iiinova — where your digital self keeps evolving

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

J.L. Henker - Fantasy/Sci-fi Author @jlhenker.bsky.social · 08/10/2026

I had my book launch party a while ago, and what a celebration it was! There were dragon cakes, bling bags, and a room full of family & friends. I'm so grateful to everyone who came to eat cake and buy books!!!

Me sitting at a table covered with a blue cloth. My three books are on stands to the right. I'm sitting in my community center library with a big smile on my face, poised to sign one of my books.

A rectangular cake with bright red piping around the edge. The center contains a picture (on edible paper) of a red dragon sitting on the steps to a castle with a woman in a red gown standing below. The writing says, "Congratulations Janet!"

A round cake with chocolate frosting. Raspberries and a powdered sugar outline of a dragon breathing fire decorate the top.

051

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Xela Hart @xelahart.bsky.social · 07/10/2026

150123992931

Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️ @jumpintraxjack.bsky.social · 24/09/2026

Something not to be confused with a fatberg. (Ask a plumber.)😬

010

Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️ @jumpintraxjack.bsky.social · 07/09/2026

My next project, друзья и враженятки.

060

Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️ @jumpintraxjack.bsky.social · 24/08/2026

You're too kind. Incidentally, the model for three of my characters, Mary Maguire, Conall's mother, her daughter Ellen, and granddaughter Hannah was Circassian vocalist Sati Kazanova. It's a look you can still find in the west of Ireland.

110

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Hope Engel 📚 @hopeengel.com · 23/08/2026

Jakob, the MC of the hockey short story, struggles to connect with his date and acknowledges his taste in music may be a barrier:

We keep painting in silence. I don’t know what to bring up that might go anywhere. I don’t have time to keep up with any of the popular TV shows. I doubt she’s into gaming, and I would be even less willing to bet she shares my love of German metal music.

1131

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Pallro the friendly fire dragon @pallroragon.bsky.social · 23/08/2026

An angel trying to get closer to the demon who runs Hell’s radio station

“Sorry that was out of line. I shouldn’t have said that.” He seemed sincere.
“But it’s what you really think.”
“… yeah well I’ve been wrong before. I hope I am this time.”
“… I should go.”
“Hold on. … I have an interview with Richard Soulman in about half an hour. … wait do you know who that is?”
“No.”
“He’s the drummer from the pentatones. They’re a demon band. We’re going to be talking about their new album and play a song from it, then offer a free copy to a caller who can answer some band trivia correctly. Why don’t you stay? It could be fun.”
“You want me to stay?”
“Yeah.” I wasn't sure if I believed him about that … but maybe it was an opportunity to get close to him. So I agreed.

0141

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Andrew Halliwell @spike1967.bsky.social · 23/08/2026

The #WIPSnips word for August 23rd is "album" #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts From book 5

My accompanies Marty on a sender jump where Marty's the one in control. Their destination, Marty's original world.
When Marty goes to see his parents, my MC suggests they join them on the way back. (He's done the same for all his other friends).

0141

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

STEPHAN MICHAEL LOY @stephanloy.bsky.social · 23/08/2026

#WIPSnips The word is 'album.' I *just* finished this, so it's pretty rough. A broken Fiona Street wanders the house of her good friend Clayton Hostetter. She gets into his secretary and the tin where he keeps his mementoes. #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

One-handed, her other still gripping the neck of the whiskey bottle, she worked off the lid and let it clatter to the desk. The box she set down more gently, running her thumb over the contents. This was Clay's chest of secrets, a kind of album of memories. His sergeant's chevrons from the Spanish-American War, never worn, and the couple of ribbons he'd earned in that conflict.
She tipped the regalia out onto the desk and drew out a grainy sepia-toned photo on heavy stock paper. There stood Hostetter half in uniform and half in more comfortable range clothing, his cowboy hat cocked back on his head. Around him posed an equally motley assemblage of men, all gripping various rifles at their chests as if presenting the honored tools of their office. And in the middle front of the ensemble, in full if tired uniform complete with riding boots and that iconic hat, one side of the brim pinned to the crown, stood Theodore Roosevelt himself. A grim crew in that photo, not a smile among them. Rough Riders. The picture showed sharp darks and lights; its tones hadn't faded a day.

0142

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Rachel | Reka @rekamohcs.bsky.social · 23/08/2026

This prompt was made for my boys! From one of the intro scenes of A Song to Believe In, where we get to see the ensemble cast for the first time - Lex and Nico sighting! #writesky #writingcommunity #writingprompts #wipsnips #booksky

0161

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

honeybea @writing-bea.bsky.social · 23/08/2026

Morgan is offered a place in their former band. #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #Writing

“This isn’t the only thing we have planned.” Charlotte continued on, speaking at a whisper. “Midnight Valentine is doing another big tour in the summer. This is kind of a layover while we work on the new album.”
Morgan’s heart drummed, body becoming still.
“Jun and Everett agree that we need something new in our sound. And after I told the two of them about how damn good you are now, well, you seemed like the perfect fit.”
“I thought the two of them hated me.” Morgan mouthed the words, starting to lean on her.
“They were just tough on you because they wanted to push you. And now look at you! You’re a star. You belong on a much bigger stage. Not scraping by like you have been.” Charlotte’s fingers massaged Morgan’s arm, kneading it as she drowned them with compliments.

1172

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Mark Johnston 🍁 @markjohnston905.bsky.social · 23/08/2026

Surprised I didn't have album anywhere. This one is from my first ever novel, which is in need of some work, but it's still a great story. I also left the 6-7 page break in there for the kids. #WIPsnips #writingcommunity #writesky

They made their way down a hallway to a large dining room at the behest of a hotel worker. Parker quickly realized that the point of the meal wasn't to eat, but rather to have a chance to get all the new guests together to learn the rules and regulations before setting off on their own adventures. The hotel was pretty foolproof with an overabundance of staff. The few airlocks had permanent staffing and the guests were all informed that every square inch of the hotel was covered by security cameras—the only exceptions being their actual rooms and any communal bathrooms. The hotel had only a single excursion, but it was a pretty awesome one. You could prebook a time to head to an airlock, suit up and head out to the surface. Much of the advertising back on Earth featured two people in spacesuits sitting on lawn chairs clinking glasses. It was a must-have photo for just about every guest. Parker thought it was cheesy as hell. He was going to do it though, no question.

0192

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Brayton Leroy Meyer @caucasiansuasion.bsky.social · 23/08/2026

Not from the novel proper but a story of the 'Glinterverse', so to speak... #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

The Ministry of Heritage came goose-stepping into yesterday, Its tread shattering the vestiges of history with the inevitability of a future from which no spark of discontent could be struck. The cultural footprint of one Barış Yılmaz was gaining traction in the Anatolian sectors, anthems filled with subtle metaphors of individualism. The citizenry deserved a more appropriate substitute.
Agent Calliope at the Bureau of Ancestral Corrections had selected a replacement asset. His name would be Shamil Ijje. Glinter reviewed the digital dossier of a twenty-seven year ghost life; a janitor in the nightclubs of the elite, hard-working, loyal; waiting for his chance to shine in the spotlight and emerge as an authentic voice to soothe a Caucasian Autonomous Region seething with undercurrents of rebellion.
His masterpiece became, of course, 2162’s album of the year. ‘The Iron Cradle’ and its core track “Once More”, a grippingly uptempo melody, celebrated a Central State that would be eternally reborn into the people’s service.

5191

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Ramblings of a Wannabe Writer @kaylee-scott.bsky.social · 23/08/2026

I definitely shared part of this #wipsnip before. Today’s word is “album” #writingcommunity #writingprompts #writesky #writersky

Marc’s eyes were closed and he looked like he’d fallen asleep. I curled my legs up into my chest and sat there in the dark in the little vinyl and metal chair, quietly singing Like You’ll Never See Me Again, by Alicia Keys, tears rising up in my throat. The album had dropped that year and it was amazing how many of its songs resonated with me, like a soundtrack to us. I heard Marc start to cry and realized he was still awake. Carefully moving the wires and tubes and crawling into bed next to him, I wiped away his tears as I continued to sing. The night nurse came in to check his vitals a few minutes later. I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat as I started to get up from the bed, expecting her to chastise me for being there past visiting hours. The nurse looked back and forth between us.
“I don’t mind if you stay, sugar” she said quietly. They were the sweetest words I had ever heard in my entire life.

3192

Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️ @jumpintraxjack.bsky.social · 23/08/2026

#WIPSnips: album > ledger Conall Maguire seeks sanctuary at St. Agatha's with the parish clerk, Darby O'Gallagher, the widowed stepfather of Noreen and Bella. vocab: sneck (Sc) = latch; rushlight = pith of a rush dipped in grease, used as a candle; hoager = stench (from right whale oil)

Old wood and beeswax filled Maguire’s nostrils. A rushlight illuminated a small table against the wall. Darby rehooked the chain and struggled to throw the rusted pin.
“Sneck’s been cursin me for grease.” He lifted the light, which glinted off his brass-framed glasses. “Winter won’t let go—never seen it in all me days. And mind your step lest a floorboard come up on ye.”
The planking creaked and popped as Darby led Conall through the narthex.
“Meself and this dear oul’ chapel, the both of us a pair of old blades—years be the whetstone grindin us down.”
Maguire followed Darby to a door ajar, where a scant yellow ray splayed across the floor. Darby pushed into the apartment.
“Welcome to our humble abode. All we have in the way of a parochial house.”
Maguire stepped into a shadowy space smelling of burning peat and old men’s clothes, its close walls the color of mushrooms.
A weathered table with four ladder-back chairs held a flickering tin Argand lamp and a stack of tattered, leather-bound ledgers in front of a fireplace. A double lantern sat unlit on the mantel. Burning turf hissed in the small firebox, and a battered church pew ran two-thirds of the room’s length, with a squat cupboard in the corner, a tin chamber pot beneath it. A short, ill-fitting door disrupted the wall next to the hearth.
Darby set down the rushlight and jacked up the lamp’s wick.
A warm glow flooded the room, illuminating a ruddy, barrel-shaped man, hoarfrosted by years, his head thick with unkempt silvery ringlets.
High-bridged and sharp as a clipper’s prow, Darby’s nose projected from under bushy, creased brows, giving him a schoolmaster’s sternness. His shoulders were broad and square, and he stood five feet eight.

A disheveled indigo doublet cascaded over baggy grey trousers, the buttons of his waistcoat threatening to emancipate a bulging belly. Ink sullied his shirtsleeves, and his fingers grew from meaty blacksmith’s mitts, not the fragile hands of a church scribe.
Darby lit the mantelpiece lamp. A strong, fishy odor tugged at Conall’s nostrils as the lantern leapt to life.
A white goose quill lay on the table beside an ink bottle and an open ledger.
“Pox. Sorry ’bout the hoager in here. The oul’ catch-fart assured me ’twas sperm oil.” Darby motioned to a chair. “Take your aise, Condy. What brings ye out and about on so dismal a night?”
“A divilish challenge. Tarlach thought ye might help.” Maguire leaned his knobstick in the corner; his bundle went onto the pew. He took a seat.
Darby closed the book. “Let me clear these.” He wrinkled his face in disgust. “Goddamned shame, it is. Parish registry has gaps I’ll never fill. Entire families gone as though they never existed at all. Sakes, this was a place of worship, solemn if not elegant, till they hanged Father Loughrey from the rafthers.” He moved the records to the cabinet, his fingers lingering on a cracked spine. He hesitated before tucking it away as if the devastation pained him.

191

Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️ @jumpintraxjack.bsky.social · 23/08/2026

French horse is better than Polish, Soviet-era horse. Trust me.

120

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

The Mouthy Renegade Writer @mouthyrenegade.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

We need more prominent political figures to talk shit openly about the disgusting, criminal, child-raping president. Have some balls, Y'all. It makes him mad. Hopefully, it causes a heart attack.

579192065065

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Allison Gill @muellershewrote.com · 22/08/2026

One of the things I hate the most about tariffs is that we knew they were illegal, and when the court finally decided they were illegal, they forced Trump to refund the tariffs. But the refunds went to the corporations, and not the people the corporations raised prices on. What a scam.

43884412053

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Sarah Andersen @sarahseeandersen.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

The image is of a four panel comic.
Panel one shows an eldritch god, a skeletal possum like creature with large antlers, saying "I AM AS OLD AS THE FOREST ITSELF".
Panel two shows a stick figure saying, "But you must have been a baby at some point?"
Panel three shows the eldritch god saying "Well. Yes."
Panel four shows a tiny eldritch baby sitting on a rock, his antlers just little twigs.

78208464135

Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️ @jumpintraxjack.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

#WIPSnips: fresh Aibreán has taken to the road up through the Gap of Barnesmore. She encountered a roadside corpse and vomited. Now comes her nemesis on an elegant coach. He wants her. vocab: Béarla /'be:r-la/ = English lang; barmbrack = currant bread > Ir. bairghean breac, speckled loaf.

Two muscular chestnut stallions pulled an elegant four-wheeled berline, black plumes bobbing atop their heads. Aibreán stood to the side to allow the opulent carriage to pass.
A black cape under a beaver postilion hat drove the windowless coach, disporting a perfumed kerchief to mask the highway’s deathly odors.
“Chilly day, miss,” an English voice purred. “May I convey you into town?”
Twist the gad whilst it’s green.
“Thank ye. Cold enough to banish the bitin midges, thanks God.”
Aibreán’s gaze lingered on the gentleman’s beaver chapeau and fur-trimmed cloak. Instincts urging caution, she sweetened her tone and spoke her cleanest Béarla.
“I am chap-fallen, sir, and I wouldn’t be sorry to get a wee morsel, had ye one to spare.”
The driver rummaged in a pouch as the steaming horses, eager to resume their descent, pawed the ground and snorted, nostrils flaring. He dropped a wedge of currant-filled bread to her as if tossing scraps to a dog. “Fresh yesterday.”
She trapped it with her arm and tore into it.
The coachman set the brake, slipped off his mantle, and climbed from the seat.
Aibreán finished the barmbrack, which cleared the acid from her throat.
He lowered his kerchief.
Aibreán gasped.
The silk Barcelona, the fur-trimmed roquelaure, the shiny hat—the disguises all fell away from Henry Warwick.
The Englishman had swapped his usual military tunic for black wool trousers, a single-breasted cutaway coat with velvet facings, and a snow-white cravat. He’d transformed his voice, too, which was now more formal, purring with politesse.
His mouth stretched into a sinister smile as he came closer.
“So, my little gallows bird, we meet again.”

0121

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

penguin-starborn.bsky.social @penguin-starborn.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

"This cheese is good", Gerdon finally said. "It is old", the bird muttered. "Old, old, old." "It is fresh", [Gerdon] said. "A little weak in taste but good." "Fresh!" the bird said. "The cow which made it is centuries dust." #wipsnips [Visit the mage, they said. Won't be awkward, they said.]

091

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Mark Johnston 🍁 @markjohnston905.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

From my third novel, Generations. Max has been awake a while and serving his year of labor on the ship. Here he sees how the elites on board get to live.

Along with the view, Max realized the air seemed different. The air in Bay 3 was clean, but seemed as bland and sterile as the walls. It was like it came from a bottle, which Max realized it did. He had been sent to refill oxygen tanks a few days before. This air felt fresh and vibrant. Max had been given an orange once with one of his meals; a reward for a particularly productive day. This air felt like that. It felt alive.
"We have just enough time to arrive, Max. Let's move," Argo said, floating just above his shoulder.
Max nodded as he heard the doors close and seal behind him. He took in another breath and followed as Argo floated off down a set of stairs. Max could see exactly where they were headed—a large crowd was streaming toward a platform near the edge of the area. He continued to gawk at all the plants and buildings he saw as he walked. He saw people dressed in all sorts of colorful clothing walking along a trail to his right, but Argo kept him steady on their own path, following workers dressed similarly to Max. Whenever he got a look at the people on the other trail, he noticed something different. Crazy hair colors, vibrant tattoos, strange clothing, foods he had never seen in Bay 3 in their hands. His path continued to add more workers from side trails, always the same. White shirts, beige overalls. He also noticed that some on the other trail had their own Foremen leading them, but the robots were painted bright colors and had specialty devices stuck to them that Max couldn't quite make out. The most obvious difference was that on Max's trail, the workers always followed their Foremen. On the other trail, it was clear who was in charge and it wasn't the small floating robots.
Max had one more shock as he approached the platform, quietly following Argo. Sitting in a chair, his mouth gagged was a wide-eyed face he had seen before. It was the man who had attacked Sophia on that first day.

0111

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

John Boo-ryant 🎃👻 @johnbryantwrites.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

Adelia ain't from around here. #WIPSnips #writesky #amwriting #histfantasy

The #WIPSnips word for August 22nd is FRESH. Here's a snippet from my historical fantasy joint SLAVES OF GOD: The buggy rolled along the dirt road, worn low by years of footsteps and wagon wheels. It split off in different directions, connecting the sprawl of ranchers, farmers, and homesteaders scattered across Lafayette County.
Then the smell hit her.
Fresh manure mingled with hints of woodsmoke from distant chimneys.
Tallow rendering over open fires
Traces of lye-soaked laundry drying on the line.
She held her nose.
“You’ll get used to the smell,” Davis insisted.

0121

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Dan Sato @tellthestory.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

1901. Ulysses is a young American-born Chinese who navigates a hostile society with wit and audacity. He's the cook at the Seattle hotel where #FrankMatsura washes dishes. #WIPsnips #fresh My novel, Imperfect Likeness, comes out in two months. The cover is nearing completion!

0174

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

DeryckThirteen @deryckeleven.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

The sun was higher than Sandra was used to on her morning jogs. Normally she would already be back inside her home, taking a cool shower while her coffee brewed. The coffee would be poured into a giant travel mug with the vacuum to keep it hot for twelve hours (not that it ever lasted that long) and then she would drive to her bakery to begin work for the day. There were bread doughs proofing overnight that she would need to get baked before their textures would be compromised. The frozen cookie doughs needed to be defrosted, because despite her reading that they could be baked from frozen, they really didn’t ever turn out as well. Fresh was the best, but this was one corner she could cut with minimal issue. Even when she was running for her life she couldn’t shut this voice in her head up.

0111

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

STEPHAN MICHAEL LOY @stephanloy.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

#WIPSnips The word is 'fresh.' In Nightwatch, Morrison's plane heads into its secret mission over Japanese airspace at the very end of WWII. #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #AmWriting

1151

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Kim Findlay (she/her) @authorkimfindlay.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

Quiet – but not right. There were strange smells, and the living room and kitchen were still a mess. I shot to my feet and ran into the kitchen. I pulled the garbage bag out of the can, and then through the back door to the bin. Back inside, a fresh bag inserted, and I started to clean. #wipsnips

0211

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Mark Weaver @markweaver.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

Returning home from his first visit to the duchy, John, Duke of Vallonné Là-Bas, finds that his super efficient PA has exceeded herself.

When John arrived home, he found his mail had been collected and was on the kitchen table. There was also a note from Caroline. His neighbour’s pet macaw had been returned safe and well. He’d forgotten about the macaw and hoped it hadn’t inconvenienced Caroline too much to look after it for him. He’d have to get her something to say thank you, even though it wasn’t his macaw. If he’d had the presence of mind, he’d have brought back some of the duchy wines, and she could have had a bottle of that. Next time he was there, whenever that would be, he’d make a point to pick up a crate or two to bring home.
As it was lunchtime, John made himself baked beans on toast. It made a welcome change from all the rich food he’d had over the past few days. From the new loaf in the cupboard and the fresh milk in the fridge, he could only assume that Caroline had been shopping for him, which raised a question from the beginning of his trip. How had she got in when he was sure she didn’t have a key? She was resourceful, yes, but housebreaking? The more sensible explanation was that somehow she’d got hold of a key to open his front door. It couldn’t have been from his neighbour because she had been away. However she’d done it, it was some impressive PA’ing above and beyond the call of duty.

0163

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Ramblings of a Wannabe Writer @kaylee-scott.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

Today’s #wipsnips word is “fresh” #writingcommunity #writingprompts #writesky #writersky #grief

“And you’re going to write a book,” Christine adds.
I’d written everything down since I first found out about Marc being in the hospital. Looking back I’m not sure if I did it because it was therapeutic or because, as painful as it was, I didn’t want to forget any of it. All I have left are my memories and I want them fresh forever. I want to remember how everything felt, how he felt. My own little museum of Marc. I’ve been taking those scraps of paper and piecing them together, trying to recreate a period in time, wondering if getting it all down on paper would somehow allow me to hold on to him while finding a way to let go of the past.
“I’m going to write a book,” I smile.
Christine runs the tips of her fingers along the tattoo on my wrist, the one I’d gotten in honor of Marc - Believe with angel wings – shortly after he passed. I reassure her that he could never be forgotten. I hope Marc’s watching, from wherever he is, smiling at the love we still carry for him. I hope he can finally believe how very loved he had been all along.

0203

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

honeybea @writing-bea.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

Alexandra gets to enjoy one of her favorite treats 🤍 #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #Writing

Alexandra started on a mocking tone, but it died as soon as the fresh, sweet scent greeted her. She stared at the three rolls skewered onto a stick, brown with a glossy maple sheen, and salivated. Words could not express how sorely she'd missed these things, nearing the point where she had considered marching to the royal kitchens and setting them to the task of recreating it.
With no caution for how hot they still were, Alexandra pulled one of them free and savored her first bite. A contented purr spilled out, exhaling with a puff of steam. Whatever damage she had done to her tongue didn't stop her from scarfing down a second taste. Her mouth was still half-full of soft dough when she offered Callista muffled thanks.

0182

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Rodario @rodario.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

My snip for the word of today: Fresh The early days of Kiradeii and Rodario. Rodario has stumbled upon "Kiradeii's" secret glade in the forest. #WIPSnips #Writesky

0254

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Jess Faulks @jessfaulks.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

Tatiana is not the daughter Portia is used to being genial. #PairsOfPumpkins 14. #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #WIPSnips

“Mother! There you are!”

Portia whipped around to see Tatiana approaching, with her hand extended in front of her to split the crowd like a graceful blade. Arriving, she bumped aside one of the Mayor’s assistants with shoulder and breast, then steadied him with her lead hand, balancing a drink between the fingers of the other.

“Where is your handsome feline friend?”

Portia's eyes narrowed. While they’d spent most of their time together in the days since their first meeting five days prior, this wasn’t how her freshly humbled and still resentful daughter greeted her.

0253

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Racthoh @racthoh.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

#WIPSnips Fresh. The group happens upon an abandoned outpost for hunters. Text in the alt. #WritingCommunity #WriteSky

The early evening came upon us quickly, the dense trees doing much to blot out the sunset. Bedlam surmised that if hunters were smart enough to build an outpost there, then there would be plenty of fresh game to partake in. At least he hadn’t lost his appetite after our duel. Kailvrex offered to join him, insisting her daughters should learn from someone who was forced to live off the land with no other support systems.

0292

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

A.B. Koga @abkoga.bsky.social · 22/08/2026

Coming to after a tunnel explosion. From There’s Something on the Tracks—NA historical horromance.

0314

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Headless🎃Horsewoman 🪉💎🏹 @acturek.bsky.social · 21/08/2026

Woven in last week to illustrate the Forest’s defenses. Rushak: The bramble wall presented itself, representing all that opposed him. Would it keep him in as it kept invaders out? BQ: see comment #FavelineFriday #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #fantasy #WritingPrompt

1161

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Hope Engel 📚 @hopeengel.com · 21/08/2026

Fave paragraph Friday - Iris and Valeria get drinks one-on-one when Emerson is gone for an away game. Valeria opens up to Iris, and Iris perceives what's really going on beneath the surface. Then describes it in her chaotic way, and I actually had an idea to polish it while making this snip:

Oh, I get it now. This girl has baggage, and not like a cute little weekend bag's worth. She's carrying out the full size checked luggage spinning roller suitcase of baggage. I don’t want to invalidate her experience, but I just can't imagine Emerson operating that way. It would be giving him too much credit for someone whose approach to life is generally "wing it." That, and I have the advantage of history on my side.

4264

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

honeybea @writing-bea.bsky.social · 21/08/2026

Working on a little sparring scene between my gals! Writing fighting scenes is definitely a weaker point for me so I'm trying to get some practice in <3 #FaveLineFriday

Alexandra was crouched over the pile of training blades, grabbing and dropping them with agitation. Callista moved quickly to join her, not wanting to leave her to her own devices. Celestus knew what she'd do without supervision.

"-and do knights truly not train with anything smaller than this? It is less sword to make, surely they would leap at the chance to laze about more." Alexandra muttered to herself.

"I don't know if it quite works that way, Your Highness."

182

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Kamela H is trying, okay @pamela-with-a-k.bsky.social · 21/08/2026

A bit from this Interlude section, which also has the word "wine" in it elsewhere, but I thought this quotation was more interesting to the worldbuilding. www.patreon.com/kamela/posts...

(A music industry conspiracy theory goes that the record labels were creating artificial musicians even back in the late 20th century, and that the famed “27 Club” that took Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Cobain, Winehouse, and other proteges through the years was actually the result of artificial humans, spawned into existence at age 17 with preternatural musical talent and charisma, then offing themselves ten years later in various staged ways to cover for the mechanically imposed limitations on their lifespans.)

051

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Andrew Halliwell @spike1967.bsky.social · 21/08/2026

The #WIPSnips word for August 21st is "wine" #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts From book 5

After being released from prison, my MC hears how badly his little brother took it, so decides to treat him to a night in a luxury hotel.

092

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Siege of the Spirit @siegeofthespirit.bsky.social · 21/08/2026

His first meal with her is awkward, having been fully robbed of agency. - From Siege of the Spirit #WIPSnips #wine #fantasy #darkfantasy #Writesky #Writingcommunity

When the bread reached his stomach, it huddled in a hard knot at the bottom.
His hunger vanished.

"Swallow some WINE," she said. He complied. She watched him some minutes, continuing to stare into his face. “Good. Now the meat."

He looked down only to cut a small piece of the roasted beef and impale it with his knife.
Then he stared back at her again, seeking with his eyes to reach down inside her and discover what she was.

Siege of the Spirit

0145

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Dan Sato @tellthestory.bsky.social · 21/08/2026

#FrankMatsura and Noriko celebrate the success of a complex stratagem to bring justice to a wronged friend. #WIPsnips #wine

Noriko and I celebrated with a bottle of wine and a plate of shoyu chicken with real Japanese rice from Sang’s cart of many wonders. I had stored the precious sack of rice in a large coffee tin I’d gotten from the General Store. It was rodent-proof and had a tight lid.
“You’re no longer a foreigner, Matsu’ura-san,” Noriko told me.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m no longer a foreigner.’ Of course I am.”
“A foreigner is a guest. He learns the rules and tries to live by them. He is careful not to give offense to his host. But a member of the community is free to change the rules, to upset the established order, like you did. You stopped accepting things the way they were.”
Nodding, I said, “We did it for Goro.”

0102

Reposted by Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

Hope Engel 📚 @hopeengel.com · 21/08/2026

In the hockey short story, the first date takes place at a paint and sip place and I had to shout out Oregon wines! (Which I didn't appreciate enough when I actually lived there).

We barely have time to look over the wine list before a server comes by. “Welcome! We will be getting the painting started in a few moments. I do want to highlight that all of our wines are sourced from local Oregon wineries. What can I get for you to drink?”

0102