Jin Guangyao starts playing the song of torment much earlier and triggers an unexpected reaction.
Jin Guangyao nods, face a picture of concern. “Forgive me, but I have no idea what this nature is that you speak of?”
Nie Huaisang grimaces. “Normally this is one of the most funny things about being a Nie,” he says, seriously. “But with this severity,” he starts trailing off. “Every five or so years we have this overwhelming biological urge to …
Jin Guangyao starts playing the song of torment much earlier and triggers an unexpected reaction.
Jin Guangyao nods, face a picture of concern. “Forgive me, but I have no idea what this nature is that you speak of?”
Nie Huaisang grimaces. “Normally this is one of the most funny things about being a Nie,” he says, seriously. “But with this severity,” he starts trailing off. “Every five or so years we have this overwhelming biological urge to um,” he says then pauses. “We need to have sex. Usually it’s mild enough that each of us gets to spend a weekend locked in our rooms alone taking care of it, no problem. If you’re married it's even better I assume, but it’s never deadly.”
“It was deadly in the past, it has been lessened over time, but it seems Nie zongzhu is experiencing the full force of it.”
Gentrification is the consumption of the working class.
Brandon and Phillip have an arrangement. It isn't a game; it's closer in spirit to a contract.
Prompt: "swimming in the buff". Carcer watches with ill intent.
Old (2012-ish!) fanart of Anders Dragonage from my fic Rabbit Heart. Technically unfinished… just like the fic!
Nightmares are rarely invented entirely out of whole cloth.
After everyone but himself and Jyn died on Scarif, Bodhi did his best to hide from anything resembling excitement. Unfortunately, the Force - and the New Republic - had other plans.
The three of them go to see the redwoods.
The chiricsanango, or yesterday today and tomorrow plant, has color-changing flowers that last for just three days: yesterday they were purple, today they are lavender, tomorrow they will be white, and then they will be gone.
On Bazzard's first Christmas in London, the thorn of anxiety is keenly felt, and then drawn out a little.