#and god help me with deciding where to draw the line in regards to distinctions between colors. but that chart really is so nice

[antiloreolympus]

7 Anti LO Asks

1. Do you know what really gets my blood boiling about this comic? Persephone and Demeter's relationship.

In the myths, Demeter and Persephone loved each other more than anything. Their reunion is so important - it marked the coming of spring and growth. A whole cult was dedicated to this for crying out loud. Yes, the myths were far from perfect, but the Persephone and Demeter myth showed the strength of a loving mother-daughter relationship with Demeter searching endlessly to find her child that was ripped away and had her innocence forcibly taken.

Now, RS is not the only author to make Demeter this over-bearing mother type in order to put more positivity onto the Hades-Persephone relationship. However, RS takes this trend to a whole new level - to the point where I would even consider it misogyny.

How is it, she takes this beautiful mother-daughter relationship and makes it out to be an abusive and controlling one, and then takes the Hades-Persephone relationship from a forceful one to a loving, perfect relationship with no problems? How is it ok to ruin one relationship to elevate another?

I understand that many versions of the myth try to downplay Hades' actions, and even make it so Persephone actually falls in love with him and there is no rape. But it doesn't change that this relationship was problematic, and meant to represent the loss of innocence.

Then fans have the gall to claim this comic is feminist and then claim on top of that that Demeter and Persephone's relationship was the same in the myth? These fans clearly don't know the myths, and neither does RS.

Making Hades a good person is fine. Changing it up a bit to make Persephone's loss of innocence something else is also fine. But ruining Demeter and Persephone's relationship? Especially when Persephone has to spend half the year with her? So horrible. 

2. im sorry, but rachel cant introduce KRONOS coming back and then dropping it for several episodes to focus on a stake-less trail and persephone not knowing what lingerie to seduce hades in. like thats too much of an earth shaking development and huge stake plot point to just ignore for months to focus instead on something as minor as hxp's relationship, which only points out a huge flaw: why is hxp's relationship so minor in this? isnt the whole point supposed to be about them?

3. I think LO completely dropped the ball over Hades’ characterization. 

From the first ep I thought ok, this is good, we have some bones to see he’s not that lucky in love and is just tired and lonely, and while ignoring the creepy actions towards Persephone, I thought ok, Artemis hates him, Hestia hates, even Ares hates him, maybe once Persephone finally sees the underworld and probably gets to know him it’ll be a clever twist and they’ll be proven wrong. The underworld will turn out to be fair and just, the citizens will love Hades, he’ll be revealed to be a good leader and king and not like his brothers, it’ll be like everyone saying Hades of myth isn’t actually that bad, and it’ll help reinforce why this sweet and bubbly Persephone wants him, she sees the real him, not the mean rumors and assumptions, this is perfect.

And then it just didn’t happen. The exact opposite happened, actually.

We’re shown the LO underworld is cruel and unjust, where the poor dead are forced into slavery and Hades created a harsh class divide with him and him only on top, the citizens hate him, the underworld gods don’t trust him and openly seem ok if he’s taken out of power, he’s not a good leader and king and doesn’t even want the job yet keeps it for his own ego and grip of power m, and on top of it all he is just like his brothers, if not worse. He loves to get violent over any little slight against him, he hoards wealth and resources to enrich himself while his citizens starve and struggle to survive, he’s corrupt, he controls all the media and laws to bend to his will, sleeps with his brothers wife for centuries behind his back while claiming to be holier than thou, he has sex with his secretaries who are made dependent on him for any way to survive, and now he lusts after his barely legal intern who is also now dependent on him for her way to survive, and that’s only what I remember off the top of my head.

LO perfectly set up to prove Hades isn’t the devil or the false pop culture assumption that he’s evil and to show some actual facts from myth, and yet Rachel only ended up reinforcing exactly that and even making him even worse with her made up ideas, all while thinking having Persephone ignore or excuse it somehow makes it not bad or even a good thing. It’s honestly kind of impressive just how bad of writing that actually is. 

4. Chapter 172 is not that interesting. It’s setup had me excited to see Hephaestus and Hera and learning more about echo, but it’s cut so short. Because again the story can’t leave HXP out for 2 seconds.

I can also see why Zeus is gonna go insane. 

5. i agree w/ other anon. LO should have pulled a PJO or a BoZ and just made up OCs and have them interact with the gods than whatever Rachel thinks shes doing, which is lying she's being accurate and faithful while completely changing all of it, removing what is needed, and adding what isnt so that it lines up with no actual myth besides like, various 50 shades fanfic she read in 2015 and some popular tumblr text posts.

6 . the animation studio behind blood of zeus literally can only draw one face for the men and one face for the women and they were still able to make the gods all look distinct and hot while LO can't even bother to use more than 6 colors and can only have the women look as tiny as possible with the biggest boobs while the men are all just lego men.

7. ////FP SPOILERS////

Okay so like I stopped reading LO way back before season 1 ended, and a majority of my knowledge of the series comes from what I read here on your blog which is enough for me lol and I decided to read the latest 5 chapters just to see what's up (on zahard. I refuse to give the actual series any views)

And I just. Could not take the whole scene with Daphne running from Apollo seriously? The anatomy and art inconsistency was so distracting that i genuinely could not find it serious. Even when Thanatos discovers her hibernated body I couldn't take it seriously because of how she looked?

And when Hades had that call (??? Was it a call? Or his inner dialogue? I couldn't really tell ngl) with Zeus and said he's causing Persephone unnecessary distress, and that she didn't pose any threat. B!tch??? She killed a ton of mortals??? She has no control over her powers???? She's literally a fugitive for the aforementioned things??? She apparently woke Kronos up? (Idk if anyone knows about that, again my knowledge only spans to whatever I read here) Hello????

And I have a lot to say about the chapters starting the trial but I'll only mention one thing; Hades saying "I don't think blindly supporting my little brother would be doing him any favours (as a ruler)" had me cackling. This is coming from a guy blindly supporting a girl he's literally only known for a few weeks, who's like what, only recently turned 20? Sit tf down Hades you're not cool, you creepy ass overgrown smurf.

Overall I still hate this series lmao. Regarding art though I feel like I wouldn't be so miffed about the anatomy much if the character designs were consistent and the story was compelling. They literally change hairstyles and body types frame by frame, and it's distracting.

The timeline from what I read here is laughable. 4 years in publication with almost 200 chapters and you're telling me only like a month has passed canonically. That's wild and such poor writing.

And as someone who literally will sympathise with any lead character pretty quickly, the story makes me hate them. It makes me want to root against them. I also hate the fact this trash is somehow top ranked on webtoons when so many other stories are far better then it.

Anyway, many thanks to this blog for existing and allowing me to dump so much text here to vent out my hate for this series lmao. You the mvp fam, hope you're having a good day 🥂🥂🥂

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

[keywestlou]

Ho Ho Yogi Bear

DAY 11…..Greece the First Time

Posted on June 7, 2012 by Key West Lou

Ho ho Yogi Bear! I am having a terrific time!

Donkeys have become a part of my life all of a sudden. First in Navaro when I discovered horse meat and donkey meat were sold in butcher shops for human consumption. Donkey was viewed to horse meat as veal is to cattle meat. Now donkeys in Santorini.

Before I made the trip, many told me to be sure to ride the donkeys up and down the hill. The hill that in reality is a mountain of lava.

I saw the donkeys yesterday for the first time. I was taking a walk along the other road. The road that runs between the cave hotel apartments and lesser accommodations. Actually the other side of the road is where the working people of Santorini live. Much like Stock Island is to Key West.

All of a sudden, I came upon eight donkeys on the side of the road. All saddled up and ready to go. What beautiful animals! I am a horse lover of sorts. The horses that race at Saratoga. Especially up close. Magnificent beasts. So too were these donkeys. Beautiful shiny coats. Ears standing straight up. Big bright eyes. Muscular legs. Very muscular.

These donkeys carry people up and down the side of a nearby lava mountain. On a path running along the side. Along a five foot wide path has been constructed 2,000 feet plus long. It consists of 500 plus steps. The steps of varying widths. A short 3 foot wall on the ocean side.

The ride did not appeal to me. I did not wish to be an ass on an ass. I was fearful of either the donkey or me or both of us falling over the wall. I raised that issue with the man in charge of the donkeys. I think I insulted him. He told me very firmly that no donkey or person had ever even fallen off the path into the ocean.

The path was made of dirt and rocks.

I had Nikos give me a ride in his car down the mountain.

The volcano sitting out in the water is like a magnet. It draws me to it. I have decided to visit the volcano in the next few days. I want to look into the opening and its depths. I want to view the smoke and sulfur and whatever else my eyes can see.

The volcano is not too high. Most of it sunk into the sea. So I should be able to walk to the top.

There is an added attraction. There are springs periodically spraying water and smoke. Baths from the emissions are available on site. I want to bathe in these waters. Supposedly healthful, I will be doing it merely for the experience.

Santorini is the largest of the several islands which were born 3,500 years ago when the volcano had its major eruption. It is big. How large, I am not sure. Larger than Key West I do know.

The whole island has a mere 13,000 permanent residents. Compared to Key West which has 19,000.

Santorini is the name of the whole island. There are several villages and towns located on the island. I am staying in Oia, one of those towns. People are nice here. Just as in Key West.

Sociable, helpful.

I spoke of beauty parlor proprietor Catherine Risvani yesterday. Catherine owns the only beauty shop in Oia. One to a town, I guess. Called Hair & Soul. It is a beautifully done small place. Two chairs, two sinks, a manicure station and a counter. Two lovely ladies working for her.  Catherine gave me a manicure this week.

Catherine is lovely in appearance. A typical Grecian beauty. Tall, thin and blond. Hair swept up and somehow tied in back. Interestingly, I have yet to find a Grecian woman who wears her hair down. Catherine also has high cheek bones. Another trait of Grecian women.

The bill for the manicure was 20 euros. About $28 american money. I was out of euros. I asked Catherine if she took credit cards. No. So I took out one of my $100 bills and told her to hold it while I went to the ATM machine for euros. She would not take the $100. Strangers though we were, she trusted me. In a tourist town. Typical of the Greeks here.

Which brings me to Nikos and Maria. Proprietors of my cave accommodation. Nikos and Maria are around 60. Own the Filotera Cave Houses aka Filotera Villas. A superior accommodation. Consistent with historical Santorini.

They and their son Adonis work their asses off. They have staff, but work along with staff from very early morning to late at night.

When I first arrived and met Maria, she was in a dress and apron. Smiling always. She does not speak English. I no Greek. Yet we have had several conversations. Each of us has spoken our native tongue. We understood each other!

I figured after first meeting Maria that she was the typical Mama Mia. A dress and apron. Always cooking and cleaning. Always watching the grandchildren.

Was I wrong!

The next time I saw Maria she was in peddle pushers and a tee shirt. Directing the employees.

Nice people these two.

It was Maria’s birthday the day I arrived. She sent a piece of birthday cake to my rooms. Nikos picked me up at the airport. Nikos drives me where ever I have to go. And picks me up. Their caves are lovely and clean. Very clean. Take a look at them. www.filoteravillas.gr, www.filoteravillas.com and www.santorini.com/hotels/filoteravillas. These sites will give you a flavor of cave living. They will surprise you!

The second day here, their son Adonis showed up with a bottle of wine. He said it was from his father’s vineyards. A special brew. Please enjoy it. I did, the next day. A cross between a white and red. A distinctive special taste.

Yes, Nikos and Maria besides owning the cave villas also own a vineyard and wine producing facility on Santorini. They ship world wide.

Nikos and Maria live across that street I mentioned earlier. In a small apartment less accommodating than the caves. In November, it gets cold on Santorini. They move to their home on the other side of the island. When it gets colder, they move to their home in Athens. During the winter months, they generally take a one to two month trip to the Caribbean or South Pacific.

It gets better.

Santorini and the Greek isles are not the United States. Many amenities we are accustomed to do not exist or are not provided. Like my clothes getting washed and ironed.

I was warned before I embarked on this odyssey that such would be the case. I came prepared. Purchased shirts and shorts at Orvis. That special material that is light, easy to wash and dry. Generally requiring little or no ironing.

I wash my own clothes. For real. Easy. In the bathroom sink. Drop some dish washing fluid on the clothes. A bit of water. Wash with my hands. Then shake dry.

The clothes still need hanging. Dryers are not common place on the island. Could not hang the clothes in front of my cave accommodation. It would not look right nor would it be proper.

There are clothes lines across the street at the cheaper accommodation. I hung my first washing there to dry. When I returned that evening, Maria came out to greet me. She insisted on ironing my clothes. My savior in disguise!

If you ever plan to come to Santorini, stay with Nikos and Maria. You cannot do better. Their telephone number is 003022860 71110. Fax number 003022860 71555. E-mail [email protected].

Enough for today.

There is much still to share.

This afternoon I am going to a beach somewhere on this island. Where I am guaranteed seeing bare breasted women. And, if I am lucky, some bare assed ones.

Enjoy your day!

As I have said in the past, vaccine distribution to Monroe County and Key West is not good. We seem to be forgotten. It appears political pull helps in getting enough vaccine to take care of an area.

Monroe County and Key West seem to be lacking in that regard.

I am happy for the person in Pensacola who was reported to have had excellent service. Not the case here. And none of us are doing anything wrong!

This morning’s Citizens’ Voice had two interesting comments re vaccine distribution/availability.

“Citizens of Monroe County should be outraged that the Medical Center at Ocean Reef, a private club, was allowed to administer 4,000 vaccines that were not available to the public, only to club members. This represents over 85 percent of the vaccine provided  Monroe County.”

“Now I know why after five tries I am unable to get an appointment for the vaccine: politics trumps health.”

Eugene Robinson is one one of the Washington Post’s finest columnists. He also has a touch of Key West in him. Every year, he and his wife spend one month in Key West. Normally January. They were not here in January. Probably the virus.

Robinson’s Washington Post column this morning is titled “To Rebuild the Grand Old Party, First Tear It Down.”

A passage from the column: “Before a sane, responsible political party can rise like a phoenix from the ashes of today’s dangerously unhinged GOP, there must be ashes to rise from. The nation is going to have to destroy the Republican Party to save it.”

Biden has been impressive so far. As he will continue to be. I have faith in the man.

He is moving fast. The  stimulus package, foreign matters, vaccine, etc.

It is very true that you cannot please all of the people all of the time.

Biden spoke before the National Prayer Breakfast. Called out white supremacy and domestic terrorism. And a multitude of other things.

Brian Burch is the President of CatholicVote. After the Breakfast, Burch slammed him for backing abortion and transgenderism. I do not know if Biden mentioned either during his talk. I suspect not.

One old, the other relatively new. Burch forgets that Biden, as with any President, represents all the people and not just one segment.

John Kennedy had a similar problem. Directed primarily at his Catholic faith. His response simple and understandable: “Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and to God that which is God’s.”

Christopher Plummer died. An outstanding actor. His age at death 91. Did not pass away under normal circumstances. He fell and struck his head. The blow to his head resulted in his death.

One of Plummer’s most famous roles was that he performed in The Sound of Music.

His movies many. However, Plummer most enjoyed his Shakespearean performances. He considered himself a Shakespearean actor rather than a movie one. His famous Shakespearean parts were his performances in Hamlet, Macbeth, Richard III, and as Mark Anthony.

He won his first and only Oscar at age 82. He also was rewarded with 2 Tony and 2 Emmy Awards.

John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men was published this day in 1937.

Steinbeck had a marked influence on my young life. My parents had purchased several volumes of Steinbeck’s works. For their enjoyment, not mine.

I was about 10. The books attracted me.

I would sit in a huge easy chair in the living room. A thick red dictionary at my side.

The first work I read was Of Mice and Men. Obviously I did not understand everything. One thing the book did however was to increase my vocabulary and expose me to a world I did not know. Some of which I was happy not to have experienced.

Over a period of time, I also read The Grapes of Wrath and several other Steinbeck works whose names at the moment I cannot recall.

Looking back, the reading I did probably was not uncommon. There were no television or cell phones in those days. Yes, there was radio. However radio did not particularly turn me on except for baseball.

Enjoy you day!

  Ho Ho Yogi Bear was originally published on Key West Lou

[justheretobreakthings]

Welcome to the Family - Chapter 6

(Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

Word Count: 3,049 (Total Word Count: 15,010) Read on AO3

Story Summary: Lance had been excited about his family taking in a foster kid, eager to get to meet his brand new little brother or sister, who would surely adore and idolize their super cool Big Brother Lance. What he got instead was a sullen, quiet, temperamental teenage housemate with a criminal record and a disastrous haircut.

The days leading up to the beginning of the school year were both too long and not long enough. Too long because there wasn’t a whole lot for Keith to occupy his time with. That was, admittedly, at least a little his own fault, as he spent the vast majority of his time in his room rather than downstairs where things were actually happening.

But it was easier on him this way. The TV in the front room was usually taken, and he didn’t want to interfere with anyone else’s use. Even when it wasn’t, the room was right there adjacent to the stairs and the basement entrance and the front door, all which were constantly trafficked. No way would he be able to relax amidst all that. And there was a family computer in the basement, but it faced outward into the room at large, and Keith hated the feeling of people looking over his shoulder while he was online, no matter how innocuous his browsing may be. Besides, Rachel had brought her trumpet home from summer band on Friday to practice it over the weekend, and the basement was her prefered practice space, so that was.

Tania, after noticing just how much time Keith spent hibernating in his room, had ordered a small used television for it online - despite Keith’s insistence that it wasn’t necessary, and hadn’t she already blown enough money on him over the past few days anyway - but they still had to wait for the delivery.

So the meantime was whiled away by re-reading his books and cautiously trying out the art supplies Tania had bought him for school. He didn’t think much of his artistic abilities, but it was one of the only creative outlets suggested by past therapists and social workers that actually clicked with him. He wouldn’t normally have asked his foster family for supplies, but Altea High required every student to take at least one year of a fine arts elective, so registering for art class had actually been a reason to need them.

The days were not long enough, though, in that, in spite of the way time had dragged, Keith still hadn’t managed to properly make himself feel ready to return to school by the time Monday morning rolled around. He woke early in the morning to a knocking at his door and Manuel’s voice telling him it was time to get up, and went downstairs to an unusually elaborate first-day-of-school breakfast, which Lance and Rachel both ate rather robotically, still adjusting to the waking world after a summer of sleeping in.

He threw on his clothes for the day - some dark gray jeans and a short-sleeved flannel that had formerly been Marco’s and which, to Keith’s surprise, had actually fit him pretty much perfectly, and were in better shape than most of Keith’s own clothes anyhow - and managed to get to the bathroom to finish his morning routine before Lance got to it. He had already managed to learn just how elaborate Lance’s ablutions were, and true to form, he kept Keith and Rachel waiting impatiently downstairs for twenty minutes in order to get his hair and face ‘perfect’. Even though when he finally was satisfied and came to join them, Keith could swear Lance looked exactly the same as he always did.

Rachel led the way out the door, slipping into the driver’s seat of an old scratched-up LeSabre parked at the curb. “You can take shotgun if you want,” she said to Lance as he opened the door of the seat behind her.

“God, no thanks,” Lance said. “I’ve seen you drive. I’m sitting where I’m most likely to survive when you inevitably crash us headlong into the auditorium.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Oh, whatever. Keith will sit up front with me, right, Keith?”

“Uh, sure,” Keith said, opening the door and carefully sliding into the seat.

“Do what you want,” Lance said. “But don’t be surprised if you’re the first to go.”

“Shut up, Lance,” Rachel said as she turned the key in the ignition. She shifted the car into drive and started down the road.

“Tell Keith how many tries it took you to pass your driving test.”

“I passed it eventually, it doesn’t matter.”

“Five tries. And on the third try she ran over a - ”

Rachel cut him off by speeding up and then braking hard at the stop sign on the corner, sending Keith lurching forward and Lance’s face knocking into her headrest. “Oops,” she said flatly. “Sorry, Lance, guess I’m just a bad driver.”

“Vete a la mierda,” Lance muttered, rubbing his forehead with a scowl.

“I’m telling Mamá you’re teaching Keith bad words,” said Rachel.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Keith managed to tune them out not long into the drive. He pulled his feet onto the seat and his knees up to his chest, letting all his focus drift to the buildings and trees and street signs they passed as he stared out the car window, trying to familiarize himself with the new surroundings, look out for landmarks that would make the route easier to remember if he needed to walk to or from school any time soon. Occasionally certain foster families of the past would forget to take him to school or pick him up. Or maybe do so intentionally. He could never be certain.

Lance and Rachel managed to keep up their light bickering all the way up until they pulled into the student parking lot, where Rachel had to try twice to park between the lines of her selected parking space, to Lance’s amusement. Despite Lance’s elaborate morning routine, it seemed they had still managed to arrive at school earlier than most, since the majority of the parking spaces were still empty. That was good. Keith still needed to stop by the front office to pick up his finalized schedule, and the last thing he needed was for that to make him late on the first day of school.

He parted ways from the McClains at the entrance, where they set off to their lockers and Keith to the front office. It was fairly crowded when he entered, students and a few parents trying to get some last-minute arrangements made before classes began. Keith hovered near the doorway, not wanting to barge past anyone or draw undue attention to himself by going to the receptionist.

In the midst of debating how he was going to go about asking for his schedule, his thoughts were interrupted by his name being called. The door to the guidance counselor’s office, adjacent to the front office, had been flung open, and Mr. Smythe stood in the entryway, waving him over.

Keith let out a breath and hurried over. Mr. Smythe was a recognizable presence, if a rather overwhelming one. He was a difficult person to forget, between the shock of bright orange hair on his head to the elaborate matching mustache, from his shoulderpadded blazer to his distinct accent. He’d certainly left an impression when Keith and Tania had met with him a few days prior.

“Keith, my boy, good to see you again!” Mr. Smythe said, beckoning him toward the office. “Come in, come in, I was just about to get your schedule printed up for you.” Keith followed him into the little office silently. He wasn’t sure how long this would take, so he opted to keep standing rather than take a seat in one of the chairs along the wall by the door.

“Now,” Mr. Smythe said, plopping himself into his own chair and turning to his computer screen. “I fit you into the art elective you wanted and made room for you in one of the Spanish 1 classes that fit the rest of your schedule. We also managed to get a gym uniform in for you in your size in time for you to be able to participate in your Phys. Ed. class today, so you can let Señora McClain know she needn’t worry about that.”

“Okay,” Keith said.

The printer on Mr. Smythe’s desk whirred as the counselor swiveled his chair to face Keith directly. “Regarding your core classes,” he continued. “For most of them we’ve decided to go ahead and place you in the standard sophomore level courses. I understand that there may be a few concepts from freshman courses that may need to be reviewed for you, but I’ve given your teachers fair warning ahead of time, so they’re aware that you may need a little bit of one-on-one assistance. Don’t be afraid to ask for it. I’ve also gone ahead and gotten you signed up for peer tutoring during your study hall block, so that could be a means to help you catch up.”

“Oh.” Keith’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his gaze. The whole situation was embarrassing, him being as far behind in school as he was. He knew he wasn’t stupid - despite what certain foster family members or classmates had told him in the past - but between constantly switching schools, his discipline record, assignments and books gone missing, the absolute joke of ‘education’ that the juvenile center had stuck him with all through last school year, and a decade of intense stress as the icing on the cake, well… he was probably lucky that his grades weren’t even worse.

“The only class that we couldn’t put you in sophomore level for was your Mathematics requirement,” Mr. Smythe was continuing, and Keith shook himself back into the present. “Seeing as the syllabus is much more linear than your other core classes. We’ve placed you in Algebra 1. However, if you put some elbow grease into your studies, Ms. Ryner has said that she would be happy to work with you to map out an independent study curriculum to get you back on track. If you go that route, you can have Pre-Calculus finished by graduation, same as the majority of your classmates. Of course, only Algebra 2 is a required credit for graduation, but colleges will be looking for - ”

“The regular track is fine, Mr. Smythe,” Keith said, immediately wincing afterward when he realized he had just interrupted.

Mr. Smythe, fortunately, didn’t seem to take offense at the interruption, and instead simply gave him a brief nod before pulling the schedule out of the printer tray and handing it to him. “Well, the option is available all this semester in case you change your mind. We’ll be happy to make accommodations.”

“Thanks,” Keith grunted. He accepted the paper and scanned the schedule.

“And Keith?”

“Mm?”

“That doesn’t just apply to classes.” Keith looked back up from the schedule to find Mr. Smythe’s gaze fixed firmly on him, intense and sincere. “If you are having any difficulties adjusting here, any concerns, or if you just need someone to talk to. My job isn’t just schedule planning and test prep, you know.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Why… are you telling me that?”

Mr. Smythe shrugged. “Thought I’d make the offer. It’s never easy for a new student to transition, and I know you have a bit of a, ah, colorful history in school settings - ”

“Who told you that?” Keith snapped.

“Your transcripts,” Mr. Smythe replied simply.

“... Oh.”

“Of course, it’s entirely up to you if you want to meet with me or not,” Mr. Smythe continued. “Señora McClain did inquire about it, but doesn’t want to force anything. Just be aware, my door is always open.” He leaned back in his chair and swiveled his gaze to his computer. “Feel free to run along, now, Keith. Wouldn’t want to make you late for your first class.”

“Um, right,” Keith said, hesitating only a moment before backing out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

His next stop was his locker, and thankfully he remembered where that was from the school tour he’d been given last week, and it was close, only two halls down from the administrative wing. The hallway was crowded when he got there, and he clung to the straps of his backpack tightly as he wove his way through the mass of students and to his locker.

He hung his backpack onto the hook and grabbed some supplies for his morning classes. Biology was the first listed on the sheet that Mr. Smythe had given him, located in room 224, which was… he wasn’t sure where. It was a lot to remember after only a single tour.

Biting his lip, he looked around the crowd of students. Lockers were grouped by year, so this hallway should be full of sophomores, which hopefully meant that a familiar face was nearby. After a few moments of scanning, he spotted an orange headband poking up from the crowd, taller than most of the other students around, and he set off in that direction. He recognized that headband, he was pretty sure, and the odds of another student in the same school having that same particular taste in hair accessories seemed slim.

Sure enough, the boy with the headband was the same as the one who had been visiting the house the other day, and Lance was with him, chatting idly while leaning up against a nearby locker, the girl who’d been with them there as well, standing with her arms wrapped around a bright green trapper keeper.

The boy - Keith couldn’t quite recall his name; Hank, maybe? - noticed his approach, and greeted him with a smile and a wave, that got the others’ attention and had them turning to him as well. “Hey Keith!” he said brightly.

“Hey...” Keith said in return.

“Hunk,” the boy supplied. Oh, well, he had been close.

“Right.” He cleared his throat and held up his schedule to the others. “Do, um, do you guys know - could one of you show me - um, room 224?”

“Here, lemme see that,” Lance said, snatching the schedule out of Keith’s hand to examine. “Huh, same bio class as me, so you can just follow me there. Same lunch blocks too, looks like. And English, and computer science… and gym…” He raised a brow at Keith. “You stalking me, man? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but - ”

“I’m not stalking you,” Keith said, glaring as he grabbed his schedule back from him. “I didn’t pick the schedule.”

“Relax, I’m joking. Just making sure you’re aware how blessed you are to have me in so many of your classes.”

“I see we’re playing fast and loose with the definition of the word ‘blessed’ this morning,” the girl remarked, and for the life of him Keith couldn’t remember what her name was.

“Pidge here is just jealous of you,” Lance said to Keith. Pidge, then. Keith repeated it in his head a few times to commit it to memory.

“I am jealous of no one,” Pidge said. “I’ve got most of my classes with Hunk, so if anyone should be jealous, it’s you.”

“Aww, Pidge,” Hunk said with a smile. “That’s sweet of you to - wait, what do you want?”

“Your cookie at lunch.”

“No.”

“Then I take back my compliment.”

“All right, well,” Lance straightened up from the row of lockers and stretched. “Come on Keith, I’ll show you where Biology. Let’s give these two some privacy to get their flirt on.”

He made a gesture to follow as he stepped away, as Hunk let out an indignant squawk and Pidge stuck her tongue out at him. Keith hurried to fall into place next to him. “Wait, those two are dating?” he asked.

Lance smirked. “Heh, nah, they just get annoyed when I say they are. So, of course, I say it all the time. Why, you looking to get together with one of them? Because I gotta tell you, I don’t think you’re either of their type - for a number of reasons.”

Keith grimaced and shook his head. “No, I don’t date.”

“Huh,” said Lance. “Guess I’ll have to tell Pidge she was right.”

“What?”

“Here we are,” Lance said, dropping the subject abruptly and gesturing grandly into the doorway of a classroom. “Welcome to the Joy of Biology.”

He moved toward the back to plop into an empty desk, and Keith followed along behind him, staring straight ahead and watching the other students in the corners of his vision. Cautiously he edged toward the desk beside Lance’s. “So, do we just sit anywhere, or - ?”

He paused when he realized that Lance was already striking up a conversation with the occupant of his other desk neighbor, a girl with wire-frame glasses and a thick black ponytail. Deciding not to disturb them, Keith slid silently into the open desk, setting his notebook and folder on the desk’s surface and opting to simply remain quiet until class began.

The teacher, Mrs. Montgomery, arrived right before the bell rang and the students who were still standing as they chatted amongst themselves, presumably catching up after the summer break, hastened into the empty desks that remained. She thankfully didn’t try any sort of first day of school look-what-a-cool-teacher-I-am opening stunt, and instead opened the class fairly dully, dropping a stack of syllabi onto one of the desks in the front row for the students to pass around and returning to the front podium to read out the roll call.

It wasn’t exactly a big social occasion or anything worse being nervous over, but he still rehearsed saying ‘here’ in his head a dozen times over so that he was prepared when she called his name. “Kogane, Keith.”

“Here,” he replied.

He may have messed it up somehow anyway, though, because a kid sitting two desks away jumped in his seat and whipped his head around at the sound of Keith’s voice to look him up and down. He had floppy brown bangs and a sharply angled face, and the moment his gaze met Keith’s, his eyes widened and he quickly turned away again.

Keith narrowed his eyes at the back of the kid’s head. Something about his face struck him as vaguely familiar, just a twinge of recognition in his gut. He wracked his mind, but he couldn’t place it, and he reluctantly let the matter drop from his thoughts when the teacher finished with roll call and started passing out the textbooks.

#vldgen #vld fic #voltron fic #keith #lance #my writing #fic: welcome to the family

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of March 25th, 2020

Best of this Week: Black Panther #22 (Legacy #194) - Ta-Nehisi Coates, Daniel Acuna, Ryan Bodenheim, Chris O’Halloran and Joe Sabino

Can T’Challa ever be redeemed?

Most people might not know, but I have something of a distaste for the King of Wakanda for various reasons over his long, illustrious, heroic career and, over time, it has all spun into a neverending flood of anti-T’Challa bias as time has gone on. From his time as part of the Illuminati to his failed relationship with Storm, I have hated this character and the fact that his misdeeds have gone mostly unpunished...until now.

The Black Panther has never been an apologetic hero and he shouldn’t have to be because he is a king and needs to be strong for his people. Though with his nation on Earth and in Outer Space under siege by the resurrected Erik Killmonger with a symbiote of the former Emperor N’Jadaka, T’Challa has trials to face before he’s able to command his people and see his defeat. His biggest question is, what is his name and will he be able to overcome his own transgressions and become the leader his people truly need?

The main theme of Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Black Panther story is redemption. This issue begins with Zenzi, one of the first new villains introduced by Coates in his initial Black Panther series back in 2016, and gives us a little bit of her backstory with some history involving the original Killmonger. Through Ryan Bodenheim’s pencils, we see the simmering anger and power that she’s been capable of since her introduction and why she’s so eager to see the end of men like T’Challa who use their people and then discard them like Killmonger did for her, giving her superpowers and then trying to have her executed.

Bodenheim and Chris O’Halloran on colors gives this scene and her subsequent conversation with Bast in the body of a child a sense of weight as we now are able to understand why she’s on a mission to rid Wakanda of false rulers, Gods and Kings as Killmonger killed her entire village for his own ends and she likely feared T’Challa was doing the same to Wakanda. O’Halloran uses soft and hazy colors for the flashback, employing slight green and purple hues and switches it up to vibrant greens for Bast’s astral projection and Zenzi’s clothes as the Goddess convinces her to support Wakanda against Emperor N’Jadaka.

At the same time, T’Challa finds himself within the Djalia, the Plane of Wakandan Memory, facing off against his many ancestors to gain their help and fealty so that he may finally put this battle to rest. The main problem he faces, however, are both their numbers himself as a King. Daniel Acuna takes over the art for this portion of the issue and absolutely stuns throughout with impressively smooth linework and coloring which gives distinct borders to characters and their clothing and backgrounds while being absolutely beautiful at the same time. 

Joe Sabino’s lettering also shines here as he makes the distinction between T’Challa and the many other Black Panthers by giving him black letters and word bubbles while the rest have purple letters because of their nature as ethereal beings. Not only that, but his sound effects accentuate the panels perfectly as the “TWOK” from a headbutt is given a yellow hue while being transparent to show impact and a “THUD” from  T’Challa being swept at the feet is colored in a bright blue that accentuates the yellow background.

One of his female ancestors mocks his so-called “preparation” as he summons a white, luminescent spear to fight them all before she summons the Ebony Blade of the Black Knight (see Black Panther 22 - 23, 2005) and slashes him across the back, revealing his own recent past to him. This is meant to serve as a way to show how T’Challa is not as infallible as he makes himself out to be, considering how many times he’s been on the wrong side of history in regards to the world, his people, his lovers and his friends.

Coates has obviously done his research into Black Panther’s best and worst moments as the first flashback we get is from Jonathan Hickman's New Avengers (#21, 2013) after the Illuminati defeated the heroes of another Earth to save their own, the caveat being that they would have to destroy the other Earth. This was one of the lowest moments for the hero as he couldn’t do what needed to be done and King Namor had to, knowing that sacrifices had to be made in order to save the Earth. He shrank away from his duties of protecting the Earth - of protecting Wakanda after The Black Order had attacked it merely ten issues prior.

Daniel Acuna portrays T’Challas fear and reticence to commit such an atrocious act by having his face mostly shadowed and showing him cry as King T’Chaka lambasts him from the spirit world for his cowardice. Coates and Acuna then cut back to the hooded Panther and she asks what his ancestors should call the boy who scorned his legacy and T’Challa, still reeling from pain, says his own name before being slashed again.

Acuna begins the next flashback with a beautiful wide show of T’Challa looking upon a vibrant purple and almost 3D looking silhouette of the secret meeting location of the Illuminati before they wiped the memory of Steve Rogers. This was because they decided to destroy planets when the honorable soldier would not and T’Challa is framed in the background of these shots, just watching it happen. Coates makes it a point to stress that “No friendship [was] too precious to be spurned.” Then he is attacked by the Spirit of his grandfather, Azzuri.

Thematically, this makes sense as Azzuri and Steve Rogers first met when the Red Skull and Hydra Nazis tried to invade Wakanda for Vibranium and the two heroes had to fight them off, becoming friends and allies over the course of their battles together (see Marvel Knights’ Flag of our Fathers, 2010). Acuna gives the T’Challa/Azzuri fight a sense of speed by using a lot of blur lines as well as struggle squiggles as T’Challa is placed in a chokehold. As he breaks free, Azzuri disappears into a cloud of hazy, purple smoke.

We are then given a flashback of what I consider to be his greatest failure, his broken vow and fight against Storm during the events of Avengers vs. X-Men where he stood against Mutantkind after the first mutant child was born post Scarlet Witch’s Decimation of them. The child, Hope Summers, was prophesied to be either the savior of mutants or the destroyer of everything and Black Panther cast his marriage aside during the conflict (AvX #5, 2012), though it was continued in Coates' series years later.

Of course, while ancestors are supposed to tear you down, it was his mother that proceeded to build him back up. The final flashback given is T’Challa’s birth mother, Nyami, showing T’Challa how King T’Chaka also grieved after his wife's death, but because he was not just one man, but a nation, he had to move past it and that’s what this whole story has been about. T’Challa’s actions have all been about him and his decisions and not about Wakanda as a whole. He forgets that he is the crown and therefore the Nation itself.

Coates has become a master of longform storytelling as he’s managed to craft a saga of almost fifty issues of T’Challa taking responsibility for his crown and Coates has framed that excellently by the name he keeps giving when his ancestors ask him who he is: T’Challa. The wrong answer. Acuna show’s the various ancestors surrounding the man, waiting for him to give the correct answer as his mother encourages him and he stands for a moment before speaking. What should he be called?

King. King of Wakanda.

In that very instant, Acuna draws all of the ancestors giving King T’Challa the, now iconic, Wakanda salute as he demands their allegiance. He feels so strong, so complete as a character now that he accepts and acknowledges his many faults as part of who he is. He doesn’t need to apologize for them because they are a part of who he is as a man, but when he is a King, he must be better. He must protect his people and that is why he will be able to stop N’Jadaka in the coming battle, just like he stopped Killmonger all those years ago as well.

This issue of Black Panther was phenomenal and really shows how much Ta-Nehisi Coates has grown from his initial few books which were mostly full of world building. He’s shown that he can create an amazing and expansive story that utilizes not only T’Challa’s extensive history, but also that of the Marvel Universe at large to make this story seem grand and far reaching as something on this scale should. 

Ryan Bodenheim does have amazing skills as a penciller, but I found myself far more engaged with Daniel Acuna’s style throughout this issue as he manages to make the fight seem so ethereal while also focusing on some of my favorite moments of Marvel History - not to mention his colors are always so vibrant and loud, popping off the pages with the intensity that readers have come to expect from him.

I hope that the rest of this series continues this upward slope because this was fantastic and it gets a high recommend from me!

Also, support me on Patreon:

https://www.patreon.com/join/TyTalksComics

#marvel comics #black panther #killmonger #wakanda #ta nehisi coates #ryan bodenheim #daniel acuna #joe sabino #comics #comic review #avengers

[neen-writes]

Iron Legends: Reforged -- Chapter 15

Series: Fairy Tail

Characters: Gajeel, Levy, plus appearances from Natsu and Lucy.

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Sci-fi

Summary: The old lab had always been fuel for a good story, something you would half-heartedly joke about going to sometime.  Some did, and when they came back they never talked about it again.  The legends circulated, telling of ghosts, monsters, and anything else someone would be likely to conjure up about an abandoned building.  But even with all the stories meant to keep everyone away, there are still those for whom the intrigue is too tempting.  

Read the Reforged chapters on FFnet here, Ao3 here, and read the entire original story here!!  AND find this fic’s soundtrack here!

Note: Here it is!  I found my motivation to finish this edit in all of your words of support.  You guys are the best, honestly, and I am so lucky to have you all in this community,  Every one of you who said something, even just in tags, made me want to finish this.  I struggled with editing this chapter and making enough changes because I love this part of the story so much as is, but I think I managed to throw in a little bit of new stuff!  That all said, It would mean a lot of yall left kudos or comments on this chapter on Ao3, or if you want a little giggle then read my foreword for this chapter update over there.  Because I have decided I do NOT care what little trolls on the internet say and I will NOT let them steal this hobby from me, or chase me away from something I SO love doing.  ANYWAY, I hope yall enjoy!

Ch. 1  Ch. 2  Ch. 3  Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch.10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13 Ch. 14

“Chief!”  The young lieutenant’s voice called out across the snow, echoing inside the building where Igneel found himself supervising.  “Come see this!”  The urgency in his voice brought the red-head outside quickly, trudging through the white frost.

“What have you found, Laharl?” he asked, eyes scanning the area around them.  The other officer regarded him with a furrowed brow, standing over a specific area in the snow.  Other officers had fanned out over the rest of the property, seeking any clues or signs of activity.

“Signs of a struggle,” Laharl replied.  He gestured with his hands at areas of the snow that were shallower than the rest, even though a fresh layer of snow had settled over it.   “If we had come here maybe a day later, we might not have noticed this at all, the new snow would have covered it,” he explained, “From what I can see there is a definite trail from that window,”  Laharl pointed, then trailed his finger in the direction that followed the set of indentations, “To around here where it looks like the struggle took place in this entire area.  Right now it looks to be a radius of about 100 feet, but there might be even more.  You can almost see the soil underneath in some places.”

“Do you think it was the girl?” Igneel questioned.  To his initial disappointment, his lieutenant shook his head.

“No.  These are too large to have been her, based on her description, but it doesn’t rule out that she was here.  I’d wager these tracks are male by the size, and there are multiple sets.”  Laharl adjusted his glasses, glancing at the intrigued chief.  “There was definitely more than one person here, I’d say no more than a day ago judging by the snow cover.  They left in that direction,” he pointed towards the back perimeter, with the open gate, “And the tracks turn to tire imprints.”

A concerned scowl fell onto Igneel’s features, and he crossed his arms.  “Does any of this help us?”

There was a heavy pause from the younger man, before he stepped over to another area of snow that looked to have been freshly disturbed by him earlier.  The red-head followed close behind, less than thrilled by the hesitation.  “Depends how we’re defining helpful,” he said lowly, as he gestured to a spot in the snow that stopped Igneel straight in his tracks.  

There was a large, pink area in the ice.  The area of discoloration seemed to be the epicenter of the disturbances in the snow, and where Laharl had moved the fresher powder, he could see the more distinct, deep crimson beneath.  Now almost turning black with time.

“God damn it…” Igneel hissed under his breath, running a weary hand through his red locks.  Between the signs of struggle they had found in Levy’s home, and now this… things were not looking good.  In any respect.  But with the discovery of the blood, they had just been given their cause to travel to Hargeon.  “Have you—“

Laharl held up a small, labeled glass vial, with watery red contents within.  “Already done.  The chill of the snow will have helped preserve the sample, we have a good chance of running it for a match.  I’ve already taken photos of the scene as well.”

Igneel nodded, at the very least proud of his officer’s efficiency.  Makaraov had made a good call recommending him.  But now, he had to work hard to steady his breathing.  I can’t let Natsu find this out,  he thought, only able to imagine the reaction from his equally fiery son.  “Put a STAT on that sample, I want it processed as soon as possible.  Make sure all of this,” he waved to the area around them, “Finds its way into the report and nowhere else but Makaraov’s desk.   The results as well.  If we can match it to Levy or any of the missing people we have our case.”  A curt nod from Laharl ended the conversation, and Igneel turned from him to leave.  

Even with the rush on the evidence, it would at least be another day or so until they got a match, regardless of how promising all this was.  And even more time after that to present and evaluate all of the evidence for the case.   We don’t have that kind of time. With the most chilling piece of the puzzle uncovered, the entire tone of the investigation had changed.  Levy’s well being had become significantly more urgent.

They were now walking a very fine line between a rescue, or a recovery mission.  And he hoped with everything he had that it was former.

By her count, it was day three when he brought her up from bed rest again to show her the training hall he had mentioned the day before.

In front of her was a large, thick glass panel that extended across the wall in front of them.  The room they were in was fairly small, only large enough for a few people, and an equally small control panel was just in front of the window.  Jose had positioned himself there shortly after they entered, and Levy looked down through the window at the large open space below.  Is this an arena?  Levy swallowed hard.

“I want you to see his progress.  What a difference another day can make,” the scientist spoke with his back to her, eagerly looking down at the arena. Levy didn’t even bother to look at the man, remaining stiff in front of the window.  She was going to see him...   “Among other things.  But I needn’t bother you with the technical details…”

At first glance, the empty room just appeared to be an expansive, round area. However, multiple compartments lining the walls, and a large set of doors on opposite ends of the room hinted there was more to it.  She leaned forward to try and look at the ceiling, which was vaulted high enough make her think all the combat in here would not be limited to the ground.  The only details she could make out at the top were some air vents; exhaust ducts maybe.  They almost look like the vents in a chemistry hood… she thought, wondering what could possibly happen within that would require that kind of ventilation.  “I take it no one can see into this room, just out?” she asked, tight-lipped.

“Of course,” he replied quickly.

He loves this.  He’s playing with me by showing this to me.  He could just as easily lock me up and keep me away.  Or worse, turn me into one of his subjects…  she thought bitterly, her eyes sweeping the room around them briefly.   Levy couldn’t have been more powerless here, but it didn’t stop her from studying her surroundings every chance she got.  

Memorizing the way to every location, watching the fingers punching codes into every key-pad, and making note of each control system she could identify.    The blunette was building a mental map, and marking the spots of interest along the way.  If she was given a piece of paper, she’d be able to draw the entire layout of what she had thus far seen from memory, down to the last detail.

Levy was broken from her thoughts by a loud, echoing click, and watched the doors on either side of the room open slowly.  From one door, a lithe man with blonde hair stepped through.  She squinted to get a better look at him, noticing that the empty expression on his face was eerily similar to Rogue’s, and she realized she had seen him in the holding wing the day before.  He had no restraints on his hands, but judging by the blank look on his face, it didn’t seem like he needed it.  A model, conditioned citizen.

“X773, our light user.  One of my proudest conditioning products next to our dear Rogue.  The two work quite well together actually, we were able to forge a very interesting dynamic with them and their original conditioning process.  And they are quite easy to bait against one another, should one ever seek to act up,” Jose chimed in, but Levy’s eyes were fixed on the other set of doors, barely registering what he told her.  She knew who was meant to come through, she wouldn’t have been there otherwise, and she wasn’t ready for it.  “He responds well to Sting,” Jose added, bringing her back to the other man.

The blonde stood, composed, staring at the darkness beyond the other doorway.

Sure enough, a large figure slowly ambled out of the dark, feet dragging on the ground.  The sight of him struck her cold to her core.  Subconsciously, Levy stepped forward to see him better.  

His hair was even wilder than it was when they met, concealing much of his face.  His entire posture was that of submission, shoulders hunched and cuffed arms hanging limply in front of him. Gajeel stopped in the light, and the door slid shut behind him with a loud boom that didn’t even make him flinch.

Levy’s eyes shifted to Jose, watching him punch something into the pad by the window.  A buzz followed, and suddenly the box-cuffs released from Gajeel remotely, dropping to the floor.  

There was a moment where she looked between the two of them, and the setting where they now stood opposite one another, with nothing else in the room.  The realization dawned on her heavily, like a slap in the face.  “You’re… fighting them?” Levy breathed, finally understanding the purpose of the setup, and connecting it to the ‘trials’ she had read in the journals.

“Testing them,” Jose corrected,  “How else are we to keep them sharp, and show prospective buyers how their merchandise can perform in combat?”

“What if they refuse?” Levy’s eyes focused on the motionless iron dragon.

“They don’t.”

Another loud buzz filled the room, and the blonde immediately put his hands out to his sides.  It seemed that the noise signaled the beginning of the test, but Gajeel had yet to respond like he intended to participate.  

There was a brief hesitation, before the other man rushed his opponent, closing the distance as a blur with hands glowing white.  Only a puff of dust indicated where he had stood seconds before.

Her stomach dropped when Gajeel flew to the side, impacting the side wall with such force she could hear the boom reverberate around them.  He slumped to the floor, and rolled over slowly, barely trying to haul himself up onto his elbows.  Sting cast his eyes in their direction, knowing he was being watched even if he could not see.  There was something expectant in his gaze, seeking either instruction or approval.

She could hear an annoyed growl from the scientist next to her, who reached for the same control pad and pressed a different key.  “Continue!” he barked, and immediately the light-user whirled for Gajeel.  So obedient, no questioning.

An intercom system?  Must be one way unless he presses that button to speak,  Levy thought, before the next burst of movement drew her attention back to the room.  She began to wonder what Jose had meant about him using Sting and Rogue against each other.  Could it be… how he used me against Gajeel?  The journals had mentioned them being siblings… would he go so far as threaten them?  To get the other to perform?  The overwhelming answer in her head was yes.  He would go that far.  Even farther.

The fight was a total sweep.  Several minutes felt like hours as Sting thrashed a non-responsive Gajeel, throwing him back and forth across the room.  Every strike he made on the iron dragon was accompanied with a flash of white light, and for a split second Levy admired how brilliant it was.  But he eventually stopped even using his own abilities, and just fists alone.  At best Gajeel rolled once, and she could hear a deep, sickening groan of pain.  But nothing else.  He didn’t even try to block.

The tension from Jose only seemed to build, and he shot a sharp glance at Levy, looking at her in a way that implied he was trying to think of something.  Almost like he had started to blame her for Gajeel’s disappointing ‘performance.’  Looking back to the comm, he spoke into it again.  “Enough!”  The doors on either side of the room opened back up.  “Place his restraints back on and proceed back into your hall.”  Sting, without hesitation, retrieved the apparatus and placed it back over the barely conscious man’s hands.  Grabbing him by the arm, he dragged him to the one set of open doors and tossed him within, before proceeding back to his own exit.

On day four, Jose didn’t come for her.  But on day five, she was brought to the same place, to watch the same event unfold.  Sting adeptly tossed a weakened Gajeel, and she found herself unable to watch.  The match was significantly shorter than the first.

Day six was Rogue.  When the buzzer signalled the start of the match, he did not rush his battered opponent as eagerly as his brother had.  The moment of hesitation did not go unnoticed by neither Levy or Jose, but it only took shouted commands from the scientist to ultimately do as he was told.  Albeit, with a great deal less intensity than the previous battle with Gajeel at the lab.  More than once it had been clear that he was pulling his punches, less inclined to attack the already downed dragon.  Almost as though something had been taken from him in that first fight.  Or given.

It took one hit with a tendril of black energy to knock Gajeel down with no sign of getting back up.  Barely even a groan.  Rogue stood there, staring almost anxiously at the window, waiting for a command to either proceed, or put him away.  By that time, Jose was in a near fury, pacing violently.  He muttered something about deprivation and failures, and Levy took note of how easily he lost his proud composure when the world did not operate as he saw fit.  “God damn useless…” he muttered, “I will not waste him…!”  The scientist whirled to the control panel and hit the intercom, “Put him back and return to your entry!”  

Rogue did as he was told using his shadows to place his restraints back on and drag him back into his hallway, while the shadow-user turned wordlessly to his own.

“The reintroduction to the treatments should not be this debilitating.  He should at least have some residual responses from his past conditioning!” he hissed under his breath, barely pausing in his pacing.  He turned his aggravation to Levy, “That useless animal has one last chance to get himself together before I ‘bring you back to life’ and put you in there with Rogue and let him watch.  I will not let this turn into wasted time and funds!” he snapped, causing her to back away from him with horrified understanding on her features.  She knew he planned to use her in some way against Gajeel, the way he used the brothers against each other, but the way he planned to struck her with renewed fear.

As long as he was using Gajeel, in any manner, he needed her on standby.  Because she was his control on the iron dragon.  Even if he had already exerted her effect on Gajeel, Jose had no plans on letting it stop there.  If Gajeel continued to defy him, if he lashed out and lost it, Jose could just use her at a moment’s notice, and she couldn’t even be sure if that would stop him at this point.  If Gajeel continued to do anything but what the scientist wanted, Jose planned to use her.  In whatever manner he needed to.  And the idea of being in the same space as Rogue again kept her up that entire night.

It was another full day before she saw Jose again, thankfully.  She’d gotten not a wink of sleep, and spent the day in the infirmary feeling miserable, staring at the ceiling.  Jose’s warning hung heavy on her, and every time she tried to close her eyes in the night, all she saw was Rogue and his weapons flying for her, igniting a throb of pain in her shoulder.  The threat of her being exposed—completely unprotected this time—to that again was enough to keep her tossing through the night.

Her reprieve from the scientist’s torment, however, was short-lived.  She was fetched again the next day, and found herself staring again at the arena.  He had less to say to her this time, and just stared seriously into the space below.  He seemed more expectant, and more tense.

The familiar click and hiss of the releasing doors finally echoed around them, and she watched the dark exits anxiously.  First, an auburn-haired man emerged into the area, walking smoothly and confidently, head high.  Levy vaguely remembered seeing him when she was in the holding wing, and wondered why Jose would switch opponents on the last trial.  Is this is trump card to get Gajeel to do what he wanted? she thought.

The blunette leaned forward with intrigue to look him over.  He had the same hand restraints that Gajeel usually wore, but shockingly had also had a metal mask over his mouth that locked behind his head.  With the additional restraint, she wondered how much difficulty this subject gave them in comparison to Gajeel.  From what she could see, one eye was forced shut by a thin, pink scar that ran down the side of his face, and by his walk he seemed very familiar with the setup.  Although at the moment, it did not seem that he had any intentions of being anywhere but there.  He raised his arms and tilted his head, staring at the window patiently waiting for them to be released.

“X791.  Our toxin user, though he seems to far more enjoy basic combat,” Jose spoke up, “But more importantly, infuriating enough to make me want to hit him. Another who shows great promise in ability but resists conditioning with gusto… if anyone is going to ignite our dear beast, it’s him,” he explained.  “Calls himself Cobra, for some reason he doesn’t bother to go by his real name.”

Shortly after, Gajeel entered.  Or rather, staggered his way in.  The flesh that she could see was blossoming with purple bruises, and fresh scabs littered his skin.  His legs shook and almost gave out more than once waiting for the match to begin.  As the doors closed behind them, Jose hit the same command that released the restraints as before, freeing both subjects.

The one-eyed man lifted his hands and rubbed his wrists, focusing on Gajeel and giving him a once over.  She could hear a chuckle through the speakers, surprised that he had made any sound at all with how silent Rogue and Sting had been.  There was life--no--individuality in his eyes.

“I’d heard that you’d come back,” the sly man called out to Gajeel, who seemed to flinch at the sound of another’s voice.  At least it was some sign of life.  “How nice of you to join us.  Here to fuck up our chances at freedom again?” Cobra tilted his head, a single violet eye scrutinizing the silent beast across from him.  The lack of answer or even an acknowledgment of any kind brought a scowl to his face, and as the buzzer sounded, he rushed Gajeel with unbridled eagerness.

Levy watched with a painful sense of déjà vu as Gajeel shot back into the doors he had come through, and Cobra stood for just a brief moment with a knee raised from the kick.  

“Fight back,” he ordered in a half growl as he strode towards the slumped figure.  He stood over Gajeel, reaching down to grab the front of his tattered shirt, lifting him off the ground with a strained heave and spinning him to put his back to the room.  “Would you fight if I told you a secret?” Cobra whispered to him with an ever so slight tilt of his head.  There was no response.  “Pff.  Suit yourself.”  He pulled back a fist, and in another blur, Gajeel was flying back across the length of the room.

She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.  She felt like she was drowning in her inability to do anything about this torture, and the other man hadn’t even shown any of his abilities yet. “He’s not…”  Levy had started to say, and an annoyed grumble answered her, cutting her off.

“He will,” Jose snapped.  “Just wait.”

Cobra rolled his head, cracking his neck, and glared at the pathetic lump on the floor across the arena.  He knew Gajeel before.  What he had been before the collapse.  He’d seen that beast in his cage, he’d even faced him once before.  There was a fire in his eyes that had never gone out, a hatred that fueled him every day and turned him more and more into an uncontrollable animal, all the way until he found a way to channel that rage to try and engineer an escape.  That man was not the same one that was in front of him now.  A mere husk, just existing and waiting to die was what faced him.

And it infuriated him.  He would not let him just give up, they had no chance otherwise.  Giving up let them win.  The brothers were a lost cause, and he had not seen the powerhouse since they were moved here, which left him as the one beacon of defiance against these monsters.  Damned if he would allow Gajeel to join those obedient ranks.

“Fight back, damn it.  Quit wallowing and fight me!  Coward!” he snarled, rushing again.  “No wonder you couldn’t protect her!”  He threw a kick towards the side of the downed man, but his eye widened when an iron hand took hold of his ankle.  Cobra’s violet eyes met with blazing red ones, glowing in the shadow of his face.  Fangs glistened in an animal snarl that cut through the air as a sudden and involuntary chill shot through him.  There he is, he thought, just before he was violently yanked to the side and found himself impacting the wall for a change.

Levy stared, wide-eyed, at the sudden change.  She saw, right in front of her, the effect she had on him.

Cobra coughed to regain his breath but recovered quickly, and watched the iron beast slowly pull himself to his feet, remaining hunched and swaying gently on his feet.  Gajeel looked completely feral; everything in his demeanor, even the atmosphere changed.  Iron scales spread quickly over his body, and his hands flexed threateningly as he rolled his shoulders with a deep, rumbling growl.  He tightened into a stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground.  “How... do you know that?” he hissed, his voice reverberating in his chest.

Cobra shook off his surprise and the brewing wariness in his gut.  “Don’t you remember?  And we were so close once,” Cobra teased, “I hear everything,” the poison user smirked, a dark miasma beginning to swirl around his hands.

That answer wasn’t good enough, as Gajeel coiled and rushed forward at the same time as Cobra.  The serpent dropped and slid at the last instant, dodging an overhead punch as he threw a maroon wave up at the dragon’s chin.  The iron dragon flew straight upwards towards the high ceiling, but quickly oriented himself in the air such that the balls of his feet hit the roof and absorbed the impact.   With a roar, he shot straight back down at Cobra before he even had time to shift from the previous attack.

A cloud of the toxic miasma exploded outwards shrouded them both, and Cobra let out a shaky breath, crouching mere feet from where the iron dragon had hit.  The outward wave had been just enough to redirect an attack he otherwise might not have been fast enough to evade.  In the dark, he saw glowing eyes swing towards him, iron bands already locked over his nose and mouth to avoid breathing in the poison.  Cobra beat him to the next attack, launching a shoulder charge straight at his chest.  Gajeel was thrust back by what looked like a missile of toxic vapor, with Cobra at its center.  The iron dragon’s back hit the wall once more, but without wasting a second, he lashed out to take Cobra by the throat and swing him outwards to the right onto the wall next to him.  

Gajeel released him, only long enough to push off the wall, spin, and position himself back in front of Cobra and take him by the neck again.  Effortlessly, he slid and lifted his panting opponent up the wall by the suffocating grip and held him there, gradually tightening his hold.  Immediately the miasma dissipated, no longer maintained by the user who was now just struggling to breathe.  With his free hand, Gajeel ripped away the bands from the lower half of his face and released several heavy breaths to make up for what he held in.  

His head burned with the desire to destroy his opponent, thinking of nothing else but killing what threatened him.  Every blow, every surge of pain and agony over the last few days only fueled his rage.  No other coherent thought existed besides winning.  Every sense was electrified with fury, and the “Enough!” over the intercom was only a tiny echo in the back of his tempestuous thoughts.  He couldn’t even put together his own words, not sure if he’d be able to get out more than incoherent snarls.

Levy was stunned to silence and shallow breaths by the brutality that she had just witnessed.  It seemed like it had gone on forever, but in reality it hadn’t even been five minutes.  Who was this?  Was this what they had wanted him to be?  She’d never seen her dragon this way, but some part of her knew that this was always in him.  She’d read the journals, read the article about the collapse.  And even if he wasn’t the one that killed all those people, he had started it.  And here he was, looking barely human, set off by the mere mention of her.  

At first, Jose seemed completely satisfied by the change.  Like this was exactly what he had expected would happen.  But with Gajeel hovering over a struggling Cobra, not responding to his commands, he became frantic.

“Th-that secret!” Cobra coughed out, grasping uselessly at the iron arm that held him.  His voice, literally strangled, wasn’t loud enough to be picked up by the comm to the observation room, especially with Jose as distracted as he was.  “Don’t you—“

Gajeel barked a vicious snarl at Cobra, threatening him to shut up immediately.  Permanently.  But the man continued to resist, coughing out words. ‘I said enough!’ The voice called out again overhead, unheeded.  

“Damn it,” Jose hissed under his breath.  “This was the exact problem as…”  The man shook his head, using different keys on the pad now, not seeming to be able to punch them fast enough to keep up with the subjects below.

Using his last bit of strength, Cobra used a weak pulse of his miasma to push against Gajeel, loosening his grip only enough for Cobra to slip out and drop back onto his feet.  The man lurched forward, taking Gajeel by the shoulders before he could react.  “She’s here, you idiot,” he whispered quickly into Gajeel’s ear, knowing they didn’t have much time.  

As Cobra staggered back against the wall, the dragon threw him a demanding look with some semblance of humanity returning to his features.  The iron scales immediately gave way to flesh, and every bit of feral rage he felt started to melt away.  He staggered slightly on his feet, sides heaving as the adrenaline left him with only a nauseating twist in his gut.  Those four words had knocked the wind out of him, completely.  “I told you.  I hear everything,” Cobra hissed.

At that moment, two of the several compartments in the walls on either side of the fighters opened.  Levy watched what appeared to be two narrow barrels emerge and point abruptly to the subjects.  Two quiet shots and a sharp sudden pain brought both of them to the floor.  Regardless, Cobra fought as long as he could to keep talking.  “Now, you better learn how to use that again and get us out of here... They still don’t know, what you did that day… and you’re not… the only one he stole someone from…”  he mumbled, feeling consciousness leave him quickly with the effects of the tranquilizers.

Before losing himself entirely, Gajeel turned his heavy eyes to the tinted window raised up on the wall above them.  ‘She’s here, you idiot.’

It was thankfully an action whose intent was not caught by the researcher next to Levy.   It couldn’t have been.  Because she knew her dragon better than he ever would.  

The look in his eyes was enough to leave her feeling completely exposed.  He’d never have to speak the words for her to know what he said with that look.

I’m coming for you.

#gajevy #ftfanfics #fanfiction #fairy tail #iron legends

[mysableeze]

we are all liars

in which eijun and kazuya are both in denial and pining like clueless idiots

“You’re one nasty bastard,” Eijun says.

Kazuya takes the insult completely in stride; it isn’t something new coming from Eijun’s mouth after all. He loops an arm around Eijun’s neck and tugs him closer, pulling Eijun flush against the hard lines of his body. A corner of Kazuya’s mouth twitches when Eijun reflexively struggles against his hold -- though it’s obvious he’s not really putting that much gusto to wrestle away from Kazuya. “Who’s the one asking for extra practice today, hm? Learn to be nicer if you want something, brat.”

“I bought you the stupid salmon onigiri you like this afternoon.” Eijun scowls up at him, his fringe parting in the middle of his forehead and revealing annoyed, brown eyes that were previously partially shielded by his hair. “That’s nice enough.”

“What about my coffee and slice of cheesecake?” Kazuya asks, a lofty lilt in his tone. He continues resting his arm on Eijun’s shoulder, who’s by now given up any semblance of resistance as they make their way to the clubroom. 

Eijun scrunches his face up in distaste. “I’m not part of your fanclub, Miyuki.” 

Kazuya snickers right by Eijun’s ear, and then cleanly dodges a half-hearted swing at his face. “Would have thought you are by now.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch as he attempts to smother his rising amusement at Eijun’s expression of disbelief. “You don’t even like cheesecake!” 

“Fancy you noticing that,” Kazuya remarks, and he doesn’t bother to veil the surprise in his voice. Eijun has never pointed that out before, and Kazuya has never mentioned it. He’s mildly impressed -- Eijun might have some hope after all. He draws Eijun closer to him and reaches to flick Eijun’s forehead mischievously with his free hand. “There really might be something in there.” 

He squeaks, springing away from Kazuya almost immediately, face flushed with indignant anger and one hand clapped over his forehead protectively. Rather absentmindedly, Kazuya thinks Eijun looks rather cute. Like a provoked kitten, maybe, with big round eyes and brown fur standing up on its ends, soft and completely non-threatening. 

“Miyuki Kazuya!” Eijun practically hollers, and Kazuya would’ve been embarrassed if it had been any other time probably, with students still streaming in and out of the gates, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. He ignores the giggles and whispers that he can’t make anything of in the background and lets his amusement slant across his mouth. “Wipe that damned smirk off your face!”

Kazuya tries.

And fails. 

Not that he really tried that hard, anyway. He feels his lips curving into a grin again, and Eijun closes the distance between them with one big stride to prod Kazuya’s chest with his finger rudely. Kazuya hardly feels anything, and he raises both his brows to drive his point. Eijun bristles, definitely annoyed now. “Treat your underclassman with respect!”

“I can’t if he doesn’t extend the same courtesy to me first,” Kazuya drawls, unperturbed by Eijun’s antics.

“Ugh.” Eijun grabs Kazuya by his elbow and pulls him roughly forward to the direction of the clubroom. “Let’s go.” 

Kazuya complies, deciding to take a break from riling Eijun up. He doesn’t want to take it too far, and contrary to popular belief, he does have his limits. 

As they approach the door of the clubroom, Kazuya thinks it’s better to let Eijun know what to expect from today instead of hearing him get all excited about the pitches he’s been dying to try in the equipment room later on. He ends up all disappointed and pout-y for the entire afternoon (and night, if Kazuya’s unlucky) if Kazuya shoots his suggestions flat-down and asks for another pitch instead. 

It isn’t that Kazuya doesn’t appreciate Eijun’s tendency to explore new possibilities, but they can always do those later and prioritize the things they should work on first. 

More importantly, a petulant Sawamura Eijun is a little difficult to deal with. Not that Eijun purposefully shoves it in Kazuya’s face that he feels let-down and all that shit, but because he usually sits near Kazuya (Eijun always accuses him of the same thing, however, and Kazuya oddly can’t tell who’s being truthful here), he can’t help but notice all the little things do when Eijun’s sullen and downtrodden. Like him eating his meal at half his speed and making ugly and hilarious faces when he thinks Kazuya isn’t looking. 

“I think we should do number eleven today. It needs a bit more work before we can put it to test in an actual game.”

“That’s what I have in mind too!” Eijun beams at Kazuya, and that abrupt transition in mood takes Kazuya off-guard and his heart seems to beat a little faster. He clears his throat and digs into his bag for the keys while Eijun waits off the side, humming his favorite band tune under his breath. 

Kazuya feels oddly at peace. 

He finds his keys, maybe just one second slower than he should. Then he feels Eijun tugging on his arm, and when he looks up Eijun is angling his head to the back of the clubroom. Kazuya’s brows knit together in confusion.

“I heard something behind just now,” Eijun explains. “Maybe someone’s waiting for the room to be unlocked too.” 

Kazuya shrugs his shoulders as he unlocks the door. “It’s not unusual. Go call whoever’s out there in and I will go unlock the equipment shed.” Eijun agrees readily and is about to turn when Kazuya grabs Eijun’s bag by its straps, causing Eijun to stumble back in surprise. Kazuya snickers and steadies Eijun by his shoulders. 

“What?!”

“Pass me your bag, brat,” Kazuya says, rolling his eyes. 

"Oh.” Eijun flashes him a bright toothy grin and hands his bag over. “Thanks, Miyuki-senpai!”

Kazuya doesn’t deign him with a response and heads into the room first to place their bags. When he finishes changing, he realizes with a start that it’s far too quiet outside. Frowning, he decides to head for the equipment later and check on Eijun first. 

He leaves the room and turns around the corner, expecting to find Eijun there and is mildly perplexed when he doesn’t. Where did that brat go? He walks further back and hears someone talking -- then laughing -- and cocks his head to the side, curiosity piqued. That sounds like Chris. 

He nearly bumps into Eijun, who’s standing right at the next turn. “What are you doing?” Kazuya asks, unable to keep his exasperation out of his voice. 

“They look good together,” Eijun comments lightly, not looking at Kazuya but at something else straight ahead. There’s something about the way he says it that makes Kazuya stare at Eijun instead. 

Kazuya has always been pretty adept at reading people and it’s an ability he prides himself for. Eijun is one of the easiest people to read for Kazuya, and it makes him easy to be around with because he’s so bluntly honest that it’s refreshing. Perhaps even endearing. But this expression now is something Kazuya has never seen on Eijun’s face. It’s carefully shuttered close, completely void of emotion, and it is at this moment that Kazuya realizes that Eijun chooses to wear his heart on his sleeve.

There’s a swell of quiet admiration and something else, something warm and suffocating, and Kazuya chucks it aside. He follows Eijun’s gaze and everything falls into place. 

Ah. The first thought that crosses Kazuya’s mind is that Eijun’s probably disappointed that Chris won’t have that much time to mentor him any longer. The second thought is annoying, eats away at Kazuya in all the wrong ways and squeezes around his gut unpleasantly. 

“I heard that they are dating.” The information tumbles from his mouth before he even thinks about it, delivered so flatly and coldly that it surprises even Kazuya himself. 

Eijun turns to him now, blinks at Kazuya like he has just realized that he’s here. “Oh. I see.”

Kazuya hates the odd queasiness at his stomach and how sick he feels all of a sudden. He holds Eijun’s gaze nonetheless and feigns nonchalance with a shrug of his shoulder. 

“It’s just a rumor.” Kazuya manages to push the words out of his throat, feels like he has ruined things somehow and he has to make it right. There, that’s right. “You know how speculations regarding Chris-senpai go out of hand.”

“They often don’t go too off the mark.” Eijun’s gaze strays back to Chris and the girl he’s laughing with, seemingly without thinking. Kazuya’s jaw clenches as he attempts to keep his sudden rising temper in check. 

They are both quiet for a moment.

“He looks happy.” Eijun’s voice sounds slightly strangled now when he speaks up this time. “That’s good.” 

But you are not. 

There’s a stiff smile plastered across Eijun’s lips when he looks at Kazuya like he’s waiting for him to agree with him. Kazuya lets his mouth curve upwards, edges soft and sharp at the same time, and it’s definitely more convincing than Eijun’s. 

“You deserve it too,” Kazuya says. Eijun blinks at him owlishly, obviously not expecting that response. Then, realizing that sounds way too weird and disgustingly sappy, Kazuya hastily adds: “Idiot.” 

Eijun stares at Kazuya like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. 

Kazuya turns away and searches his pocket for the keys as he leaves. They have wasted enough time. He’s not here to spread rumors or witness someone getting their heart broken. He hears Eijun’s footsteps follow after his. “Hurry and change. I will be at the equipment shed.”

“Okay.” Eijun quickens his pace into a light jog ahead of Kazuya. When Kazuya passes the door of the clubroom, he sees Eijun’s hunched back facing the door, shoulders shaking and arm raised to his face.

His chest tightens unbearably and he wrenches his gaze away. This is a private moment and he’s not anyone to intrude. He hurries over to the equipment shed and there’s a distinct urge to laugh. 

God, I’m a surprisingly good upperclassman at times.

#miyusawa #misawa #miyuki kazuya #sawamura eijun #mild implied #chrisawa #takigawa chris yuu #daiya no ace #mf writings

[marq-de-laf]

Hi! So, I really REALLY love your account. Thanks to you, a couple other history blogs, Hamilton, and Turn, I'm more into American Revolutionary history than I've ever been(and I've always been interested in it lol)! I've been especially infatuated with Lafayette and Adrienne. I have to ask, though: is there any letters or passages that describe Adrienne's personality? I haven't really found anything, and I've kind of had to figure it out myself. Thank you, I appreciate it!!

Andre Maurois’s work, Adrienne: The Life of the Marquise de La Fayette, is the only substantial study of Adrienne I’ve been able to find. Here are a few passages from Maurois, Lafayette, and a few others that highlight her personality.

...some-what too lively and susceptible imagination...

...a woman of sound sense...

La Fayette had kept it from her, no doubt because he feared that she might reveal it to her parents and so spoil everything which shows how little he knew her. She was the type of woman who would always keep a secret, even if it endangered her happiness.

She felt no resentment, but on the contrary a dangerous adoration, which she could not keep from passionately exhibiting, though wisdom would have counselled some degree of reserve.

Strong in her humble submission to God, she gave vanity no opportunity to establish a hold on her.

Adrienne deputized for him with her customary dignity, and was treated by the small American colony with the honour due to the wife of the hero. The following lines were written for the occasion: 'I limned for you the hero, La Fayette; Now let me sketch his better half, his wife: Imagine Kindliness and Love and Virtue in one person met And there's the portrait finished, true to life.'( 9 )

As she herself was to say later at a tragic and solemn moment of her life, she loved her husband not only because it was her duty to do so, and because she admired him, but Voluptuously' as well. Whenever he came back to her unexpectedly, she was near to swooning. The self- denial with which she spared him all jealousy, brought its own reward.

She was terrified 1 , wrote her daughter, 'of the intensity of her passion, and by the thought that she might not always be able to conceal it from my father, and thereby become an embarrassment to him.'

Adrienne with her charm and tact helped to smooth away uncom- fortable memories, and the Englishmen long talked of their host's 'sweet wife'.

Young Abigail Adams decided that the Marquise was 'sprightly and very pleasing. I had always heard she was handsome; I do not think her so; she was not painted, and very little dressed/ After dining in the Rue de Bourbon, she expressed herself as being much struck by the youthful general's modesty, reserve and agreeable manners. She was appreciative of the friendliness of the Marquise, and impressed by the obvious affection shown by the couple for their three children, which is 'the more remarkable in a country where the least trace of such a disposition is scarce known.

Though she was a declared and fervent Catholic, *an enlightened zeal for religion*, said her daughter Virginie, 'made her especially anxious that no injustices should be committed in its name. The more devoted she was as a daughter of the Church, the more did she detest the persecution which alienated people from it and was so foreign to the spirit of the Gospels. My mother's tolerance was founded on the basic principles of religion. She regarded as a great crime any attempt to obstruct the working of that freedom which is God's gift to men, or even to provoke, for interested reasons, resolutions which the individual conscience alone should dictate. She wished to draw people to Catholicism, but for reasons that were high and noble.*

He left this enterprise to a great extent in the hands of Adrienne, who was more methodical and persevering than he.

With all this there went a tender affection, a noble exaltation of mind, an adoration which was flattering as well as sweet to me, the more so since it was the expression of the most perfectly natural and sincere person who has ever lived.

During the thirty-four years of a union in which her tender- ness, her goodness, her elevation of mind, her delicacy and generosity charmed and embellished my life and made of it an honourable thing, I came to be so used to all she meant to me that I could not draw a line of distinction between her existence and my own. She was fourteen years old and I sixteen when her heart first became inextricably blended with everything that mattered to me. I felt quite certain that I loved her and needed her, but it is only now, when, having lost her, I have to unravel what remains of myself from that sweet entanglement so as to face what is left me of a life which I once thought filled with so many distractions, that I realize how impossible it is that I shall ever more know happiness or well-being.

#Adrienne de Lafayette #Anonymous #Adrienne de Noailles #Marquis de Lafayette #Andre Maurois #Marquise de Lafayette #facts