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@woodenvelt.bsky.social Sep 20, 2026, 5:10 AM

Welcome to #SundaySnips! A once-a-week prompt game for writers hosted by myself and @hookandquillpress.com

The only crisp thing around here are the tortilla chips, but a girl can dream of cool breezes and crackling leaves underfoot.

#WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Writesky #HQpress

A graphic advertising the Sunday Snips hashtag, a weekly blue sky writing community tag. The word for September 20 is crisp. Share a snip from your WIP featuring the word of the week. Use #SundaySnips and don't forget to include alt text. Synonyms, vibes, and variations on the word are welcome! Hosted by woodenvelt.bsky.social and Hook and Quill Press. The background is orange and red fall leaves. There is an image to the left of a yellow octopus stuffed animal wearing a scarf and black frame glasses sitting in the fork of a tree.

@applesncinnamon.bsky.social Sep 14, 2026, 1:58 AM

#SundaySnips - Spice

As someone with my username (applesncinnamon) I certainly agree with you! Apple Cinnamon is the best!

This is from A Harvest of the Heart and I think it fits the autumn vibes very well! 🍎🫚

He made a beeline to the bakery, whistling to himself. When he entered, the warm, spiced scent of clove and cinnamon surrounded him. It warmed him just as much as Henry's hands had. Clem Moore, one half of the duo of siblings who owned the bakery, waved cheerfully at him.
“Witch Goode!” they called. “You look like you're in a good mood.”
Felix grinned at them. “I am. What smells so good and is it for sale?”

@peterrobin.bsky.social Sep 14, 2026, 12:53 AM

#SundaySnips

Spice in both senses from my first novel, The Writing Machine.

CW Sexual description.

May contain graphic violence

@bethanylaurel.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 11:21 PM

“Hmm.” Van-Dal’s fingers stilled. He pressed his chin against Tharaiyelagh’s shoulder, quite near the bite mark. “That’s probably wise.” The scent of the salve wafted upward, menthol and sweet spice in the perpetual afternoon. Tharaiyelagh closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
#sundaysnips

@bethturnage.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 10:23 PM

#SundaySnips #WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Writesky #HQpress. A scene from the first book (WIP) Mindbender in the Morastani Chronicles.

@geniuslemur.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 10:14 PM

#WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Writesky #HQpress #SundaySnips

@nightoffallengods.com Sep 13, 2026, 9:55 PM

#SundaySnips
In the theme of Autumnal special edition spiced drinks, Melic, God of Contracts and Intoxicants, gets to enjoy a special brew made for the All Gods Festival with an old friend who has a few other tricks up her sleeve.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #HQPress

He'd wandered in front of the Green Dragon, a tavern set in the center of the park. It vied with several dozen other inns and taverns for the right to being "the oldest drinking hole in the Fifth Ring", but it had certainly been there a long time. For what he thought it worth, it was certainly one of the most beautifully placed.
Dead in the center of the rolling hills of the park, the owners throughout the years had planted all manner of trees and shrubbery, making the humble stone building look to be in the middle of some enchanted glade instead of in the middle of the city. Ownership of the tavern had passed from generation to generation for so long it had gained a Local God of its own, their influence then spreading enough to take over the entire park, the name having been changed to Green Dragon Park centuries ago.
And that was who approached him now. The Green Dragon had no other name, but had found herself with an interesting confluence of traits. She had begun as a spirit, not a dragon, but since dragons were common enough and people knew enough about them, she had inherited many of their traits.
Like a Dragon she could assume the greater form of one, though now wore the one more like the other Alliance peoples, veridian scales shining off her arms and dotted through the rest of her skin. A slit up one side of the skirt of her low cut serving girl's attire showed off her scaled and clawed feet and calves. From around the back a thin serpentine tail trailed behind her, ending in a sharp point reminiscent of a cask tap.
Even her hair was green, spilling over her shoulders in springy emerald curls.
She beckoned Melic over, the warm light of the tavern behind her almost more inviting than she was.
He chuckled to himself, walking out from under the trees to meet her. "I certainly wouldn't be much of a God of drink if I said no to that, would I?"

"No you wouldn't!" The Green Dragon bounced up to him with more than just her step. "And our Festival special brew at that!" She offered out a flagon topped with a hearty, bubbling foam.
He took the cup and drank deeply. He couldn't tell in the gloom but he knew by instinct this was the strange green ale the tavern produced every year. His mouth was bombarded with the taste of hops and autumn spices, with only the most subtle tang of alcohol and pear wafting through it. He lowered his cup and watched The Green Dragon drain her entire flagon gulp by gulp, each causing interesting tremors from her throat down.
As she finished she lowered her head sharply, exclaiming an
"ahhh!" of pleasure.
He felt the brew's effects radiate out of her and into the park around them. A cry went up from the drinking garden around the inn, and thousands of rainbow colored spirits rose up over the park. Her laugh was throaty and reckless as she turned in place before beckoning Melic after her into an expanse of grass that sloped down towards a sparkling pond.
He followed, stopping short at the edge of the path when The Green Dragon held up a warning hand. She tossed back her head and there were a series of booming pops from her throat.
A second later, more substantial booms sounded in the sky above and explosions of multicolored cascading sparks bloomed over the city.
Melic laughed and cheered with the rest of the crowds, allowing himself to be caught up in the wave of elation that radiated around the park. The Green Dragon jumped and jiggled her way back towards him, and he called out to her,
"I've seen plenty of dragons with fire breath, but never firework breath."
Her smile was dazzling, even with her longer canine teeth flashing over the bottom ones. "Had to practice for years to get those right. Not that I'm much match for a real dragon, but I'd bet the inn none of them could do that!"

@leeheffer.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 9:04 PM

#SundaySnips Cold nights, sweaters inviting and appetite longing for fall spices: cumin, bay leaf, red pepper flakes.
#writingprompts

@acturek.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 8:40 PM

From the sequel to Brother’s Keeper.
(Title underneath is of scene not WIP)
#SundaySnips #writingcommunity

Ferin brought out a root and broke it open.
She waved it under Drisal's nose. Drisal promptly coughed and came out of his trance gasping. The glow faded from beneath his tunic. He wiped his eyes.

"What is that?" Cerel demanded.

"Spice root. It always works. Where have you
been, Drisal?”

"Don't... don't ask me. Please." He clenched
his fists in his cloak, reining in his emotion with an effort that was palpable to everyone.

'Drisal & the Wheel' WIP excerpt by A.C. Turek

@scarletvmitchell.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 8:10 PM

#SundaySnips

Oh, neat! My favorite made-up sci-fi holiday!
Steady and her team are kinda hanging around the dock expectantly when the lucky 55th ship is brought in…

booming through more than just the dock space, with a deep and full-spectrum resonance that bore celebration with it.
“Attention residents, visitors and guests of Castro station: A ship has just docked in bay 36. We are at full capacity. I repeat, we are at full capacity. There are now 55 ships in 55 docks. Sono Festivalia! Hail the 55!”
Shouts of “Sono Festivalia!” And “Hail the 55!” Rang around the dock. Hugs, shoulder-slaps, various iterations of enthusiastic handshakes, and even the odd kiss or two, were shared throughout the dock. Impromptu dancing broke out among some of the workers, everyone lit up with genuine smiles. Some of the younger handlers and marshals dragged out barrels of a fizzy spiced drink, unfortunately without the traditional alcohol content, given that we would be resuming work before the hour was through.
“A toast!” Ungai shouted across the dock, loud enough without his coms to be heard by the gathered workers, “To Castro station! To the captains and crews of our precious payloads! To our families that support us! And last, but not least, to you; the dock crews and tug pilots! Thank you all, each and every one of you for your hard work these last fourteen months! Without you, this whole damned station is just a hunk of scrap orbiting a star!”
Rowdy hoots of agreement erupted as beverages were gulped. Further toasts were

@sainiku.northsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 7:47 PM

#SundaySnips

Rev having a chat over lunch with a necari, while visiting a war memorial. A bit of a cultural difference in terminology.

#WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Writesky #HQpress

“I remember people asking for memorials like this, after the war. Erina hated the idea of it.” Rev began eating a bit faster. “This is really good. Spicy.”

Spiral was about to reply to her first statement, but the second made her laugh. “You mean it’s ‘hot.’ We don’t call it spicy. Spicy is only used to like… describe people.”

Rev smiled as she chewed. “How about ‘good’?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

@maximejaz.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 7:25 PM

#SundaySnips
Not sex this time 😁. I don't use spice to describe it but you get Charles and Siegfried, from my age gap scandal WIP, eating in Charles' kitchen and having funeral outfit talk.

He pushed at him softly though. “Let’s eat. I hope you’re hungry. I made a thick stew.”
Siegfried let him go, seeing his struggle. A tiny thrill there, his unruly heart leaping a bit. “Sure…” He helped set the table, that task blending into Charles’ existence, becoming less of a struggle.
Eating, that stew just melting in his mouth, thick, filled with spices, meat and vegetables. “Mhm… super cooking, again.”
Charles hoped that his cheeks in flames couldn’t be seen. “Thank you… it’s an old recipe.” Glancing at him. “For the funeral… have you thought of your outfit?” Regretting a bit, because those grey eyes went dark as he straightened and let his spoon down in the stew.
“Ah… I see… I’ll dress the way I usually dress. It’s fucking black, right? Fitting.”
He raked his throat, dabbing his napkin on his lips. “Yes, black is appropriate, but…”
“I know what you want to say, old man, but forget the fuck it. I’m not dressing like a penguin to ‘honor’ that scumbag… or any of those assholes for that matter. They want to see the monster? Let them. Let their jaw fall off.”
“And what about me?”
“What about you?”
“I was thinking we could sit together… since you don’t have a family anymore… and well… I’m not going to be wearing leather.” He readjusted his glasses.
His lips curled up. “Not my concern now, is it?” But he squirmed under that gentle, but stern gaze framed in gold. Ah, fuck! He raised his hand. “Alright… fuck you, old man… fuck…”
“Is this a proverbial yes to something more fitting?” He couldn’t hold back a smile.
“Fuck you.” Annoyed. “Really? A suit…”

@princessace.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 6:29 PM

And I had to continue with the rest of the first conversation (and the journey of those pumpkin spice lattes). Kori is a great wing-woman. #SundaySnips

“Thanks! Do you play?” Billy asked, adjusting the strap from falling off his shoulder again. Daryl watched the himbo’s hands, a little too overtly.
“Daryl’s playing at the open mic tonight at The Echo and he rocks,” Kori interjected, leaning over from the coffee machine in front of her. Daryl glared over his shoulder at her. He turned back to find the himbo beaming at him. How could so much sunshine fit in that mouth? Daryl decided not to think too hard about what could fit in his mouth.
“Awesome, I’ll try to make it. If that’s cool?” Billy added, watching Daryl’s face contort.
“Sure, if you want,” Daryl said, convinced he sounded nonchalant. Kori chuckled behind him and he would absolutely be paying her back later. Billy nodded and started to walk away. “Hey, Billy!”
“Yeah?” Billy paused, blushing, and looked back. Daryl’s eyes flicked down to his patches again.
“What’re your pronouns, dude?” he asked, heart undeniably tugging as Billy smiled.
“They/them. Thanks, man.” With an adorable wink, and a peace sign to Kori, he headed out the door. Daryl leaned against the counter and watched him walk away past the large cafe windows.
“You’re welcome,” Kori said behind him. He pulled the rag from his shoulder and smacked her back with it. She put the two pumpkin spice lattes on the counter. “Dude, I was not watching you moon over them for another day, waiting for you to grow a pair.”
“Whatever, like you can talk,” he snapped and got back to the waiting line of drinks.

@princessace.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 6:29 PM

I posted some of D&B's spiciness a few days ago, but this is their beginning. Billy had become a regular at Orbit Nook, where Daryl and Kori both work as baristas part-time. #SundaySnips #WriteSky (and banana spice or gingerbread > pumpkin spice lol)

“Your grunge himbo is back,” Kori muttered, finishing out a white mocha. Daryl grunted and kept working on the two pumpkin spice lattes in front of him. Kori could tease all she wanted, he wasn’t that into the guy. “Ooh, his hair is down, damn.”
Daryl’s head snapped up, ignoring Kori’s snort. He looked toward the register.
The himbo’s glorious loose brown curls cascaded over his strong tapered flannel-clad shoulders, and Daryl really wanted to know how that hair would feel clutched in his fingers. He smiled as he ordered, a big broad sunshine smile, and adjusted the guitar strap over his shoulders as he walked around to wait by the counter. He gave a small wave when he noticed Daryl watching him.
Daryl scoffed and turned back to the pumpkin spice lattes.
Kori shoved the himbo’s order to Daryl, and muttered, “Maybe you could actually say two words to the guy this time.”
“Shut up,” he grumbled and started on the order, letting Kori take over on the others. It was the same thing every time, he knew it by heart. Which was normal with regulars, not at all indicative of anything else. And it was definitely normal to spend extra time on making cool music note foam art on top.
“Billy,” Daryl said, putting the drink down in front of him. His heart definitely did not tug at Billy’s wide-eyed impressed reaction to the foam art.
“Woah!” the himbo said, looking back up at Daryl with awe. Daryl’s eyes avoided his, crossing his arms as he looked the man over. He read over the various patches on the flannel – a rainbow flag, ‘punks respect pronouns,’ ‘break the binary,’ Black Sabbath, David Bowie, and Green Day patches were haphazardly affixed across the front of the shirt.
He realized that they were staring at each other and his breath caught meeting Billy’s wide blue eyes.
“Nice guitar,” he blurted.

@woodenvelt.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 4:43 PM

Spencer dreams of an ancient Fain city, dedicated to the gods of death and darkness. (not evil, just the literal absence of light)

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip series about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#SundaySnips #WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Wrencer

In his dreams, Spencer walked the streets of an ancient city under the ivory thumbnail of the moon. It was not Urbum Viventium, but rather its shadow, Urbum Mortuos. The broad strokes were the same, echoed in the layout of the streets and the arch of the rooftops and even the cut of the denizens' clothing. But where Urbum Viventium was all air and light and the ring of fire in the sky, its sister city was the cool, solid earth underfoot and the faint wink of the stars glinting on stone.

Spencer passed forges hammering steel alongside silversmiths pouring molds and setting gemstones. He drifted past courtyards and parks where lovers strolled and children played hide and seek in the deep shadows. He moved through markets that smelled of spices and good food and night-blooming flowers. Smiling faces bobbed and bowed as he passed and Spencer knew it as a gesture of deference. His feet carried him to the temple eventually, glinting dully in the faint moonlight.

There was something there that unsettled him. Gazing at the sloping stone steps he felt the wrongness as a knot clenched deep in his gut. Bile coated his throat as green-black shadows rippled on the temple walls chasing away the silver glow of moonlight. The deep echoing hoot of an owl startled him, a swooping shadow that blotted out the stars and plummeted towards his face. Spencer swore he felt the brush of feathers against his cheek as the bird swept past him towards a pale, outstretched arm.

And then he saw Her. The Gray Lady as she was worshiped by the Fains. Uxoria Mortis. The owl lighted on Her leather capped shoulder and a nightbreeze rustled Her silver white hair. Lavender light glinted in Her eyes, just above the charcoal veil, more smoke than silk. Spencer knew with certainty that if he brushed that veil aside, he would see the bleached white bone of a mandible rather than pale skin and soft lips. She held one arm outstretched, pointing insistently towards the temple.

@amandabryana.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 3:51 PM

#SundaySnips Chilli rather than spice, and I may have shared parts of this snip before.

It's Xavier's fault Riley is away, and he knows he made a mistake. If he'd had any doubts, everyone they know has already told him he's a commitment-phobic idiot. His mum will be on his side though... right?

I was so lonely I resorted to calling my mum.

‘What’s wrong, you sound sad.’

‘My boyfriend is away working for a few months and I miss him.’

‘You mentioned him last time. Riley, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right. I didn’t think him being away would be so hard.’

‘It’s serious then.’

‘Yeah. I think it is.’

‘Tell me about him. Don’t say he’s nice, really tell me about him. Get creative.’

My mother had always valued creativity, and nurtured mine. This was a game she’d started playing when I was entering my belligerent preteen phase. Every night she’d make me describe something from my day in a creative way, over dinner. It stopped me giving one-word answers or grunts, and let her into my head in interesting ways. It was no coincidence my English grades went up after a while either.

She wanted something that encapsulated how I felt. It took a moment, but I had the perfect analogy.

‘When I was at uni, I had a friend who was into culinary science. His kitchen was like a chemistry lab and he was always giving us weird stuff to try. One day he came up with these sweets. The best toffee you’ve ever eaten, but in the middle there was a single drop of honey infused with chilli oil. One minute they were the sweetest and most perfect thing you can imagine, the next they were so hot you’d lose your mind. That’s my Riley.’

‘So, you’re going to marry him?’

‘Woah, slow down. We don’t look that far into the future here.’

‘What future? You’ll be twenty-nine in a month. The future is now. This is your life, Xavier, not a practice run.’

‘I know.’

‘Do you? When do you decide on a path? When you’re thirty? Forty? Fifty? Do you find yourself retiring still wondering where life might take you, or wondering where it might have taken you if you’d committed to something?’

‘I’ve always liked not knowing.’

‘And that was cute at eighteen. At twenty-eight it’s pushing it. By your mid-thirties you’re just drifting. You have to pick a journey while you’ve still got time to take the trip.’

@paisley-rose.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 2:50 PM

#SundaySnips - SPICE

From RESTING WITCH FACE, a silly fantasy grumpy/sunshine romcom novella about a chatty courier who gets healed by "The Old Hag" in the woods.

For a recluse living alone in the woods, Margot was not very keen to chat with Gus as he helped her work on her potions—sorry, elixirs—all day. Although perhaps that was exactly to be expected.
All he could think, however, was that he would have been so desperate for human interaction, in her shoes, that he would never shut up. He was barely shutting up now, even, and he’d talked to other humans just yesterday. The fact that Margot had been here alone for gods know how long should have made her more eager for his company, he’d assume. But clearly he was wrong about that.
He didn’t mind, exactly. He was happy enough filling the silence with his own observations and amusing anecdotes, although he would have liked to hear her say more. More than just telling him which ingredients to hand her from the shelf behind where he sat.
“What’s this one for?” he asked every time he passed her a new jar or satchel or tiny wooden box.
She’d give him one word answers. Headaches, or nausea, or inflammation. He didn’t ask whether they were meant to cure those things or induce them.
Still, he enjoyed watching her work. She did everything with such precision, measuring things out to the drop, handling delicate dried leaves with the the lightest of touches, deftly funnelling spices through the narrow spout of a bottle. Her face was set in a deep frown as she concentrated, making her features appear particularly severe, but he rather liked it. That was pure dedication on her face, accompanied by a quiet confidence in her abilities.

@thepinkhydra.com Sep 13, 2026, 2:30 PM

#SundaySnips Food-related snippet coz I'm hungry 🤣

Tarlek enters the story. 😬 And yes, there is a reason behind him being awkward/threatening towards Ash.

#⚔️⛓️🖤

The bustling cook, Tambril, finally notices Ash sitting idle amidst the flurry and ropes him into helping load several enormous brass platters with slices of succulent spiced meat and roasted peppers. The smells make Ash’s mouth water. He recalls similar happenings at his father’s castle, feasts for the victorious after jousting. The spices were different, but Ash helps fill several large flagons with the same wine, rich and deep ruby red.
He barely notices that dusk has fallen until Tarlek arrives with a handful of others to carry the platters away. His friend is wearing the same scowl that has fixed itself upon his face since Ash made his reacquaintance. The men shoulder the groaning platters, heft the flagons. Ash notices that they’re one short.
“Let me help,” he offers. Tarlek puts a hand out to forestall him. Ash looks up.
He and Tarlek always were around the same height, yet Ash grew more slender whilst the blacksmith’s son filled out during their shared adolescence. Somehow that difference seems bigger now than it’s ever been. When Ash was a prince, he would stride amongst the servants and they would defer towards him. He never thought of Tarlek as an underling, but certainly there seemed something a lot smaller about him in those days.

@walkerharris.net Sep 13, 2026, 2:05 PM

My characters don't talk enough about food, so this is the sexy kind of spice.🤷

Rough draft of Kyle massaging Katie and she is in the mood for him massaging much more.😲

CW: Doesn't get spicy yet, but talk of wanting some intimate, above-the-belt touching.

P.S. Consent is sexy

#SundaySnips

Screenshot of a work-in-progress manuscript with the word 'spice' highlighted.

His hands work the top of my chest, coming tantalizing close but never quite getting to my breasts. It still feels great, working out muscle tension I did not even know I had.
Then he keeps massaging… and massaging. I do not know his usual routine, but it feels like he keeps cycling through the same loop of my upper chest and shoulders. Considering how wonderful it feels, I do not mind, but I peek at him with one eye again. His eyes are locked on my breasts.
So there is hope.
“The invitation is still open,” I say coyly.
“Sorry, I—”
“No more apologies. I do not think I can make it any clearer that I am willing to let you touch my breasts.”
“Willing to? Or do you want me to?” He actually sounds nervous. Bless him, it is almost like being teenage virgins again.
I run through so many possible replies with varying levels of humor, spice, and mixture of both. I settle on honest and direct. “I am getting real close to needing you to touch me.” I look up at him, gazing directly into his lovely emerald eyes, and softly say, “Kyle, please touch me.”
He smiles that wickedly playful smirk and does not break eye contact as his hands slide down