brynhildr13

 I admire Zidane so much. He's strong. Incredibly strong. He's totally fearless. He can charge into a battle without fear. He can defend those he loves without question. Without any sort of thought of the consequences. Some may call that recklessness, and maybe it is. But it doesn't even matter to me what it is. He doesn't hesitate. He makes critical decisions in battle. He changes tactics at the snap of a finger. He's a master of aerial combat and ground ability and when he is in Trance, it's like watching . . . Reckless . . . he wears it with such confidence that you'd never know the difference between flying by the seat of his pants or

April 4, 1787 Le Château de Versailles, France's Chambers "Monsieur Bonnefoy? Sa Majesté requires your presence in his office." As if France's arms throttling his pillow in pain didn't give away his answer. As if the butler couldn't see his set jaw, or his furrowed eyebrows, or his squinted eyes, or hear his strained vocal chords laboring to unleash the screams and moans he choked off and suppressed since the night before. As if the huge, black and blue and red and puffy and hypersensitive scratch - that didn't even break his skin but still caused this much pain - on his bare back that he tried to air out, cool off, wasn't a big eno