#rime disperse

[unabashedqueenfury]

Reign 2013-2017/01-13

Mary and Francis

Che può sperar mia voglia

se non morir di doglia?

Né posson buon novelle

venir per gli occhi al core

dalle duo luce belle,

e ’l più pregarne Amore

di secondo favore

è tardo al gran martire;

però convien morire.

(Jacopo Sannazzaro, "Che può sperar mia voglia", from Rime disperse, XXXII, XVI Century)

[jadeazora]

Now that the Psychic Terrain has been dispersed, it's Lucario's turn!

Also, I noticed last week but forgot to mention it-- but I never noticed that Mr. Rime emotes with the face on its stomach rather than its head, I wonder if it's a Bellibolt situation in a way, tho with the entire head being fake rather than just having a faux set of eyes.

[dawn-of-worlds]

Building and Rebuilding

On the post-flood central Occident, new cultures in Incarien, and underwater developments.

Corobel started turn 18 with 17 points: 9 (roll) + 3 (nonhoarding) + 5 (left over)

Corobel starts turn 19 with 21 points: 4 (roll) + 17 (left over)

Command Avatar (-1): In the wake of the Great Flood, chaos stalks the land. Cults thrive. Some menace the lunar passage, or the Secret below, or the temples of great Azimuth. The Two Stars grant the fearsome Sun-Diver warrior Qaheb, who survived the expedition and the flood, an immortal mission to guard the holy places. He bears the terrible sword Decision, which is a sliver of the razor-sharp present. His countenance is the white-freckled blue of twilight; pink-gold butterfly’s wings grace his back. His company is the Evenguard, who patrol the blood-red swamps and ruined towns rooting out bandits, rogue calyptra, and the myriad indecently proportioned shapes that menace travel.

The blood does not rot, for it is not permitted to die; nor will the earth admit it, so foul it is. Only inconstant water will dilute it, and so it perdures in attenuated pools of unnatural red, still bright as if fresh-taken from a living artery, but thin as iron-fouled water. In these, the sun will not show his face, nor will any happy visage be perceived—all reflections frown in horror, whatever the expression of the face itself.

Other than that, it’s a pretty chill place, sort of picturesquely post-apocalyptic. The flowery and vivacious life of the Occident springs eternal, if somewhat strangely. The survivors want to reclaim and improve the ruined land, but this will be the work of generations. Azimuth still stands, somewhat reduced, and the blow in the rest of the continent is more spiritual than material.

Command Avatar (-1): The House of Faces, with the inspiration of the ever-changing moon, builds an insurance policy against Kilkanaqa—hidden chambers in which souls can be regrown from pruned-off thoughts and memories implanted in an unconscious host. These slowly warp the host’s mind into an (imperfect) facsimile of that of the original donor. If the worst happens, the House’s highest echelons will be restored from backup.

Command Avatar (-1): The Oracles instigate the construction of the Temple of the Charism on the hill above the Nak valley where the Prophetic Twins are supposed to have received their vocation.

Command Civilization (-3): The socially marginal, the pioneers, the runaway slaves of the coastal Lunar civilizations disperse into the continental interior, forming hardy civilizations of nomadic herders and stubbornly independent farmers. These are the Pale Hosts. They ride moon-adapted mvao and silvery reptilian creatures, braving terrible storms of regolith and the punitive expeditions of the coastwise kingdoms. Often seen in more civilized regions as merchants and mercenaries, they are recognizable by their distinctive customs and pallid dress.

Command Civilization (-3): Around the Isthmus of Incarien, human/Sun-Diver kingdoms grow in power and wealth. Their culture is vibrant, fusing ideas and aesthetics from both sides of the continent, and half a dozen major states war intermittently. The richest is proud Vayak, of the thousand bolts of cloth, so called because that, at one point, was its price. In its palace, there is a great menagerie, where the trapped souls of executed criminals (small, furry, scurrying creatures) are denied the polar solace of Laneth. Its legendary founder, Ulam, supposedly came from the Nak ten generations before the pilgrimage of the Prophetic Twins.

Command Civilization (-3): Near the Gulf of Azmit, trading emporia traffic the goods of the northern regions, the Glass Steppe, and the more developed regions of Incarien, even as they fend off (or buy off) periodic incursions from western nomads. The markets offer fur, ivory, amber, ice keener and stronger than steel, the golden frost-rime of frozen souls, sky-flowers, slaves. The land is dotted with chiefdoms, only some of whom control emporia; the marginal, especially, are eager to pledge themselves to a slow parade of steppe hegemons as convenience demands. The greatest emporium is Olavern, of the Amber Citadel. Its doughty oarsmen brave the breadth of the Sea of Isles, and the priests of the great church are given to obscure contemplative rituals involving amber, glass, ice, candles, whale-fat, burning pine. Popular fancy imputes to it the sin of cannibalism, brought home in the empty holds of ill-fated northern expeditions.

Command Avatar to Found City (-1): The False-Fire Trance of Evening, bolder than his fellows in seeking the solace of icy depths, founds a new city on the edge of the Abyss, planning to dive further after various arcane preparations. His polymorphic retinue, Aphotic drones and overseers and servant-broods, settles into the muck and builds. The silt itself, and the luminous microbiota within, seem drawn to the great deep, streaming among the rooftops like gently glowing waterfalls. The fauna of the deepest places—endless forms, most terrible—flits the lightless streets. This is Barathron, the Poised. Its streets flirt with the great depths, subaquatic shanties looming, aurora-shadowed, in piles above the yawning fathoms. Its inhabitants are drawn to flights of fancy, to self-destructive longing, and to that final and most vertiginous fall. Some say they see lights in the deep. All feel the awful gravity of night; and, when they sicken or grow old, many simply float away, avoiding a mundane and natural death in favor of one infinitely more sublime.

Command Civilization (-3): Aphotics gradually begin to disperse beyond the control of the Fires, forming independent bands and villages nestled in the coral and kelp of the shallows.

5 points remain.

[faith-in-democracy]

In an era where silence is often coerced, the defense of free verse stands as a bastion against the tempest of oppression. Poetic liberty, the soul's truest voice, must not be shackled. For when the rime is free, thoughts soar boundless and spirits speak untamed! Stand firm. "Through the power of verse, we unite and disperse, the grip of tyrants we aim to reverse."

[literary-lesbianism]

Cursed

I cannot stop speaking in verse;

my words, they have to rhyme,

for I’m the victim of a curse.

I know not for what crime.

This day has gone from bad to worse;

I should prepare the thyme.

I beg you to my curse reverse.

I’ve very little time!

To save my soul, you must traverse

a cold and bitter clime,

and, in conditions most adverse,

you must the mountain climb.

At the peak, you must converse

with Syme the lonely mime.

With words and language most diverse,

you must draw speech from Syme.

When Syme’s speech you have coerced,

a clock will start to chime.

Then you will find within your purse

a single unripe lime.

With this lime, you must rehearse

a speech that’s most sublime.

In speaking so, you’ll be the nurse

and Syme’s back in their prime.

The task is done; you may disperse.

Be careful of the rime,

and I will quit speaking in verse;

you’ve cured me of my rhyme.

[babyawacs]

@law #fisa .@law .@judge @judges .@harvard_law .@sun @ap @reuters @bbc_ whys @france24 @snowden @haaretzcom @deutschland @dw @phoenix_de @bild @s z they dont solve their crimes they quell it inthat way that it saves th em problems and cost and this is why early on decided who studies waht in e lite doc layer the govt doc later finds how nuts the charging victims ar e then there on itis whichtrickworks itis toddler control of immunised act ors in networks layer that exploit their toddlers each per realm while ea ch obeys else they wouldnot be allowed anything ///// this.is. g e r m  a n y maybeyoudont udnerstand whatthat even means they dont solve their c rimes of how them rule a fucknorthkorea they are deviouscore neofeudal dec entralised dotheoppositeday of responsibilityethics faking moralethics fo r exploitation deep early on any aspect rigidly with intelmethods early on for exploitation rail while shuffled interestgroups do whattheywant alig ned nonaligned as proxies or not asproxies depends if it helps their inten t or not with plausibly deniable crimes this confuses many as how liabili ty and responsibility is dispersed while the state_secretaries are the black

@law #fisa .@law .@judge @judges .@harvard_law .@sun @ap @reuters @bbc_whys @france24 @snowden @haaretzcom @deutschland @dw @phoenix_de @bild @sz they dont solve their crimes they quell it inthat way that it saves them problems and cost and this is why early on decided who studies waht in elite doc layer the govt doc later finds how nuts the charging victims are then there on itis…

[oubliettemagazine]

Dionisio il Grande saggio di Alessandra Coppola: il tiranno di Siracusa, conquistatore e poeta

Dionisio il Grande saggio di Alessandra Coppola: il tiranno di Siracusa, conquistatore e poeta

“Sicilia di tiranni antico nido/ vide triste Agatocle acerbo e crudo/ e vide i dispietati Dionigi/ e quel che fece il crudel fabro ignudo/ gittare il primo doloroso strido/ e far ne l’arte sua primi vestigi.” – Petrarca, Rime disperse 65-70 Dionisio il Grande di Alessandra Coppola Dionisio il Grande è un saggio storico scritto da Alessandra Coppola ed è edito da Salerno Editrice nel 2022. Come si…

[coilankle1]

From a physical standpoint Based Pharmacokinetic Modeling associated with Common Assimilation, pH, and Foodstuff Influence within Balanced Volunteers they are driving Enzalutamide Formula Assortment

The actual offered style gives a #Link# reason for any private cleaning regime to manage non-specific mucoid eliminate. Expert good care of prosthetic sight is additionally very important to the management of launch and data for efficient surface finish can be described in this examine. Used with each other, the suggested programs for personal along with professional treatment consist of any standard protocol with regard to managing release associated with prosthetic attention wear. Your method explains prosthetic attention cleansing strategies as well as consistency, and also recommends minimum specifications for specialist sharpening. If confirmed, the particular process has the potential to solve the current different as well as contradictory views regarding the management of release, and make clear suggestions provided to sufferers on the way to privately look after their particular prosthetic sight. (C) 2013 Elsevier Limited. All rights earmarked.We now have reviewed the particular bond associated with computer mouse button embryonic fibroblasts (MEFs) genetically altered by simply natural fluorescence proteins (GFP) gene classy on vertically-aligned co2 nanotubes (VACNTs) right after Some days and nights. The particular VACNTs videos developed in Ti have been #Link# received by micro wave plasma tv's chemical substance vapor depositing process making use of Further ed catalyst along with listed in a great air plasma remedy, for two minimum, from Four hundred Sixth is v along with 50 mTorr, to convert the crooks to superhydrophilic. Mobile adhesion as well as morphology had been examined simply by checking electron, fluorescence microscopy, and also thermodynamics evaluation. Characterizations associated with superhydrophilic VACNTs films have been assessed through contact position and X-Ray Photoelectron Spectroscopy. Variances involving masses followed cells, as well as their dispersing in superhydrophilic VACNTs scaffolds, had been assessed making use of major adhesion analysis. This study ended up being the first ones to show, in actual rime, the wettability associated with VACNTs scaffolds could have improved and also differential sticking styles to the MEF-GFP on VACNTs substrates. (D) Next year Elsevier B./. Just about all legal rights reserved.Scientific studies concerning the activity associated with mammals have recently received a lot emphasis due to the progression of fresh monitoring technology, permitting extremely #Link# accurate saving of canine movement. Nevertheless, how much data provided requires effective theoretical along with logical framework for correct technological use, we.at the. to reply to inquiries of curiosity. Within this evaluate, we utilized systematic researching approach as well as the movement environment composition to assess current understanding as well as breaks inside untamed boar Sus scrofa spatial behavior, type of substantial monetary, environmental as well as sociable curiosity. Particularly, we all noticed how the progression of new checking tactics (radio-telemetry and also gps) provides endorsed movement-related studies because the early on 2000. Nevertheless, the environment to move, my spouse and i.

[deceptigoons-attack]

Glossary of Ice Terms

ABLATION - The process through which snow, ice or water disperses.

ACCUMULATION - The process through which snow, ice or water is added to a given surface.

BERGY BIT - A smallish piece of floating ice generally submerged or half-submerged.

BRASH ICE - Floating ice in fragments of under two meters across.

CALVING - The breakaway action of ice chunks from seaborne ice bodies.

CREVASSE - Often hidden under snow bridges, crevasses are vertical splits in ice caps and glaciers.

FIRST YEAR ICE/FLOES - Ice which has grown, having formed on the sea surface, for up to 12 months and has reached a thickness between 30 cm. and 2 m.

FLOE - A piece of floating sea ice.

FRAZIL ICE - Fine ice plates suspended in seawater; a stage in the formation of young sea ice.

GLACIER - A mass of ice/snow moving under the influence of gravity.

GREASE ICE - A later stage than frazil ice in the formation of new sea ice.

GROWLER - An even smaller piece of floating ice than a bergy bit.

ICEBERG - Large pieces of ice in water which have usually broken off glaciers.

ICEBLINK - A bright glare patch on the underside of a cloud which is the reflection of ice areas in the sea below the cloud.

ICE CAP - A dome-shaped mass of ice covering land and being less than 50,000 sq. kms. in size.

ICE FOOT - A thin apron of ice attached to the coastline and not answering to tidal movement.

ICE FRONT - The cliff of ice that provides the seaward side of a land-based ice mass.

ICE ISLAND - A tabular iceberg which floats within and from the Arctic Ocean. From 30 to 50 meters thick and from a few thousand square meters to 500 square kilometers in extent.

ICE RIND - A shiny skin of new ice formed from grease ice or by direct freezing.

ICE RISE - Usually dome-shaped and found on an ice shelf. Beneath it and not visible will be a rock feature which spawned it.

ICE SHEET - A mass of ice more than 50,000 square kms. in size resting on land or sea or both.

ICE SHELF - A floating ice sheet, some of which may be temporarily aground.

LEAD - A break in floating ice.

NEW ICE - All types of newly formed sea ice including frazil, grease, nilas, shuga, rind and sludge.

NILAS - Various thicknesses of new and growing sludge ice. Can be up to 10 cm. thick and is prone to rafting. Usually gray in colour.

NUNATAK - The top of a mountain or rock stack which protrudes through an ice sheet.

PACK ICE - Any floating ice which is not attached more or less permanently to land.

POLYNYAS - Small patches of open water in an area of floating ice.

PRESSURE RIDGE - A wall of floating ice fragments forced upward under pressure.

RAFTING - The activity of one layer of ice riding over another.

RIME - A deposit of tiny grains of ice formed by the freezing of supercooled water droplets.

SASTRUGI - Abrupt wave-like ridges of hardened ice formed on a snow surface by wind. They usually run parallel to the direction of the prevailing wind.

SHUGA - An area of new, lumpy ice formed from sludge and grease ice.

SNOW BRIDGE - The area of snow forming a roof to a crevasse. Caused by drifting snow, a snow bridge often hides the presence of a crevasse.

WHITEOUT - The result of sunlight being diffused by reflection between an overcast sky and a snow surface. There is no perspective nor shadow.

Source: To The Ends of the Earth, the Transglobe Expedition - The First Pole-to-Pole Circumnavigation of the Globe. (By Sir Ranulph Fiennes)

[sasorikigai]

SubScorp Week, Day 1: First Kiss (in Kuai Liang’s POV), Hanzo’s is here (🔥)

@subscorp-week, and also @indulgentia, @frozenbreath​, @bastardsunlight​

❄️ || Here Sub-Zero makes a stand to praise the impossible love, even though the ungraspable concept will always break and shatter his frozen heart. 

For it seems unfair to him that something as basic as human connection and love had been encumbered beneath the vehemence of former Lin Kuei’s twisted philosophies. He still defiantly rejects and internalizes its purpose, which believed personal attachments made the Lin Kuei weak in the face of the clan’s objectives and caring and having compassion translate as incompetent, as they were meant to operate more as machines with no regard for human life and humanity itself. In spite of his utter disapproval, Kuai Liang had succumbed beneath the proverbial darkness, and even when he was revived, he felt like dying; as LK-520, his entire humanness wiped out by the face of machinery, but still holding the bleeding flame of humanity as his human heart continued to burn. 

it reinvigorates him when he’s drenched in the halcyon, immaculate sapphire, the blinding light that will set the course of his world straight. It sews the ripped edges, it makes him wholesome. Even when Kuai Liang continues to be enamored with his hurt, with his pain and suffering and victimhood, despite him intricately interwoven beneath the infinite pathway of his twisted and tangled veins. How he would love to be tossed into an abyss, inciting poignant destruction. 

The proverbial Fire and Ice was predestined that they should meet; no, more than encounter one another, but clash with the absolute onslaught, cosmic proportion of synergetic violence, for they were once comets joined at the tail, orbiting bodies embodying the synchronicity as time and time again, in any construct of time, would they eloquently and gracefully paint lethal carvings of lacerations and livid bruises, as he would rise upwards the echelon of the reformed Lin Kuei, the second-best cryomancer finally taking over the mantle of Sub-Zero with his exemplary skills becoming the anvil against the eroded strength of Earthrealm’s defense, as Kuai Liang’s unyielding resolve and will grew to epic proportions. 

Kneeled in front of the severe solemnity of the ancient sculpture speaks the lachesism of his life - the desire to be struck by disaster, which would put a kink in the smooth arc of his life, and forge it into something hardened and flexible and sharp, not just a stiff prefabricated beam that barely covers the gap between one end of his life and the other - which would penetrate the cloaked veil of his sapphire eyes, hastening the dispersion of fear and doubt. Once the familiar footing of Hanzo Hasashi echo steadily through the unperturbed snowbed, Kuai Liang rises solemnly, absorbing the strong steadiness of the Grandmaster’s breathing, along with the slowing lumber that closes the distance. For being a ninja, Grandmaster Hasashi did have heavier footsteps, which Kuai Liang found amusing, almost endearing so. 

The spark of his passionate rebellion still lives, even in his vulnerable state of flooding emotions echoing through the rimed frost coating his form in stacked layers. Unable to resist the overtures of the world, embattled by the desire by which he threw himself upon his resilient defenses. Such renewed energy would penetrate the cloaked walls of the shadowed hallways, thickening with smoke-stacked mantras of his frustration and brooding contemplation as countless dead are grieved and mourned with lasting limerence. 

Hanzo’s telltale eloquence reminded him of the disciplined fealty from a samurai to his Lord; and Kuai Liang knew very well that love served the same. It is what night does to day and what day does to night; both annihilating each other, and yet, both remain intact. They too, functioned to serve the same way. As he will quell Hanzo’s stubborn rage, the pyromancer’s flames will melt his frozen heart and incite passion of his raw sentiments and emotions. How Hanzo’s deep gravel propagates in the relative silence, as the swirling crystals adhere to their forms, in their stillness, as the most beautiful melody about love reverberating inside him. 

The initial kiss glides effortlessly between the lines of Kuai’s lips, between his flesh and his unspoken words, as Hanzo probes through edge of his ache, and also believing every word he sips straight from his own lips, as accrued torment mitigates almost instantly, as if the panacea of his frosted entombment had been Hanzo Hasashi’s hearth fire, emanating straight from his balmy skin as the merged heartbeats unto Kuai’s defenses. How rushing blood stokes desire, now far gone into a land where memories fade, Slowly, Sub-Zero’s emotions crumble to dust, as his own poem passes from life unto gently coaxed death where nothing else exists and matters. Yes, passion possesses moving pen of his lucid waterfall - for this was real, in the most tenderest grace. 

“While our souls and bodies can scar, but the will continues to effulgently burn bright beyond our mortal existence, for our hearts remain through the credo of our clans,” while it is against his will, Kuai Liang has to part, and take in the heated warmth of Hanzo’s entirety, as he touches even the deepest part of him with his firm embrace. “As the breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea, for I, cannot fathom to quite explain the nature of our shared reciprocation, and I appreciate your brevity and clarity of your advancement.” ❄️ || 

[janelher]

Mercredi 26 juillet, 20h06

Plus tu t'en vas, et plus je pleure de l'intérieur; des montagnes de douleur s'écroulent sur moi, et je me meurs doucement...

Je t'aime tellement que mon âme ressent un énorme vide.

C'est pourquoi je t'écris chaque jour ces palaces de cristal craquelés, qui me coupent avec leurs débris, et laissent couler à flots azurs sur la plage et blizzards oppressants dans mon sang.

Celui-ci s’écoule, et se confond avec cette même eau du Rhône qui s'était répandue il y a deux ans, jour pour jour, jusque sur les bords de mon cœur, lorsque tu t'étais enfui dans ce train...

Les photos de ce Vaucluse-là galopent encore dans mes rêves, car elles avaient attrapé si peur, mon amour, lorsque tu t'étais éloigné à bord de ce train...

Chaque seconde qui me sépare de toi, ardente, vertigineuse, semble durer une éternité.

Et je demeure vide et abattue, ainsi qu'un vieux vampire sans reflet dans les miroirs, m'empressant de te blottir bien au chaud dans mon esprit, précieusement et fébrilement, et je t'écris dans l'espoir de, peut-être, parvenir à calmer cette inaltérable douleur.

Pourtant, écrire ne saurait rien apaiser, et même, cela devient comme une lance empoisonnée, disséminée quelque part entre mes tripes et mes rêves tout comme il y a deux ans jour pour jour, lorsque tu avais rejoint Paris sans m'emmener. Chaque mot que je te dédie tout spécialement, tendrement, c'est comme une boule de pleurs là dans mon ventre, avec cette impression que le sol se dérobe sous mes pieds, et peu importe la robe que je porte, ma vie se met à dériver puis à délirer, sans discontinuer.

Si seulement je pouvais parfois utiliser les stratagèmes qui, à ce moment précis, m'avaient accompagnée dans ton absence, je redeviendrais cet être intouchable rien qu'en replongeant mon âme dans l'eau vive de nos souvenirs incandescents, mais ils dépendent si fort de ton corps, et de la chaleur que diffusaient tes tendres baisers...

Je repense à cet été-là d'il y a deux ans, jour pour jour, quand je ne te serrais pas pour m'endormir, et que je ne pouvais t'enlacer pour me réveiller, et je ne m'en lasse pas.

Oh oui, je m'étais mise à haïr tout le reste !

Je me voyais déjà mettre fin à l'humanité toute entière, en lui donnant la plus triste des morts; je m'étais même prise à déposer ma pauvre âme aimante à portée de la main de Dieu.

Je me souviens d'avoir voulu m'y reposer éternellement...

Je m'étais mise également à pleurer le sang de la lune dans la mer, car je ne ressentais plus rien lorsque je ne te sentais plus; dès lors, tu étais reparti t'affairer à ta vie, à Paris.

Troublée de ne plus savoir manger, mais assouvissant chaque désir et chaque envie en laissant craquer la pluie, en colère depuis lors contre mon cœur, comme dans un hiver...

Mais il n'y a, comme alors, aucune branche de gui pour me rattraper, ou pour me bercer.

Oui, je t'en avais voulu de me laisser, jusqu'à me mordre les lèvres et sentir physiquement que ta présence hors de ma vue était inconcevable, cruelle et totalement absurde, telle la sève de l'arbre qui s'écoule au long d’un tronc qu'on aurait écorché violemment...

Je voudrais, comme alors, oublier que tu es encore parti.

Mais déjà, lorsque tu t'en allais il y a deux ans, jour pour jour, je sentais que je perdais tout dans le même temps: tu me manquais atrocement, et j'étais restée prostrée dans mes larmes, vide et seule, puisque ma vie déjà, c'était toi; oui, la vie sans toi n'est qu'un terrain vague qui me fait trembler de peur, tant il est inconnu.

Je me rappelle t'avoir vu t'éloigner dans ce train il y a deux ans, jour pour jour, et avoir prié le ciel, contre toute attente, afin que ses rails se détraquent, et que tu me reviennes, mon amour, que tu redeviennes ce trésor d'entre mes bras, émerveillé par ces derniers, bouleversant par tes premiers sourires.

Devant ce grand ciel rose d'amour et de vent en faisant tournoyer des fleurs, ces feuilles et puis ces pleurs, cette fraîcheur dont seul l'amour sait garder le secret...

Je n'avais demandé qu'un je t'aime en plus de tous ceux qui, chaque jour, s’amusaient à prendre la forme des spores de ma peau, tournoyant et grelotant au sortir de ta bouche, avant de s'insérer dans ma vie comme un petit enfant se blottit auprès des bûches de la cheminée.

Ces je t’aime-là avaient même transformé ma vie en une pluie d'envies délicieuses que le manque de toi, aujourd'hui, incinère.

Mais l'espoir ne saurait survivre plus longtemps, car il doit déjà porter sur ses épaules tous ces morceaux de lâches au revoir.

Tu sais, depuis ce jour-là d'il y a deux ans, jour pour jour, je voulais vraiment croire en Dieu, tellement je me sentais heureuse en me sentant vide; tellement je me sentais légère en ayant besoin d'arrêter d'être triste puisque même si tu étais déjà loin, par-delà les campagnes, j'entendais que tu pleurais.

Ces larmes dans ma solitude, ces cris en silence, ces sourires pour cacher qu'en vérité sans toi, j'étais perdue, c'était pour mieux te chercher, jusqu'à épuiser mes mots et puis mes mains, pour mieux te découvrir dans mes rêves, et faire que Paris ne te récupérât jamais.

Aujourd'hui et tout comme il y a deux ans, jour pour jour, personne ne m'entend que le papier, sur lequel s'épanchent mes rimes; que ce papier qui pleurait et déclenchait dans les rues d'Avignon, un déluge éperdu pour tous les amoureux qui étaient séparés. Oh oui, j'avais peur, je pleurais et je tremblais, et toutes les rues autour de moi se ressemblaient; il y avait ton visage, flottant sur chaque affiche, et ton sourire, dilué dans les lumières de la ville, s'était mis en friche.

Je me sentais m'enfoncer dans mon oreiller, alors que le temps passait trop lentement, confiné dans mon ombre, et je sentais aussi qu'il pouvait me tuer puisque tu commençais à jouer, puis à chanter, si loin de ce train assassin dont j'avais entendu le tourment, bien distinctement dans son sifflement.

Séparés l'un de l'autre, j'avais ressenti si fort comme l'on ne pourrait plus jamais aimer avec ces cœurs-là jusqu'à ce que nous, moitiés et âmes sœurs, soyons réunis, assemblés en un merveilleux bouquet d’amour et dispersant le parfum des jours parfaits derrière nous.

Je me souviens aussi que le pire avait été de ne pas vouloir ouvrir les yeux le matin, refusant d'observer les trains qui arrivaient et qui partaient, refusant d'assumer le fait que tu n'avais pas fait demi tour et que je n'avais pas sauté dans le tien, ni ne t'avais rejoint en prenant le suivant.

Tout était devenu obscur et la lumière ne brillait plus, au bout du tunnel; j'avais essayé de me raisonner mais ce fut bien trop dur, sans ton regard glissant sur les plissures de mes jupes ou la fossette de mon sourire; je ne savais déjà plus me trouver belle. Comme j'aimerais simplement faire comme ce temps-là, où j'avais essayé de m'évader en écoutant chanter John et puis Georges, mais même à cet instant, malgré leurs efforts pour émerveiller nos vacances, mon cœur, à leurs voix, se mettait à fuir ces deux anges dans le vent afin de te souffler ce besoin de toi, sourd quoi que violent, qui voulait que tu m'appelles ou que sans moi, tu t’ennuies.

Comme j'aimerais, ainsi qu'alors, savoir faire semblant de sourire, bien que mon cœur demeurait triste et fatigué de bouger, de respirer sans toi, incapable de commenter ou d'observer aucune étoile, sinon prompt à apprendre comment tomber amoureuse de tout ce qui m'aurait fait avancer.

Peut-être avais-je cherché quelque chose, quelque part, qui jamais n'exista, ou n'existait déjà plus. Je m'étais sentie dévalisée de toutes mes forces, je ne savais plus faire quoi que ce soit; et durant ces deux années, chaque fois que tu t'en allais, c'était tout un pan de mon corps, que je sentais s'arracher.

Comme toi, qui me disais constamment que tu m'avais dans la peau...

J'étais obligée de lutter bien fort pour arrêter de penser, livrant bataille contre montres et routines, et pour admettre que le temps nous échappe bel et bien, lors même qu'il me menait jusque dans tes bras.

C'était il y a deux ans, jour pour jour, mes yeux me trahissaient bien que j'essayais de paraître plus forte; mes larmes n'étaient qu'une page froissée, arrachée, raturée puis oubliée sur une page de baisers.

Mes ailes avent pris feu, et comme tout le monde, d'Avignon au Rayol, voyait bien que j'avais mal, j'avais commencé à recouvrir un peu la mer, les vignes et les trains, de ce manque insensé de toi.

Ce manque illimité de toi. Ce manque sans dessein, mais qui me faisait tout de même me réveiller, au matin.

Parfois le soleil se cachait, comme pour mieux laisser les nuages couvrir ma détresse, et ainsi nourrir ma tristesse de ce bonheur intense que j'avais vu, niché dans ton regard, égal au désespoir que tu m'avais murmuré lorsque tu refusais de me laisser, et que tu m'observais, haletante sur ce quai, à courir comme si c'était ta vie qui s'en allait, et comme si ma vie en dépendait...

Oui, déjà, lorsque tu t'en allais il y a deux ans, jour pour jour, je sentais que je perdais tout dans le même temps: tu me manquais atrocement, et j'étais restée prostrée dans mes larmes, vide et seule, puisque ma vie déjà, c'était toi; oui, la vie sans toi n'est qu'un terrain vague qui me fait trembler de peur, tant il est inconnu.

[unabashedqueenfury]

Reign 2013-2017

Mary and Francis

Madonna, i bei vostr’ occhi, arme d’ Amore,

mi fèr sì dolce assalto,

ch’ io benedico ognor la piaga al core

impressa il dì ch’ io rimirai tant’ alto.

La dolce libertà, c’ ad altri piace,

non fia che mai mi piacci,

ché l’ è più dolce assai ne’ vostri lacci;

non mai tranquilla pace

trovo né trovarrò, madonna, in terra,

se non se i bei vostr’ occhi mi fan guerra.

("Madonna, i bei vostr'occhi, arme d'Amore", Jacopo Sannazaro, Rime Disperse, XXXIV , XVI Century)

[ainarosewood]

SeasWolWritingChallenge Day 7

@seaswolchallenge​ @ffxiv-writers​

Prompt: Revenant

"Sister!" Yvet turned to see to see Phyna striding toward her the Viis standing out in the Crystarium in the garb of her homeland. Turning toward her she cocked her head, "Is aught amiss Phyna you seem troubled?"

The other woman nodded her eyes troubled, "Ciuna tells me that there is trouble in the Wood, several of our patrols have been attacked by a mysterious creature in ruins.  Even Lanille doesn't know what is causing the wounds."

Yvet nodded, "You'd like me to see would you not?"

The other Viis gave a grim nod, "If you've the time Sister, I'm still gathering Viis to return home and while I worry for my Sister I...."

"Fear not, I will go to Fanow and see how I may aid." Yvet responded at her feet her Carbuncle Ktjn chimed in agreeance at her feet.

Relief filled the other woman’s features and she nodded, "Give my Sister my love,"

Yvet waved in acknowledgement before readying the teleport spell.  Moments later she found herself in the Fanow aetheryte plaza a heavy rain drenching the settlement.

Without hesitation she strode toward where she knew Almet would be as she approached she could see the older Viis's face set with concern.

Before her was an equally concerned Lanille the priestess frustrated overtly.  Approaching she gave a wave in greeting.  Almet gave her a warm smile but it was clear she was still upset.

"Phyna mentioned that several patrols were injured by a strange creature," Yvet stated

Lanille nodded, "Some of the wounds seem as if they could come from a Caracal however, I do not believe the beasts responsible due to the fact that the injuries are rimed with frost."

"And typically once would expect burns from the levin bolts the beasts command." Yvet stated.

Lanille nodded continuing, "Also in some of the cases there is little to no wounds but the afflicted are cold to the touch and their aether seems....drained."

At her feet Ktjn chimed Sounds like a voidsent....sister

Yvet looked down at the construct stating, "Those injuries yes, but the rime coated claws....no."

Looking at the other two Viis she asked, "Where have the majority of the attacks happened?"

Almet retrieved a map from the table nearby and pointed, "The K'mul Astropolis, specifically the Great Pyramid of Ux'ner.  All of the ones attacked were patrolling close to the Pyramid when the attacks occurred."

Yvet nodded, "I shall see if I can locate the beast drive it off if can or if I must destroy it,"

Almet looked concerned but nodded, "Be careful Sister, I know I shouldn't worry given that you are the Warrior of Darkness none the less..."

Yvet gave her a gentle smile, "I understand Sister fear not, I am not one to be reckless."

With that she pulled out the horn they had gifted her when she had defeated the Lightwarden.  She pressed it to her lips and sounded it.  From not far away came a piercing cry and the flap of wings.  

She turned as the blast of air announced the Jacculus's arrival that was tied to the horn.  It Chirped a greeting and nudged her.

Patting her neck she greeted her and then swung astride.  Beside her Ktjn leapt onto the hindquarters and balanced there as the bird tilted off the platform and aimed northwest.

In a matter of moments they alighted in front of the Pyramid and she sent the Jacculus on its way to await her call.  Looking down at Ktjn, "I think Anja would be more suited for this considering that we are dealing with something that uses ice aspected aether."

The carbuncle nodded and disappeared in a burst of aether.  A moment later Anja popped forth in another burst the heat of her body causing steam to form around her as the rain struck the ruby carbuncle."

Looking up at her she asked, I take it I will take point?

Yvet nodded, "I will follow, I know not what we are dealing with aside from it can wield ice aspected aether and drain a being of their aether."

Nodding the carbuncle strode through the gap in the roots that used to be the pyramid's door.  As Yvet followed her she felt a pang of sorry knowing the beauty the Pyramid once had.  She could remember what it looked like at the height of the Empire before the Wood reclaimed it.

As they entered the only sound to be heard was the patter of the carbuncle's paws and the steady drip of what rain made it through the gaps in the stone.  As they went deeper Yvet noticed an odd chill permeating the normally humid air.  Something had to be causing it, the question was what.  

As they entered one of the deeper chambers Anja paused then whirled slashing with a fiery claw at a creature that hissed and let out a haunting howl.

Yvet drew her tome and faced it feeling a pang of sorrow as she saw it in the glow of the stones that lit the pyramid.

It was gaunt, skin clinging to what was once thick muscle now just bones.  Its face was that of a Ronso a strange light filing its eyes.  Judging by its garb it had once been one of the living guardians of the Pyramid set to watch over those who were buried here.

Yvet closed her cerulean eyes in grief.  He had awoken because of her and she knew it.  Specifically when she Y'shtola and the Viis of Fanow opened the door that led to Tiuna's tomb.  In life he would have guarded it and it seemed as if he continued to do so after his demise.

"Brother," she said softly in Ronkan, "Your work is done, you may rest in Ox'Dalan's arms now.  There are others to continue your duty to the Archmage.  Please brother rest."

The only response she received was him stalking forward bony hand outstretched.  The room was so cold that her breath began to cloud in front of her.

Closing her eyes she nodded to Anja who charged forward once more slashing with fiery claws as she unleased several ruin spells striking the ancient guardian causing sever damage to its body.

Between her and the carbuncle they finally managed to down it and before them stood a spirit.  Once again Yvet appealed to him in Ronkan, "Brother please your duty is done, let the Viis who remain carry on for you, please take your rest."

He bowed his head in acknowledgement and then dispersed back into the aether.  Instantly the unnatural cold faded leaving only the standard cool of the depth of the Pyramid.

Sighing in relief she turned and made her way back to the surface.  Once again she called the Jacculus and mounted up.  As she launched into the sky she looked back at the ruins and said a soft prayer to Ox'Dalan asking him to see to it that no more guardians were disturbed from their eternal slumber and offering apologies for being responsible for this last ones.

[horreuretextase]

Lettre d’amour

La brume se dissipe ce matin.

Le brouillard dense et lunaire qui avait enveloppé mes songes pendant la nuit s’est évanoui comme la rumeur publique, l’orage passé.

Face à ma fenêtre se déroule sous mes yeux clignotants du matin ce paysage éternel et muet. Celui des pins sages et sauvages.

Signe que tout orage est éphémère : la mer a déjà revêtu sa parure d’or scintillante.

Je revêts la mienne comme unique vêtement en t’écrivant ces lignes.

Plan d'ensemble sur une colline dénudée, cachant partiellement la mer. Lent panoramique silencieux sur la droite, pour cadrer l'horizon marin au bas de l'écran. Des chuchotements se font entendre.

Regarde.

C’est l’Éternité qui se lève.

Elle te regarde.

Elle va dire quelque chose.

- L’Éternité :

Rêve et désir d’immensité. Rêve aux périples d’humanités.

Songe à la nuit qui, sans rêver, se renouvèle, comme une trêve inachevée.

Songe au jour sans cesse étranger, qui passe sans jamais s’embraser.

Je suis le jour. Je suis la nuit. Je suis le soleil à minuit. Aussi puissant qu’hypothétique, aspiration astronomique.

Je suis d’hier et de demain, toujours proche et si lointain.

Prisonnier des rives et des reins. Prison de rimes et d’airain.

L’Éternité marque une pause.

Interstice temporel.

J’avance dans la révélation partielle.

Je m’avance et j’annonce :

Tu oublieras mes mots, comme ces supplications vaines que l’on entasse dans des tiroirs qui ne coulissent plus et ne périssent que par le feu. Car je te le dis : nous ne périrons que par le feu.

Et le feu lui-même périra.

Et dans les cendres du feu péri on lira ces histoires :

Au premier siècle, en Galilée, un Juif s’entoura de disciples et d’assurance pour prêcher la foi, l’amour et l’espérance. Il est mort seul sur la croix.

En 1914, à Sarajevo, un Serbe de dix-neuf ans entraîna l’Europe dans son rêve. Il est mort seul sans voir le jour.

En 1954, au bord de la Baltique, un Suédois sensible et sensé, qui avait connu la gloire, conquis le temps et la mort, suffoquait seul dans les gaz d’échappement de sa voiture.

Il y en eut tant d’autres.

En 1891, en rade de Marseille, un poète, trafiquant d’armes et de charmes préparait son départ pour l’Égypte. Il est mort seul le lendemain.

À l’hôpital de la Conception, on mit cinquante ans à poser une plaque.

Alors garde pour toi tes plaintes administratives, tes recours hiérarchiques et tes revendications réglementaires. Le bureau d’ordre les traitera plus tard, quand il en aura le temps. Dans dix mille ans.

Est-ce ainsi que les hommes vivent ? Et tes baisers au loin me suivent, comme des soleils révolus.

Cœur léger, cœur changeant, cœur lourd.

Sur la mer flottent désormais des vaisseaux de nuages lents et calmes qui s’inclinent de révérence en paradant devant toi.

Je repense à cette phrase que tu m’as dite : Personne n’a le droit d’exiger de la mer qu’elle porte tous les bateaux.

Certes, mais force est de constater que, s’agissant des bateaux convenablement constitués tout du moins, elle le fait. Et cette pensée terrible me vient qu’il ne peut s’agir là que de la justification hasardeuse d’un mauvais constructeur de bateaux.

Je te le dis : je n’ai que faire d’un énième constructeur de bateaux.

À Saint-Nazaire les chantiers navals prennent l’eau.

À Toulon brûlent les sous-marins.

Dans la lumière du matin se consume un étrange flambeau.

J’ai posé mes lèvres sur ta peau, saisi ta Perle entre mes mains.

Demain aura soin de lui-même.

À chaque jour suffit sa peine.

Disperse la tienne, cueille mes mots.

À mesure que je t’écris, la mélancolie sidérale des derniers rayons du jour s’enfonce sous l’horizon géométrique.

Le 1er janvier, il faisait dix-sept degrés à Portofino. Au bout de sa presqu’île, le phare blanc dominait une étendue infinie d’eau salée. Le soleil dorait ta peau nue.

À la gare de Nervi, après d’âpres négociations, tu as fini par accepter que l’on cède, temporairement, un peu de ce soleil à l’Ouest, et tu t’es rhabillée. Je regrette d’avoir insisté.

J’aurais aimé t’écrire cela plus tôt.

Demain il sera trop tard.

Demain l’Homme aura libéré l’énergie intra-atomique. Il aura dompté la matière et la vie, il aura altéré les cycles.

Demain l’Homme sera mort.

Et ta robe arborera ces mêmes motifs colorés qui me laissent rêveur.

Demain je serai mort.

Et l’Ouest ne saura que faire du soleil, et du reste :

Il pleut toujours sur Nantes.

Vanité des vanités, tout est vanité.

Nihil novi sub sole.

Les jambes pensives de Claire s’enfoncent dans l’eau transparente.

Les galets à ses pieds nus tapissent agréablement sa plante.

L’eau est aussi fraîche qu’imperturbable.

Piloérection : excitation palpable.

Tu nous observes longuement de ta moue inébranlable.

Et moi je consigne tout en prévision de cette lettre.

D’ailleurs, en sept lettres : je t’aime.

Pour les (sept) suivantes : on verra.

- L’Éternité, poursuivant :

Que la lumière soit.

Et la lumière fut.

[sciatu]

Piastrelle di ceramica siciliana.

Mi trovavo in una città del nord europa. Era molto bella e la gente simpatica ed educata. Mi piacevano i grandi canali, i gabbiani sui ponti, le case dalle grandi finestre, i piccoli alberi, la gente in bicicletta, gli odori strani di un cibo mai conosciuto. Arrivai in albergo e salii nella piccola camera con una finestra che occupava una parete e un piccolo letto. Mi sdraiai sul letto per riposare e leggere la posta sul telefono. Quando ad un certo punto smisi di fissare lo schermo luminoso del telefono, osservai la stanza dove era arrivata una penombra densa che velava tutto di nero. Mi alzai inquieto e anche se non soffro di claustrofobia mi sentivo come soffocare. Mi mancava qualcosa, ma non era l'aria che entrava e usciva dai miei polmoni velocemente. Capii osservando il pavimento di legno scuro cosa mi mancava: i colori! Quei colori intensi e luminosi della mia terra: il giallo oro dei cardi secchi, il giallo intenso della paglia, il verde cupo degli alberi di limoni, il verde tenero degli ulivi, il verde bottiglia del mare tra gli scogli, il verde chiaro dei fichidindia con l'esplosione degli arancione e dei rossi dei loro frutti, il verde oscillante delle foglie degli agavi ed il giallo solare dei loro piccoli fiori contro l'azzurro splendente del cielo e quello intenso del mare. Mi mancava il giallo del grano, il rosso dei papaveri, il bianco della zagara, il bianco sporco del vallo dei greggi, il bianco intenso della ricotta nei dolci, l'arancio dei mandarini, l'arancio, il rosa ed il rosso che colorano il cielo al tramonto, il rosso della sorba, il nero della lava e il rosa degli oleandri, la moltitudine intensa, chiassosa e irrequieta dei colori dispersi tra la gente durante una festa di paese. A casa abbiamo sempre qualcosa di questi colori, nei vasi o nei vestiti così, anche guardando per terra la ceramica che copre i pavimenti delle antiche case in città o in campagna, ritroviamo i colori della nostra anima, la luce in cui è cresciuta, l'arcobaleno luminoso in cui ha sognato. Ora, quando uno nasce e cresce, si porta sempre dietro quello che ha nutrito il suo cuore da piccolo: la parlata, i ricordi, gli affetti, il gusto, le canzoni e le rime. Vi sono cose però che solo la tua terra ti può dare, e tanto più ti allontani, tanto più l'ingiuri e la maledici, tanto più, nel rivederla, la tua anima ti tradisce, e quello che non pensavi e immagginavi, ti urla dentro dando al tuo cuore il fuoco della tua origine. I colori per me, sono una di queste cose.

I was in a northern European city. It was very beautiful and the people were nice and polite. I liked the great canals, the gulls on the bridges, the houses with big windows, the small trees, the people on bicycles, the strange smells of a food never known. I arrived at the hotel and went up to the small room with a window that occupied a wall and a small bed. I lay down on the bed to rest and read the mail on the phone. When at some point I stopped staring at the luminous screen of the phone, I looked at the room where a dense penumbra had arrived that veiled everything in black. I got up uneasily and even though I don't suffer from claustrophobia I felt like suffocating. I missed something, but it wasn't the air that came in and out of my lungs fast. I realized by looking at the dark wood floor what I missed: the colors! Those intense and luminous colors of my land: the golden yellow of dry thistles, the intense yellow of straw, the dark green of lemon trees, the tender green of olive trees, the green bottle of the sea among the rocks, the light green of prickly pears with the explosion of the orange and red of their fruits, the oscillating green of the leaves of the agaves and the sunny yellow of their small flowers against the shining blue of the sky and the intense one of the sea. I missed the yellow of the wheat, the red of the poppies, the white of the orange blossom, the dirty white of the flock of herds, the intense white of the ricotta in the desserts, the orange of the mandarins, the orange, the pink and the red that color the sky at sunset, the red of the rowan, the black of the lava and the pink of the oleanders, the intense, noisy and restless multitude of the colors dispersed among the people during a village festival. At home we always have something of these colors, in the vases or in the clothes like that, even looking at the ceramics that cover the floors of the old houses in the city or in the country, we find the colors of our soul, the light in which it grew, the bright rainbow in which it dreamed. Now, when one is born and grows up, he always carries with him what has nourished his heart as a child: the speech, the memories, the affections, the taste, the songs and the rhymes. There are things, however, that only your land can give you, and the further you go, the more you curse and curse it, the more you see it again, your soul betrays you, and what you did not think and imagine, screams at you inside giving your heart the fire of your origin. Colors for me are one of these things.

[soakedpotato2020]

Seungwoo x reader part I

*supposed to be super short but oh well 😅

*first rime in tumblr

Pairing: Seungwoo x reader

About: Friends to lovers; fake dating; school au

“Were you able to study for the recitation today?” Your best friend Sheila asked you non chalantly as she too fixed her things on her desk.

Dread was clear on your face because you forgot about it, totally slipped your mind. You and and your little brother, Eunsang, were so into doing a marathon of “friends” that you weren’t able to study at all over the weekend.

Sheila sighs and pats your head as you instantly pout. “Even if you make puppy eyes on me, I can’t help you. Here’s my notes.”

“You’re the bestest bestest friend of all bestfriends, did you know that?” You immediately grabbed her notes and lunged to give her a big hug.

The whole school’s erupted in screaming girls. You and sheila looked at each other and rolled your eyes. You know very well it’s because the popular guys in school are in the building. You don’t really care, except for the fact that it disturbed your cramming.

Too bad that two of them are in your class, so the noise is definitely getting closer. When the sliding door opened, you knew that they’re here. Despite your adamant insistence that you don’t have a crush on any of them (I mean, they’re just good looking and have bodies sculpted by the gods; not a big deal), you still look up to see them.

Cho Seungyoun, the more friendly of the group tells their mob of fans to quiet down because they’ll be going to class. He gives them a flying kiss and a wink. Definitely good looking, but his personality is too much for you. Thankfully the fans disperse away.

The other members of the ‘popular group’ go to another class so they say their goodbyes.

Sheila nudges your side as she notices you staring on one of them (you insist you’re not though). Han Seungwoo. You’d say he’s the leader because he has that mature aura out of the group. His eyes are perfectly shaped, nose unbelievably poised, and proportions to die for.

Thankfully, you’re friend nudged you otherwise you wouldn’t notice that he’s also looking right at you. He gave you a smile that made you feel things (what things?) which you had to ignore because the professor just entered the classroom and you remembered the cramming you should be doing. You just prayed thanks to the gods because if worse comes to worst, your bestest of the bestest bestfriends who is also top of the class, is sitting beside you ready to write the answer on your notebook so you can sneak a glance during recitation.

That is until Prof Chan decided to change the seating arrangement today in order to “foster a more friendly relationship among your class.” All your classmates did not like the idea, but you couldn’t do anything about it. The day was creeping up on your list of worst days ever— around 10th or 9th. It quickly shot up to the worst day at number 1 when you had to be seated next to Seungwoo.

The humiliation of getting wrong answer while standing up in class with all attention on you was dreadful enough, but you just had to be humiliated next to the not-only-handsome-but-also-really-smart Han Seungwoo. Despite the broiling turmoil inside, he takes the seat next to you and flashes you that oh so sweet smile with both his eyes turning to crescents.

Your palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. Your mind is a blank and you feel like vomitting. At this point, it will be a miracle if you understand the question thrown at you. You are so out of it you don’t notice your seatmate smiling endearingly at you because he finds your internal panicking- cute.

When it was your turn, you tried to scan your head with what you know about Biology. You wrack your brain for something— at least something— you learned in this subject. You can see the professor saying something but you couldn’t hear it. It’s like everything was on mute.

In the silence of the classroom, you knew you were doomed. You saw sheila massaging her forehead and shakes her head because she couldn’t do anything to help you. All eyes were on you. But you still don’t know the answer, nor the question.

You were ready to give up and decided to compute the percentage of this recitation on your grade. If this is worth 10%, but your midterms is 40%, so there’s still 40% for finals and 10% for a project to be passed later. You computed that if you failed this, you should aim for a 90 on both——

Your stream of thought was interrupted when you felt a tug on your pink finger. You looked at your seatmate who was pointing on to a word in his notebook written big enough for you to read. Without understanding, you read it out loud, “DNA.”

Sheila snapped her head your way almost too fast when you said the right answer. But the prof wasn’t convinced so he asked you to explain. Ultimately, you couldn’t so he asked you to sit back down. It was almost a relief even if your seatmate was snickering beside you.

After class, Prof Chan called you and your seatmate. “I am very disappointed Ms y/l/n, it’s like you don’t care about this subject. And you, Mr Han, coaching your classmate during recitation is a form of cheating.”

“No! He didn’t coach me, I swear!” You didn’t want to drag him into your mess.

The prof gave you a frightening look so you backed down. “I’ll let you go without much scratch. Detention later for an hour, just so that this doesn’t get into your permanent record Mr. Han.”

You felt stupid and apologetic. He was only helping you but you got him in trouble. As soon as the prof left, you immediately bowed in apology to Seungwoo. “I’m really sorry I got you in trouble when you were just trying to help.”

He laughed. “It’s not much, I pitied you because it looked like you didn’t even hear the question.”

You scratched the back of your head, “yeah..... hehe.... I didn’t. I was in panic so....”

You felt him ruffling your hair. “See you later in detention?” He asked and you just smiled.