#if chaos is a work of art then my heart is a masterpiece – something to read

[a-neverending-story]

❝I have licked the fire and danced in the ashes of every bridge I ever burned. I fear no hell from you.❞ 

Cora Sophie Marren aka 𝙻𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚒𝚛𝚊; a walking disaster ☾ ─── ⋆ 32-year-old reincarnation of a witch who roams America (and the world) in search for answers. Constantly running away from her past. In the perpetual company of shadowy women that no one can see or hear but her. She is addicted to the pleasures of life and spends most of her time in bars and clubs on the hunt for the next drink or pill that will make her forget the presence of her spirits.

21+ - MDNI!, crossover and multiverse-friendly, Smalltalk Deeptalk+Plots, mutuals only, low to semi activity, currently 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽 for Plotting. Crafted for but not limited to FakeVZ. ⸻  CARRD

𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢 𝚒𝚗 : ⋆ witchcraft ⋆ ghosts ⋆ jobhopping ⋆ drgs ⋆ childhood trauma ⋆ trust issues ⋆ chaos ⋆ abuse ⋆ twin-brother ⋆ violence ⋆ knives ⋆ crime ⋆ pickpocketing ⋆

[solxamber]

Hi, I love your works!

For the holiday event could you do Pomefiore fluff with #7 "For you, anything"?

starting my year off strong with vil!

Unrefined || Vil Schoenheit

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "For you, anything." ; Genre: Fluff

Vil was meticulous, graceful, and always, always in control of his image. Which was why it took you a moment to believe your eyes when you saw him standing there, sleeves rolled up, staring at the rainbow of paints in front of him.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked, trying to hide your grin. “This doesn’t really scream ‘Vil Schoenheit, the epitome of refinement.’”

He gave you a pointed look, though there was a slight twitch at the corner of his lips. “You said you wanted to do this together. I’m not about to let you make a mess by yourself.”

“A mess? Vil, it’s called art.”

“Mm-hmm. And what do you call this?” He gestured to the splatter of paint that was already on your cheek from your earlier enthusiasm.

You shrugged, grinning wider. “Creative expression.”

He sighed dramatically, but there was an undeniable warmth in his eyes. “Whatever you say,” he murmured, his tone soft as he dipped his brush into a vibrant shade of blue.

The two of you spent the next hour transforming blank canvases into colorful chaos. Well, you created chaos. Vil, despite his initial complaints, approached the activity like he approached everything else: with focus and precision.

“You’re taking this way too seriously,” you teased, adding a wild streak of orange to your painting.

“And you’re not taking it seriously enough,” he countered, arching a brow as he added a delicate gold outline to his work.

“Fine, Mr. Perfection. Let’s see how you handle this.” Before he could react, you swiped a fingerful of paint and dabbed it on the tip of his nose.

Vil froze, staring at you with wide eyes. For a split second, you thought you’d crossed a line. But then he smiled—one of those rare, unguarded smiles that made your heart do somersaults.

“Oh, darling,” he said, voice dripping with faux sweetness, “you’ve started something you can’t finish.”

The next thing you knew, he had a brush in hand and was swiping a streak of purple across your arm.

“Vil!” you yelped, laughing as you tried to dodge him.

By the time the impromptu paint war was over, both of you were covered in smears of color, and the once-clean studio looked like an abstract masterpiece.

You collapsed onto the floor, breathless and laughing, and Vil joined you, his usual poise completely abandoned.

“You’re going to regret this when you see the cleanup,” you said between giggles.

“Perhaps,” he replied, gazing at you with an expression so tender it made your heart ache. “But if it makes you smile like that, it’s worth it.”

You reached over and wiped a streak of paint from his cheek, cupping his face in your hand. “You’re the best, you know that?”

He leaned into your touch, his voice barely above a whisper. “For you, anything.”

And in that moment, surrounded by colorful chaos and the warmth of his love, you believed him.

Masterlist

[onlyhereforthestories]

Ours (Alessia Russo x Reader)

Day 20! My first Russo fic? This was another cheesy one to write, I think this time of the year gets me in my feels. Not long to go!

The glow of the Christmas tree lights filled the living room with a soft, warm ambiance as you placed a tray of paints and brushes onto the coffee table. The soft hum of holiday music played in the background, blending with the occasional crackle from the fireplace. Alessia, who had just returned from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate, raised an eyebrow when she saw the collection of art supplies you’d gathered.

“What’s all this?” she asked, handing you a mug and taking a seat on the floor beside you.

You grinned, reaching for one of the plain, round ceramic ornaments from the box. “I thought we could make some decorations together. Something special for us to hang on the tree every year.”

Her lips curled into a soft smile, and she took one of the ornaments from the box, examining it thoughtfully as if planning what she could do with it. “You mean, something for us to laugh at in five years when we remember how bad we were at this?”

“Speak for yourself,” you teased, grabbing a brush and dipping it into the paint. “I’ve got big plans for mine.”

Alexia chuckled, leaning closer to inspect your work. “Oh? Big plans like what? Scribbling our initials on it?”

“Very funny,” you shot back, though you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “Watch and learn, Alessia Russo.” You said as you turned your back to her slightly.

You began painting in earnest, starting with a simple heart shape in bright red at the centre of your ornament. Alessia, meanwhile, selected her paints with a surprising level of focus from someone who laughed this idea off a second previously, furrowing her brows as she considered which colours to use.

“What are you going for?” you asked, glancing over at her.

She smirked, tilting the ornament in her hand to show you the start of her design. “A masterpiece, obviously.”

The “masterpiece” in question was a series of uneven lines and smudges of green and gold, but the pride in her expression made you smile.

“You’re so modest,” you quipped, nudging her shoulder playfully.

As the evening went on, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, dipping brushes into paint and laughing over your attempts to create something meaningful and cute. Alessia’s focus wavered quickly; every time she made a mistake, she would throw her head back and laugh, claiming it added “character.” At one point, she accidentally dipped her sleeve in the paint, leaving a streak of gold across the table.

“Oops,” she said, holding up her arm with a sheepish grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, grabbing a cloth to wipe up the spill. “At this rate, you’ll have more paint on yourselves than the ornaments you are making.”

She shrugged, grabbing a smaller brush and adding a blob of white to her design. “It’s abstract. I’m an artist. Don’t all artists get covered in their artwork.”

Your evening continued like this for the next 30 minutes, you and Alessia exchanging playful comments or sharing your attempts at art on the decorations you were making. All your ornaments slowly took shape, bright, cheerful designs, one for which featured the date of your first Christmas together and a little snowflake on the back as created by yourself. Alessia, on the other hand, had abandoned any pretence of a cohesive design. Her ornaments had become a chaos of colours and swirls, one was all green with a tiny football painted near the top.

“You’re going to hang that on the tree?” you teased, gesturing to her mess of a creation.

“Of course,” she replied, holding it up proudly. “It’s a reflection of my soul: messy, colourful, and full of love.”

You laughed, reaching over to add a little star to the edge of her ornament. “It’s perfect,” you admitted.

When both of you finished your next ornaments, you set them aside to dry and reached for the next blank ones. Alessia surprised you by grabbing your hand, stopping you mid-motion.

“Wait,” she said softly, her expression suddenly serious.

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what had shifted. “What is it?”

Alessia hesitated for a moment before taking one of the blank ornaments and handing it to you. “Let’s make one together,” she suggested.

“Together?”

“Yeah. Like you know, both of us working on one. Something that’s really ours.”

Your heart warmed at the suggestion, and you nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “I love that idea.”

You scooted closer to her, holding the ornament between you as you decided on the design together. It started with a big, bold heart in the centre, with your initials inside. Around the edges, you added tiny stars while Alessia painted little footballs and a small Christmas tree. Every few minutes, your hands would brush, sending sparks of warmth through you.

At one point, Alessia paused, holding up her brush with a mischievous grin. “Hold still,” she said.

“What? Why?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she swiped a quick streak of red paint across the tip of your nose.

“Alessia!” you exclaimed, laughing as you grabbed a brush of your own.

A quick, playful battle ensued, with streaks of paint finding their way onto your cheeks and Alessia’s chin. By the time you called a truce, both of you were a mess, your faces streaked with colour and your hands covered in smudges. You had placed your shared ornament down on the table before you retaliated so that it wasn’t part of the faux war.

“Okay, okay,” you said, still laughing as you leaned back. “I think the ornament’s supposed to get painted, not us.”

Alessia chuckled, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “It’s a work of art either way.”

When the shared ornament was finally complete, the two of you held it up to admire your handiwork. It wasn’t perfect in its own way, the lines were a little uneven, and the colours had smudged in a few places, but it was undeniably yours.

“I love it,” Alessia said softly, her voice filled with genuine affection.

“Me too,” you agreed, setting it gently on the table to dry.

You spent the rest of the evening cleaning up the mess you’d made, trading kisses and light hearted jokes as you worked. When the ornaments were dry, you carefully hung them on the tree together, stepping back to admire how they looked amidst the twinkling lights.

Alessia slipped her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. “These are going to be my favourite decorations each year.” she murmured.

You leaned into her, your heart full. “Ours,” you corrected gently.

She smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Ours,” she agreed.

[laviefantasie]

Video 4

| series masterlist |

The sun is setting over the jujutsu high compound, casting warm hues across the courtyard. Inside one of the quieter rooms, Y/N is setting up a small easel, your canvas ready for the first stroke. Brushes, tubes of paint, and a small ceramic bowl of water are neatly arranged beside you. Suguru is already there, sleeves rolled up, looking as if he’s about to become the next world renowned artist. His hair is a little more disheveled than usual, but the slight smirk on his face tells you he is comfortable.

“Alright, the camera is on and focused and I’m setting up my canvas for real this time. You sure you want to join me, Suguru? You’re not really the type to sit still for long”

Suguru chuckles softly, picking up a brush and dipping it into a warm shade of blue.

“It’s called expanding my horizons, Y/N. Plus, I thought you could use a little company”

You nod, smiling as you adjust your canvas, although a teasing twink appears in your bright E/C eyes.

“If we’re doing this, though, don’t turn it into a competition” you remind him, “No ‘who can paint better’ nonsense”

Suguru gives you a lazy, amused grim, clearly enjoying the thought of teasing you while painting.

“No promises” he smirks “But I’ll try my best to make something that doesn’t end in chaos”

Both of you dip your brushes into your chosen colors and start painting. But just as the two of you start getting into the flow of it—Suguru’s brush strokes deliberate and calm, yours more spontaneous and bright—a loud crash interrupts the settled peace.

The door flies open and Gojo Satoru enters with an exaggerated flourish, sunglasses on, and a pout plastered on his face.

“Hey, hey! What is this? You two started a painting party without me!” He whines, “I thought we were friends, Y/N!”

Suguru raises an eyebrow as Satoru dramatically collapses on the floor, looking up to the ceiling with a hand over his heart.

“Did you just… fall in through the door for dramatic effect?” Suguru asks.

Satoru grins widely, “I’m just adding some flair, Suguru. How else do you think I should enter? Also, where’s my invite? I thought we were the three musketeers”

You stifled a laugh, trying to focus on your work, but the camera didn’t forget to capture the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Sorry not sorry, Satoru” you say, “Didn’t think you were the type to sit still and paint. I figured you’d be too busy doing something… important, like annoying people or emptying another dessert shop”

Satoru sats up immediately, and dramatically, throwing his arms out as if wounded.

“Ouch! Is that how you see me? That hurts. I’m offended! I’m a man of taste and class, I’d totally be amazing at painting”

Suguru shakes his head with an amused smile, muttering knowingly to himself as he mixes some paint.

“You wouldn’t last five minutes without making a mess”

Satoru ignores him, “You know, I’m actually artistic. I’m like… a modern-day Picasso. Or Van Gogh—except I have my ears intact”

You turn to glance a him, skepticism on your face.

“Sure. And you’ve definitely read all kinds of art history books, right?”

Satoru winks at her playfully, “Well, I don’t read, but I’m sure I could paint circles around both of you”

Suguru rolls his eyes but, apparently done with Satoru’s antics, offers him a brush.

“Fine. If you’re so confident, you can join us” he relents, “But I’m warning you, we’re professionals here”

The three of them get to work, and immediately, Satoru begins to disrupt everything. You are trying to focus on a landscape with some subtle blending, while Suguru’s painting a more intricate figure. Meanwhile, Satoru is working on his own ‘masterpiece’, which mostly involves scribbling random, chaotic shapes with his brush, his colors clashing wildly with everyone else’s.

Satoru holds up his canvas proudly, “Look, I’m totally channeling my inner abstract genius! It’s a representation of freedom, of rebellion! What do you think?”

You stares at the chaotic mess in front of you, the blue and red clashing violently. You snort, holding back a laugh.

“You’re an actual disaster. It looks like a toddler dipped a paintbrush in a jar of chaos and went wild”

“It’s art” he states, grinning widely.

Suguru chuckles, setting his brush down for a second as he glances over.

“It’s definitely something. Not sure if it’s art, though”

Satoru sticks his tongue out at him before turning back to you, his expression suddenly shifting to something more playful. He walks over to your easel, leaning casually over your shoulder, his face close enough that you can feel the heat of his body.

“But, you know, you’re missing one thing in your painting, Y/N”

You raise an eyebrow, not sure whether you should be annoyed or entertained.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Satoru leans in just a little closer, his voice lowering to a teasing tone.

“A little bit of me. A masterpiece can’t be complete without a dash of perfection”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks turn a light pink against your better judgement. You can never tell if he’s being serious or just trying to get under your skin.

You grab a paintbrush, quickly flicking a spot of green paint onto Satoru’s shirt.

“There. Now it’s perfect” you smirk.

Satoru stares at the green stain, his mouth falling open in mock horror.

“You’ve ruined me. Ruined my shirt. My image. I’m a tragic artist now”

Suguru laughs from his corner of the room, shaking his head at the two of you.

“You both are insufferable. Seriously, how do you guys even manage to get anything done together?” Suguru asks.

You let out a laugh, “It’s called balance, Suguru. I paint, and Satoru provides chaos”

Satoru dramatically flops onto the floor again, spreading his arms out as if he’s defeated.

“You know, this could’ve been a perfect group activity if it weren’t for you two conspiring against my genius”

Suguru raises a brow, amused, “You are a genius—just not in the way you think you are”

After a few more hours of chaotic painting, in which a lot of paint ended up in both Satoru’s and your clothes, the three of you step back and admire each of your works.

Satoru’s piece now has a mix of random scribbles and strange shapes, while Suguru’s work is meticulously detailed, with deep serene colored forming a landscape. Yours is a bright piece, a playful interpretation of the sky, with clouds hues of purple and pink—vibrant and dreamy.

You stare at the painting for a few minutes before turning to look at yourself… covered in paint. You frown.

“Well… this was a disaster” a smile tugs at your lips, “Although, I kinda fun one”

Satoru grins, throwing a playful wink your way.

“What can I say? I bring the fun wherever I go” he brags.

Suguru shakes his head but smiles quiestly, glancing at both of them with something akin to fondness in his eyes.

“Somehow we made it out. It was fun, though I kinda wished Shoko had been here” he sighs, “Would’ve helped me deal with you two”

You send him an offended look while Satoru simply grins widely. Suddenly, Satoru pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of the three pieces.

“Perfect!” He smiles, “This is going straight into my ‘masterpieces’ collection”

“It’s not masterpieces if it’s just an album of your selfies” you remind him, amused.

“Masterpieces, Y/N, masterpieces”

Holding back a laugh, you move to grab the videocamera recording the whole process, closing it so the screen goes black.

The recording ending.

taglist: @gumiiiiezzzz @reagan707

[horoscope1078]

Trent 🤗

-> He's got all the answers to life’s big questions; or at least he thinks he does. Need advice on love, work, or your next move? He'll give you some deep, soul-searching wisdom, before revealing he's probably just watched a documentary on it. But hey, it sounds profound.

-> He has mastered the art of calm. Even when the world is falling apart around him, he'll be the ones sipping tea and saying, “It’s all part of the journey, my friend.” If only he could get the rest of us to take a deep breath and chill like he does!

-> Whether it’s painting, writing, music, or coming up with a wild business idea, he's got more creative energy than a toddler with a crayon. You never know if you’ll find him drafting a new masterpiece or inventing something that’ll change the world (or at least your weekend plans).

-> He's the kind of person who can be super private but still end up as the life of the party. With just a few well-chosen words, he can captivate a room without spilling a single secret. He's cracked the code for being a mystery while also being intriguing.

-> He can be emotionally in tune with the universe, but also somehow manage to be hard as nails when it counts. It’s like he's in touch with his feelings and could probably beat you in a staring contest while silently judging your life choices.

-> He enjoys his space and privacy, but deep down, he's softy who loves a good heart-to-heart. Don’t be fooled by his "I need my alone time" routine; he'll be the first to show up with pizza when you need a friend to help you through a rough patch.

-> You’ll never quite know what’s going on in his head, but that’s part of the charm. One minute he's quoting philosophy, the next he's talking about his favourite obscure hobby (that you didn’t know existed). Just when you think you’ve figured him out, he'll drop a completely random fact about something you never knew you needed to know.

-> He doesn’t back down easily; sometimes to a fault. But in a funny way, he'll stick to his guns even if he's already forgotten why he's sticking to him in the first place. It’s like watching a warrior who’s lost his battle plan but is still charging ahead, just with extra confidence.

Darker Trent 😨

-> He loves his privacy so much, he might keep too many secrets; often leaving others in the dark. He could be hiding crucial information, or worse, deliberately playing mind games by withholding details just to keep people guessing. What’s worse than a mystery? A mystery he's creating on purpose.

-> He can be quick to judge, especially when someone crosses his moral or spiritual code. Once he feels betrayed or wronged, he'll have a hard time letting it go, holding grudges like he's collecting trophies. He may forgive, but it’s going to take a lot to get there.

-> He can be so in tune with people’s emotions that he might use that knowledge to manipulate situations to his advantage. He can play the poor-me card, stir up guilt, or create drama just to get others to do what he wants, all while maintaining his calm, mysterious façade.

-> While he can be deeply connected to his own feelings, when it comes to others, he might detach emotionally and be cold or distant. It’s like he has a switch that he flicks off when he doesn’t want to deal with someone else’s problems; leaving others feeling abandoned when they need support the most.

-> He can dig his heels in so deeply that he refuses to consider any other perspective; even when it’s clearly not working. This level of stubbornness can lead to him pushing forward with projects, relationships, or ideas that are doomed from the start, dragging others down with him.

-> He's so restless that he can become a bit of a distraction machine. His inability to stay focused might cause him to leave things unfinished, or worse, distract others with his endless, random ideas or urgent need for change. Sometimes, his desire for something new or different can throw others off course, creating chaos instead of progress.

[imnotasuperhero]

Masterpiece

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

A/N: Remember my fic staring Angel!Wanda? Well.. Here I share you another story in the same AU. Promise it’s not too painful.

Or, the need to revive this AU and @wandabear ranting over her with me, provided an idea based on Masterpiece by Madonna and made me do it. Enjoy!

Weeks passed since Wanda finally revealed her true self, and your love for her only grew stronger.

Having a feathered girlfriend could be both, a blessing and chaos. Luckily, the last happened behind closed doors -if you ignore that event a few days back.

And you were fine ignoring it. As if it never happened.

But as the blearing thick letters on the screen confirmed the hidden fear in the back of your mind, your heartbeat started to pound in a not-so-good way, silently begging Wanda to hurry back home. Like a secret prayer to a weary God.

Granted, the face of the suspect wasn't revealed, which gave you some sort of tranquility. Yet, the small voice at the back of your head kept coming up with possible outcomes if someone ever knew about Wanda. And you couldn't -won't- let anything happen to her.

Nothing's indestructible.

Caressing her cheek, you admired Wanda's sleeping form. A true work of art made of flesh and bones and wings.

And boy, were you lucky to be the chosen one.

She might've saved you time after time, it was only fair you took care of her.

Your heart ached and healed at the same time when at the end of the night, you were the only one by her side. Every night.

Your insides filled with pride knowing you were worthy enough to be the one who made her laugh, who held her while she opened up, who dried her tears. You were the one she let her walls fall down for. You were the one who got to love her in every aspect of the word.

Yet, you were the one who hurt so painfully because after all, every thing that breathed could be harmed.

And God forbid you to witness that. Even after your time had come.

"Your thoughts are loud," Wanda mumbled as she snuggled closer.

Looking down, you stared at her almost quizzically.

"Sorry," you leaned down to kiss her forehead, melting at the sound escaping her lips.

Muffling a yawn against your chest, Wanda rolled over, pinning you down. "What's on your mind?"

You sighed at the worriness in her voice.

"Is it about the news?" She pushed after a few moments of silence.

Absentmindedly, you could only nod.

Like every time she looked at you, you couldn't help but wander into those forest orbs of hers. As if your lungs craved the oxygen needed to function and it was something to find exclusively in her eyes.

You smiled at the feather-like kisses she peppered your face with.

"I'm safe, baby," she vowed, joining your foreheads together. "I'm right where I'm meant to be."

Opposed to Wanda's intentions, her words only served for you to open the water gates of your eyes -heart- as your arms locked her in place, right on top of you, as you hid your face in the crook of her neck.

The pain only grew when you heard the gush of air around you. The tingly sensation was forgotten as a lightweight settled above you.

Wanda's heart broke at that confession.

'If only your wings protected you too,' you cried to yourself.

"Y/N," the brunette repeated herself sternly only to smile something bittersweet when you peeked at her sheepishly, tears escaping your eyes.

"Only two things can kill me," Wanda spoke vehemently, brushing away the tears with the pad of the thumbs. "One is locked in heaven. The other one is right in front of me." The brunette confessed confidently. "And I know you will never do it."

"Look at me, Detka," Wanda commanded. Yet, you refused to obey.

Because she knew. She's known it since the first time you looked at her.

The way your eyes admired her, made her feel like the Mona Lisa. Something so priceless and unique to be kept at reaching distance.

And for the majority of her life, she's felt like a caged creature. Always hidden, repeating the same lie to every new nosy human that crossed her path. In every new place she moved into, she repeated the same lie over and over to the point she started to believe it.

Until you came.

A -clumsy- nosy woman with the spirit of a child. So full of life that it made Wanda want to know you. Really know you.

That's why she couldn't help her body's instinct to shield you both with her wings at the sight of your body in a such fragile state.

Hopefully, they'd work their charm and calm your thoughts. But every passing second confirmed it didn't work.

"You're mine to keep," you whispered, warming her heart.

She understood your worries. She had them, too. But she never acted on instinct when she was out in the open world. She's become a pro at hiding her nature.

"I'm yours to destroy." Wanda joined your lips together, sealing an unspoken pact in that painful, yet reviving, kiss.

Because even if Wanda had given you her heart in a silver plate to stab whenever you wanted, you took it and secured it in a crystal box, safe from all the harm of the world.

If you liked it, please comment or reblog (Let me knoe if you want to be in a taglist)

And it was right then, right there where you swore your soul to protect her.

She was your masterpiece and you made it your mission to make her indestructible. At any cost.

[knoepfl]

Unraveled Dreams, Twisted Love

Characters:

Joker (Heath Ledger’s version): A chaotic and sinister criminal mastermind, dark and unpredictable. He embodies madness and pulls those around him into his twisted world, always with a smile on his face that masks the true darkness underneath.

Reader (You): A failed fashion designer, underappreciated and overlooked by the world, who seeks validation through her work. Joker loves your clothes and makes you feel needed, but there’s always a lingering sense of uncertainty about how much control you really have over your own life.

Trigger Warnings:

Mentions of violence and manipulation

Psychological themes

Dark romance

Masterlist

Words: 897

---

The dim light in your small studio flickered, casting erratic shadows on the walls. The sketches scattered on the table before you were brightly colored, filled with life and creativity, but they were crumpled, stained—remnants of a dream that had never come true. No one had ever appreciated your designs, your art. The world didn’t get it. They called them too wild, too outlandish, too much.

But not him. Never him.

You leaned back, watching the familiar purple coat draped over a chair. The stitching, the fabric, every detail was perfect—and he wore it as if it were a crown, making your rejected dream feel like a masterpiece. Joker had been the only one to see your designs for what they were—genius.

The door creaked open, and you turned your head. There he was, standing there with his unhurried, crooked smile, his makeup smudged and his green hair slicked back, making him look even more wild. He was always like that—deliberate in his chaos, savoring every moment of unpredictability.

“Hey,” he said with that raspy voice, dragging the word out. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, his posture loose, as if he were made of string. “Working on something… beautiful?”

Your heart skipped at the familiar tone of mockery mixed with something deeper, something darker. He loved to toy with you like that, loved to watch you second-guess whether he was praising you or playing a game.

“Maybe,” you said, tilting your head. “I’m not sure anymore.”

He laughed, that low, guttural sound that echoed through the room. “Oh, you’re not sure?” He sauntered over, leaning against the desk, his pale fingers ghosting over one of the crumpled sketches. “You know, for someone with such an eye for detail…” He dragged out the word, as if savoring its taste. “…you sure doubt yourself a lot.”

Your eyes flickered down for a moment, feeling the familiar tightness in your chest. He always knew how to make you feel small, but at the same time, he was the only one who made you feel seen.

“I just wanted people to see them—my designs. They called them garbage, Joker. They threw them away.” Your voice cracked, frustration bubbling up. “But you, you wear them like they’re gold. Like they mean something.”

He smirked, glancing down at the purple coat you’d made him, adjusting the lapel as if it were a crown. “That’s because they do mean something. But who cares about them, hmm?” He leaned closer, his dark eyes boring into yours. “They’re not like us. They’re small. And we…” He tapped your forehead with one finger, making your head jerk slightly. “…we’re big.”

A smile crept onto your face, the tightness in your chest loosening. You always needed this—his validation, his approval. Without it, you weren’t sure who you were anymore.

Joker’s smile widened as he saw your expression soften. He knew he had you right where he wanted you. “And, you know…” he continued, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, “people, they don’t like what they don’t understand. It scares them. But we?” His eyes glinted with that manic excitement. “We don’t care about their rules. Their opinions. You make them see the world the way you want them to.”

You blinked, trying to hold onto the thread of sanity you still believed you had. You weren’t crazy. You weren’t like the others. But there was something about the way he spoke that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you belonged in his world more than you realized.

“I want them to wear my designs,” you said, almost to yourself. “I want them to see.”

Joker grinned, slow and wide. “Oh, they’ll see. And when they do?” He leaned in close, his breath cold against your ear. “They’ll know they were wrong. They’ll all see how perfect you are.”

His words were like a drug, filling you with a twisted kind of hope, a rush of validation that only he could provide. You stared at him, your heart pounding as you searched his eyes for any sign of deception, but all you saw was madness, a kind of brilliance that captivated you, even as it scared you.

“Do you… do you think I’m crazy?” you asked quietly, your voice betraying the doubt you tried to hide.

Joker chuckled softly, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. “Oh, baby…” He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re the least crazy person in this city.”

You wanted to believe him. You had to believe him. If Joker saw you as sane, then maybe it was the world that was wrong. Maybe it was everyone else who had been crazy all along.

He reached out, his gloved fingers trailing down your arm before resting lightly on your hand. “So what if they don’t get it? We’ll make them get it. Together.” His eyes sparkled with that dangerous excitement you’d come to love. “Just like you made this for me.” He tugged lightly on the lapel of his coat, reminding you of the piece of yourself you had given him.

You smiled, feeling a surge of pride. It wasn’t crazy to want people to see your brilliance. It wasn’t madness to want your work to be admired, appreciated.

“You’re right,” you whispered, your voice steadying. “We’ll make them see.”

Joker’s smile widened. “That’s my girl.”

---

Author’s Note: I wanted to channel Heath Ledger’s Joker and the unique way he interacts with others—his manipulative, twisted affection and the power he holds over the reader. It’s a darker take on their dynamic, emphasizing the Joker’s chaotic yet calculated nature and how he draws her deeper into his world.

[apteryxparvus]

hello! i got your blog recommended to me through your follower event post, and first of all, i just wanna say congrats, 100 followers is awesome!! 🎉🎉 second, i had a quick read of your writing and i would love to participate in your event! i was thinking armin (shocker!!!) from aot and fluff, maybe something domestic, like armin making you breakfast in bed? 🤭 i hope that’s okay, congrats again on your milestone<3

p.s. your blog and the graphic on your event post are sooo cute🥺🫶

Hi!! Thanks for the request and for the compliments! Btw, I adore your whole blog aesthetic 🥰

Part of my ✨ 100 followers milestone event ✨ that ran from September 2nd to September 9th.

Pairing — Armin Arlert / Reader

Word count — 1,058 words

Content warning — none

Armin has always been the more pragmatic and analytical half of your relationship — diligently managing the household finances, ensuring bills were paid on time, and being the go-to person when anything in your little apartment decides to break down. Whether he possesses the DIY knowledge on how to fix it, or has a trusty contact who does (usually a close friend or a friend of a friend), he always ensures the issue is resolved as swiftly as possible.

On the other hand, you revel in maintaining the home’s tidiness, even amidst the chaos of Armin’s extensive book collection strewn haphazardly around. With your knack for decorating and your keen eye for the arts — along with the assortment of second-hand bought trinkets and cherished gifts from close friends — you’ve personalized the space to perfectly reflect the both of you. Now, it feels imbued with life and warmth — your little sanctuary of love and laughter.

One piece of furniture stands out amongst the rest — an old, well-loved but worn-out couch, adorned with scrapes and a few lingering stains from late nights drinking. While it may have seen better days, it holds a special place in your hearts. A gift from Mikasa and Eren — a symbol to commemorate a most significant milestone in your relationship with Armin: finally moving in together, after years of dating. Countless evenings you’ve spent together on that couch, the two of you, snuggled close, engrossed in movies and documentaries, with popcorn and other snacks scattered around.

Unfortunately, those evenings have become a distant memory. While Armin has the luxury of working from home occasionally, your day begins and ends with a grueling commute. Endless hours stuck in traffic, surrounded by other impatient commuters honking their horns and blasting music. Your nightly routines of cozying up with books and series have faded away, and Armin is always quick to notice the melancholy in your eyes, and the exhaustion that coats your whole being when you return home from work.

He yearns to bring back the sense of relaxation in your life.

So, one cloudy Saturday morning — with the skies overcast and the gentle city breeze singing its soft melody — he decides to dedicate the day entirely to you.

He stirs from his slumber, stretching his limbs, ensuring his movements are as quiet as possible. Padding softly to the kitchen, he contemplates his first step: breakfast — he’s been eagerly awaiting the opportunity to prepare your favorites ever since his latest grocery run, where he gathered all the necessary ingredients.

He brews himself a fragrant cup of coffee, the bitter aroma filling the air. His hands move gracefully as he gathers the ingredients, double-checking the recipes saved on his phone. Even though he has watched you create these dishes countless of times — and he considers them simple and easy to recreate — he’s determined to prepare a masterpiece.

Contrary to his belief and his initial confidence, preparing the breakfast platter ends up a challenging endeavor. When he finally completes the breakfast, a fine dusting of flour coats every inch of the tiny kitchen; rogue bits of batter cling stubbornly to his tousled hair. There’s a wet spot on the floor, where an unfortunate egg had met its fate.

Despite his fierce battle with the stubborn kitchen appliances and the endless amount of recipes (complete with their frustratingly long blog stories), Armin couldn’t help but let out a proud smile at his accomplishment. A grand platter, filled with numerous delicious and aromatic treats lay in front of him. Of course, a steaming cup of coffee sat next to it, brewed from your favorite coffee beans — the ones you’ve reserved only for special occasions.

Armin looks at the clock, noting the time is drawing near to when you usually stir from your slumber on your days off. He carefully collects the platter, and proceeds towards your shared bedroom.

He eases the door ajar, casting a cautious glance inside.You’re already awake, perched on the bed, tousled and tangled hair framing your face. Fatigue clings to your eyes, yet a delicate smile graces your lips as you idly scroll your phone.

“Good morning, love,” Armin murmurs tenderly, opening the door further. “I’ve prepared a little something for you.” He steps inside the room, heart swelling as he notices your gaze widen in astonishment.

“Armin…” you start, words faltering. “You—you shouldn't have…” You spring up from the bed, nearly stumbling over your own slippers, as you eagerly reach for him. Cupping his cheeks within your tender hands, you lock your gaze with his, heart racing with affection. You find yourself lost in the endless cerulean of his eyes; and you can’t help but notice the tiny specks of lighter blue scattered within. A shy but sweet smile tugs at his lips, and a gentle flush colors his cheeks as you press your lips softly against his.

“Oh, no!” you mumble, drawing back in mild horror. Armin looks puzzled by your sudden reaction, as you stammer our apologies. “Morning breath, sorry… Just… give me a moment,” you add, rushing off to the bathroom to quickly freshen up by brushing your teeth and washing your face.

When you return back to the bedroom — now looking significantly more refreshed and awake — Armin has already set the platter on the bed. The coffee, still burning hot, emits gentle tendrils of steam.

You settle gracefully onto the bed, crossing your legs. “Are you joining me?” you ask, patting the spot next to you with a warm smile. Armin ponders for a moment, before he settles next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“You made my favorite,” you murmur, gaze fixed on the colorful and appetizing platter of food before you. “Thank you,” you add quietly, planting another tender kiss on his lips. You nestle your cheek against his, seeking out the comfort of his warm presence.

Together, the two of you savor the quiet intimacy of the breakfast, enjoying the different flavors of the dishes he had prepared. To many, the moment might seem small and insignificant, but to you, it means everything — the chance to spend such intimate and domestic moments with the person you cherish the most in your life, the one person you love more than anyone else in the world.

Author's note: i made a notion table with all my wips and uhh... i have like 15 of them 🤡

[popculturebuffet]

Next up for Nickelodeon era of shows, who is your favorite character from each of the mid-late 2010s Nicktoons shows (where quality improved and got better again, despite only one from this set thriving in Nick's success) you've seen like: Harvey Beaks, Pig Goat Banana Cricket, The Loud House, Bunsen is a Beast, Welcome to the Wayne, The Adventures of Kid Danger, Rise of the TMNT, Pinky Malinky, and The Casagrandes?

Harvey Beaks; Piri Piri. She's adorable, tends to steal most scenes she's in and her shipping episode with Harvey was both an unexpected treat (I shipped them after the mouse book episode but I honestly didn't expect it to actually happen). The show itself is one of Nick's best, and like all but exactly one fucking show here, got treated like crap by the network. I"m heading that off now as wether I liked a show here or didn't, nick's already bad habit of screwing over shows has reached it's absolute worst since the 2010's. I only think it's slowed down slightly due to streaming (with big nate and rebootgrats getting the shovel to the head instead), and nicktoons not being nearly as viable a dumping ground due to the changing landscape of television.

Ranting aside yeah, Harvey Beaks is a masterpiece, a really sweet , kind slice of life show with a wonderful cast, great art design and a lot of heart. Out of CH Greenblat's three shows it's the best, and Jellystone and Chowder are no slouches but it's hard to make a show this wholesome, wonderful and itself. There will never be another show just like harvey beaks but maybe one day we'll see something close to this level of warmth. For now though at least the chaos present in it is alive and well in jellystone.. for now. I don't trust it's future beyond this run. Warner is even worse.

Pig Goat Banana Cricket: I liked Goat. I just think she's neat. Yeah this show is fine. It';s not as mediocre as some of the "trying to homage classic nicktoons shows" before it. It has a neat ren and stimpy style art direction and setup so there's effort I just feel the shows central premise, the characters getting split up to individual adventures, while neat on paper... hurt what I saw of the show. Since the characters only interact in drips, it prevents your cast from developing a lot of chemistry. It was a novel attempt it just didn't work for me.

The Loud House: Luna. This blog's proud history makes that clear as my bi adopted daughter was the centerpiece for my first pride month on the blog and I shall return to her other spotlights again at some point. The show itself.. is fine. Ther'es a lot to like: I love the comic strip style to it: as a fan of the medium in a time when adaptations are either rare or keep getting canceled (Phoebe in her unicorn ) or left in limbo (Bloom CountY) i'ts nice ot have something like that. The show is far from perfect: adressing the elephant in the room the creator is a sex pest and while much like ren and stimply I don't let that affect my enjoyment as he was thrown out on his ass and thankfully unlike John K caught way sooner. (If sadly not nearly soon enough) and the current showrunners being doing the show for longer than Savino was on board at this point. As for the show itself it's status quo nature can be frustrating as after a while the show kinda gave up on doing story arcs or romance arcs for better or worse. Luna's relatoinship with sam is great.. but you COULD do more with it now their together, and instead she just kinda got rolled into the moon goats. That said the show's still charming I like it a lot and I request the creepier parts of the fanbase stay 50 feet away at all times. The show gets a lot of backlash for it's popularity, epsecially over some of these other shows.. but like say teen titans go (Which I have less respect for honestly), it's .. not it's fault. It's a solid show with some good laughs, not as good as it COULD be, but still better than it has any right to be seven seasons in and going. Will we get a magical dog who talks awkwardly? Possibly. But while the show somehow won the "not getting cacneld lottery" it's at least hung in their gracefully. Though I do think it should end at some point.. and also the live action version does not intrest me. If you wanted to do lincoln romance plot lines do them in the fucking animated show. and yes that's a sore spot with me.

Bunsen is a Beast: Hadn't seen this one, don't intend to. All the impression I get for this one is it's the most hated of the butch hartman quartet and the last thing he made before he burnt up allllllll his good will by being a raving jackass.

Welcome to the Wayne: Sarline was both entertaining and had a nice character arc. I wish i'd seen more of this show an di'td got a proper conclusion. That being said while I do think it's neat, I also think while not hte gravity falls ripoff it got shit for, Sarline and Ollie aren't exactly the same as captaion anxious and mablepalooza, I do feel the creators were trying to follow in it's footsteps, and did an okay job, the worldbuilding just felt like it was trying a bit harder than the effortless way gravity falls did it and the golden trio all taking after it in some way.

Ultimately I think Time is what's kinda hurt this show a bit: soon after it we got said golden trio of ducktales, amphibia and owl house, while around the time of this show cartoon network had steven universe still going and ok ko. I also hear great things about Dead End: paranormal Park and STILL need to get around to tha tone (and reading more of deadendia). This show isn't bad.. but it kinda pales to the shows following that kids solving mysterys in a spooky setting genre gravity falls helped explode in popularity. It's not it's fault, and it's admitely my own bias: the golden trio are some of my faviorite cartoons period, and Ducktales might be my faviorite and is certainly my faviorite disney channel show at this point. It's not bad but it just dosen't wow me the way it did when it first aired.

The Adventures of Kid Danger; I never watched this one. I don't intend to any time soon. Also haven't seen pinky malkiny and don't intend to just to get ahead of it now.

Rise of the TMNT: One of the best nick shows of this era and one that's honestly gotten better in my eyes the more I think about it. While Welcome to teh Wayne aged ehhly, Rise of the TMNT has only gotten better to me it's rough edges sanded over by it's talent, being one fo the few action shows of it's era and being one of the mos tunique versions of tmnt ever

My faviorite.. is Raph though it is very hard as I love all the boys this verison, I just love him as the cuddly big brother though Donnie as a mad scientst is a close second, leo is a close third as ben schwartz is a god and mikey is dead last but still adorable.

Rise excels by deciding to try something diffrent a move kinda needed since the previous two cartoons ahd done the most obvious directoins to go in with a reboot: the 2003 cartoon (still possibly my faviorite of the four, now five though at the time of this review I haven't watched tales yet), was a truer to the text version of the mirage comics after the goofy and fun 80s cartoon, and 2012 split the diffrence, having neat character arcs and some really dark turns, but also having a lot of the uhinged madness of the 80s cartoon and rebooting a lot of it's unique ideas for a modern audience.

So rise instead was it's own weird little bean, deciding to throw out the script as far as tmnt went with all four brothers having their personalities changed completely: They still kept parts of their cores with it: Raph's still a brusier, donnie still duz machines, mikey's still the joyful goofy one and Leo is still the most skilled.. but they shake it up a bit to great effect; Instead of a rageful hot head or a sarcastic asshole, Raph is a kinder frinedler big brother who actually gets to lead even if he's really bad at it. Donnie is a mad scientest and has no moral compass to speak of beyond a love for his brothers and an ego the size of the sewer, and Leo is radically cahnged to be a sarcastic goof off whose scared of his actual potetial. Mikey.. is jsut nice and kind which he's been before but works for me especially after the more manic cloud cuckoolander of 2012. April likewise kept her role as voice of reason (and her teenage status, which now seems to be the default going forward and i'm fine with that), but got a lerooy jenkins strength, a string of jobs that would make jonesey jealous and a desire to have one friend who isn't related to the werid whirlwidn that is her life. She fails at that but she got a goop monster for a girlfriend so that kinda compesnates.

The show took tons of other big swings, with most of the familiar rogues absent for most of the show (With only shredder having a major roll and only Baxter being a recurring threat out of the returning enemies) , magic being the focus instead of a side dish or something they just had to put up with, unique weapons, Casey being a girl and their enemy at first, and an emphasis on comedy that seemed like it might sink the show.. but instead worked in it's favor as it's humor generally worked and made the action and character moments hit harder. Rise is a show that had me a tad nervous to start.. but won me over easily with the first episode and kept me on board on and off for it's run. It's got gorgeous action, great humor ("STOP EATING POISON"), one of the best splinters in the franchise, JOHNNN CENNNAAAA, and a satisfying ending.. and then another satisfying ending with the movie, which still holds the crown as second best tmnt movie and only lost said crown because mutant mayhem happened. And while MM goes back to the more traditional personaliteis for the core 4 a bit (with leo being the exception being extra super awkward if still the responsible one, even beyond the 2012 cartoon), it keeps the "let's see what we can do with this" mindset and feels like a worthy successor to this universe. i may miss rise, but it stil lstands out as one of the most unique and fun entires in the canon.

The Casagrandes: Bobby. Loved him at first sight on the loud house. Granted it helps Carlos was awesome on Big Time Rush (Which despite having mostly noped out of live action nick at that point, I watched any time I caught it. IT's a big stupid cartoon and a nicktoon in all but being live action. ), but Bobby is nature's second most perfect himbo behind hank venture, a kind thoughtful young man who despite being dumbber than a sack of hammers, is still far more resourceful than he seems, a good son, a great big brother (both to his sister and to his Primos) , and the best man. Give me a bobbi and lori spinoff now. The show itself was great and during a mild slump honestly suprassed the original show. I'm sad it's gone and wish it'd gotten to stay longer. It's got a great cast, tons of diverstiy and while similar to loud house, has more than enough to set it apart and avoid being their clevland show: the urban setting, diverse cast and gay as hell main friendship (YOu can't convince me ronnie anne and sam are straight. Bi yes becauase they are but straight no), and lots of fun. I honestly need to watch more. Good stuff.

[flyawaywithme777]

Happy birthday little one.

I’ve been at parties day after day, so let me share my experience.

Hello, my gorgeous butterflies!

Let me tell you about a wild adventure I went on this past weekend — one that included balloons, cake, glitter, and a lot of very excited little humans. Yep, you guessed it: I went to a few birthday party’s, and it was nothing short of chaotic… and absolutely magical.

Now, before you say anything, let me be clear. Three-year-olds are adorable but also total wild cards. You never know what you’re going to get: tears, laughter, running, hiding, or perhaps all three in the span of 30 seconds. But that’s the beauty of it, right? The unpredictability and pure joy that comes with watching these little ones experience life in the most innocent, exciting way.

So, let’s take a little stroll through what it’s like to attend a child's birthday party, shall we?

1. The Invitations: A Work of Art (Sort Of)

If you’ve ever been to a toddler’s birthday party, you know that the invitations are usually a masterpiece of scribbles, glitter, and stickers. It’s adorable, but you can’t help but wonder if the toddler got a little carried away with the markers and glue. Regardless, you’re in — no need to question the art, just get ready to show up with your best party vibes.

2. The Theme: Chaos in Pink or Dinosaurs (You Choose)

The theme for a child’s party? Oh, it could be anything. Sometimes it’s princesses and unicorns, other times it’s dinosaurs, or even a full-on "cars and trucks" extravaganza. The choices are endless — and let me tell you, the energy is high! The decorations may not be Pinterest-perfect, but they sure are full of heart. And really, that’s what makes it so special.

3. Arriving: Where Are the Parents?

You step into the party, and instantly, you’re hit with an overwhelming wave of noise, balloons, and a bunch of toddlers who think they own the place. There’s a lot of running, a lot of yelling, and a lot of "Where’s Mommy?" happening in every corner. It’s a little like entering a wild jungle, but a really cute jungle filled with tiny humans in party hats.

4. The Cake: Tiny Hands, Big Mess

Now, here’s where the magic happens: the cake. Toddlers are the ultimate cake enthusiasts. The moment the cake appears, there’s a collective gasp followed by a stampede of sugar-fueled children racing toward the table. No matter how cute the cake is, it’s going to end up with frosting in places you didn’t think possible. But it’s all part of the fun! Just sit back and enjoy the sweet chaos — they’re only 3 once!

5. Games: The Pure Joy of Running in Circles

Okay, let’s talk games. You’ve probably signed up to play something like “Pin the Tail on the Donkey” or “Musical Chairs.” But at a 3-year-old’s party, the games are… let’s say, fluid. Picture a bunch of toddlers trying to figure out what a “game” even is. It often ends with everyone running in circles or attempting to play with the same toy at once, which turns into a mini squabble over who gets the red balloon first.

But amidst the chaos, there’s laughter. Pure, unfiltered giggles that fill the air, and for a moment, you forget about anything else.

6. The Goodie Bags: Sugar Rush for Days

And finally, the goodie bags. Oh, the magic of goodie bags. You know they’re filled with candy, stickers, and probably a small plastic toy that will be lost in the couch cushions by next week. But in the hands of a 5-year-old? They’re treasures. They proudly clutch those bags, announcing to anyone who will listen, “LOOK WHAT I GOT!” It’s as if they just discovered the world’s greatest prize, and let’s be honest — it’s pretty adorable.

7. The Real Party Trick: The Meltdown

By the time you’ve enjoyed some cake, played a few games, and managed to avoid stepping on any LEGOs, it’s time to face the inevitable: the birthday meltdown. You can only go so long on sugar and excitement before the little ones start to lose their cool. And you know what? It’s part of the fun! You see the birthday kid crying because they’re suddenly unsure about wearing that party hat, and you just nod and remember: this too shall pass.

The Aftermath: A Bit Worn Out, But So Full of Joy

And that, my butterflies, is the magic of a 3-year-old’s birthday party. It’s messy, noisy, and totally unpredictable, but it’s also a reminder of how simple joy can be. The way a little one can get excited about something as simple as a balloon or a slice of cake makes you realize how much we could all use a little more wonder in our lives.

So, as you leave the party with a smile on your face, sugar in your veins, and possibly a bit of frosting on your shirt, just remember: the chaos is part of the charm. Because, at the end of the day, it’s all about celebrating the small moments that make life so sweet.

Until the next birthday bash, my beautiful butterflies — don’t forget to spread your wings and embrace the chaos. Also remember attending is a lot of work and sometimes you’ll be sorry.

[a-neverending-story]

𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋

Do you dare to check in? 🛎️

The infamous Overlook Hotel, nestled in the isolated Colorado Rockies, has a dark and mysterious history. Known for its eerie atmosphere and paranormal activity, the hotel has attracted visitors looking for a thrilling experience. This weekend, a group of individuals, each with their own reasons, has checked in. As night falls, strange occurrences begin to happen, turning a weekend getaway into a nightmare. ⸻ imagine yourself in the situation and create your character as they are trapped in a horror movie come true. bonus: get your creative juices flowing and write a oneshot. what happened before the picture? where is your character headed now? are they searching for their friends/the people that arrived with them or are they investigating something different entirely?

“Fuck off!” Ihre flache Hand landete auf dem Lenkrad und Lily trat so abrupt auf die Bremse, dass der Motor unter ihr erstarb. Ungläubig sah sie an dem Gebäude empor, blickte auf die Karte auf dem Beifahrersitz und erneut zu dem, was angeblich das Overlook Hotel sein sollte. 

“Who the hell screwed me here!?” Erneut trafen ihre Hände auf das Lenkrad. Immer und immer wieder, bis ihre Handflächen schmerzen. Erst dann ließ sie davon ab, griff die abgegriffene Zigarettenschachtel und stecke sich davon eine in ihren Mundwinkel. Mit Zeigefinger und Daumen strich sie über die Spitze, bis Qualm aufstieg, erst dann lehnte sie sich zurück, tat einen kräftigen Zug und vergrub die Hände in ihren Haaren. 

Es war schon viel zu spät, um jetzt einen Rückzieher zu machen. Lily war bereits Stunden unterwegs und der Beschreibung auf der Karte gefolgt. Hatte sie der Mann verarscht, den sie gefragt hatte, ob sie noch richtig war oder ihre Freunde, die sie hierher eingeladen hatten? Doch als ihr Blick am Gebäude entlang glitt und sie die bereits geparkten und so vertrauten Autos sah, ließ sie die Hände sinken und atmete durch die Nase aus, sodass sich der Rauch im Auto verteilte. “Fuck.” Das war also tatsächlich das gesuchte Overlook Hotel. Ja gut, das große Schild an der Einfahrt mit dem Namen und einem großen ‘For Sale’-Schild hatte es ihr ja bereits bewiesen, doch für einen winzigen Moment hatte sie gehofft, dass das Hotel woanders hin versetzt worden war. Oder ob es noch in Betrieb war unter dem jetzigen Besitzer. Doch diese Bruchbude hier? Das sollte ihr toller Wochenendausflug mit reichlich Alkohol und einem Pool sein? Am Arsch!

Lily ließ das Auto einfach mitten im Weg stehen und trat die Autotür förmlich auf. Das Schloss war kaputt, aber die Tür klemmte. Perfekte Kombination. Vielleicht wurde es aber auch einfach Zeit für ein Auto, dass sie nicht für ein paar hundert Dollar blind kaufte, damit sie überhaupt mobil war. 

Es war eigentlich ein wirklich schönes Auto. Nun. Zumindest war es das einst gewesen. Ein Pontiac Firebird von wann noch mal genau? Sie hatte es vergessen. Einst war er rot lackiert gewesen, heute zierten einige Rostflecken das schöne Aussehen und der Lack war an einigen Stellen verblasst, zerschrammt oder abgeblättert. Die Reifen verloren unregelmäßig Luft, der Auspuff klapperte seit einigen Kilometern gefährlich und ab und an gab der Motor ein wirklich merkwürdiges Geräusch von sich. Doch noch fuhr er. Und wer wusste schon, was das Leben für Lily bereithielt? Vielleicht gewann sie im Lotto und konnte diese Kiste wieder zu der Schönheit erwecken, die sie einst gewesen war. 

Jetzt knallte sie die Tür mit Wucht zu, den Schlüssel hatte sie einfach stecken gelassen. Niemand würde diese Karre klauen, so schön er auch einst gewesen war, wenn man nicht wusste, wie man ihn zu behandeln hatte, dann kam man mit dem Auto sowieso nicht weit. Ihn anzumachen war ja schon eine Herausforderung, die ihresgleichen suchte. 

“Pavelino?” Lilys Stimme hallte auf dem leeren Parkplatz und verklang in der Dunkelheit der Nacht. Überall im Schotter hatten sich kleine Pflänzchen gebildet, die hart ums Überleben kämpften und der Kies knirschte unheilvoll unter ihren Stiefeln, als sie zum Beifahrerfenster ging und durch das offene Fenster den Rucksack vom Sitz zog. Ein Griff und sie hatte eine Taschenlampe in den Fingern. Unter dessen gelbem Licht die Kiesel nun auch nicht mehr wie Knochen aussahen. 

Eine Antwort hatte sie natürlich nicht erhalten. Damit hatte sie jedoch auch nicht gerechnet. Also ab in den Schlund des Grauens! Etwas anderes blieb ihr ja nicht übrig. Die Fenster sahen zwar aus, als wäre nirgendwo im Gebäude Licht, aber vielleicht gab es ja einen Keller oder einen Partyraum, in dem ihre Freunde gerade den Spaß ihres Lebens hatten. 

Die Lobby war vollkommen zerstört. Wer oder was hier gewütet hatte, konnte man jetzt nicht mehr sagen, doch die Holzsplitter sprachen ein ganz eigenes Lied und Lily musste leicht husten, als der Teppich Staub frei gab, der vermutlich seit Jahrzehnten hier herum lag. “Thanks, mates. I love you too”, brummte die New Yorkerin, ließ eine Art Knurren vernehmen und wagte sich mit vorsichtigen Schritten tiefer in das Hotel hinein, während sie lauschte, ob sie irgendjemanden hörte. Doch das Hotel war leise, also versuchte sie es nach einigen Schritten erneut. 

“Daria? Jascha?” Nur das Echo ihrer Stimme drang an ihre Ohren und doch musste doch irgendjemand hier sein! Ihre Autos standen ja nicht zum Spaß da draußen herum. “Elijah. Elsie!” Den letzten Namen brüllte Lily in die Stille des Hotels und zu ihrer linken schlug eine Tür zu. Die Blondine zuckte unwillkürlich zusammen, leuchtete sich mit ihrer Taschenlampe jedoch den Weg und ging ein paar Schritte, bevor sie die Tür sah, welche sich auf unheilvolle Art erneut öffnete, um noch einmal zu zu fallen. “Funny, you idiots. I've already been to a haunted asylum with Pavel. This is nothing compared to the clinic director who tried to kill us! Fools on you!” Aus einem Gedanken heraus kniete sich Lily hin und ergriff einen Stein, der in der Lobby herumlag, um ihn mit voller Wucht auf die Tür zu schmeißen. Diese krachte gegen die dahinterliegende Wand, bewegte sich jedoch nicht mehr und auch keiner ihrer Freunde kam aus seinem Versteck gesprungen, um sie dafür zu tadeln, was sie hier schon wieder trieb. Also vielleicht einfach nur ein lockeres Scharnier. Okay. 

Über sich selbst den Kopf schüttelnd, ging Lily zu den Aufzügen. Sie erwartete nicht, dass einer funktionierte, doch die Türen waren geöffnet und sie wollte einfach mal einen Blick in einen solchen Schacht werfen. Das Licht ihrer Taschenlampe beleuchtete weit unter ihr einen Betonboden. Also gab es mindestens einen Keller. Dann leuchtete sie nach oben. Die Seile waren noch intakt, ein paar Spinnweben hier und da und irgendwo außerhalb des Lichtkegels vermutlich die Kabine des Fahrstuhls. Sie konnte drei Türen zählen, die von dem Schacht abgingen, bevor die Reichweite ihrer Taschenlampe erreicht war. 

Als sie dieses Mal an ihrer Zigarette zog, nahm sie diese zwischen Zeige- und Mittelfinger und stieß den Rauch durch ihren Mund hinaus in den Schacht. Noch bevor sie entscheiden konnte, ob sie es wagen konnte, hier hinauf zu klettern, falls die Treppe blockiert war, hörte sie ein merkwürdiges Vibrieren, das in ein Rattern überging und dann in ein Quietschen. 

Lily blickte in die Hotellobby, doch da war nichts und ihre Augen spielten ihr keinen Streich: mit einem Blick nach oben hatte sie die Vermutung, dass der Aufzug zum Leben erwacht war. Aber wie? Gab es doch noch Strom? Ein komisches Gefühl machte sich in ihrem Bauch breit, doch noch versuchte Lily herauszufinden, woher dieses komische Geräusch kam, während der Lichtkegel im Schacht herum irrte, um vielleicht den Ursprung des Geräuschs zu finden. Als das Quietschen jedoch plötzlich verstummte und sie eine Art Druck auf ihrem Gesicht fühlte, blinzelte sie verwirrt, um eine Sekunde später wie ein Seemann fluchend zurück zu stolpern. Bloß weg von dem Aufzugschacht! Sie stolperte über eine Falte in dem Teppich, landete auf dem Hintern und verlor dabei Zigarette und Taschenlampe. Keine Sekunde später sauste der Aufzug an ihr vorbei. “SHIT!” War das gerade ein Kind im Aufzug gewesen oder hatten ihre Augen ihr einen Streich gespielt? Doch helfen hätte sie sowieso nicht gekonnt. Ein lautes Krachen sagte ihr, dass der Aufzug den Boden erreicht hatte. Eine Staubwolke breitete sich nach oben aus, Kleinteile folgen auf den Teppich vor dem Schacht und Lily musste husten, als sie einen erschrockenen Atemzug tätigte, bei dem sie die abgestandene Luft und noch mehr Staub aus dem  Teppich einatmete. 

Mit ihrer Hand vor dem Gesicht herum fuchtelnd, versuchte Lily das Husten zu unterdrücken, brauchte jedoch noch einen Moment, bevor sie sich aufrappeln konnte. Die Taschenlampe nahm sie zurück in die Hand, die Zigarette und ein kleines Feuer, dass sich in den Teppich brannte, trat sie mit ihren Stiefeln einfach restlos aus, bevor sie zurück zum Schacht schlich. Das Herz in ihrer Brust schlug noch wie wild, als sie den Schacht hinab leuchtete und sofort zurück zuckte. Das vergnügte Lachen eines Kindes erklang und Lily stolperte erneut von dem verfluchten Aufzugsschacht weg.

Da hatte ein scheiß Kind auf den Trümmern gestanden. “I'm out of here, for fuck's sake.” Lily drehte auf dem Absatz herum und wollte zum Ausgang gehen, wurde auf halbem Weg aber von einem weiteren Kinderlachen aufgehalten. Das Licht ihrer Taschenlampe zuckte umher, bis sie das Mädchen erwischte. Zumindest für den Bruchteil einer Sekunde. In dem einen Moment war es da, im nächsten war es verschwunden. Doch es hatte gereicht, damit Lily nach hinten stolperte. Direkt an eine breite Brust. Ein spitzer Schrei entfuhr ihren Lippen, doch bevor sie davon rennen konnte, hatten sich bereits Arme um sie geschlungen und ein tiefes, brummendes Lachen ertönte. “B̸̼̯̳͇͇̫̫͎̂͐̆̈́̓̈́͝e̶̛̛̖̞̻̥͕̰̞͗̓̀̈͋̇͝ ̶͙̜͉̞̅́̈c̴̨̩̣̝̼͙̜̭̗̑̏̚å̷̡̭͙̳̣̝͈̍͗̅̑͋̍͜͝ȓ̸̩̯̭̱é̵̡̪̬̲͈̗͚̪̽̈̀͝͝f̷͚̟̼͖̑̀̐̓̿̚u̵͎̤̅̋̓͆̾ĺ̴̹̟̟͉̲̗͘,̴̲̝͓͈͕̺̍̒͋͗́ ̴̯̳͙͔̬͔̀̀̿̎͒̄̆̑C̵͎͒͊ḩ̴̨̝̲͇̟̰͑̄̑̓́̂͊̽̅i̷͖̣̳͍̦͙̦̒̇͋̕͠c̷͚̺͎̮͛̃̀̉͜a̸̭̜͚͑̄̃͑̀́̚.̸̬̪̣̓̂̂̑” Es war etwas umständlich, doch Lily drehte den Kopf und sah in das Gesicht von Mateo, was sie sofort entspannen ließ. Zumindest einen Moment lang, bevor sie sich befreite und ihm gegen die Brust schlug. Nicht sonderlich hart, doch es kam unerwartet und der Trickster konnte ihr nicht schnell genug ausweichen. “You asshole! I don't find that funny at all. Children? In a haunted hotel? Come up with something better to scare me.” Wütend funkelte sie ihn an, die Hände zu Fäusten geballt. Doch ernten tat sie nur ein weiteres Lachen.  “Ȉ̷̹̮̪̗̣̟͕̌͗̐̃ͅ ̵̛̳͔̭̱̠̖͒́̉̄ḩ̸̧͈͚̞͇̱͈̳̐̐̔̾͜ą̷̦̙͉͇̱̞͈̗̊̐̇͛̏͘͜͠ṽ̷͇͕̱̻̎͠e̴̖̝̲̼̖̎ͅ ̸̨̨͕̋̍͆̽̃͋n̵̲̙͎̫̺͌̔̀͗͂̎͘ò̶̻͔̘͒̃̑̇̒̉́̚ ̵͎͔͔̦̈́̀̓̇͌͐̚ỉ̴͚̠̜̞͙̞̝̰̫͜d̶̩̮͚̯̈́͊ē̷̢͕͍͊̕̚ā̷͈̭̭̗̬̯̜̀̈̂ ̸͖́̀ẁ̷̧̫͖̪͚͕̙͆̆͑̔̇h̸̠̝̃̿̽́̐͗̕à̸̰̤͕̭̳̪̖́͆͆̒̓̈́͠͠ͅt̸̢̡̥̲̼̥͈̩̖͑̓̋͋̌̃͝ͅ ̴͉̠͓̣̔͒̑͝ý̵̨̬̮͓͎̓͒̚͜ő̶̧̡̜̻͉̫̼͍̮̆͆̏͗͊̾̚͝͝u̶͎̻̓̋̆'̸̙̠̭͕̳̭̄̊̏͆͌͠ṟ̷̻͆̅ē̵̼̍̄̏̉̇̇̍ ̵̭̰̝̱̏̓̌̿͌̿̓t̸̻̩̉̅̉͂̒͛a̸̳̺͉̜͎̗͇̥̦͚͌͗̾͋̓l̸̫̬̠̅̓̇k̷̡̳̻̺͈͌̌̌́ì̶̹̟̗̣̬̙͍̘̍͛͊̋̎̎̚͝͠n̸͚̝̗̄͑̎g̶̡̅͛͒̓̚ ̸̲̹͍͉̗̈́̓͒̌̾͛́̋ǎ̸͍̜̔̚͜b̵̢͖̝̥͍̱͖̀͛̎͆̀͋̈́̿̿̚ơ̷̠̳̟̠̤̩͚̖̣͕̈́̈́̑͛͂̈͝ṷ̴̖̒̀̄̉̈̌̽̒̕ţ̸̹͔̠̭͝.̶̞̩̤͌̏̋̀͛̇͂͜͠͝ ̶̤̟̀̈́̑̽̊̎̏̚C̷̛̤̼̯̉͒̀̽̓̾́̌ơ̶̗̹͎͇͇͛̃͊̿m̴͓̜̼͓̞͖̮̪͈̒̔̐̔̆̒̾̚͝e̴̢̖̪̲̬̙̤̜͔͌̈͆́̿́͘͘ ̵̡̨̼͎͓̬̥̈̈́̑́̒̓͝o̵̧̱͉̯͙̓̆̓̚͜ṋ̴̜͕̼̞̞̙̱̙̎̒̏̋́,̵͉̠͉͕͕͙͉̦̝̟̓̈́͌̚̚ ̵̞̖̓̈́͝t̷̝̝̍̆̈́h̵̪̔̂͒̍̀͛ě̴͈͖͑̓̈̄̈̉͒͛ ̷̠̫̳̠̥̗͓̹̋ò̵͍͍͖̟͕̩̊͂͑̊̽̓̄̂͛͜͜t̸͖̹̻̠̲̠͍̐͐̋h̷̼͖̻͕̓̒ë̴̡͕̖́̀͛̾̃ͅr̸̗̞̻̬̦̩̪̼͇͉̄̂͗̕s̷̨̨͕͇͊̈͆̄̑̐͊͘͝͠ ̵̛̤̳̼̥̜͍͇̌̊̓̅͜͝͠a̵͔̺͔͓͗͛ͅṛ̷̢͙̖͉̟̖̬̽̊̅̽͌̂̇̽̆̚ȩ̷̪̬͉͉̪̌̀͐̒̈́̾̒̏̃̾ ̴͇̾̌̀̿͝͝ǘ̸͓̳̭̲̣̹͍̔̈́p̵̛̭̽̊̑͆̌͋̓͜͝͝s̷̨͎̬͖͕̼̈̓t̸̪̬͚͂͌̇́͘â̵̬̣̝͉̬̟̮i̶̩̺̱̠̮͊͆̅͠r̷̝̮̘̹̀̃̈̐̔ṡ̴̡̢̲̝̬̜̺̣͇̮͠.̶̤̞̤͌̈” Noch immer lachend, was ihn Lilys Meinung nach mehr als nur verriet, folgte sie ihm. “Children”, murmelte sie leise vor sich her, griff in ihre Jackentasche und zog eine weitere Zigarette hervor, die sich als Ersatz für die andere wieder mit Magie ansteckte. 

“What are you even doing here?” Lily pustete ihm den Rauch absichtlich in den Nacken, doch Mateo schien es nicht einmal zu bemerken, oder sich selbst eine Zigarette anstecken zu wollen und dabei rauchte er bestimmt genauso gern und oft wie sie. Merkwürdig. Mateo ohne Zigarette war seltsam, aber nicht seltsam genug, dass sie es ihn fragen würde. Stattdessen betrachtete sie die Treppe des Hotels. Auch hier war es voller Spinnweben, manche erwischten Lily sogar, obwohl Mateo doch direkt vor ihr die Treppe hinauf ging, doch auch das hinterfragte sie nicht. 

Etwas außer puste kam sie am Treppenabsatz an, der Trickster hatte sie irgendwann abgehängt und wartete nun seelenruhig in der offenen Tür zum Treppenhaus, die er ihr netterweise offen hielt. In den Fingern hatte er einen Zimmerschlüssel. “A̵̢̡̙͍̰͑͌̓̍͝t̷̼̼͖̲̻͕̖̺̋͌̔̑̂ͅ ̷̬̈͗̓̅͊͒̒̓̏͆t̶̡̧̡̛͈̝̼̖͕͓̆̏̓̋̇͆̕ẖ̸̌́ȩ̵̜͉̱͈̜̥̓̈̂̏̽ ̷̢̧̛̮͓̰̘̞̋́̆͛͒̒̚e̵̛̬̯̾͆͛̄̌̂̚n̴̮͎̓́̚d̸̯͉̻̼̬̚̚͝ ̸̨̦̘̱͙̤̱͉̍͋̍̔̇̍̃́̈́͠o̵̧̩̖̺͈͚̝̿̏̏̔̈́̚̚͝ͅf̸̡̟͚̤̅̐͋̃̆̐͐́̚ ̶͇̠̠͓̰̫̍̈́̈́͗̅̌̚t̷͖̖̃ḫ̶̺̟̟̯̠̜̒͆̉̕̕e̶̢͎̙̿ ̵̒��̺̭̱̒̊͝͝c̴̨̡̢̫͉͔̼̯̭̓ò̷̯̙͔͉͔̖͝r̶̗͇͎̔͋̆͘r̶̨̧̛̹͈̜̪̺͉̘͆͑̓́i̶̛̩̬̮̭͋̐d̶̨̹̠̙̟͗o̷̢̞̬͙̮̞̍̚r̷̞̥͚̣̘̲̩̲̓͜”, ließ er sie wissen und ließ den Schlüssel in ihre ausgestreckte Hand fallen, bevor er den Flur herunter deutete. Lily sah seinem ausgestreckten Finger nach, betrachtete die Dunkelheit des Ganges und ließ dann ihre Taschenlampe wieder aufleuchten, die sie vorsorglich in ihren Gürtel gesteckt hatte. Ein paar Schritte ging sie in den Flur hinein, doch als sie sich zu Mateo umdrehte, um ihn etwas fragen zu wollen, war er verschwunden. Die Tür wackelte noch eine Sekunde lang, dann fiel sie mit einem lauten Knall zu. Lily blinzelte verwirrt, drehte sich wieder in die Richtung, in die Mateo gezeigt hatte und seufzte tief. “Once with professionals”, murrte sie und folgte dem Flur. Kurz glitt ihr Blick auf den Schlüssel. Zimmer 237. So groß kam ihr das Hotel gar nicht vor. Vor allem befand sie sich im ersten Stock und nicht im zweiten. Doch darüber schüttelte sie nur den Kopf. 

Nach ein paar Metern hörte sie hinter sich wieder dieses Kinderlachen, doch dieses Mal drehte sie sich nicht um. “Not funny, Mateo.” Sie klang gelangweilt, es raschelte noch einmal in ihrem Rücken, dann war es erneut still. 

Als sie das Zimmer erreichte, legte Lily die Hand auf die Türklinke und versuchte sie zu drehen, doch das Zimmer war abgeschlossen. Deswegen also der Schlüssel. Aber ihre Freunde hatten sich doch bestimmt nicht eingeschlossen? Irritiert zog Lily eine Augenbraue nach oben, während sie die Tür öffnete. Sie schwang geräuschlos nach innen auf, kaum, dass Lily den Schlüssel ins Schloss gesteckt hatte. 

»Locked in a cage with all the rats, I've slipped through the cracks«

Die Musik drang nur leise an ihr Ohr, der Flur von dem eine Tür zum Badezimmer abzugehen schien, war verlassen, genauso wie das Zimmer dahinter, also ging Lily ohne zu zögern zu der Tür im Flur. Die Musik wurde lauter. 

»Get me out, get me out of here (not kidding around), I'm ready for stardom after all these years«

Als sie die Tür aufriss, hallte noch ein »I'm done« durch das Bad, doch das Bad war dunkel und verlassen. Lily ließ den Kegel ihrer Taschenlampe durch das Bad gleiten, dann in das angrenzende Zimmer. Doch hier war niemand. Kein Strom, keine Musik, nicht einmal ein zurück gelassenes Handy. Da fiel ihr der Trickster wieder ein. "Mateo-", doch bevor sie hätte etwas sagen können, hörte sie etwas anderes. 

»Little girls, little girls, Everywhere I turn I can see them.«

Und als sie sich umdrehte, sah sie tatsächlich in die Gesichter zweier Mädchen. Zwillingen. Doch wie eben verschwanden sie fast sofort wieder. Dann explodierte Schmerz in Lilys Kopf und die Welt wurde dunkel. 

»It's time to have a little fun, We're inviting you to come and see why you should be On easy street.«

Lily schlug augenblicklich die Augen auf. Sie lag in der Dunkelheit. Nein, wirkliche Dunkelheit war es nicht. Sie konnte alles erkennen, zumindest die Umrisse, auch wenn von irgendwoher Licht einzufallen schien. Wie lange lag sie schon hier? Sie stemmte sich auf dem Hotelbett nach oben, doch dieses Mal kam ihr kein Staub entgegen, wie bei dem Teppich in der Lobby. 

Sie hatte Kopfschmerzen und ihr war schlecht, doch sie bekämpfte das Gefühl, als sie aufstand, nach ihrer Taschenlampe und ihrem Rucksack suchte, doch das einzige, das sie fand, war der Schlüssel, ihre Zigaretten und ein Messer neben sich auf dem Bett. 

»'Cause the world is 'bout a treat when you're on easy street«

Woher kannte sie dieses beschissene Lied nur? 

The Walking Dead! 

Schon als sie sich selbst die Frage stellte, gab ihr Kopf ihr die Antwort und Lily stöhnte, denn als das Lied endete, begann es erneut zu spielen. Das konnte doch nicht wahr sein!

“Mateo, stop this shit and come out of hiding, I'm not in the mood anymore.” Lily schrie, doch die Musik wurde nur lauter, also machte sie sich auf zu der Tür des Hotelzimmers, doch die Tür war verschlossen und ein Schloss gab es keins. Der Schlüssel war also nutzlos! 

“Fuck!” 

Sie schlug gegen die Tür, doch womit sie nicht rechnete war, dass sie nach innen aufgestoßen wurde, also stolperte Lily bei der plötzlichen Bewegung der Tür nach hinten. 

Eines dieser Mädchen stand vor ihr. “P̶̱̮̪̈̀̿̂̇͝l̴̢͔̝͆̎̉̅̎́͝ấ̴͎̙̙̼̤̉͘ỳ̷̢̧̟͇̪͖͖̣͇̑̍̑̐͆ ̵͇̖̪͈̟̹̓̔̄͑͠w̴̝̿̍̍̇̂i̸̥̭̽̀̾̓̊̒̕͜t̸̻̟̂̍͒h̵̺̆̀̄͆̇͊̈́͝ ̸̪̟̮̭͆̊̄̆ų̸̛̩̻̱̰̳̦̓̂̔̓̅s̸̢̠̠̩͉͗̍ͅ!̴͚͚̄͘͠” Ihre Stimme war purer Zucker und Lily war sich sicher instant Diabetes zu bekommen. “Fuck you”, antwortete sie also und das schien dem Mädchen gar nicht zu gefallen. “I'll come back later.” Und die Tür war wieder zu. 

Die Musik wurde aufgedreht. 

Es mochten Stunden vergangen sein, vielleicht Tage. Lily konnte es nicht einschätzen. Das Mädchen kam immer wieder und fragte sie, ob sie mit ihnen spielen würde. Doch Lilys Antwort blieb die gleiche. Das Mädchen ließ sich irgendwann immer mehr Zeit und Lily konnte einfach nicht mehr. Der Hunger brachte sie fast um, das Lied machte sie wahnsinnig und als die Tür erneut aufging, hatten die Mädchen Lily gebrochen. Sie hatten es geschafft. Die Blondine stimmte zu. Sofort verschwand die Musik und Lily wurde von den Mädchen in den Flur gezogen. 

Eines von ihnen stimmte ein neues Lied ein, die andere fiel irgendwann mit ein und als sie Lily erwartungsvoll ansehen, seufzte diese und sang mit ihnen: 

»Me and you, and you and me no matter how they tossed the dice it had to be. The only one for me is you and you for me. So happy together.«

Lily brachte sogar ein Lächeln hervor, als sie auf die Mädchen herabblickte. Dann sah sie sich um. 

An den Türen der Zimmer stand immer ein und dieselbe Nummer. Doch allein dass der Schlüssel klimperte, ließ die Türen aufgehen und Lily erhaschte einen Blick auf all die Menschen. Da war eine Fee, die blutend von ein paar Verrückten durch einen Irrgarten gejagt wurde. In einer anderen Tür sah sie einen halbnackten Jascha, eine erhängte Liz. Elijah konnte sie auch sehen, er sah sie direkt an und Lily hob grüßend die Hand, doch er schien sie nicht  zu sehen. Auch waren da Pavel und Daria und sogar Ana! Oh man. Sie konnte sogar Jasper ausmachen. All ihre Freunde waren hier und auch ein paar andere Menschen, die sie nicht kannte. Doch Lily konnte die Panik in ihren Augen und in ihren Gesichtern nicht eine Sekunde lang verstehen. 

Solange die Musik nicht erneut anfing zu spielen, war das ganze hier doch halb so schlimm. 

“Y̴̧͔̖̩͔̗̥̪̙̥̆͝o̵̡͔̲̒͆ͅͅu̷͚̲̲̺̘̍̂̈͆̒̋͜͠ ̵̟̙͇̻̀͌́̑͝c̷͈͓̘̬̟̓͌̾̎̓̒̕͝a̴̧̨̳̮͓̣͙̤̮͆̉̑͐̋͂̕̚͠ͅn̷̨̯͔̩̘̆̅͐̆͑͐̚̚͠'̸̢͖̞̼̭͎̱͕̰̈ṱ̴̢̟̱͈̃́͗̕ ̶̡͇͉̲̦͖̫̘̪̝̊̈́̐̏ḩ̷̹͓̝̀͛̕̕ͅê̵͕͍͈̊̌͑̅̏l̶̡̢͎̓̉̃̏̃̌͠͠͝p̵͚̪̬̠̦͇͚̀̉̑́̕͝͝ ̷̤̥̬͛̉̾͜͠͝t̴̲̗͖̦̜͈̰̔̓͆̒̋͝͝͝͝h̶̳̟͌̌̏̎̈́͂ë̶̠̼͓̯̠̖̪́́̆̽͊̓̇̓̕m̷͉̦̹̪̫̲̀̌.̸̫̙͙̈͌͂͐̅͑̚ ̷̩̠̭̗̈͒̇̄͂̆̆̈́̋͘P̵̻̪̳̹͔̙̲͔̼̾̒̓͜l̴̞͕̰̦̱̹̮̠̰̎͗́a̶̹͖̺͍͂̅͌̚y̷͖̲͈̖̯̝͔͖͌̉̈̑ͅ ̷̢͇̲͍͎̬̣͍͔̝̾̓̅̈́̓͆͒͊̋̚ẉ̵̨͛̓͊i̶̪̟͍̮͍̮͛͂̅̊͂̏̀̒͜͠͝ͅͅt̷̡̛̝̳̹͚̙̓̉̿̽͛̽͘h̴̭̯̗̻̯̭̗̯̟̽̕͝ ̷͓̤͓̪̮̱͎̜̾́͒͒͛̕ű̵͇͕̱͈͍̭͔͎̝ş̷͔͉̟̙̝͙̙͂̀͑̅͘͝!̴̻̳̮̥͐" Lilys Aufmerksamkeit wurde wieder auf die Mädchen gezogen. “Of course. Let's play catch!” Die Mädchen lachten und ließen Lily los, als sie davon rannten. Aber nur ein paar Schritte, da sahen sie zu Lily zurück, die sich nicht sofort in Bewegung setzte, sondern hinhockte, um in ihrem Stiefel nach etwas zu greifen. “If I catch you, I'll skin you and eat you. For what you've done to me and my friends.” So entspannt und fröhlich war Lily schon lang nicht mehr gewesen und dieses Mal war es an ihr zu lachen, als die Mädchen sie erschrocken ansehen. “Run.” Lily ließ die Klinge ihres Springmessers aufblitzen, erhob sich in einer geschmeidigen Bewegung und setzte den Mädchen hinterher. 

Oh ja. Ohne die Musik war das ganze hier einfach wundervoll!

»We're on easy street And it feels so sweet 'Cause the world is 'bout a treat When you're on easy street«

Music:

Little Girls by Cameron Diaz | Easy Street by Naz Forio | Happy Together by The Turtles

Starring:

@trauma-report , @phasmophobie , @ertraeumte , @caughtbetweenworlds , @thisis-elijah , @ausgetrieben , @breakingtaboos

tagged: @shadowpunk (thank you!)

tagging: @ashbalfour , @zeitrcisender , @gold-nblush , @breakingtaboos & You!

[sciencestyled]

Chaos, Mischief, and the Fine Art of Utter Pandemonium

There I was, minding my own business (yes, really), flipping through Midgardian channels with no small measure of delight. Humans, it seems, have mastered the art of befuddlement, spinning endless tales of order and control. They think they can tidy up the entire cosmos with mere charts and timetables, as if they’re locking away their laundry. Yet they fail to grasp that, much like me, the universe loves nothing more than a bit of havoc. And so, what do I find? An old bearded scientist droning on about “order in the universe.” I nearly choked on my ambrosial mead.

Naturally, I’m compelled to intervene. The problem was clear: humanity needed a reminder that the cosmos thrives on unpredictability. No better messenger than yours truly, Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Pandemonium, Sultan of Surprises. But how? I needed a way to worm my way into every mortal’s smartphone, TV, and, dare I say, podcast queue.

It came to me in a flash. I'd orchestrate a spectacle on the very concept humans fear most: chaos. Of course, I wouldn’t simply scare them off with a crash course in mayhem (too easy); I’d play the wise teacher, the sage of… “Chaos Theory.” A bit of irony, don't you think? Me, explaining “the rules” of something that supposedly has none? Perfect. A sprinkle of Newton, a dash of quantum mumbo-jumbo, and, for the pièce de résistance, a deep-dive into that thing they call the “Butterfly Effect.” Oh, I could practically hear the mortals gasping! Just one measly butterfly flapping its wings in some corner of Midgard, and—boom!—your weather forecast’s up in flames!

To get a feel for the human reaction, I tried it out on a few Asgardian folks. Thor, bless his heart, was baffled. "Why would anyone want to listen to you talk about tiny creatures flapping about and weather disasters, Loki?" he asked, scratching his hammer-wielding head. But I saw it in his eyes—the curiosity, the uncertainty. He’ll never admit it, but Thor’s as clueless as a squirrel in a whirlwind when it comes to concepts that don’t involve brute force. If I could get him perplexed, Midgardians wouldn’t stand a chance.

It didn’t take long for the idea to spiral out of control. I soon realized I’d need some visuals. And a human narrator, too. No offense to my velvety voice, but my true visage can be a bit…distracting, and I needed people to actually listen. So, I hunted down a mortal who could manage this without screaming or falling over. Then I set to work.

A little here, a little there—I threw in some math formulas, the kind that makes Midgardians’ eyes glaze over, and a few classic examples of utter chaos. I even sprinkled in bits about stock markets and weather patterns, just to drive home that everything humans cling to is as stable as a house of cards in a gust. It was going to be a symphony—ahem—a true display of unpredictability’s charm.

At last, my masterpiece was ready. And now, it waits in the mysterious web called “the internet,” a place mortals approach with reverence and bafflement alike. Once they hit “play,” they’ll find themselves teetering at the edge of comprehension, wondering if that cup of coffee they spilled this morning could one day cause a typhoon in Tokyo.

Chaos, you see, is not just a theory. It’s a way of life.

[kanisema-blog]

Clay and Conflict: A Tale of Love Amidst War

In a time of war and conflict, a young craftswoman named Claire lives in a small village on the edge of her country. She spends her days making beautiful sculptures out of clay, finding solace in the peaceful art of her craft.

One day, while Claire was working on a new sculpture in her workshop, a group of soldiers entered the village. Among them was a young soldier named Reco, whose eyes met Claire's as he passed by her house.

"Who are they?" Claire asked her neighbor with fear in her voice. The neighbor answered, "They are soldiers from the neighboring country." "They are here to colonize our country."

However, despite the fear and suspicion surrounding her, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with Reco. They smiled and chatted to each other whenever they could; Their conversations were always filled with more understanding and compassion than the war around them.

One day, Claire was sculpting a pigeon. Reco appeared in the studio.

"Even in turbulent times, I find peace in making art." "And I wish you peace," she said.

“But my duty as a soldier keeps me connected to the violence of war.” But despite the obstacles between them, Claire and Reco couldn’t deny the friendship that was growing between them. They found solace in the chaos around them, gathering together whenever they could.

“I know we come from different worlds, but I believe love knows no bounds. And I love you, Reco, with all my heart,” he whispered. He looked into Claire’s eyes. “I love you too, Claire,” he whispered, his voice full of love and certainty. "I will always be there for you no matter what." Their love stories, like the paintings Claire created, were masterpieces of beauty and endurance that have stood the test of time.

[taylorprintssussex]

A disabled man's vision of becoming a renowned Digital Artist.

As I sit here, penning down the story of my life, I am overwhelmed by the journey that has brought me to this point. My name is Sam Taylor, and I am a 36-year-old man who has navigated life's winding roads from the vantage point of a wheelchair. But let me tell you, my wheels have never defined my spirit; rather, they have propelled me toward my passion and purpose.

The year 2020 marked a turning point in my life, much like it did for many around the globe. Amidst the chaos and uncertainty of the pandemic, I found solace in an unexpected place – the realm of digital art and photography. After becoming a person with a disability at the age of three months old, after contracting a chest infection and being starved of oxygen to my brain, causing the Cerebral Palsy. I had always faced challenges that seemed insurmountable at times. But within the confines of my condition, I discovered a boundless freedom through the lens of a camera and the stroke of a digital brush.

At first, it was merely a hobby, a way to pass the time during the long days spent indoors. But as I delved deeper into this newfound passion, I realized that it held the key to unlocking a world of possibilities. With each click of the shutter and every brushstroke on my tablet, I felt a sense of liberation that transcended the limitations of my physical being.

What began as a personal pursuit soon blossomed into something more profound – a business venture fuelled by my unwavering determination to defy the odds. I launched my own website, showcasing my artwork and photography to the world. And to my astonishment, the response was overwhelmingly positive. People from all walks of life resonated with my story, finding inspiration in the vibrant colours and poignant narratives captured within my work.

But beyond the accolades and recognition lies a deeper truth – the power of creativity to transform lives. Through my art, I have found a voice to express the intricacies of the human experience, transcending barriers of language and perception. Each piece tells a story – of resilience, of beauty found in unexpected places, of the unbreakable human spirit.

As my business continues to grow, so too does my sense of purpose. I am no longer just a man in a wheelchair; I am an artist, a storyteller, a beacon of hope for those who dare to dream beyond their circumstances. And while the road ahead may be fraught with challenges, I am undeterred in my mission to leave an indelible mark on the world.

To anyone who may be facing their own set of obstacles, I offer this simple piece of advice – embrace the journey, for within its twists and turns lies the true essence of life. Find what sets your soul on fire, and pursue it with unwavering passion. For in the pursuit of our dreams, we discover the boundless potential that resides within us all.

So here I am, a 36-year-old man named Sam Taylor, rolling forward on the canvas of life, painting a masterpiece with every click of my mouse in Photoshop and every snap of my camera. And though my journey may have begun in the midst of a pandemic, it is a journey that knows no bounds – a journey fuelled by the transformative power of art and the unwavering spirit of the human heart.

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE LOST GOLDEN SKULL

I was asked recently what became of the skull of my friend and mentor, LANCE DE LOS REYES.

For context. Lance was a modern American artist who worked in many mediums. These would include; canvas, assemblage, sculpture, poetry and graffiti that was often painted in very dangerous and high exposure surfaces such as billboards.

He became very well known for writing RAMBO and was even interviewed by VICE magazine about his relationship to his alter ego. In the piece he simply stated that he knew him but that he was most certainly not him. The interviewer really tried to play into the graffiti culture trop of shine and recognition but ultimately what he was writing on the billboards was part of a much larger and more ambitious piece or art that he’d worked his entire life to construct.

The pinnacle of his masterpiece was something I was told he had been talking about for over 20 years. I’m unclear on when and how he came to this idea but it was something he was very vocal about explaining in detail to anyone who could endure what he described.

The idea itself was simple.

Lance would have all of his teeth completely cast in solid GOLD and then have all of his teeth removed and replaced with brand new SOLID GOLD TEETH. He would then create a living will like document in which he would sell his GOLD TOOTH SKULL proprietary to art titan DAMIEN HURST for $1,000,000. This was to be his most ambitious work as it would require actual physical suffering, anxiety, trauma, planning and a very long and painful healing process once the teeth had been successfully implanted into his skull.

Many people who I’ve met have shared that they too knew of the skull project and that it was a THING that really separated the BELIEVERS from the NAYSAYERS. Just the reaction that would generated from explaining his idea has a pretty visceral reaction from most people. I don’t think that the IF IT’S NOT BROKE, DON’T FIX IT mind that many of us adhere to on a really basic level would never, EVER include modifying one’s TEETH to create a piece of art that would rip a hole in time and space by the pure intent of effort expended in doing so.

At the point in the yarn when I explain that he did actually find the financial backer to support his vision and allow him to TRANSFORM into the piece of LIVING ART that he reached at with a full heart from his first breath to his last. Most people do not believe that this is a thing that actually happened and that his face is one the cover of a magazine, stretched into a contorted, clinical grimace to proclaim without any uncertainty that he had indeed executed the most brutal show of devotion to one’s own artistic vision and mission.

The last time I saw Lance alive, I picked him up on Hester street in Chinatown in WOOF, MCODY’s HONDA CIVIC. We had worked very hard over the course of several weeks on a series of drawings and videos that accompanied them as they were produced. All of the work was created and bounced back and forth between us, while I was on holiday with my kids. It’s ironic as the very first piece I made for him was made entirely in the passenger seat of a rental car driving to MONTAUK.

After I returned from holiday we met up and I drove him to pick up a rental car from JFK, so he could go to the HAMPTONS for a two week artist residency. He has completed replacing 60% of his teeth at that point in August of 2019. He had intended to return to paint his first billboard in many years and paint an actual image on the board instead of invocational words. But he fell from the ladder many stories when his hand slipped out of a glove.

He explained how the ritual of getting up on the board works. I will not explain this. But will say that he had a process and something must have been a miss when he approached this particular billboard. There’s so many variables and we all are careening through time and space in utter oblivion of the chaos that swirls around us. Just no the other side of every choice. He fell what he said was over 50 feet. There’s no way of knowing and he lived after shattering his pelvis from the fall.

He had only been out of the hospital a few weeks when I picked him up in CHINATOWN.

I jumped out of the car and helped him down the stairs trying to shoulder as much of his weight as I could. He seemed pretty solid but also was obviously in a ton of extreme pain from his shattered pelvis (which CANNOT be cast) and his mouth full of throbbing gums with shiny GOLD TEETH gleaming out. We made our way to the car and I helped him in. Right away he told me to drive chill because he knew that I was an agro person. So we drove the 90 or so minutes through traffic chatting and planning his pop up with CHAMPION that was launching that fall. He had been waiting on this capsule partnership for a while to give him some much needed footing and passive income.

We intentionally tried to keep it light though as MCODY was in the car with us and we were both like little kids, so happy to see each other and high five on all the hard work we put in on the 100 SKETCH project we busted out a couple weeks before. I think about that day a lot and what he said. We spoke on the phone a few more times but it would just happen in 2021 when I saw it pop up on INSTAGRAM..

I knew he finished and had let him know I was proud of him. He was always cycling in and out of circles of people and would also go into super hiding and just make for marathon periods.

At his wake I heard some kids mumble something about the skull and tried to put it out of my mind. I didn’t want to speak at all because I was really thankful to have worked with him and I didn’t need any of these people to know who I was or what we did together. I introduced myself to BAILEY, the guy he did some video stuff with after me. He was really cool and it felt super healing to have a couple minutes with him.

I spoke with ANNA, his widow at the wake and was able to give ROMAN his son a hug. It meant alot to her that I came. I was glad and did my best to show her eyes how sorry I was so she could keep doing her best. I really respect her so much and have always tried to be a positive force.

I was too broken inside to be present with my brother who was at the wake who introduced us. I knew what would happen and how horrible I would fall apart, so I just shuffled off. It was something that I feel really ashamed of because I could see him just feet away from me in such pain as I spoke with her. I didn’t have it in me be present for him. In a strange way, I know that he and Lance would have completely understood how much it hurt and why it would have made it worse for us both. We left and had some of the best drinks of my life at the NANCY WHISKEY on LISPENARD and AVE OF THE AMERICA’s, up the street from the CANADA gallery where the wake happened. It was a brutally cold and crisp winter day. Perfect weather to cuddle in the pub with GUINNESS and POWERS neat over several hours of reflection and laughter with MCODY. It was the place

I would have had a wake for my DAD if that had been possible.

We drank to Lance and his life. To the art that he gave to us and his character that would always leave a lasting tree with roots growing from the base of our souls. We felt the warm embrace of the weathered wooden shanty that sat atop the kitchen in a precarious treehouse of booze, nestled on top of the train in TRIBECA.

What is the value of art?

What is the value of life?

What is the cost of possession?

Lance did not ask these questions.

He replaced the teeth in his head with GOLD TEETH. It’s unknown if he sold his skull.

It doesn’t matter to me. I miss my friend desperately and live in a shadow that his greatness commands from me. Because he looked me in the eye and told me that I was a great artist. That this life would command huge sacrifice and demand everything that we have to give. But our children must see us live as men who do not follow the lamb to the blade but charge off into the heather to live free. ART is WAR. It is not something that is simple, easy or a straight line. Many humans I know learn to master their own hearts at a young age and follow a very prosperous path into a glorious kingdom of their own making. Others succumb to the forces of context that summon the demons who take them back to the other side. We always try our best to never quit on them ever but know that every day and breath we have with them is precious.

That is not the path for people like myself and Lance. We are born into a context and survive the many trials and choices we are presented with. The approach is zealous and driven by something utterly SUBLIME. The quest to create and actually TRANSFORM ourselves is paramount to the degree and magnitude to which the work is capable. At its core, the work has to confront the DOGMA that we see and present a force opposing it. This doesn’t need to be violent, destructive or scary. But sadly, the process for people like us to move our human frames through the fabric of time and space with all the collateral synchronicities elapsing and collapsing upon each other.

If we are to live in the form that we choose, we live and become the art we define.

KNOW GODS JUST WORK

The price of the GOLD SKULL is a debt that is never ever paid. The people who love him the most will always keep paying for this piece of work, because we cared for him so much and wanted him to live so badly.

It doesn't matter at all where that physical object is. What would it matter if a person possessed it?

What function does it really provide to a person that allows them to accomplish or achieve anything? The art world is built upon a foundation of value that is purely intrinsic.

To the person who could or would possess the GOLD SKULL of RAMBO, would the $1,000,000 or 1,000,000,000 really be any kind of currency in relation to what the GOLD SKULL is?

All the wealth in the world cannot possess the GOLD SKULL because the force that created it appeared for a time in a human form and then returned to the universe transformed into another.

The pain that grows and changes into the art we allow it to become is the GOLD SKULL.

THE BONES OF THE MASTER ARE NOT FOR SALE

1.19.24

*********

ARCHIVAL RELEVANCE

(Roller skater with large works)

https://www.tumblr.com/trascapades/654086318632091648/artisaweapon-newexhibit-lance-de-los-reyes

VICE

https://www.vice.com/en/article/4w7ppb/the-cryptic-billboard-messages-all-over-nyc-explained-1101

[tayweeklyadventure-blog]

Ekphrasis

Splatters of paint in brown and black,

A canvas alive with energy and attack,

Loops and lines dance across the frame,

A rhythm that pulses, a visual game.

Pollock's Autumn Rhythm, a masterpiece indeed,

A creation of chaos, yet harmony we read,

A composition of drips and splatters,

That in unison, form a sight that matters.

In the midst of the mess, we find order and grace,

A balance of colors, a symphony of space,

A painting that moves, a canvas that breathes,

A work of art that the heart truly seizes.

With each stroke of brush and every drop of paint,

Pollock's creation tells a story, without restraint,

Of movement, of life, of all that we feel,

A work of art that will forever appeal.

This work of art is called Autumn Rhythm, made by Jackson Pollock back in 1950. I chose this piece of art because even though it was made in the 1900s, it is something we consider modern now. I have a painting with a similar art style at my house and my boyfriend's mom has a few in her house as well. I decided to write a poem for this piece because I feel like it would bring more emotion to the painting, it is my favorite kind of art to look at. It is both chaotic but beautiful in its own way, you can play with textures and colors to make a piece, I love the color choices as well. If you look at it closely, you can see the thick and looping lines throughout the piece, giving it movement with the splatter and drip. It has a lot of energy because there is so much going on, but it all fits together in the end, it is like a rhythmic pattern. Nothing can "preserve" this piece of art or its meaning unless it is the artist himself or a professional, I was drawn to this piece and writing a poem for it seemed to better fit. A poem to describe a painting does make it feel special, it describes it beautifully. My interpretation of this poem is fun, I feel like the artist had a lot of fun painting this and could really play with different art styles in this one painting. It is so different than other paintings, that it probably why we use it for modern decor.