Post reblogged from 1-800-HOT-STUD with 241,188 notes
The ‘yes or no’ game.
You can ask me anything and I’ll answer honestly, but only with yes and no.
Source: saocore
Photo reblogged from Advice is always genius negativity. with 64 notes
up to 280 times per hour, lightning strikes in this particular area at the mouth of the Catatumbo River. (via Cool Like Pie - Home)
Source: coollikepie
Post reblogged from 1-800-HOT-STUD with 70 notes
>Stop panicking.
You read for hours, punctuated only by your slight shifting and the scratch of a pen as you make notes for yourself. Things need to be taken care of now you’re “back”, so to speak, and you can’t do that without the right information.
Eventually Cat joins you, sitting on your gut while you write. Occasionally you’ll lean your chin against Sleuth as you consider your options, radiating a sense of smugness almost every time.
Cat shifts with you when you put the files away, shifting Sleuth a little. “Unlike the waking dead, some of us need to sleep,” you remind him with a smile, settling yourself further down on the bed. You stretch, feeling supremely alive, then smirk at him.
You’re still on his shoulder the whole time, not moving or breathing. When he moves you, though, your eyes flick open immediately and you smile at him. The rest made you feel better. You know exactly how long you were out, but it was comfortable. Your thirst wasn’t so present.
“I’ll try not to wake you with my freezing body,” you reply.
“Doubt it’ll be you t’ wake me up.” Is your only cryptic reply as you hit the lamp switch, plunging your bedroom into comforting darkness just this side of total. You settle further into your bed, Cat making a neat half-moon of warmth at your side. You can feel the rumble of his purr as you pat him, tugging at his unmangled ear with fondness before rolling towards Sleuth. You yawn absently, burying your nose into the crook of his shoulder.
Source: bluhbluhhotstud
Post reblogged from 1-800-HOT-STUD with 70 notes
>Stop panicking.
You pull on a tshirt that looks like it’s nearly dead, worn thin from constant use. You toss a plain grey shirt and black boxers at Sleuth, holding your own pair as you kick the wardrobe doors shut. You stop by the bathroom to hang your towel and pull your ancient sleeping boxers on, checking your teeth in the mirror. Nodding to yourself you return to Cat, patting him affectionately before flicking off the lights as you return to the bedroom.
You turn on your lamp and kill the ceiling light, pulling back the slate-grey eiderdown. You stretch your legs out and lean against the headboard, lifting a thin stack of police files from your bedside table.
“Gotta do some light reading.” You explain, flicking open the first one.
You can’t help but giggle a little at his choice of clothing until the grey shirt hits you in the face. You pull it on quickly, then follow up with the boxers. They’re a little too big, but you don’t care.
Surprisingly you don’t feel tired at all. You could follow him into the bathroom and fuck him senseless again. You don’t, though. You’ve still got a buzz from your last orgasm/feeding, and you’d like to think you have more self-control than that.
You continue to watch him as he moves around. It’s probably rather unnerving to have a vampire follow your every move with his eyes. You chuckle a bit at his comment about light reading, then crawl into the bed beside him.
You still don’t feel tired, but you do feel like a rest would be helpful. You lean your head on his shoulder, then close your eyes. Your body almost immediately goes still, and your breathing stops. The only think saying you’re undead is the stolen pulse and warmth coming from your body.
You read for hours, punctuated only by your slight shifting and the scratch of a pen as you make notes for yourself. Things need to be taken care of now you’re “back”, so to speak, and you can’t do that without the right information.
Eventually Cat joins you, sitting on your gut while you write. Occasionally you’ll lean your chin against Sleuth as you consider your options, radiating a sense of smugness almost every time.
Cat shifts with you when you put the files away, shifting Sleuth a little. “Unlike the waking dead, some of us need to sleep,” you remind him with a smile, settling yourself further down on the bed. You stretch, feeling supremely alive, then smirk at him.
Source: bluhbluhhotstud
Post reblogged from 1-800-HOT-STUD with 70 notes
>Stop panicking.
Cat gets a can of tinned food, one of those fancy little gourmet things that is apparently super great for your cat. Honestly, it’s the only brand you can remember when you go out to pick things up, so that’s what Cat gets. You just grab the cold cooked chicken breast you’d had sitting in the fridge from - shit, you can’t remember when. Smells fine, though. You shred through it easily and wash it down with a mouthful of scotch, capping the bottle and putting it back in the pots and pans shelf.
You head back to your bed, giving him a grin. “Some advantages to being an unholy creature of darkness, let it be said.” You throw open your wardrobe, finishing your towel off before hanging the towel over your shoulder. “Need something t’ sleep in?”
You can smell the food Cat’s getting, and it’s disgusting. You wrinkle your nose at it, and try not to think about it.
You also smell the scotch, and write off feeding for the rest of the night.
You watch him at the wardrobe, just calmly checking him out when he’s not looking. You just had sex with that. That’s damn good. You smile a bit and continue to stare at him.
“Yeah, just whatever you throw at me will be fine.” You usually sleep in scout’s clothes at home, anyway. T-shirt and boxers for the win.
You pull on a tshirt that looks like it’s nearly dead, worn thin from constant use. You toss a plain grey shirt and black boxers at Sleuth, holding your own pair as you kick the wardrobe doors shut. You stop by the bathroom to hang your towel and pull your ancient sleeping boxers on, checking your teeth in the mirror. Nodding to yourself you return to Cat, patting him affectionately before flicking off the lights as you return to the bedroom.
You turn on your lamp and kill the ceiling light, pulling back the slate-grey eiderdown. You stretch your legs out and lean against the headboard, lifting a thin stack of police files from your bedside table.
“Gotta do some light reading.” You explain, flicking open the first one.
Source: bluhbluhhotstud
Post reblogged from 1-800-HOT-STUD with 70 notes
>Stop panicking.
“Oh no, how ever will you deal with me?” Though your words drip sarcasm you do turn the shower off, following him out to grab the second charcoal grey towel. You towel of roughly then wrap it around your waist, leaving the bathroom barely trailing any water at all.
“Hello, Cat.” You mutter as you almost trip over the damn thing. Cat merely looks up at you with his one acid green eye and purrs. You can’t argue with that face, so you crouch down to give him a good drubbing behind his ears. The scarred russian blue cat presses his face into your hand, then nips you sharply.
“Yes, yes, I know you’re hungry. Come on.” You head for the kitchen.
You just stare after him for a while, then take a moment to dry off. The towel goes back around you as you step out of the bathroom. You continue to stare at Scofflaw as he cares for his cat, uh, Cat. Then you look over at the bed, debating if you should follow him or just wait here.
You finally decide to sit on the edge of his bed. You don’t think animals like you very much and you wouldn’t want Cat to act out badly because of you. Animals don’t tend to like unnatural walking dead people.
“At least we don’t have to worry about me getting pregnant, huh?” you say with a smirk. Last you checked you needed to be alive to have a child. Despite the fact that you are a man, you still have a uterus and you’re still capable of bearing a child. One day that will change, but for now you’ll just deal with it.
Cat gets a can of tinned food, one of those fancy little gourmet things that is apparently super great for your cat. Honestly, it’s the only brand you can remember when you go out to pick things up, so that’s what Cat gets. You just grab the cold cooked chicken breast you’d had sitting in the fridge from - shit, you can’t remember when. Smells fine, though. You shred through it easily and wash it down with a mouthful of scotch, capping the bottle and putting it back in the pots and pans shelf.
You head back to your bed, giving him a grin. “Some advantages to being an unholy creature of darkness, let it be said.” You throw open your wardrobe, finishing your towel off before hanging the towel over your shoulder. “Need something t’ sleep in?”
Source: bluhbluhhotstud
Post reblogged from 1-800-HOT-STUD with 70 notes
>Stop panicking.
You would probably collapse it weren’t for Scoff holding you up. You smile up at him.
“Yeah, a little. It’s bearable now.” You lean your head on his shoulder. “I don’t think it will ever go away.”
You let him step away and just let the water run over you for a while. You’re smiling faintly and watching him. Your eyes are probably really unnerving, though, now that you think about it.
“You’re going to turn into a prune, Scofflaw,” you say with a slight laugh. You’re once again in the corner of the shower. You don’t know why you keep backing up like that, but the running water makes you a bit nervous for some reason. Eventually you just step out and grab the nearest towel, wrapping it loosely around yourself.
“Oh no, how ever will you deal with me?” Though your words drip sarcasm you do turn the shower off, following him out to grab the second charcoal grey towel. You towel of roughly then wrap it around your waist, leaving the bathroom barely trailing any water at all.
“Hello, Cat.” You mutter as you almost trip over the damn thing. Cat merely looks up at you with his one acid green eye and purrs. You can’t argue with that face, so you crouch down to give him a good drubbing behind his ears. The scarred russian blue cat presses his face into your hand, then nips you sharply.
“Yes, yes, I know you’re hungry. Come on.” You head for the kitchen.
Source: bluhbluhhotstud
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