clock hunters

Some more signs that you are shortly to become the target of an attempted murder that will later be investigated by Hercule Poirot

Continued from here.

  • For the whole shooting holiday, nobody has seen the housekeeper and your nephew’s wife in the same place.
  • You found cocaine in your girlfriend’s handbag at a masquerade ball and took it off her, but she refused to go to rehab. You even threatened to expose her dealer, but she just stormed off in a huff to the ladies’ room.
  • You’re on an archaeology dig at the tomb of a cursed mummy along with a millionaire, his heir, and the aforementioned heir’s best friend, who is a doctor.
  • The lady you have been blackmailing for the last few years to finance your nightclub business is at the end of her rope and has started talking about suicide.
  • Your boss was definitely lying to the court on the witness stand in this murder trial just now, and you’ve hunted down the police detective to tell him that… in front of her.
  • You have been secretly hooking up with your ex behind her fiancé’s back even though her fiancé is also your best friend, and now he’s asked you to come fumigate his garden.
  • You’re embarking on a promising career in blackmail and your first victim has just asked you over… alone.
  • Those stalker letters that you had been receiving for the past twenty years up until recently have started back up again. Also your husband says he has some work to do up on the roof.
  • You suspect your husband is poisoning you, and the handsome younger man who has been flirting with you encourages you in this belief.
  • You are snowed into a train in Yugoslavia with thirteen eerily familiar faces and the most famous detective in the world.

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FULL EPISODE: Blister - Rated M for MANLY

Oh no! SERIAL KILLERS!

mirroraurora  asked:

You said you felt you needed practice writing fluffy things - the first time Daryl says "I love you" is an accident, but it's not the end of the world. Quite the opposite really, at least for Rick. :)

It happens in the morning. 

It happens when the sun’s just peeking up from behind the trees, and only the first honeyed beams of light are shining through the barred windows of their prison—their home. 

Rick has always woken up with the sun, eyes cracking open just in time to meet its rays as the creep into his—their—cell. 

He sighs into the warmth of the throat still beneath his lips, breathing in the woodsy scent of the man beside him. Daryl’s hand is still loosely tangled in his hair, and Rick’s palm is flat against his toned stomach, and, somewhere over the course of the night, Daryl had thrown his leg across Rick’s. Honestly, he’s just happy to get contact wherever he can. 

He’s surprised that Daryl’s still asleep. Maybe it’s because the birds haven’t quite started their chorus of chirping, yet. That’s usually what serves as Daryl’s alarm clock—like the hunter in him can’t resist the calls of a potential meal. Rick shrugs. It’s not often he gets to look at Daryl like this. Sleepy and warm and languid, dark, long lashes kissing his high cheekbones, face lax so the crow’s feet crinkling the skin around his eyes aren’t even visible. He looks young when he sleeps, reflects the softness, the sweetness he lets show more and more every day. 

Rick can’t help but kiss both of his eyelids, and they flutter underneath his administrations, revealing slits of gorgeous, almost transparent blue. 

“Mornin’,” Rick whispers, leaning down to kiss the soft little smile that turns up Daryl’s lips. 

“Rick,” Daryl murmurs, and Rick moves down to nibble at the tender skin of his throat. He moans in pleasure, buries his hands in Rick’s curly dark hair. “Love this,” he mumbles, and he still sounds half asleep. “Love you.”

And Rick can’t stop himself from going rigid with shock. It’s not that he doesn’t think Daryl loves him—the hunter’s shown him in more ways than could be said in any number of words. But he’s never said it, always just settled to draw Rick in for a slow, tender kiss when the words spilled from Rick’s mouth and into the minute space between them. 

His eyes flicker up from where his face is buried into Daryl’s collarbone, and the man has since come to full awareness, looks nervous, skittish. But there’s still something sure, something proud in the set of his jaw, the sparkle of his too-blue eyes. Maybe he didn’t mean to say it, but he’s not taking it back, he’s not running away, and, Jesus, he’s just told Rick that he loves him. 

Rick traces his hands up the straight lines of Daryl’s torso, smooths them over the firm muscles of his bare chest. He cranes his neck to kiss Daryl, and he meets him halfway, mouths open and wanting and panting into one another. “I love you, too,” Rick murmurs headily against Daryl’s swollen lips, and Daryl only hums in response, wrapping his arms around Rick and holding him tight like he’s the only thing in the entire world. Maybe to Daryl, he is. 

The first time Daryl tells him he loves him happens in the morning, and it becomes another reason that morning is Rick’s favorite time of day.