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@colinjlewis.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 11:34 AM

From my #WIP A Conspiracy of Ravens
Always fun the #SundaySnips

@hookandquillpress.com
#WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Writesky #HQpress

“My divorce on grounds of desertion is in motion,” she told Halford. “He has a few months to be served them, which is highly unlikely has no doubt he’s somewhere in the India ocean smuggling spice, clothes or other dubious stolen contraband.”
“Then a celebration drink is in order.”

@saranadosfiction.com Sep 13, 2026, 8:27 AM

#SundaySnips | spice

Back at the start of Silver in the Ashes, and Sabbat waking up in Archer's bedroom after a nightmare

( saranadosfiction.com/2021/04/03/s... )

He gasped, drawing lungfuls of cool, spice-scented air until, finally, his breathing settled into something close to normal and he was able to roll over onto his back, one hand going instinctively to his razor while the other, half-unwillingly, landed on the lid of the box resting on the bedside table. It didn’t move under his touch this time, thank fuck, but there was an unsettling warmth to it, as though it’d been lying in full summer sun for a couple of hours rather than in a dark room in the depths of winter.

*Fuck this.*

He wanted the sixdamn thing gone. Even the lack of pain wasn’t worth this.

*Still ain’t letting Archer burn it, though. Least until we know how the fuck to break that binding. Otherwise I’m fair fucking certain that doesn’t end anywhere good.*

Problem was, none of the paths he could see out of this ended anywhere fucking good. Closest to a workable solution was Archer’s friend somehow finding a way to break the binding and destroy the box, and even then he’d likely end up laid up for a month once the injuries Caine’d inflicted on him reasserted themselves.

*Fuck that. Fuck this whole fucking situation.*

He sat up, hissing out a breath as a jolt of pain shot through his spine, and glared irritably around the room. Unlike his own approach to his garrett back at the Daggers, Archer’d taken the time to decorate his lodgings, which meant the walls were hung with a mixture of tapestries, blankets and paintings – pretty much all of ‘em either religious iconography or seascapes, though there were a couple of paintings that Sabbat reckoned must be landscapes of Efir (either that or they’d been painted by someone who couldn’t colour snow properly and couldn’t draw a tree to save their life).

@bumblebigirl.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 6:33 AM

#SundaySnips "Spice"

Kinley is pretty sure paprika is a spice

The longer we sit there, the less happy I am to see her. This is a miracle, exactly what I’ve been hoping for, but the lack of explanation is frightening me. Something has shifted, but I don’t know in what direction. I should know, I’ve been observing this situation for a month. I should have realised things were on the move, but I didn’t. What else have I been missing?
Should I say something? Like “nice to see you down here”? Would that sound passive aggressive? Maybe “I’ve missed talking to you”? Everything seems like too much, like it would break whatever this is. Maybe I should leave it. This looks like progress, can’t I let it be progress?
But detectives don’t do that. It doesn’t matter how things look, what counts is knowing.
“Don’t worry if it’s not any good.” I flick my eyes up at her and back down again, trying not to sound too interrogatory. “I’m a pretty shit cook.”
“It’s good,” she says of the food she hasn’t eaten. “I’m not feeling like much right now.”
“I can make something better tomorrow. Use some paprika or something.” I press on, trying to be cunning, to steal an assurance that this might continue. “If there’s anything you’d prefer.” Please let her take that bait. Give me some promise that this might be a turning point.
She nods. “Um. Yeah.” She prods her potato again, letting the fluffy white innards spill out a bit. “Don’t worry.”
“About the food? Or… what?”
The fork freezes in her hand for a second. “Nothing. I just.” A hard pause. Something flickers behind her eyes. “Nothing.”

@woodenvelt.bsky.social Sep 13, 2026, 5:30 AM

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

Apple Cinnamon > Pumpkin Spice

I said what I said. Share a snip featuring any kind of spice. (please include CW if needed)

#WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Writesky #HQpress

A graphic advertising the Sunday Snips hashtag, a weekly blue sky writing community tag. The word for September 13 is spice. 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.

@woodenvelt.bsky.social Sep 10, 2026, 11:00 AM

If you enjoy reading my snips about Spencer and Wren on #WIPSnips or #SundaySnips, please consider being an ARC reader for my novel Thief of Death. #Wrencer

A digital drawing of two original characters from the romantic fantasy novel Thief of Death by Samantha Breaux. Art is also by the author. The first image shows a pale man with shoulder length, slightly wavy, dark hair and gray eyes. He is wearing a gray tunic and a white shirt. The second drawing is of a woman in fantasy garb with long brown hair in a braid over her shoulder and brown eyes looking off to the side. Her skin is tan, she is wearing a black cowl, a white shirt, and a blue vest.

@scarletvmitchell.bsky.social Sep 7, 2026, 2:53 PM

#SundaySnips

A day late, but a doozy, as we enter a climactic scene from the mystery. Major shit has gone down and Talia finds herself alone at the edge of a wooded lot waiting for an informant.

And hears something rattling around in the woods.

And more shit is clearly about to go down…

She scurried to the tree line and looked, not seeing anything in the shadows of the dense underbrush. Carefully, she picked her way forward, the shadow of trees closing like a door behind her, letting her see more clearly but not well enough. In the fading light, all color seemed to bleed from the surroundings, making it hard to catch details. There was another whimper and what sounded like another voice, angry, but drowned out by the crackling of leaves and branches. She headed for it cautiously and quietly, not sure what she would find. Finally, she spotted them.
The silhouettes were unmistakable, one man holding another at gunpoint. She dropped into a crouch next to a tree and hid as well as she could among the intervening undergrowth, peering through the wide leaves of juvenile trees. Her eyes, dilated with increasing fear, adjusted quickly to the low light, allowing her to pick out more details. The standing figure, his left arm extended in the universal gesture of pistol brandishing, was *redacted*

@zbroger.bsky.social Sep 7, 2026, 1:31 AM

Ryan's having the worst day ever & he's shut himself in his bedroom away from his guests. Jesse, his girlfriend, follows him to make sure he's okay.

#SundaySnips #wmhst #writingcommunity #queerwriters #writesky

I, finally, fly out of the kitchen and head for Riri's room down the hall. I've dealt with his outbursts plenty of times before, but there is something different about this new status in our relationship which makes butterflies flutter between my heart and my stomach. I take a few deep breaths to rid them, twisting the bottom of one of my small braids between my forefinger and my thumb before giving the door our special knock from the lyric: "I'm hanging by a moment here with you."

Riri doesn't respond right away, which makes sense if he has music blasting in his ears. The decision of whether to just go in, to bounce, or to knock again swirls like fallen leaves in the wind throughout my head, and my fingers are back to twisting the braid. The wind has riled the butterflies. Maybe I should….

The door opens. I let go of the tight braid, and its unwinding hits my jaw. I push it behind my ear. "Oh, Riri…" I breathe, peering into his downhearted green eyes; they were rimmed red. It wasn't often I caught him crying!

I rush forward and pull him into a tight hug, accidentally entangling my hand in the cord, which tugs his headphones slightly off. My heart tumbles like stone at the meloncholy beat of an 80s ballad leaking from the speakers, his sad day playlist. Oh, I should have said something earlier!

— Dungeons & Drama: Don't Tell Him He's a Cat, Chapter 4 - Jesse
#SundaySnips Sept 6, 2026
handles (bsky) zbroger.bsky.social (cara) zane

white text on a brown background with a drawing off to the left

drawing has 2 faceless teen characters standing by each other. Jesse (left) is standing straight on. Ryan (right) is leaning against Jesse with arms crossed, looking back at her

Jesse is black, has short afro with 2 side braids, wearing a red shirt & gray jacket, dark skinny jeans, black chucks & blue glasses

Ryan is white with acne, dark short hair, patchy beard & visible bodyhair everywhere, is wearing a green tanktop, gray cargoshorts, gray sketchers, pink headphones

@butterflyonawheel.bsky.social Sep 7, 2026, 1:17 AM

#SundaySnips | leaf

From The Stardust of Failure, in which Nicky is coming out of a depressive period and is finally interacting with friends again.

Nicky paced himself through one glass of wine at dinner; even his fairly crude palate knew the red was Good Stuff, meant to be savored and not gulped for a cheap buzz. What Peter uncorked after the dessert course was something else, though—and not in a good way. It was like drinking blackberry jam, and it kicked like a mule.

“Where’d you get this?” Nicky asked. He knew a handmade label when he saw one.

“My father-in-law Brian is trying his hand at fruit wine,” Peter replied.

“Everybody needs a hobby,” said Nicky, but it was easy to cut himself off from the sugary blackberry concoction. Since he couldn’t praise the wine, he invited Peter, Sharon, and their kid over to ride horses that Sunday.

Guests. At the ranch. Nicky really must be turning over a new leaf, or whatever.

@isaacxisaac.bsky.social Sep 6, 2026, 10:50 PM

I'll share something this #SundaySnips!

I intend each Alexander book to be separately readable, with the best experience if you read all in order, but flexibility if you wanna skip some, &c.

I don't re-explain everything but I did want to re-describe Alexander, so this is his 1661 description:

When the curtain of the French coach cracked, thus was set the stage: a circle of servants in three colours, holding knives, clubs, swords, and even pistols, yet standing all back from the centre, where danced one small figure, like a golden leaf twisting in flight. That figure was just five-foot, slight, blond, and when in his turns his face could be glimpsed, ‘twas delicate, barely boyish, and beautiful as a painted angel’s. But as spun this dainty, his masses of silver ribbon swishing, embroidery on his sky-blue doublet glinting golden in the sun, all hesitated to approach—and that fair face was fearless, and theirs were afraid, for in the three tempi after he landed he had disarmed one of them, cut the shin of the second, and punched in the face with his hilt the third.

@caribbeangwdss.bsky.social Sep 6, 2026, 10:27 PM

#SundaySnips leaf 🍃

From ‘FIRE & ANARCHY’, Book 2

It’s good to note that Frans was once half man, half wolf.

#writingcommunity #writingprompts #writesky #HQpress #fantasy

"What is this?" He asked as he fought the urge to indulge.
A growl slipped free before he could stop it, raw and instinctive, dragged up from somewhere older than speech. His vision bled into shadow and silver; the dark no longer hid anything from him. It welcomed him back.
"Why, what you dream of." Dracaeces said. His red eyes severed the darkness. "I have made you more human than you have ever been before. An end to your curse—the very bane of existence, and yet, it is the part of you that you have miss most."
"I do not wish to do this again." Frans turned away. His nose sweeping the puddle of water beneath him.
"Do not pretend. Do not pretend that you do not wish to feel what it once felt like. The thrill. Now more without fear of something to lose. No burdens to wear you thin." A subtle wind blew and the rest of his words came and left with it like a fleeting leaf. "It could be yours again."

— written by Shanice E. Wilson

@matthewspalmer.bsky.social Sep 6, 2026, 8:55 PM

Going deep into book two 'A Coven for Outcasts' for this one.

Heidi and Joy are getting to know each other. I wonder where this goes...

#SundaySnips #WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Writesky #HQpress

Joy continued to look at Heidi, her head propped on an arm. “How long did it take you to learn all this? Do you really think I can learn this too?”
Heidi picked up one of the grimoires from the floor and leafed through it. “Everything I’ve learned has come from books. You can learn the same way, I’m sure. But Mina’s managed to do things that that no-one thought was possible in hundreds of years of magic. There is more to magic than what people have written down. The others call me a genius, but I just learned how to channel early, read a lot, and made some small tweaks to a couple of enchantments.”
Joy put her empty mug on the floor and rested her head on the pillow. “Do you remember how you…” she searched for the right word, “channelled for the first time?”
Heidi looked inwards “I can remember before I could channel, before…” She paused. It felt like the memories had reached up from where she had buried them and clamped a hand around her throat.

@leeheffer.bsky.social Sep 6, 2026, 8:39 PM

#SundaySnips

@acturek.bsky.social Sep 6, 2026, 7:50 PM

The weather is beautiful for traveling, to be sure!

#SundaySnips #wip #fantasy #writesky #writingcommunity #writingprompts

The Lynsheltri led them through the labyrinth
beneath the waterfall, through tunnels twisted in the patterns of the water and of time. The travelers had walked far enough to have crossed the River many times when they stepped out at last onto the farther
bank, awash in the peace of leaf and sunbeam. Rushak stood beside Frasca and stared at the trees without seeing them.

Brother's Keeper by A.C. Turek

@thebrambler13.bsky.social Sep 6, 2026, 7:13 PM

Hi #SundaySnips!

This is from my WIP for Raven & Bear. It's also the ninth story in this collection, titled Deilenddu Forest. "Deilen ddu" means "Black leaf".

I'm excited to write something in the Solar Punk genre.

Replies are welcome!
#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #Raven+Bear #Cymru #SolarPunk

An excerpt from Deilenddu Forest (Raven & Bear: 9) by Bramble, in black text on a white background. It describes a settlement floating above an artificial forest which generates electricity.

Transcript:
Dinas Drosddeilen sat on a web of wire cables, a settlement hoisted far above this metal forest by colourful balloons. He stood at its edge and looked out over Deilenddu Forest, from which electricity flowed to cities across Gwent. For each tree had been built to harvest their power from wind or sun alike. Unfortunately, Sir Corbyn’s marvel was cut short as Pry slammed both hands on the guardrail beside them in frustration.

[End]

@sainiku.northsky.social Sep 6, 2026, 6:43 PM

#SundaySnips

Razir being pretty as ever.

#WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Writesky #HQpress

Razir was a beautiful kingdom. In the autumn, the trees turned red and yellow, creating a swirling dance of leaves whenever the wind blew. Much of the architecture used white or beige walls with vibrant trims of reds or blues, and black or brown tiled roofs that curved slightly upwards at the corners. Smooth stone walkways lined the major roads, and the people wore much lighter clothing than in Sothara, layered when cold.

Razir fashion had some of the most fascinating designs. Often they would have embroidered patterns of flowers or trees on their clothing as accents. The light fabric, sashes, and hairstyles were typically so simple, that they gave a sense of calm by just looking at them.

Then there was Rix’s Ascendance. A beautiful monument of crystal that reached up towards the heavens farther than any manmade structure in our world. It was the center of faith for the western continent.

It was said that it was created when Rix himself returned to the heavens after descending to defeat an evil known only as ‘The Betrayer,’ who waged a great and deadly war against the faithful.

@susanbjames.bsky.social Sep 6, 2026, 6:20 PM

#SundaySnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity

While it does have the word 'leaf,' it's actually an ode to the river (on whose banks Rose's mother disappeared).

@maximejaz.bsky.social Sep 6, 2026, 6:09 PM

#SundaySnips
From my crime WIP, I have "leaves".
Detective Nate goes home to a house riddled with grief and memories. But that lonely life has been blast apart by that new pathologist in town... (note: this is mostly a shower scene with a naked body).

Getting out, the night soft, filled with owl song. A creeping feeling up his spine, looking around, but there were only the trees. Night animals roaming the ground, the soft rotting leaves. The house’s windows dark, like gaping mouths. He opened and pushed the door in, keeping the lights off. Walking to the bathroom where he had to flick a small lamp on, barely there above the mirror. Avoiding his eyes, that tired man with his drawn features. Stripping. Stepping into the shower booth, setting that powerful jet to full blast. His hands roamed his body. Fat under the skin. He pinched his abs, or what was left of them, puzzled at that small bump. Fuck. Those green mocking eyes floating in. Coated with lust? Maybe it was a trick of that pale light in that basement. Come to the gym. Maybe… The thought gone, dismissed with a wave of his hand roaming his scalp, washing his hair out. It felt so good, just to get lost under that hammering spray. He moaned, leaning against the wall, letting the water slide down his back, his ass, and thighs. God, it feels good… like palms sliding on his skin… That ghost touch, so he flicked the tap off, quickly stepping out and drying. Hard. Rubbing that feeling off. Shit. Walking to that dark bedroom, naked, sliding under the cool sheets. He set his alarm, his eyes on the night, the dark trees. There was no moon, so he couldn’t see much in that floor to ceiling window. Wishing for sleep, his mind churning in that thick silence.

@bethanylaurel.bsky.social Sep 6, 2026, 5:55 PM

Ragheiyont decided the path to the door looked far too exposed, so he circled around the back, where he found more doomed flowers and an old bench covered in leaf litter. There was a back door, but one of the windows opened with almost no effort. Ragheiyont eased himself over the sill.
#sundaysnips

@nightoffallengods.com Sep 6, 2026, 4:11 PM

#SundaySnips
You know the world she lives in doesn’t exactly have a word for it, but I think in these moments Roderika displays just a smidge of some ADHD…

#WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #WriteSky #HQPress

23 - Reka
Reka was slowly losing her mind.
She knew when setting out this trip would take weeks. She thought she'd planned for that. Packed a number of books, a journal, even some games. Plenty to keep her occupied.
She read all of her books by the time they'd hit The Crossroads. Never much of a writer, most of her journal entries were a handful of uninspired lines at most. The games were better lately now that Mary had started to be more comfortable around Arlo, but there were only so many times they could play the same thing before it was more tedious than fun.
Mary on her own was fine company, but Reka never felt comfortable talking about anything but surface level topics.
She desperately wanted to know more about the Church and the Faithful, but when she got anywhere near those topics all the emotion would drain out of the Sister's face and she'd go quiet. She would look painfully uncomfortable whenever the subject of spirits or magic came up, which was all Reka wanted to talk about now that she had realized how unrefined her skills had been before. Stories of Reka's youth were the safest bets, but even then, Mary had so few frames of reference for anything having been so sheltered in the Church.
Those stories were also a minefield for Reka. The one subject she feared most was Tala. She knew that if she started talking about her something would slip and she still didn't know how Mary would react. She wasn't as closed minded as Reka would have thought given her upbringing, but between what her father had told her about the Church and the fact that Mary still struggled with the subjects of the other Alliance members, she just could not risk talking about her partner too much.
That, even more than the distance and time, made her heart ache from missing Tala.

Still, once she got going on a subject, Mary could talk for hours. After Reka had given her that tin of tea, Mary spent days talking about nothing but different types of leaf and what each was used for. The small tea and herb garden back in the Tower City was the only luxury she'd been allowed, and it seemed to be the one thing she had pushed Jonah about. This also bled into a decent knowledge of other plants, including medicinal herbs. Books on these subjects had apparently been how Mary learned to read the Alliance language. Now Reka had learned more about what any weed or flower they passed tasted like or could do in the last week than she'd ever thought to know.
Unfortunately, weeks of travel had all but exhausted every conversation they could have. Now their days were mostly silence punctuated by the creaking of the carriage. Reka just found herself staring out the window at the rolling hills the road wove through, with distant copses of trees the only thing to look at. Across from her Mary did much the same, sitting with her back straight and her hands in her lap. How was she not bored, not itching to move or do something?