The 1989 TV Vault Tracks Just Cured My Depression, Kissed My Forehead, And Handed Me A Lit Match.

The 1989 TV vault tracks just cured my depression, kissed my forehead, and handed me a lit match.

Manuscript Word Search Tag

Thank you for the tag @oh-no-another-idea !

These are from a LOT of different WIP’s of mine, because without fail, all of the words I get are never contained within one novel. Also, I’ve apparently never used the word fuel. Who would have thought?

Feeling:

She felt like a god, and for a second, she understood why the villains did it, just to keep feeling this strong, invincible—

Float:

Instead of going back to her room, she veered through the halls, sliding out one of the few balconies and into the night sky. The air buffeted around her, holding her like she was nothing. It was comforting, almost. Like floating in a pool, but better. Always better.

Fancy:

“Cheap shot,” he remarked. She kicked his leg in as he grabbed her wrist, and her back slammed into the floor as he went down to his knees.

There was a mural up on the ceiling, something ornate and fancy. She only looked at it for a second before Catastrophe was looming over her.

“If you leave now, I might let you live,” he offered, and she glared at him.

Fish:

The brig smelled of fish, sweat, and regret. She had no idea how much of that came from her, and how much of it came from the salt warped walls.

She didn’t know how long it had been, but she did know they delivered food every so often, seemingly without schedule. Either the siren was trying to keep her disoriented, or it simply kept forgetting she needed food.

This is an open tag for anyone who sees it, and I’ll also tag @imaginativemind29new @jay-avian @clairelsonao3 —your words are shimmer, slight, stab, sorry, shadow

manuscript word search tag 🎏

Filling out an old one today from the wonderful @talesofsorrowandofruin -- thank you, friend! These are from my royal taster wip, which I wrote a bit of yesterday :)

Matter:

Anaar’s face was dim in the waning light, but he was frowning. “The emperor is very clever,” Sal told him. “No plan, no matter how clever, survives the first battle,” Anaar intoned dully.

Minute:

“What do you want?” the teenager asked. She was bored, selling on her boat all by herself. Hot too, likely. She wasn’t at all worried about a tiny urchin girl. Sal just smiled and sat down with a plop. She interested herself with some fraying rope pieces; separated into five, carefully coaxed back into union. The teenager lost interest in her within three minutes. Sal tipped over the lobster baskets.

Morning:

Breakfast the next morning was congee with salmon, carried up to their schoolrooms on several heavy trays. Sal ate half her bowl and then remembered Anaar was somewhere down in the kitchen eating happily, having dodged another poisoning to keep her safe. She put her spoon down, got scolded by Master Li, and missed half the questions in her books.

Myth:

The imperial palace was bigger than even the city, Sal was almost sure. She walked through the doors with Master Li and promptly forgot where the doors were. Statues of precious golds and jade adored every room, and the doors were so tall they disappeared into the far-off idea of the ceiling. Wall paintings depicted pieces of story from ancient myths, and Sal studied the lowest parts as she passed, nose to nose with the black ink strokes. Had the artist flicked the brush just so on purpose, or had it been a fortuitous happening?

I'll tag anyone who sees this, and also @writingamongther0ses @avocado-frog @the-stray-storyteller @did-i-do-this-write @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @the-broken-pen @serenanymph @late-to-the-fandom -- your words are fish, fancy, feeling, fuel, and float 🐠

Oh I am SO late to this.

“She sobbed again—and slipped into the black.”

@imaginativemind29new @jay-avian

Thank you for the tag @regalserpent !!

Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence

This is from The Sea is in Her Blood:

She felt her dispassionate façade crumble. “What?”

Tagging (with no pressure): @groundhog-day-party , @elrallin , @author-a-holmes , @eriquin , @amewinterswriting , @clairelsonao3 , @sender-paulson

Guys. Guys I don’t think it’s only a quarter

Thanks for all of the recent feedback around Community Labels being incorrectly applied to content. In particular, we appreciate the input we’ve received from the LGBTQIA+ community and understand the frustrations from folks who felt that their content was unfairly labeled. When we realized this was happening, we immediately investigated and are taking steps to prevent this from happening again.

The LGBTQIA+ community makes up about a quarter of the Tumblr community. It is important for us to support all Tumblr users, especially those whose safe spaces are under threat in certain parts of the world.

As you know, alongside of the rollout of Community Labels we also expanded the types of content allowed on Tumblr as a way to welcome more creativity, art, and self-expression. Our goals remain the same today. Human error happens and we apologize to anyone who has been impacted by these mistakes.

We are working to better understand what happened and will follow up with more information soon.

I’ve done this to people

And I enjoyed every moment

She was on that episode and a very stupid opportunity presented itself

Fog licked at the edges of the bridge, curling around the street lamps and up into the stars. It was cold, bitterly in a way that sliced to the bone. She shivered, tucking her coat around her.

The street was as silent as a tomb, nothing more than wet concrete and wind, and she could be at home right now. She probably should be, at least. At home, her cat was probably waiting for her in warm bed sheets.

Here, though, secrets might be waiting.

And oh, how she loved secrets.

The suicides weren't anything special- every city has them. She had dealt with her fair share.

But this? This was strange. One person jumps off a bridge, and it's a tragedy. Two, it's awful.

And three? That's a pattern.

The wind picked up, howling as it tore through her hair. Ten minutes. Ten more and she would leave. It was edging towards two in the morning, and from what little the autopsies could gather, that was the latest time of death.

Five minutes.

Eight.

Nine.

She pushed off the edge of the bridge, turning—and froze.

"Hi," the little girl smiled, all teeth. She had ribbons in her hair.

"Hi." It was more out of reflex than anything. She glanced up, and found no parent, no guardian. Just empty street.

"Are you out here all alone?"

"No," the girl replied drily. "You're here too."

She paused. "Right. Your parents-"

"Are dead," the girl blinked, and smiled softly. "Yours are too."

Her throat went dry. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"That your parents are dead," the girl repeated.

She didn't have a response to that, and she was trained in crisis management. Her chest squeezed like a vise, tighter,tighter still.

The girl seemed to know.

"You want to know," the girl observed, eyeing her. Her eyes drifted over the edge, the water deep and churning.

Deep and dark and deadly.

"Yes," she admitted.

The girl's smile disappeared.

"I wish you didn't."

The wind had vanished.

She studied the girl, in her perfect dress and braided hair.

"You know, don't you."

The girl tipped her head one way, then the other.

"Yes. But then again I know a lot of things. So in the scheme of it, it isn't important to me."

"People are dying," her voice went sharp. She regretted it as soon as the girl’s eyes snapped to hers.

"Everyone dies."

"Not like this," she said, and the girl shrugged one shoulder.

"Death is death in every form." She turned her gaze to the water. “The method reaches the same result."

"Where are your parents?"

"I lied," the girl said bluntly. "Earlier, when I said they were dead. They don't exist. Not really, at least. Belief systems are so strange sometimes-"

"Stop."

The girl did, patiently.

"You see the people who die here?"

"Of course I do," the girl said it like it was obvious.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Why?"

"Why do they die?"

The girl twirled one long strand of hair around her finger, face the picture of child innocence.

"Because they jump, silly."

"And why do they jump?"

The world went silent. The girls face dropped. Something infinitesimal slammed onto her back, the weight of a star itself, the air like thick syrup.

"I can show you," the girl took a step forward. The strand of hair dropped. "If you like."

She swallowed, throat dry. "I do," she rasped.

"You don't," the girl corrected, but she stepped forward anyways.

"They always do this," she murmured, and she was almost certain it wasn't directed at her.

Her small hand landed her forehead, and she was gone.

The vicious bite of loss, the cry of a child, the smell of burnt toast. Abandoned buildings and car filled highways. And empty tombstone, barren elementary school chairs.

It roared through her head like a newly released dam and she was almost certain she was crying, that tiny palm set so firmly on her forehead.

She sat on the edge of the bridge, feet dangling. The girl sat with her, legs kicking in the air as she hummed.

She choked on a sob, cheeks wet.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

She merely nodded, throat closed.

The girl took her hand, fingers tiny and warm.

“You’re okay,” the girl soothed, but she didn’t believe her.

The water beckoned.

“What’s your name,” she managed, and the girl smiled, just barely. She released her hand.

“Say hi to my brother for me.”

“I thought your family didn’t exist.”

“My parents don’t,” the girl agreed. “My siblings and I kind of do.”

“Ah,” she laughed, and it was wet. “Makes perfect sense.”

The girl’s mouth twitched.

“Truth.”

The puzzle pieces clicked into place. The girl’s name. Truth.

Her sister was going to have to take care of her cat from now on.

“That’s why,” she said dully. “It’s you.”

“I don’t give them anything they don’t ask for. It’s not my fault most of them don’t realize they never want what they think they do.”

She watched the water undulate for a moment.

“What’s your brother’s name.”

The girl’s smile turned into something wide, child-like joy.

“Death.”

She laughed then, and it rang out over the water. The girl still smiled.

“Truth hurts,” she murmured. The girl nodded.

“Truth hurts.”

Her fingers slackened on the edge of the bridge and she finally, finally let herself fall.

Truth stayed behind, image wavering above her as the waves swallowed her whole.

For a moment she wondered who would find the little girl next. Who would be bestowed that knowledge. Who would feel that pain.

Who would get to meet her brother, afterwards.

She supposed it didn’t matter, after all.

Everyone meets them both at some point.

Truth hurts, indeed.

The dark swallowed her whole.