#cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth

[theisolationdiaries]

A Call from the Universe

.

In a society of woven fabric, where lives are sewn together - constantly intermingling and merging in varying degrees and patterns, colours and shapes, I am a lone piece of floating thread that has naturally detached from the makings of its own design, hanging delicately by its fragile corners.

I have been destined to this fate as I have been born into an abstract pattern that appears only in empty spaces - a family of introverts who weave themselves, not by others hands, but in wrappings of their own individual silk cocoons. Because here, we find a home within ourselves. 

Almost by the laws bound by nature, we spin a protective layer around us to keep us from external forces. Like silkworms, we turn inwards into this isolated nest for our own metamorphosis, unchanged by others. Because as easy as a gentle breeze that sweeps through a canopy of trees, going about its own way - quietly detached from its surroundings but somehow still part of it all, choosing our own company has always been like second nature. Self-reliance, our dominant trait. Solitude, our dear friend.  

This solitary existence, this cautious attitude towards life (which I admit, isn’t the best for social nurturing and self-development) potently runs through our veins as it seems to have been embedded in our very own bloodline, almost like a recessive gene - an integral part in our DNA that makes us who we are. As if we have evolved from lone wolves comfortable in isolation, instead of monkeys, the most social of creatures - a perplexing malady perfect for a comprehensive, investigative scientific case study. Psychologists would definitely be lining up for a chance at such a thesis. (And no, I won't be volunteering as tribute.)

It’s strangely kind of like an ancestral curse bestowed to us by the gods of social fortune and misconduct, for some grave sin ignorantly (maybe even comically - as a joke) committed by one of our foolish ancestors (a jester of sorts) who had undoubtedly displeased them. One we descendants are still paying for, bearing the same shame our forefather did as we have begrudgingly gained a dissociative personality trait from his demise. And it has done its job faithfully so, trickling down from generation to generation - as both paternal and maternal sides are no strangers to this phenomenon. From adults, children, cousins, aunts, uncles, and other relatives alike - there is little exception. 

Because of this, we simply thrive in solitary activities. We’ve come to celebrate the freedom it creates from the confines of having to prove oneself in the presence of others - a lone cause where we have continued to stand up for our individuality. An attribute I’m not quite sure is an asset, or a liability. Probably both, as stubbornness also seems to be inherent in this precarious test of survival. (I’m still learning as I go.)

-

In terms of a social foundation, from tiny, shaky steps at a young age, I grew to lack leaps and bounds when I embarked on the challenging journey into adulthood - the enigmatic governor of unstable ground. My structure haphazardly formed by my unsteady hands, with the usual provocation one experiences in their unbeguiling youth. My juvenile self found that the need to socialize and conform was this blinding pearly-white grin, filtered by a hidden malice that bore fangs of unwarranted prejudice and judgment, so my own remained tight-lipped and sealed, refusing to speak. I did not like the false sense of security strangers bore with their veiled smiles. So I faced these masked entities with disdain, always faced slightly turned away, as if ready to retreat at any moment, in fear of being shackled by their contempt. I don't really know if it was an act of rebellion, or cowardice. I think it's a bit of both - like two stepbrothers vying for the same attention but an unseemingly pair that can’t be separated.

So as vulnerability and discomfort being the dominant forces that have affronted me when having to interact and associate alone, almost naturally, when thrust in a social setting, I subconsciously developed (i’m blaming the recessive gene) a defense mechanism of its antithesis - dissociation.

Isolation became my safe space, my comfort blanket, my tiny little bubble - a haven only I knew, away from the complex constructs of the outside world. An escape from reality. It's not much of a life for others, but to me it was everything.

At this stage still, I am an infant in this process of development, still wobbling at the knees still learning how to walk, bouncing on the soles of my feet in this awkward dance of resolve.. mostly only having an exchange of superficial pleasantries when all I want is connection. And in this present moment, here lies my most inconvenient truth. What was once my faithful companion has turned into a relentless foe. This pandemic has fortified the curse and twisted my fate. My haven of thoughts are now a thunderstorm relentlessly pouring over a dam, spilling through cracks, overflowing in abandon - too much for one person to bear - which at any given moment could burst with just one flash of lightning. 

From thriving in time alone, now I am a helpless pawn in its game of chess. A simulated war of psychological strength and fortitude has commenced.. It seems a new set of formidable challengers lay before me - my opponents powerful forces to be reckoned with. And I crave for a sense of shared togetherness, I now long to be woven with other colours and shapes. Because this has now become a cruel solitary test of patience, and wits - with me forcibly meant to play all the roles - king, queen, knight, pawn...all the pieces intended for me to participate as, dutifully and without complaint. There is no battalion of men I can rely on. I am alone, yet again.. In this mental maze I seem to keep hitting corners and dead ends, irrevocably lost, with no direction. But it’s okay, for some journeys you have to go through alone. This road is not unfamiliar after all. Should I forge ahead with the confidence I know I still lack? or resign to my usual pursuits? At this point i’m not so sure I've been making the wisest decisions as "Check" almost seems to be the most dominant result in my daily life, with i the struggling opponent always on the verge of losing - my king, my heart center, constantly cornered.. exposed and vulnerable. 

For now, I'm not really banking on any wins worthy of a celebration. Small victories perhaps, yes. There are those, i'll give myself that. Little tiny glimmers of hope that appear in my most difficult of days. But, like the checkered board and its pieces, everything has been painted black & white. No shades have been left in between. My ups & downs are blatant and blunt. My highs & lows, two sides of a coin. And even with fervent control and dedication to even a simple victory, my fateful flips haven’t been so forgiving either.

I feel so alone.

I think this is what happens when you have your back against a wall with no visible signs of escape, and an internal battle is inevitable to ensue. This is the eventuality, a mental and emotional upheaval - a call to arms - when an unknown virus suddenly sweeps the world uninvited, like a vengeful wildfire quickly spreading through a dry and dense forest, completely ravaging everything in its wake.  We were unprepared for this. In this extended quarantine, there is nothing I feel more than that of a caged animal - trapped in the desolation of this isolation, wanting to break free. And, the same hearts seem to be experiencing this as well. Walls are being built up and torn down every day. Bridges connected and burned. Long dreary days have bled into threadbare months. The proverbial hands in the clock of Time are moving backwards. "Halt," they say. Pause. Slow down. Listen.  The Universe is speaking.  "What is there to learn from this pandemic?", it asks. Well, I think, as if by God's design, it has plucked us from our solitary islands and dropped us into an endless ocean, so we can learn how to hold hands, and float. Together.  I am still learning though.  Because, every single day I find myself and lose myself, over and over again. The hands in the clock of Time glitching, instead of moving backwards.

I am still learning.

And although my current predicament has been terribly isolating, which has resulted in numerous setbacks born from unrelenting fear, it is because I have not learned the most important lesson: that life, indeed, is meant to be played with a team.. a group.. a family. A beautiful intricate fabric where we all belong and no empty spaces are left in between. 

Unity will save us all.

We are all each others knights, queens, kings and pawns - a band of brothers and merry men, making up a kingdom of hope and faith. Hand in hand we can face this pandemic, play to win, look at it dead in the eye and turn the tables around. We’ll have the last say, and make the most vital move - a grand finale exulted by the words of victory..  “Checkmate.”

Drowning is simply not an option. We'll all float soon enough. Together. 

  .

[livmoose]

Locksley Hall

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn: Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn. 'T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call, Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall; Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts, And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts. Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West. Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid. Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time; When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed; When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed: When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see; Saw the Vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.— In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest; In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung. And I said, "My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee." On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour and a light, As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night. And she turn'd—her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of sighs— All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes— Saying, "I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong"; Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?" weeping, "I have loved thee long." Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring, And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fulness of the Spring. Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships, And our spirits rush'd together at the touching of the lips. O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, mine no more! O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, barren shore! Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung, Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue! Is it well to wish thee happy?—having known me—to decline On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than mine! Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his level day by day, What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with clay. As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown, And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down. He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse. What is this? his eyes are heavy; think not they are glazed with wine. Go to him, it is thy duty, kiss him, take his hand in thine. It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is overwrought: Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with thy lighter thought. He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand— Better thou wert dead before me, tho' I slew thee with my hand! Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace, Roll'd in one another's arms, and silent in a last embrace. Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth! Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth! Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule! Cursed be the gold that gilds the straiten'd forehead of the fool! Well—'t is well that I should bluster!—Hadst thou less unworthy proved— Would to God—for I had loved thee more than ever wife was loved. Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? I will pluck it from my bosom, tho' my heart be at the root. Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should come As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home. Where is comfort? in division of the records of the mind? Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I knew her, kind? I remember one that perish'd; sweetly did she speak and move; Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love. Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore? No—she never loved me truly; love is love for evermore. Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things. Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof, In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain is on the roof. Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall, Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the shadows rise and fall. Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his drunken sleep, To thy widow'd marriage-pillows, to the tears that thou wilt weep. Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whisper'd by the phantom years, And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears; And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy pain. Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to thy rest again. Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will cry. 'T is a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy trouble dry. Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest rival brings thee rest. Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother's breast. O, the child too clothes the father with a dearness not his due. Half is thine and half is his: it will be worthy of the two. O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart. "They were dangerous guides the feelings—she herself was not exempt— Truly, she herself had suffer'd"—Perish in thy self-contempt! Overlive it—lower yet—be happy! wherefore should I care? I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair. What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like these? Every door is barr'd with gold, and opens but to golden keys. Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the markets overflow. I have but an angry fancy; what is that which I should do? I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground, When the ranks are roll'd in vapour, and the winds are laid with sound. But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels, And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's heels. Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that earlier page. Hide me from my deep emotion, O thou wondrous Mother-Age! Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife, When I heard my days before me, and the tumult of my life; Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield, Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field, And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn, Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn; And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men: Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new: That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do: For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be; Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight dropping down with costly bales; Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue; Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm, With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm; Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world. There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe, And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law. So I triumph'd ere my passion sweeping thro' me left me dry, Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye; Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint: Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point: Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher, Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire. Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns. What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys, Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy's? Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more. Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast, Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest. Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding on the bugle-horn, They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn: Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved so slight a thing. Weakness to be wroth with weakness! woman's pleasure, woman's pain— Nature made them blinder motions bounded in a shallower brain: Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine— Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah, for some retreat Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat; Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father evil-starr'd,— I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward. Or to burst all links of habit—there to wander far away, On from island unto island at the gateways of the day. Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies, Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise. Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag, Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag; Droops the heavy-blossom'd bower, hangs the heavy-fruited tree— Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea. There methinks would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind, In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind. There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing space; I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race. Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and they shall run, Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun; Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks, Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books— Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my words are wild, But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child. I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains! Mated with a squalid savage—what to me were sun or clime? I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time— I that rather held it better men should perish one by one, Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon! Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range, Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change. Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day; Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. Mother-Age (for mine I knew not) help me as when life begun: Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the Sun. O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set. Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet. Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall. Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt. Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.

[thatfairyfangirl]

True Colors Chapter 31

“Oh Bucky, come here a moment would you?” Nana beckoned from the kitchen. You and Bucky had been training in the backyard. You traded each other confused glances as you can with paused to take a drink of water heading back to the house.

“What can I do for you Nana?” He asked toweling himself off.

“If you are going to be part of this family there a a few things you'll be needing to know.” she explained. Looking around the kitchen You realized she had lain out all the things for her homemade Apple pie. “Like the family Apple pie. Someone in the family will need to pass it on when I'm gone.”

“Nana you taught me how to make that when I was ten.” You chuckled as you got yourself a glass of water.

“Doll...be realistic.” Bucky joked as he wrapped his arms around you from behind kissing your cheek. “You're a terrible cook.”

“Oh don't even get me started… I don't think in all my life I ever saw anyone burn an empty pan before (y/n) came along.” You dropped your head shaking it in shame at the memory as the two laughed.

“Doll how did you manage that?”

“I- I don't even know.” You chuckled as you picked up a knife to cut the apples only to be shooed away from the food by Nana.

“Oh don't feel too badly. Your talents lie elsewhere.” She reassured you as she patted your cheek. This was all too surreal for you, you honestly couldn't recall the last time either your mom or nana being this supportive of you. You found yourself looking for the insults hidden in the conversation, but even then you could still see they were trying.

“THAT is true.” Bucky agreed as he chopped up the apples, having no real desire to learn but seeing that it meant something to her he thought it best to humor her. “Voice of an angel. I assume she gets that from her father?”

“Oh no. Dad was great with instruments and a wonderful teacher but he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.” You chuckled. “Mom was the vocalist.”

“I've got some home movies stashed in the attic if you are interested.” Your mom chimed in as she made her way into the kitchen to grab a soda.”

“Oh mom please no. Those are so embarrassing.” You begged as your phone chimed, telling you that you had yet another message from your label reminding you that you still had a music video to shoot.

“Oh I wasn't talking about the music.” Bucky rose a brow at Nanas comment before glancing back to his beloved with a questioning look on his face. You just shrugged, sure you had no idea what she was talking about, music had been your life ever since you were small. “She hasn't done it in years, but she used to be quite the dancer.”

You there your head back in laughter. “Nana I dance all the time. Its kinda part of my job.”

“Don't you remember mom?” Your mother asked her. “She was in that musical.”

“No not like that. Don't you remember when you used to come dancing with me?” Bucky looked between the family with a smile, happy to see the rupture that had been there for so many years had finally been mended.

“Oh! You mean dance night at the church! Do they still do that?” You asked with a smile, finding it nice to think of the fond memories of your youth.

“I never miss a week.” Nana answered with a proud smile as she slid the our into the oven. “In fact it's tonight.”

“Oh Nana I don't think it would be a good idea tonight.”

“What's dance night?” Bucky asked with a chuckle.

“Every week the church hosts this ballroom dance class slash social.” You explained. “We wouldn't be there to watch you and that would put you at too much risk sorry Nana but please no.”

“Sounds like a blast to me.” Bucky smiled to the old woman. “If she really has her heart set on going I can take get Doll.” He assured you as he rested his biopic hand over your hip pulling you into his side. “What do you say Nana? Would you be my date?”

~ ~ ~ ~

You weren't sure who you felt worse for, your mom and nana or the school of mutants you left them with to meet up with the team. But it had to be done. You and Bucky were called in to Germany and the school was the safest place you knew.

As you moved through the base like a rainbow whirlwind, ambushing the base in hopes to catch Schmidt before he had a chance to get a way you came across the one man you never dreamed of. He stood there frozen as he looked on you. The man you long ago thought dead. “Daddy?” You whispered before someone ordered him to shoot. You shook your head lightly. No. No way your own father would shoot his baby girl… “Daddy what's-”

BANG

Your world went dark as your suit stained red with your blood. “SPECTRUM!” Bucky shouted with wide eyes as he rushed to your side, looking up to see the man who shot you running in the other direction. His eyes narrowed, face hardening as he looked down the barrel of his gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet caught him in the side sending him to the ground as Bucky stood, storming to the agent, kicking him over so that he could face his death. Flashes of family photos in your living room flew in his mind as he saw who you inherited your eyes from.

“Buck.” You choked on the words as your side gushed blood. He curses lightly under his breath as he slammed the barrel into your father's temple to knock him out before lifting the both of you to rush you to the quinjet.

“Umm Frosty...that man's skull is not red.” Tony informed him as he rushed past him to get you to the med bay as fast as possible.

“Yeah I see that.” He replied as he dropped your long lost father. “Look familiar?” He asked as he broke into the med kits.

“Holy Sh-” Tony bit back the swear as everyone regrouped. “What happened to him?”

“He shot (Y/n).” Bucky answered as he tore open your uniform, to pack gauze on the bullet hole in your side. Just from where it was he could tell it missed anything important. So long as he could stop the bleeding soon it will be little more than a scar. But how that scar got there, he was sure that would haunt you.

~ ~ ~ ~

You sat up in your bed, pastel rainbow hair spilling in your eyes as, your shirt pulled up as your fingers traced lightly over the scar the bullet had left, knowing it will forever be there as a reminder to who your father really was. You drew in a sigh letting the firey pain shot up your side as you lowered your feet to the cold tile floor. Only hair fell in your eyes as your mind raced with the same question over and over. But how? You remembered burying him. You watched them lower his casket in the grave. But in a way it didn't matter how. He was here. He was in the basement. Next to Mike. “Time for a family reunion.” You muttered to yourself as you willed your body to stand. Every step was pain, burning in your side and agony in your soul.

“Doll?” Bucky rushed to your side like your knight in shining armor. “You should be in bed.” He said as he wrapped a supportive arm around you.

“This is more important.” You stated stubbornly as you took his arm to support yourself. “Help me downstairs.” You added with a groan as you felt the wound shoot jabs of pain through you.

~ ~ ~ ~

“I think you owe me an explanation.” You demanded as you looked down to your father sitting on the floor of his cell.

“Yeah Dad...what the hell?” Mike asked as he leaned against the bars to his own cell, power dampening collar blinking dully under his straight jacket. Normally you would be against such mutant treatment. But in his case you knew it was necessary. “Go on Dad. Tell her.”

“You shut up.” Bucky snapped pulling a gun out to point in Mike's direction. “Or I'll kill you myself.”

Your father's eyes closed in shame as he turned away. He drew in a deep breath as he stood, finding the strength to turn and face you. “I joined HYDRA the summer before I started college. I'm in their recruitment division. Your mother never even knew. But the thing about Hydra once you're in you don't get to leave.” He glanced up to Bucky. “You know that first hand don't you son.”

Bucky's face grew hard as his bionic fist clenched. “Don't call me that. Ever.”

“Is Mike my brother?” You asked, though somewhere deep down you already knew the answer.

He nodded gently. “The worst mistake I ever made. Hydra caught wind of mutants and wanted me to start recruiting them. When I figured out Mike was one I knew I had to get away from you guys. That wasn't the life I wanted for my baby girl.”

“You better shut up old man or Sin's going to get mad.” Mike warned With a demented growl.

“Who's going to tell her? You're never seeing the outside of this cell again. And neither am I.” Your father snapped back before reaching his hand out to you. “God I hope I didn't do any real damage to you back there. Are you alright baby girl? I'm so sorry. For everything.”

“I'll live.” You said flatly as he gripped your hand pulling you to him. “If your truly sorry then tell us who they sent to watch mom.”

“What? No They never bothered with your mother. As far as they are aware your relationship with her is too strained to use her as leverage against you.”

“What do they even want with me?” You asked, tears in your eyes. “I'm just a singer.”

“They gave up on mutant recruitment when they realized a human wouldn't be able to find them. But then you came along. A guiding star for all the mutants of the world. Red Skull wants you to corrupt mutant kind to Hydra.” His eyes welled With tears as he looked up to his daughter, so proud of what you became without him. “I'm so sorry sweetheart. If I could go back I would have done things worlds differently. Never give them what they want. Never stop being the amazing light you are.” He begged before grabbing Bucky's gun and pulling the trigger, splattering your brother on the wall before doing the same to himself, preferring death to what would happen if Hydra ever learned he lived and told. This was the only way he could truly protect you from himself. With a gasp of horror you buried yourself into Bucky as his blood and bits of brain sprayed you.

[thesquireinvictus]

Locksley Hall BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn: Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn.

'T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call, Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall;

Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts, And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts.

Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West.

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.

Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time;

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed; When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed:

When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see; Saw the Vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.—

In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest;

In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung.

And I said, "My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee."

On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour and a light, As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night.

And she turn'd—her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of sighs— All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes—

Saying, "I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong"; Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?" weeping, "I have loved thee long."

Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.

Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring, And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fulness of the Spring.

Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships, And our spirits rush'd together at the touching of the lips.

O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, mine no more! O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, barren shore!

Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung, Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue!

Is it well to wish thee happy?—having known me—to decline On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than mine!

Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his level day by day, What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with clay.

As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown, And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

What is this? his eyes are heavy; think not they are glazed with wine. Go to him, it is thy duty, kiss him, take his hand in thine.

It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is overwrought: Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with thy lighter thought.

He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand— Better thou wert dead before me, tho' I slew thee with my hand!

Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace, Roll'd in one another's arms, and silent in a last embrace.

Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth! Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth!

Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule! Cursed be the gold that gilds the straiten'd forehead of the fool!

Well—'t is well that I should bluster!—Hadst thou less unworthy proved— Would to God—for I had loved thee more than ever wife was loved.

Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? I will pluck it from my bosom, tho' my heart be at the root.

Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should come As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home.

Where is comfort? in division of the records of the mind? Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I knew her, kind?

I remember one that perish'd; sweetly did she speak and move; Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love.

Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore? No—she never loved me truly; love is love for evermore.

Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.

Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof, In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain is on the roof.

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall, Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the shadows rise and fall.

Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his drunken sleep, To thy widow'd marriage-pillows, to the tears that thou wilt weep.

Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whisper'd by the phantom years, And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears;

And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy pain. Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to thy rest again.

Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will cry. 'T is a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy trouble dry.

Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest rival brings thee rest. Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother's breast.

O, the child too clothes the father with a dearness not his due. Half is thine and half is his: it will be worthy of the two.

O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.

"They were dangerous guides the feelings—she herself was not exempt— Truly, she herself had suffer'd"—Perish in thy self-contempt!

Overlive it—lower yet—be happy! wherefore should I care? I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair.

What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like these? Every door is barr'd with gold, and opens but to golden keys.

Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the markets overflow. I have but an angry fancy; what is that which I should do?

I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground, When the ranks are roll'd in vapour, and the winds are laid with sound.

But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels, And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's heels.

Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that earlier page. Hide me from my deep emotion, O thou wondrous Mother-Age!

Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife, When I heard my days before me, and the tumult of my life;

Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield, Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field,

And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn, Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn;

And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men:

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new: That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do:

For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;

Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight dropping down with costly bales;

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue;

Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm, With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm;

Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.

There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe, And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.

So I triumph'd ere my passion sweeping thro' me left me dry, Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye;

Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint: Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point:

Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher, Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire.

Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns.

What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys, Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy's?

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast, Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest.

Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding on the bugle-horn, They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn:

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved so slight a thing.

Weakness to be wroth with weakness! woman's pleasure, woman's pain— Nature made them blinder motions bounded in a shallower brain:

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine—

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah, for some retreat Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat;

Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father evil-starr'd,— I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward.

Or to burst all links of habit—there to wander far away, On from island unto island at the gateways of the day.

Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies, Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise.

Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag, Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag;

Droops the heavy-blossom'd bower, hangs the heavy-fruited tree— Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea.

There methinks would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind, In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind.

There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing space; I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.

Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and they shall run, Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun;

Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks, Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books—

Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my words are wild, But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child.

I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains!

Mated with a squalid savage—what to me were sun or clime? I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time—

I that rather held it better men should perish one by one, Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon!

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range, Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.

Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day; Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Mother-Age (for mine I knew not) help me as when life begun: Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the Sun.

O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set. Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet.

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall.

Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt.

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.

[aureate-priest-blog]

Sandman’s Bio :0

I FINALLY FINISHED THIS STUPID THING;; im just gonna put this here because Google docs is messing up :(

Name: Tanz Nachtmann

Nickname: “Sandman”

Meaning of name: “Dance” (Tanz) “Night Man” (Nachtmann)

Origin of name: Germany

Age: 26

Sex: Male

Blood type: O+

Nationality: German

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Political Party: Independent

Socioeconomic level as a child: Working Poor

Socioeconomic level as an adult: Upper Middle

Birthdate: November 9th, 1990

Birthplace: Germany

Current residence: Soho, Lower Manhattan / NYC

Hobbies/Pastimes: Painting, Reading (Mostly about non-fictional events and history)

Talents/Skills: Singing, Painting

Birth order: Third, Middle Child

Family:

Therese Nachtmann (Mother, deceased)

Bruno Nachtmann (Father, alive, imprisoned)

Alvin Streisgund (Stepfather, deceased)

Lothar Nachtmann (Eldest brother, alive, imprisoned)

Alfons Nachtmann (Older brother, deceased)

Judith Nachtmann (Younger sister, deceased)

Erica Nachtmann (Youngest sister, deceased)

Hometown: Friedrichshain, Berlin, Germany

Most important childhood event that still affects him/her: The murder of his mother, stepfather, older brother, and younger sisters.

Favorite parent: His stepfather, Alvin

Why?: To him, Alvin was more than just his stepfather. He was his best friend, and if needed, his therapist. Alvin got him into exercising his anger into artistic forms of either drawing, painting, or singing, and almost always was able to convince Tanz to settle down before his temper erupted; thus, Alvin helped him avoid conflict with his mother whenever she was in an ill mood, or if she were drunk out of her mind.

Biggest role model: Jack the Ripper

Why?: While reading about psychology and the 19th century, Tanz happened across a name that caught his eye quicker than a flash. Tanz was infatuated with this infamous figure, for the fact that they were never caught for any of their murders, and avoided any contact with the public or the press. It, in a twisted sense, inspired Tanz’s art to span out in multiple directions, as well as push him to divert down craftier routes in skiving out of trouble, evolving his personality drastically.

Height: 6’6”

Weight: 195 lbs

Posture: Tanz keeps a very rigid and upright posture

Build: Little fat and muscle, round and narrow shoulders, slim neck and waist, long arms and legs

Skin: Smooth and fair colored

Hair: Dark brown, almost always slicked back

Ears: Small and round

Eyes: Amber, usually narrowed

Nose: Long and angled, slightly crooked

Mouth: Thin upper and bottom lips, easily curved into a smile

Face shape: Gaunt and elongated

Expressions: Either smug or blank

Describe their smile: His “people-person” smile has a softer tone to it and is quite natural, however his smile can stretch quite wide, making it look rather freakish in a trick of the light, and especially when he smiles with his teeth

Hands: Average sized hands with long, nimble fingers

Feet: Average sized feet

Left/Right handed?: Left

Distinguishing features: Mainly his bright eyes that compliment his often sly smile

Who does s/he take after: More of his mother’s sharp, angular sides than his father’s rounder features

How does s/he dress: His casual everyday fashion consists of either long sleeve sweaters or hoodies, and black skinny jeans or leggings. Shoe wise, he wears white Vans and occasionally mixes it up with some black high-tops. For different seasonal situations he wears bomber jackets and scarves, and perhaps some gloves depending on how cold it is out.

Weapons: They differ on the situation he’s in, but normally he carries around a knife hidden at his hip

Are they generally balanced or clumsy?: In his youth, he was perceived as awfully clumsy, however through dedication and interest in precision, he grew more balanced over time

Mannerisms/Poses/Movement: Tanz’s unruly upbringing in his ragtag apartment for six lead him to having absolutely no manners or common sense, and over time he started to realize that perhaps acting like a child wouldn’t get him anywhere. He learned different forms of etiquette for all sorts of events, and it slowly changed the way he held himself in front of any person of any socioeconomic class; be it the president or a stranger in a store.

Describe their walk: Tanz tends to have a constricted walk as rigid as his posture, as though he were marching in the army; although, when running, he breaks into a full, fluid sprinting motion as seamless as air.

Habits/OCDs/Obsessions: Tanz has a nasty habit of tearing the skin off his fingers with his teeth, though it isn’t due to anxiety, and more or less it’s something he finds himself doing without knowing.

Health: Quite deteriorated, not so good

Hygiene: Keeps himself spick and span all the time

Speech Patterns: Mostly speaks with loads of diction, and he tends to drag some words and sentences out when talking to people he has a disliking for

Voice: Tanz’s voice is slightly of higher pitch with a sense of mocking put subtlety in. His German accent is noticeable, but not thick enough to a point of obscurity.

Describe their laugh: Normally he tries to keep his composure so he won't laugh, because if he does it sounds like a rabid hyena

Style (Elegant, shabby, etc): More on the elegant side

Known Languages: German, English

Character's long-term goals/desires in life: Finding someone he can really connect with and settling down with them, and if that person turns up unhappy in the relationship, he would dispose them.

How self-confident is the character?: He has a jarring lack of self-confidence

How do they see him/herself?: Tanz sees himself as a normal human being, who can’t seem to understand why people think murder is so wrong when they deserve it

What is the character most proud of?: His success in getting massive amounts of money from his one-night stands’ bank accounts and using their emotional heartbreaks to his advantage

What does the character like least about themselves?: Tanz dislikes his physical features, and the way he does things, often cursing at himself in fits of blind rage that sometimes lead to unwarranted self harm

How do they express themselves?: FINGER PAINTING!!!! (Unfortunately, the red he finger paints with is not paint)

Patience level (on a level of 1 to 10?): Around a 7/10, depending on what he’s impatient for. If it’s something he deems “urgent” then it’s most likely a 2/10.

Does the character seem ruled by emotion or logic or some combination thereof?: He seems ruled by a combination of the two, but emotion plays a bigger part

Most at ease when: Any of his “friends” are done and dealt with, and when it rains

Ill at ease when: People begin to get a bit antsy and suspicious with him, and in crowds

Describe their sense of humor: Tanz’s humor is awfully dark, and most people tend to avoid discussing emotional or horrifying topics around him in fear they’ll be entreated to a joke about a dead loved one

If granted one wish, what would it be?: To be born and raised in a better family

Why?: Tanz has created a deep hatred for both his mother and father, as well as his siblings, for his crude childhood and half-assed education and meals. Sometimes he still wishes he got to live far away with his stepfather, though it was a dream crushed to bits as he watched his stepfather plead for his life as he was murdered before his eyes.

Character/Personality/Mental/Social: His strength lies in himself, and though he has such a lack of confidence, he only ever relies on what he does in that moment, and no one else. While good with influencing people and manipulating them, he often finds it difficult to connect with them on an empathetic level, with the way his mind is fractured into believing different ethical actions

If they could be described with one of the seven virtues, which would it be?: Diligence

If they could be described with one of the seven sins, which would it be?: Wrath

Biggest Vulnerability (non physical): Anything mentioning his parents in a negative way would set him off, or even praising his parents (i.e.: “Ah, I feel sorry for you mother, she must have been a great person.”)

Optimist or Pessimist: Optimistic

Introvert or extrovert: Despite his lack of empathy, Tanz is more on the extroverted spectrum due to him engaging with people often in order to befriend them and gain their trust

Favorite

Color: Red

Place: The Ocean

Room in the house and why: Bedroom, because there he feels like that it’s his own personal space and that no one else may break peace there

Food/drinks: Butter cookies, root beer

Music genre: 80s New Wave

Songs and Singers/Bands: The Cure, Depeche Mode, Rammstein, Megaherz

Movies/Tv Shows/Performances: Phantom of the Opera, any detective/homicide show

Books: Grimms’ Fairy Tales, Blood Meridian

Historical figure: Jack the Ripper

Subject in school: Art

Animal: Snake

Least Favorite

Place: City (Even though he lives there, he mainly fights against his dislike for the sake of what victims he pursues)

Food/drink: Steak, any meat in general really, and tea

Music genre: Country, and pop music

Subject in school: P.E. / Gym

Where does this character like to hang out?: Anywhere near large bodies of water

Where is this character's dream place to live?: On or near the beach

Mode of transportation: He regularly tends to walk everywhere, or hitch a ride from someone if he gets to know them

Girlfriend/Boyfriend(s): He never has had any, as he fears these would get in his way, and lead to some suspicion towards him if loved ones knew about the relationship after a murder

Marital status: Single

What kind of person would s/he consider to be the perfect partner?: Though hopping from one victim to another, Tanz does often think of settling down with someone, even if his intention is to murder them after a few months or so. The kind of person he’d consider to be perfect is someone who’s simple, and unnecessarily nice and loving. Perhaps he’d even want more of an obsessive partner that thought about him non-stop, so that killing them would make it easier.

Is the character judgmental of others and how so?: Tanz is extremely judgemental about others and chooses what he wants to “befriend” wisely. He detests those who drink abhorrent amounts of alcohol and have an annoyingly high sex drive. He judges how they walk, how they dress, how often they blink, and even the slight pauses in between their sentences to pick apart who they really are inside. When it comes to people he loathes, he tends to even degrade and belittle them for every miniscule thing, making him an overall petty person.

How do they treat members of the opposite sex?: He knows not at all women are bad based on the actions of just his mother and sisters, so he tries to treat them as respectfully as he would with any person. When it comes to romance however, he doesn’t find that much of an interest in them; although, he will choose them for a “one-night stand” just for the sole purpose of killing them, rather than men in which he’ll portray sexual interest in.

What do they consider to be a romantic setting/activity/date?: Tanz’s favorite romantic settings have everything to do with the lighting. Anything with a soft, warm hue in a place simply screams “romance” to him. Most activities he considers romantic are going out to dinner at nice places, or visiting museums or local parks. He’ll go anywhere for his date that he needs to in order to make them feel comfortable with him and their surroundings, so that a more trusting interaction takes place.

How does a normal date go for this character?: Dates usually go well and smooth for Tanz, and on the rare occasion, there’s always someone who doesn’t quite agree, and that ends up violent with a body in the back alley.

Virgin?: Nope

How often does this character have sex?: Not too often unless his “date” really thinks that would make their friendly interactions progress

How long can he/she go without sex?: For a long, long time

How does this character feel emotionally, after sex?: Bored, really. Tanz doesn’t find much pleasure in having intercourse with another person, so often times he would avoid sex as much as possible, as it’s a total buzzkill for him.

Usually on the top or bottom?: Top

Dominant or Submissive?: Dominant

What song best fits this character?: There are a few songs I had in mind!!! :D

Mr. Sandman by The Chordettes (Of course!)

Tanzdiktator by Nachtmahr

Disappoint by Assemblage 23

Politikil by ohGr

Why Can’t I Be You? by The Cure