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26.08.2019: from Gabriella Papadakis’s instagram stories

Lilies and livers

My lungs hammered against my chest as I slowly creeped forward. I was hyper aware of every creak made by the ancient rotting floorboards. Finally approaching the ornate door that stood tall and noble amidst the rest of the dilapidated house, I pressed my back against the wall and attempted to gather my wits.

This was especially hard since I could hear a voice, sounding particularly like mine, screaming at me to stop going forward. “Don’t, Don’t, DON’T,” each warning got louder and louder until I could no longer stand it. I lowered my head into my knees and tried to control my breathing. Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes and I watched my hands begin to shake. My heart rate was increasing rapidly and I was sure I would start panicking if something wasn’t done quickly.

In a foolhardy attempt to rip the bandaid off quickly I leapt up, grasped the golden knob before turning it, and entered the uncharted room.

Immediately a swarm of black bats swooped down upon me. They were everywhere, chittering around me endlessly, leaving small scratches on my skin for daring to disturb their slumber. I flailed my arms wildly, but this only served to make me panic more and lose my footing. I fell backwards with a dull thud and waited for the bats to clear out while shielding my face from their sharp claws.

Silence. The bats had exited out the room leaving me alone in a dusty and dank old room. I slowly peeled my arms away from my face to catch a glimpse of my surroundings.

A humanoid face lay inches away from mine. It had no eyes only the sockets red and raw. Their face was devoid of any features apart from the sockets and a zipper like mouth which opened up to reveal thousands of razor sharp teeth. Wings of bone stretched out from its back and it’s body resembled that of a birds. It smiled at me, talons digging deep into my sides. I only had a moment to take it all in before it spoke.

“Now that you’ve cleared the bats away, we can be together forever!”

I screamed. My sister was laughing her butt off behind me. She flicked on the lights and I hissed. I honestly will fight a light bulb if that’s what it takes to get some peace and darkness over here. “I told you not to go in there said, every smart person ever,” she chided. “Yeah, but I’m not a lily livered punk like you.” She rolled her eyes, “That scream said otherwise.”

I sunk deeper into my blanket cocoon hiding from the light and my embarrassment. “This is what you get for locking yourself in your apartment to play games all week.” “You enabled me by watching.” Another eye roll, “I placed an order for pizza so come with me to get it or you won’t get any.”

I jumped up from my pillow and blanket nest. I then proceeded to trip over my controller barreling into my snacks and landing face first at my sister’s feet. I peered up at her from my lowly position on the floor. She looked done. A few feet away my ginger ale exploded.

“I love you,” I murmur. She didn’t respond instead choosing to grab her keys, “accidentally” kicking me on her way out the door. I was still on the floor and honestly pretty comfortable by now. I didn’t even bother to turn off my game console which displayed my character having a heart attack and dying. “Pfft, punk.”

/merasa sedih itu normal/

Minggu siang, jantungku berdegup kencang. Aku berlari secepat kilat ke lantai 2, tempat laboratorium rumah sakit berada. Hasil tes labku keluar, dan aku ingin hasilnya baik.

Kuterima dua buah amplop tersebut, dan kubuka saat itu juga. Senyumku yang tadinya mengembang, tiba-tiba pudar. Hasil yang tidak aku inginkan terketik rapi di dalam selembar kertas tersebut.

Jantungku mendadak berdebar, hatiku gelisah. Segera kumasukkan kembali kertas tersebut ke dalam amplopnya, lalu aku bergegas ke parkiran. Hatiku hancur, berat….

Aku menangis detik itu juga. Aku marah. Sedih. Bingung. Bimbang. Takut.

Di sepanjang perjalanan aku menangis. Sendirian. Semua orang yang melihat mungkin menganggap, “Mungkin habis putus cinta,”

Mereka tidak pernah tahu harapanku yang kugantungkan setinggi langit, dijatuhkan begitu saja ke dalam jurang. Di saat aku belum siap.

Sesampainya di rumah, kuberikan kertas itu pada mama. Lalu, mama langsung berbicara banyak hal, plan A-Z untukku. Tidak sama sekali membantu meringankan berat di dadaku saat itu.

Air mataku masih saja mengalir. Aku juga masih bertanya-tanya, “Yaa Allah! Aku ingin marah padaMu, setelah ribuan doa yang aku panjatkan, Engkau menjawabnya dengan ini?!”

Aku marah dalam hati, sejadi-jadinya.

“Kenapa harus aku?”

“Aku capek! Kenapa Allah ngga ngerti juga?”

“Aku ngga mau diuji terus!”

“Persetan dengan ujian mengangkat derajat hambanya! Ngga butuh!”

“Aku ngga mau berdoa lagi. Percuma.”

Hatiku berat. Hatiku berat. Hatiku berat.

Hanya itu yang aku rasakan.

Setelah itu, Papa yang tadinya sedang tidur, segera mengambil kertas yang ada di tangan mama sambil membacanya seksama. Beliau terbangun, lalu mengambil handphone-nya, dan berkata, “Baru hasil test,” ujarnya.

Aku tidak ingin mendengar perkataan tersebut, hatiku malah jadi tambah takut.

Lalu, kuputuskan untuk tiduran, bertanya pada salah satu orang yang aku percaya. “What should I do?”


Tak lama kemudian, Papa memelukku, dan berkata “You gotta be strong. Mbak itu kuat. You’re stronger….” Perkataannya terhenti.

Ya, aku kuat, tapi tidak hari ini.

Tiba-tiba, ada seseorang di dalam benakku berteriak. “Lalu kapan? Sampai kapan mau terus nangis? Sampai kapan mau marah sama Allah? Sampai kapan mau sedih terus?”

Kuberteriak balik, “Sampai kapan pun aku mau,” jawabku.

“Jangan gitu. Ngga cocok di kamu marah terlalu lama,” balasnya lagi.

Entah apa yang terjadi dari sejak kecil, otakku sendiri ter-trigger untuk menjadi “bahagia”, walaupun aku sedang sedih. Memaksa tersenyum, walaupun sedang tidak mau. Entah apa yang terjadi…

Oke, kuturuti kemauannya, tapi satu hal yang perlu aku sadari, “Merasa sedih itu normal.”


Andini Yudita Sari

“But how would they know how to look out for each other, and not just go sstumbling around hurting them by accident?” Crowley drunkenly slurred, his head resting on Aziraphale’s lap as the rest of his body sprawled across the couch. “They got those, whatayacallit, the American thing? The superhero?” 

“Masks?” Aziraphale suggested, equally drunk. “Like the scal– scra– red one?” 

Crowley shook his head dramatically, strands of hair flying into the air only to settle back down against Aziraphale’s soft sweater. “Noooo, th’ other one. With the song.” He hummed a few discordant notes, then shook his head again. This time, one of the strands landed in his mouth. He pulled it out, making a face of comical disgust. 

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Th’ Phantom! He’s got a mask, an’ a song, an’ a whole opera. Lots of songs in operas.” He nodded his head authoritatively. 

“Phantom’s not a sssuperhero!” Crowley objected. He lifted his head off Aziraphale’s lap just to glare at him. 

“Is so,” Aziraphale obstinately insisted, ignoring Crowley’s glare entirely. “‘S got a mask, an’ a shecret lair, an’, an’ I saw him in a comic book.” He nodded once, as if to emphasise that he had seen him in a book, and who knew books better than the being who had owned a bookshop for more than a century? 

Crowley, unable to argue this, fell back down into Aziraphale’s lap. “But he’s not the hero with the ssssenses, the insssect one.” 

Aziraphale hummed absently, giving up on the conversation in favour of running his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

Crowley shivered, arching up into Aziraphale’s fingers, but kept talking regardless. “Do insects have the sssensses? They must, or why does the hero have them? He needs to know how to sssave people, or he’ss not a good hero. So he must have them. So they must have them.” 

He gestured best he could to illustrate his point while still lying down, but it was just enough to dislodge Aziraphale’s fingers from his hair. Crowley mewled, whining, “Azziraphale…” 

“Hush, precious.” Aziraphale tangled his fingers into Crowley’s hair again, separating out small strands and twining them into small braids which were quickly lost in the masses of red. At this, Crowley, already loose-limbed from the wine, melted further into the couch, his eyes drifting shut. 

“Wonder who insssectsss are trying to ssssave,” Crowley mumbled, eyes still closed. “D’you think they’ve got families ssssomewhere? Little flocksss of hawkmoths? Party of ladybirdssss?” 

“No flies, though,” Aziraphale murmured in return. His fingers still lazily combed through Crowley’s hair, each movement causing the demon to relax more and more. Their wine glasses were sitting on the table, temporarily ignored in favour of greater pleasures. “Don’t like flies.” 

Crowley, too bonelessly relaxed to bother with anything as complex as words, simply hummed his agreement. Aziraphale didn’t mind. He’d entirely lost track of what they were talking about anyway. Something to do with insects? It didn’t matter. Much more interesting and pleasant was the warm weight lying trustingly in his lap. 

A rapid thumping on his front door distracted him from his self-appointed task. He waited, hoping whoever it was would just go away, but instead it just became louder. Finally deciding that this was something he would have to deal with in person, he carefully lifted Crowley’s head off his lap just enough for him to squeeze himself out, smiling slightly at the confirmation that Crowley had fallen asleep. It wasn’t uncommon for their post-Armageddidn’t drinking sessions to end in such a way, but it was still new enough to feel special. 

With one last look behind him, Aziraphale headed for the front door, even more determined to send smartly on their way whoever was rude enough to be knocking on his door at this time of night. 

He opened the front door a crack, just wide enough to whisper loudly, “Whoever you are, we’re not open! We don’t open until morning!” 

He made to close the door, but a foot jammed itself between the door and its frame. “It is morning, mister, and your sign says you open at nine today.” The owner of the foot, a young teenage girl, smiled beseechingly at him, the two other teenagers behind her making similarly winning expressions. 

Aziraphale opened the door a tad wider, taking note of the sun shining weakly between the buildings. There was no denying that it was morning, the stars apparently having disappeared into the sky while he and Crowley were distracted. Inside the shop it was as gloomy as ever, but now that the door was open, it was unmistakable. 

“You must be mistaken. I don’t open until noon.” He pointed to the freshly miracled opening hours sign. The teenagers turned to follow his gesture, and while they were distracted, he promptly shut the door and went back inside, ignoring the surprised shouts and door-hammering going on behind him. 

All the commotion hadn’t woken Crowley, which Aziraphale found he was rather pleased about. Not that he was really sure why – if Crowley could sleep for nearly a century without being disturbed, it was hard to imagine some disgruntled teenagers could make any difference. 

Gently, Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s head again and slipped back into his previous spot. Now. That the influence of the alcohol had faded away, it didn’t feel quite right to be touching Crowley’s hair, especially with Crowley no longer awake to object, so instead he miracled a book into his hand, and began to read. Within seconds he was lost in the text, having completely forgotten all of the world around him. 

Without him noticing, his hand had returned to petting Crowley’s hair. In his sleep, the demon smiled. 

Character Sacrifice =/= Character Death

Listen, characters that are given tremendous send offs where they die, never fail to bring a tear to my eye.

Whether it’s dying with pride and be able to rest with peace, and/or giving their life for a loved one or family member (e.g. Stoick in HTTYD2) or even vindication for their sins (e.g. Darth Vader in SWROTJ)

Knowing that their death will mean something, whether it’s in the context of the characters or the audience, or both.

But at the same time, why is sacrificing a character suddenly synonymous with killing them off?

There are other things a character can sacrifice, aside from there life. Such as…

  • The ability to see; resulting in permanent blindness
  • Losing an arm, or both
  • Losing their hearing causing them to be deaf for life
  • A leg
  • The power to walk, leaving them wheelchair bound

if you agree.

One long evening

It was about closing time in the Second Circle. Even the worst drinkers had left about half an hour ago. A few people had accidentally left their property behind. Asagi picked the belongings up and hid them under the counter, so that their owners could ask after them later. She was cleaning the tables, and getting ready to shut the door. Just another similar day among many. Next she would go home, do some quick paperwork and then take a long bath. Despite of liking her work, at this time of day she was always really waiting for the bath part.

She was just about to finish, when suddenly a tall man with messy black hair stepped in, carrying a long, curved blade on his hips. His appearance was shabby, like he’d been having a long drinking-bout recently. His shirt was ripped, worn out jodhpurs had miscellaneous looking stains all over them and his boots were beyond saving for even the most skilled shoemaker. His jacket was perhaps the best looking of his garments and even that looked more like rag.

Asagi recognized the man. He had been one of her “contacts” some months ago, but the man had turned out to be quite a heavy drinker, and had messed up contracts, almost blowing his cover on the side. Asagi had ended the business with the flammable subject.

Keep reading




Anyone here able to read/write that would like to casually write stuff with me? Fanfic and poems are my main stuff, but I’ll pretty much write anything. Roleplay is cool too.

Don’t really want it to be stressful so if anyone would like to do this for pure fun please message me! Cheers lads. :)

(Also check out my bio so you know what fandoms I’m in).


With your hand in mine I could feel the stars

The wishes I’d made over the years

Praying to feel happy again

Wanting to feel happy again

Needing to find someone to love

Needing to find a home

I was so overwhelmed with the shifting tide

I never noticed the direction it was taking me

The stars shifted so that I could meet you

Granting my every wish

They lead me to you

And I don’t wanna let you go

Chapter 90 - Leila

Leila was lying on her bed in her happy place. Her head was resting on Willow’s lap and she was stroking her hair gently. “It’s going to be okay,” Willow said. “We’re going to find her.”

Now that she had mastered going in and out of her happy place, Leila could tell that someone was talking to her. She couldn’t hear them but she knew. Going outside would mean the happiness she felt would disappear. Because she was happy, she didn’t want to leave, but Spencer missing and she need to find her.

Leila mentally exited her happy and returned to where she was before. She was sitting on a bench in the garden behind Jackson and Sigrun’s house. Gersemi, who was sitting next to her, said Sigrun she and her sisters would help find her. Leila had let the three of them into her pocket dimension to examine the area. They must’ve been gone for an hour, before they returned. A portal opened up in front of Leila, and the three of them walked out of it. “Is it the Elders?” Leila said, standing up. “They tried taking her before. It has to be them.”

If it was the elders, Leila knew she should tell Morgan. But Leila realized she had been asking a lot Morgan lately. So, she promised herself, if it wasn’t the Elders she wasn’t going to rely on Morgan’s help.

“It is not,” Sigrun said, lowering her head.

Sigrun held up a large brown feather. “It was a Valkyrie,” she said, handing the feather to Leila.

Leila looked the feather over. The feather was light, but the bristles were as hard as steel. She was confused. Leila didn’t understand how a feather so large belonged to a Valkyrie. “How do you know this belongs to a Valkyrie?”

Sigrun’s sister, Gunnr, stepped forward. “Because that feather belongs to me,” She said.

Leila looked Gunnr over. “How is this feather yours? You don’t even have wings.”

Gunnr started rolling her shoulders, and shockingly, her suit jacket started to reshape itself into two large, seven foot, brown feathered wings. “It’s very inconvenient to keep them out like this at certain times.”

Gunner’s wings turned back into a jacket. “They also come off,” She said, taking off her suit jacket and throwing it over her shoulder.

Leila still confused as to why a Valkyrie would kidnap Spencer. “But what does your feather have to do with me and Spencer?!” Leila yelled.

“Not us!” Willow said, her anger matching Leila’s. “Her.”

Willow turned Leila’s head towards Sigrun. “What does my friend getting kidnapped have to do with you?!” Leila yelled, her eyes dead set on Sigrun.

Sigrun seemed to dissapear somewhere inside her head. Her eyebrows rose, her nostrils started flaring, and she growled ever so slightly. Gersemi put a hand on Leila’s shoulder and pulled her away. “Siggy, calm down!” Gersemi ordered.

“I am calm!” Sigrun screamed.

Hildr and Gunnr started backing away. Gersemi shoved Leila behind her. “Can someone tell me why my friend is caught up in this mess?” Leila asked, calmly accessing the situation.

Sigrun balled up her fist and took a deep breath. “I married a man to the benefit of the women I swore to protect,” Sigrun said, calming down. “Some are supportive of my decision, but there are a select few that believe I’m being held against my will.”

“So this is about you marrying Jackson?”

“Yes,” Sigrun said, unusually calm. “And I when I find out who did this, they’re going to kiss the flat end of my warhammer.”

A Boy goes to the Circus with a rose in his hand…

He hesitates a moment at the gate. Why? To take a breath. He’s nervous, of course. He tugs on his t shirt, adjusts his jacket and steps through the gate. The world around him turns into a blur of colour, light, and noise. Slowly, he makes his way through the crowd. He is looking for something. A tent. A very specific tent. The tent in question has purple stripes lined with yellow, and radiates the smell of old books and unopened boxes. It is slightly out of the way of the other tents.

When he finds the tent, he does not stop walking towards it until his nose almost touches the fabric of the door. Then he stops dead in his tracks and looks down at the rose in his hand, to notice that his hand is bleeding from the thorns. Enraged, he pulls the curtain aside and enters the dark tent.

Shapes and shadows whisper and follow him until he reaches the candle on the stool. Sweet silence surrounds him, and he tentatively places the roses stem into the flame. It erupts in a golden dust, and vanishes. The boy picks up the candle and goes back to the dark place. He knows she’ll be there.

The walk back through the dark place seems longer than usual. Just as he is about to reach the door, he turns to his left, to light up a hooded figure. She removes the hood and scowls at him.

“You burnt my rose” she whispers.

“My rose” he corrects her, “it was always mine to burn, you said it yourself”.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it” she mutters. “I thought maybe you’d at least tell me first, or hold on to it longer”.

“That rose had thorns, my hands bled. Holding on to it would only cause me more pain” he says sternly.

“And what of me? Now that you’ve declared me dead?” She cries

“This isn’t your story. You are merely a hooded figure, a shadow. You haven’t even a name. No one will remember your vile words and malevolence when you go. So go, and prove me wrong. I dare you

The hooded figure collapses, and he leaps through the door to land on the cold, dewy grass outside. The tent has disappeared.

The boy leaves the circus without a rose in his hand, but with something much more powerful.

He is free.


Life has felt extremely drab and hopeless for me tonight. That is my opening sentence - straight to the point, zero sugarcoating from me. This has to be my safe place, you know? If I were to lie, I’d be misusing this platform. Back to the point, though - I’ve had a shit day!

A short while ago, I wrote about what is presumably my deepest fear - the world fading back to black in a relapse of an all-too-familiar depression. I cannot shake the feeling that this is reoccurring, or that my “progress” is a mere illusion. The aforementioned “fire” under my arse is losing its spark, slowing turning into nothing but a wispy cloud of smoke, fading into oblivion. My brain is literally conditioned to be riddled with anxiety. My current self, this “new” person, is the embodiment of desperation. She is a smoke screen, a pillar of deception. She is playing the long con. She is searching frantically for a high - anything peculiar or fascinating enough to deter her from any pain. Once my keyboard and I reconnect and I share my authentic self with the world, I realise that I am one horrifically sad motherfucker. I truly believed I had drastically improved my self-esteem and become accustomed to self-love, but according to my therapist - that couldn’t be further from reality. Enlightening, much…

I think I’ve done a literal U-turn mentally. I can’t quite help but feel immensely proud of myself even though I have written so much shit about myself for the past half-hour. We can assume I perceive myself as pathetic, right? The thing is, I pulled myself out of a legitimate rut despite thinking I was unworthy… Surely I can do anything. I swear to fucking God, nothing will knock my strength. It is my absolute specialty. Maybe I am one depressing bitch, who simply sucks all the life out of the room. But I’d like to think I am one bad fucking bitch, who deserves some slack.

I crave legitimate happiness - A life so rewarding that I can truly say to myself; “Everything was worth it”. I simply wish for the good to outweigh the bad - but as I’m sure we’ve established, it would take an obscene amount of time for that to be the case. My mental health completely plummeted this year and I swear I do not say that lightly. I remember my weakest moments as though they only occurred yesterday - The numbness that sloshed through my shell of a body. The unsettling desire to simply flick the switch and cease existing. I literally envisioned my life’s early conclusion - the clock’s ticking became truly futile as it only signified that my doom was closer, with each passing minute. I longed for nothing but a bottle of paracetamol - to simply shatter the cap and instantly swallow its contents, in a bid to legitimately nullify all my pain. It would take an absolute miracle for my past to be redeemed. Just waiting for it, I suppose…