Afterthought

I never registered for fall semester classes.

Hmm.

This poses a slight problem.

DON'T STOP TIL YOU GET ENOUGH

Can I Just Keep Playing DA2 Instead?

This year I can't make any mistakes. No slip-ups. No impulsive bed-jumpings. No bouts of self-pity and pseudo-loneliness. This year I've got everything to lose.

Grass Looks Green Over Here

What the hell am I doing in Kentucky?

Wake-Up Slap

I miss you.

Meanwhile, Back at The Ranch

1. True Blood - season 4

2. Breaking Bad - season 4

3. Weeds - season 7

~~~

Work work worky work

~~~

1. HP Deathly Hallows Part 2

2. Captain America

3. Cowboys & Aliens

~~~

Kid Cudi Concert, July 21st?

~~~

Dragon*Con, Sept 4-6 <-- pipe dream

~~~

work work worky work

~~~

Dana, Brittany, Dane/Shauna, other people who don't matter as much but are still interesting to hang out with

~~~

Dragon Age 2 Legacy DLC + 4 complete playthroughs

Mass Effect 1+2 Rachel Adept playthrough...?

~~~

work work worky work

~~~

Deciding my future = looking up grad schools (singapore? australia?), emailing Shorter professors about my nonexistent classes, listening to parents' endless lectures

~~~

Dragon Age kink meme fills = too many to count

~~~

my thomas/elizabeth short story <-- I will conquer you, biatch

~*~*~*

Until next time, everyone.

No More Timeouts

Round 2 - Cancelled

Heading to Singapore on Thursday. Be back on Monday.

Can anyone say sexy reunion?

FFFFF YEEEEAAAAHH---------------

~~~~~~~

Why do my parents fucking pull that kind of shit on me? I really don't understand. If your final answer has always been no, please tell me at the beginning, not when my flight is two days away.

Okay, I still had that magical week. I'm going to take a deep breath, and calm down.

Heady Like Wine

I like the contrast between our skin. The slim, lean look of him. How my fingers thread through his wiry, dark hair. The way he struts. The smooth expanse of his back. The soapy, clean scent of his neck. His thighs. Tasting myself in his mouth. The glasses perched on his nose. The light trail of hair leading down from his bellybutton. His guilty, crooked smile. The ropes of tight muscles in his arms. The deep baritone of his voice. The speed with which we connect on several levels at once. The image of my ankles hooked around his back. Whispering to him in the dark. His breath on my face. Tracing patterns on his stomach. My head resting on his chest.

The nights we had.