Desire can't move past, only onward.
They do a lot of talking in the sweet air of the control room, about everything and nothing.
Tybalt and Mercutio were childhood friends, of a sort.
Luo Binghe looks at Shen Qingqiu’s face carefully for any sign of recognition but finds none. Instead, Shen Qingqiu looks impressed, like he can’t imagine it. Luo Binghe preens at impressing Shen Qingqiu and he chooses to take this as a win in the series of battles in the war to make Shen Qingqiu remember. Luo Binghe just hopes that the battles will eventually come to an end.
“Why do you wear your face like that?”
Nie Huaisang's hand comes up partway to Meng Yao's face before his fingers curl inwards. Meng Yao's eyes go wide and tremulous before the corners of his mouth curl into a small smile, like one of the soundless laughs shared between them in the midst of a banquet speech.
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.
Gentrification is the consumption of the working class.
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.”
On Bazzard's first Christmas in London, the thorn of anxiety is keenly felt, and then drawn out a little.
There are worse things than being lashed.