines and street peddlers filled the air with a cacophony of sound, playing the familiar soundtrack of her home.