Fridays promise Rain. Well, actually Saturdays do, because of the time difference, but Friday is now a magical day. A day I look yonder to for its promise. I dare not think of the time when the gratification of fic will no longer exist.
I read this evening that the gw500 prompt for this week was Strain. Which of course made the leap for me to St. Rain. Which lead to the following:
(Dedicated to Sunhawk, whom I know I will not say anything to, and written for the gw500 community, where I suspect I will not post it.)
I have a spare ticket to the anime all-nighter being held in central London tomorrow night, as part of the annual Sci-Fi festival, as my fiance doesn't want to come with. Would any of you be (a) in the area, and (b) up for hanging out?
FOR MANY, mention of sheep summons ribald jokes and not romantic fantasies. They too have their roots in Theocritus. His homoerotic imaginings added spice to his poems. But I was amused to come across a scientific report into homosexual proclivities among ovines. They appeared to have a biological basis in rams. But how will we ever know for ewes? The female, apparently, when she wants to elicit interest, stands perfectly still. Who knows how many ewes are out there waiting patiently for a same-sex partner?