Pamela Jeong
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pamelaelaela.bsky.social
Pamela Jeong
@pamelaelaela.bsky.social
680 followers 510 following 4.4K posts
Lifelong writer, aspiring author, mom of two.

Bibliophile, cinephile, serial hobbyist. I'm talking graveyards of crochet needles & ukuleles.
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pamelaelaela.bsky.social
Pamela Jeong @pamelaelaela.bsky.social · 3d
Forgive me for the sentimentality, but this Thanksgiving, I’m so grateful for this writing community that’s welcomed me in. You’ve given me joy, wonder, hope, and friendship during a tumultuous time in my life. Thank you. ❤️

Here’s a poem I love. No machine can dig this way. So let’s keep digging.
Digging By Seamus Heaney Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun. Under my window, a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: My father, digging. I look down Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds Bends low, comes up twenty years away Stooping in rhythm through potato drills Where he was digging. The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft Against the inside knee was levered firmly. He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep To scatter new potatoes that we picked, Loving their cool hardness in our hands. By God, the old man could handle a spade. Just like his old man. My grandfather cut more turf in a day Than any other man on Toner’s bog. Once I carried him milk in a bottle Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up To drink it, then fell to right away Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods Over his shoulder, going down and down For the good turf. Digging. The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge Through living roots awaken in my head. But I’ve no spade to follow men like them. Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests. I’ll dig with it.
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
reaper-man.bsky.social
#NovemberWorldbuilders

I made them all obsessed with waffles. 🧇 Mostly because I love waffles. 🫣 Even the word 'waffles' is amazing. Waffles!
kiraofthewind.com Kira of the Wind (Erika McCorkle) @kiraofthewind.com · 2d
#NovemberWorldbuilders friends! We're at the end of the month so you know what that means: broad questions with no particular theme! Tell me about something you put into your world for no reason other than that it brought you joy. Did you learn about something cool and want to add it? Talk about it!
#NovemberWorldbuilders prompt card Hosted by Kira of the Wind Extra days 29. Something you added to your world just for fun The image in the background is a blurred picture of a foresty/rocky landscape with lightning and a mountain in the background
November 30, 2025 at 8:59 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
hookandquillpress.com
Wait...gasp!!
What has Quillbert found?
Is he finally at the end of his big book-related quest...?
Could it be...????

#writingcommunity #writesky #quillbert4ever #hookandquillpress
A plush octopus looks up at a wooden door. We see the bottom of a sign. The writing is cut off, but it looks like it could be saying "Hook & Quill Press" which honestly, isn't really a twist at all
November 30, 2025 at 8:27 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
thecrumpet.bsky.social
November 30 #WIPsnips – “number”

Just for fun. Only dress up. Nothing serious about a trip to Bergdorf Goodman for Jenny. Nothing ominous at all about price tags with all those zeroes and a man with a platinum Amex. Just for laughs. Just a “what if?” Right? A snip from my #WIP “Surface Tension.”
Bergdorf’s, as Jenny understood it, was where Charlotte York picked out a thirteen-hundred-dollar china pattern she barely got to use, just before Trey stuck a prenup in her hand and expected her to lump it. The store was a temple to rich person problems, and though she knew Gregory had money enough for as many farm-to-table dinners and silk scarves and off-Broadway shows as he thought she might fancy, she didn’t think of him as being rich. After all, he’d had to move from the Bowery Hotel after only four nights. Something about his mother having access to the credit card he’d used, and she wanted to know precisely why her son’s research trips to Manhattan necessitated a five hundred-dollar a night hotel room. And yet he’d brought her here, to the fourth floor of Bergdorf Goodman, “just for fun,” like this wasn’t terrifying. She’d had plenty of fun in her life, and none of it cost as much as six months of rent or a used F-150. She dropped the tag of a hot pink dress in hammered silk. The number on it was obscene, dirtier than any novel she’d ever read. “This is ridiculous.” Though her voice was soft, the silence on the floor of this shrine to fashion was even softer. Diffused gallery lighting spilled over racks of gown upon gown, chiffon upon tulle upon organza, peach upon lime upon lilac. Beaded trims winked at hems and collars; feathers fluttered in the artificial breeze of air conditioning. Gregory moved across the plush-carpeted space as if his presence, their presence, here was as ordinary as it was in Spitzer Auditorium back on campus. His fingers trailed over the racks, flicking through brilliant silks and muted satins. “What’s ridiculous about it?”
November 30, 2025 at 5:15 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
sayaashrah.bsky.social
#Novmemeber 30. #ChroniclesOfTheRealms is on Ao3. While I recommend waiting until Eternal Flame is complete and officially out, there are a few short stories there that expand upon the mythology, and every kudo and comment is highly appreciated if you read them 💜

archiveofourown.org/series/4547401
sagetgreene.bsky.social Sage T. Greene, Author @sagetgreene.bsky.social · 1d
#Novmemeber 30

Thanks for a great month! Now... PROMOTE YOURSELF!

Share links to your books, ko-fis, writing samples, websites—whatever you'd like to promote today!

Be sure to check everyone out and spread the love!

(Thanks for participating in Novmemeber, everyone! 🫶)
—💚🌿
30. Tell us where to buy/support and don't be subtle! A prompt game for the month of November, titled #Novmemeber (as in meme). Hosted by @sagetgreene.bsky.social . The bottom says "Have fun, interact, and remember alt text!" There is a silly emoji face with wild eyes and tongue sticking out, and some fall-style leaves in the corners.
November 30, 2025 at 1:11 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
sagetgreene.bsky.social
#Novmemeber 30

Thanks so much for being here, everyone!

Check out my ko-fi and itchio—my ebooks and music are 50% OFF!

*Sale goes through 12/7 for those currently participating in the mass blackout!*

itch.io/s/169144/hol...
ko-fi.com/sagetgreene/...

or linktree in bio for physical copies & more
November 30, 2025 at 2:06 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
autumnchildart.bsky.social
Commission for @khonri.com 💜
Digital portrait of a DnD character. She's a warforged with white pace plate with green markings and glass hair in two shades of green, braided around her head and ending in a bun a the neck, adorned with golden flowers.
November 30, 2025 at 3:22 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
woodenvelt.bsky.social
Spencer & co are on the road in the wee hours.

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

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer
The world was awash in the gray blue shadows of predawn, that liminal time before the sun’s rays have truly begun to peek out from the cover of the horizon, but they’ve started to at least think about it. They’d been riding three hours, as Spencer judged it, and his sense of time at night was fairly sharp. Ever since they’d made the turn west onto Abbey Road, half an hour ago, the ground on either side of the roadway had given way to more and more wet pockets of marshy water dotted with little hillocks and rises. Mist clung to the water, forming little rivulets and eddying swirls of fog that could be hiding any number of dreadful things. Not that I’m imagining an alligator jumping out of the fog and biting my horse’s leg clean off, Spencer told himself for the fifth or sixth time. Never occurred to me at all. None of them had gotten a full night’s sleep and fatigue nibbled at the edges of everyone’s nerves, but it was Wren that worried him the most. Where Bruce and Molly looked weary, Wren looked haggard. Dark crescents rimmed her eyes and by Spencer's count, she’d done the tell tale bobble and jerk of someone nodding off then startling back awake three times in twice as many minutes.
November 30, 2025 at 2:40 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
papadjinn.bsky.social
Number | Finally have some time after the holiday to post up Tok and he's got some new info. Missed you all and hope you've been great~
#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #bvm #bipoc #amwriting #Fantasy #SFF
“There’s another party to worry about as well. You wouldn’t know them, but the group has a moderate level of fame – sometimes boarding on notorious rather than illustrious.” Othelia paused and moved to uncover a sheet of paper for him. Drawn on the page was a picture of a red arms crest with two thick capitalized Bs within the center. The pair of letters intersected as if one laid atop the other in the two-dimensional space. “They are known as the Burgundy Boys, and they are sell-swords.” “They are... sell-swords,” Tokonus pressed, his face scrunching up in confusion at the strange phrase. “Mercenaries – ah, that is to say, they do violent jobs for coin," Russel managed to state, seeming to realize that he had nearly not elaborated properly. “Mm, like murder, kidnapping, and torture,” Tokonus said more to himself than to his companions. Another disgusting side of the currency that flowed in and out of Acosta, but Tokonus had long since abandoned the idea of decency and currency intermingling. “I cannot deny that those are within the bounds of their services, but if they were simply criminals then they wouldn’t be able to act with impunity,” the chancellor added. “Mercenaries can be hired to protect villages and bolster militaries; they aren’t all bad.” “And that is the part that you should be worried about. It appears that the Burgundy Boys have a working relationship with the other lords of Dawnleaf.” Othelia pressed her fingertips together in front of her as if preparing herself. “That means that, with a large enough portion of coin or the right incentive, they may join against us. Additional soldiers would already be stress enough, but what’s more, we do not know the number of men they have on their side or where they may be held up.”
November 30, 2025 at 1:54 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
woodenvelt.bsky.social
#Bookvember 30

So, convert is a loaded word. 🙃 I'm not banging on people's doors spreading the good word lest their semi-literate souls are damned to library hell or anything. But, if someone were receptive to trying a fantasy book, I would recommend recommend Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett. 🧵
A book cover for Terry Pratchett's Discworld novel Guards! Guards! which introduces readers to Sam Vimes and the Ankh Morpork City watch. The cover shows a dragon breathing fire while several men in guard uniforms cower in the corner. One has a bow, another has a sword. They are huddled around a statue of a king.
November 30, 2025 at 1:40 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
kleighdiaz.bsky.social
Naught for me, but I'll always share for these lovely folks!

Thanks for hosting, @sagetgreene.bsky.social! This was a lot of fun. ♥️

#WritingCommunity #Novmemeber
Stack of novels: "The Erstwhile Tyler Kyle" by Steve Hugh Westenra, "Sordaneon" by L.L. Stephens, "Soulkeeper" by T.D. Gonzalez, "Against an Alpine Sky" by Nicole Leland, "Wings in the Valley" by Aud Connelly, "Dance of Demons" by Alyssa Lauseng, "The Ghost Princess" by M. Walsh, and "Etheri" by Sage T. Greene
November 30, 2025 at 5:39 AM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
professoremily.bsky.social
#WIPSnips #amwriting #writingcommunity #writers #writesky

Long snip today, sorry! 😅

Elisgood Blake & his team are investigating an old forger hideout... which may not be quite as abandoned as they thought!

From #Charagma, my SFF dystopia where all people are marked saved or damned from birth.
“Hm,” was Will’s only grudging response. His frown said he was still doubtful, but Blake knew how much Will respected his opinion. After a moment he said, “Even Reprobates could still have Supernals.” “What, you mean demons?” said another Shepherd, using the improper term for a Dark Supernal, an Adversary—one who had gone against their nature and turned away from El. “You know demons can’t enter the walls of Arx Lucis, Hawkins. Now you’re just being paranoid.” But even Blake had a twinge of doubt in his heart at that. The idea that Arx Lucis was impenetrable to Adversaries was a common one spread among the people by the city leaders and the ever-babbling broadcasts on the telescreens. It was something most everyone in the city believed without question, just as the City Lords liked it. But most citizens also believed that the number of secret Reprobates in the city was far lower than it actually was. Perhaps young Will was right; perhaps the city was not quite as safe from demons as they all liked to think it was. And if there was any business a Dark Supernal might get up to in Arx Lucis, it would be protecting the human fiends who made an art of forging fake charagmas. Blake’s fingers shifted to his string of rose-colored beads. ... sword of light... beacon of truth... “Sister Sykes,” said a Paladin from the east corner of the room. “I think I’ve found something.” ... be thou my shield... The man took hold of a small lever in the wall—what looked like an old-fashioned power switch—and gave it a pull. A quick hm! of numen. But no machines came on. Instead, a section of the wall slid open. The next instant, like paint pigment shooting through water, both the Paladin and a large bite of the wall were turned to gray ash. The man’s remains dissolved in a pile on the ground. “Supernal!” Integrity Sykes barked.
November 30, 2025 at 1:20 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
charliedeltawrites.bsky.social
November 30th – number

Fox is really getting sick of everyone giving her the runaround.

(Also, trying to do hashtags! #Dawn'sBlood )

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
“Here’s the thing.” Fox was on her feet now, hand still outstretched. “I’m not done talking yet. It has been a bad week. A frankly preposterous number of people want me dead. I hate swamps. I hate caves. I especially hate that some of you people might be related to me. “I am tired and I am pissed off, and I came here to finally get some answers. I will be Void-damned if I am leaving here, or being executed, without getting some. So how about you sit down and start talking, instead of wasting my time?” Av’ry could hear her teeth grinding as she spoke. The priest’s jaw was on the floor now; he stood, unmoving, eyes darting between her and the fire. Then, the flames leapt to the fabric wall coverings. “Can’t you do something about that?” C’alle turned to Fox. “Sorry.” She shrugged. “I’m not really all that good at this.” While that wasn’t untrue, Av’ry was pretty sure she was going out of her way to be unhelpful. C’alle swore and grabbed a rug to try and beat the flames out, pushing the still stunned priest away from the growing inferno as he did. Av’ry sighed and rose to help him.
November 30, 2025 at 8:37 AM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
tarasgeir.bsky.social
First day after a long walk and Cailo has concerns other than his feet. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
November 30, 2025 at 9:23 AM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
kleighdiaz.bsky.social
#WIPSnips | number

Amos teaching Lennie about the importance of the humanities. 😊

From my post-apocalyptic #WIP w/ a misfit trio of kids.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: “I was always good with my numbers,” Lennie said. “Not so much the other stuff.” Amos smiled. “Yeah, well, numbers are important. Calculating distances, for one. Navigation. Hell, math is what we needed to live, back in the old days. All that technology. It's what kept things running.” He leaned in a little, closing the book softly. “But the humanities—philosophy, literature, art—those are what I look to, when I'm searching for a reason. Where I find beauty, where I find hope.” He pressed the book into her arms. “And there's always room for a little more hope in this world, don't you think?”
November 30, 2025 at 10:59 AM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
jundlife.bsky.social
Our hero gets caught looking at some very sexy tidal charts
From "HatWIP"
#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #WIPSnips
I find myself engrossed with a graph relating to the pull of the moon on the tides. Depending on the alignment of the planet, sun, moon and our place in our elliptic orbit the tides also wax and wane. We even have a word for when these astrological forces combine to make the highest tides possible, we call them Perigean tides. We also call them ‘king tides’ because people struggle with big words. “What the fuck are you looking at now?” a voice cuts through my oceanianic reverie. Fuck, it’s Mel. I was not mentally prepared to engage with her right now. I look down at my nautical chart filled top to bottom with numbers representing oscillating tidal flows. I am not making a very good case for being a normal person. “Would you believe me if I told you this is about the moon?” I ask, trying to give her a friendly smile.
November 30, 2025 at 11:55 AM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
sayaashrah.bsky.social
#WIPSnips 30. "Number"

MythAugust knowledge will come in handy for this snippet of Infernal lore x)

#ChroniclesOfTheRealms #SayaAshrah #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
“I know you want to fight, but the time isn’t right.” Even without her formulating her thoughts, the celestial sword knew what she was thinking. “You may think the azahnu is too absorbed in its study of me to pay attention to anything else, but that’s not how their brains work. They’re too sophisticated for such blunders, their awareness extending far beyond the boundaries of common minds.” Ashrah regretted not having dedicated more effort to studying the race. As powerful and dreaded as the azahnu were, their numbers counted as the lowest among high-class demons since Archdevils Ashk’ril, Arunnarum, and Malekhall led a crusade against them with the goal of crushing them into extinction. But a few survived. Hid. And in time, the Netherrealm heard their names again, millions of Pulses of isolation sculpting them into even mightier demons.
November 30, 2025 at 12:21 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
sagecollins.bsky.social
Remember when Nico was holding Lilia and sobbing in his Charlie Brown pajamas the other day…

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity
From The Magic in Our Bones 🦴🥹
Black text, green background, “numbers” highlighted in pink I grab his hand with that same one and with the other lift his chin to look into my eyes, instead. "I know you're scared and you're sad, and they threw all that hate and fear at you, and you can't prove to them that you're good because you can't speak and they don't trust you to act. You can't explain it. You can't tell them that you're just Nico, just the same Nico you've always been. The same Nico who would wave at them as he passed while walking Jax. The same Nico who would help Mrs. Chao unload her groceries into the car. The same Nico who brought every shop in town their own individualized arrangement of his flowers two summers ago. The same Nico who taught Willa to swim when she was convinced there were sharks in the community pool." A hint of a smile flashes across his face at that last one, so I keep going. "The Nico who babysat the Wilson kids when Mr. Wilson asked last minute, even though his friends were all going to a party that night. The Nico who would light up the stadium with his energy while playing the trumpet, even though you were marching in step with the rest of the band. The Nico who loves writing English papers more than calculating NUMBERS for some odd reason." I make a face at him, and his smile returns, lingering a bit longer. "The Nico who Melody fell in love with. The Nico who has never once, in my entire life, let me down. You can't explain that to them. And I suck at it. But I know the truth. Someday, they will, too. Can you hold on until then? I'm right here if you need something to hold on to."
November 30, 2025 at 8:45 AM
pamelaelaela.bsky.social
Where Danbi’s journey begins. 📖

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #AmWriting #AmQuerying
📚💙
Five more minutes, and I’m free. Five more minutes, and I’m done for the summer with this sticky four-aisle corner store where clock hands silent-crawl instead of tick. Five more minutes, and I can start finding answers. Hopefully. I unglue my thighs from the metal stool to bend down and pull up my backpack. It’s August in North Carolina, and the air is gelatinous. I push aside Brontë, Vonnegut, Whitman, and Woolf to take out my book. The book. The one with nothing on the cover. No title, no author. I snuck it out of my mom’s closet when I was seven from the single box of my father’s things I found there. I guess six is the limit—the number of years that can pass before a person starts digging for answers to questions like “What’s my father’s name?” and “Where do I come from?” when none are freely offered. It seems like there should’ve been much more considering all he left behind, but apparently an entire future of happy family-dom was reducible to one brown box. My gaze falls on the fading gray pencil lines filling the book’s margins. My father’s handwriting. The broad, swooping letters form the same three phrases on repeat: The world beyond the bark. The reading. I must return home.
November 30, 2025 at 12:38 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
reaper-man.bsky.social
It's the weekend at last! Time to finally edit my book! 📖

Or, you know, begin to write and illustrate a brand new children’s story inspired by my friends instead...
🐦‍⬛🦌🦉🦫🐇🦊

#squishyfriends
Text: Once they’d brushed past the swaying marigolds, and hopped across a patch of pinkish purple heather, and narrowly escaped a charging butterfly, they came upon a puddle. “Oh dear,” said Sam, leaning down to inspect it. The puddle looked back at him in a somewhat suspicious manner. “That’s quite a large puddle, isn’t it?” Sam said worriedly. “Do you suppose it’s friendly?” “It looks rather miffed, Sam,” Emily observed. “Perhaps a bit more ruffled than other puddles I’ve seen.” “It’s pronounced poodle,” said the poodle, who was white and fluffy and had excellent hearing. “My goodness,” said Sam. “Are you sure?” The poodle elected not to answer. Instead it said, “And what might you be?” “I’m a beaver,” said Sam. He turned slightly and pointed at his flat tail, in case there were doubts. “And this is Emily. She's an owl.” “As I suspected,” said the poodle, who most certainly hadn't. He had never in his life met a beaver or an owl, and thought they were both some sort of unusual bear. Picture: A hand-drawn illustration of an owl and a beaver sitting behind some orange marigolds, smiling at a grumpy poodle sitting behind some purple heather. Two butterflies float above.
November 29, 2025 at 9:34 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
kleighdiaz.bsky.social
#WIPSnips | dedicate vibes ✨

Making these kiddos dedicated to each other through it all.

(Context: Lennie escaped a scary situation. Luckily, Micah will always be her safe harbor. ☺️)

From my post-apocalyptic #WIP w/ a misfit trio of kids.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #amwriting
Writing snippet: She stared absently at him—the familiar depths of his eyes, the warmth of his skin, concern catching in every taut line etched into his brow—but she couldn't quiet her panicked breaths. “Damn. C’mere,” he said, pulling her close. “It's okay.” He gripped tighter as she collapsed into his arms. “It’s okay. You're safe.”
November 29, 2025 at 10:03 AM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
reaper-man.bsky.social
Although the antagonist's supporters are rioting outside, Sophie believes the truth can change their minds. Polo has spent a lifetime watching the opposite happen. Who's right? 🤔

From an action-comedy novel about the wacky misadventures of a heist crew.

#WIPSnips #AmWriting
#WritingCommunity
💙📖
“What exactly is the truth? Is it really something we can tell those idiots wreaking havoc outside?” said Sophie, watching as Scruffy zigzagged past a vampire engrossed in a debate with a dockworker. “We treat them like idiots, and rightfully so, since they behave like idiots. But shouting at an idiot won't make him any less of an idiot. And lying to an idiot just points him in a different direction. Have we considered why they believe Maestro’s nonsense in the first place? All they ever hear is shouting, Polo. From Florenti, from Maestro, from us, from every headline pouring panic into their heads. They don’t have a quiet place to listen and learn. They obviously haven’t earned one, I don’t deny that. But even idiots can learn, if you stop beating them with the truth, and start showing it to them instead. Show them that we’re not so different, all of us.” She gestured towards the bar, where differences of various shapes and sizes were busy getting equally drunk. “Maybe instead of locking them out, we leave the door open. Let them see for themselves.” She was wise for her age, Polo had to admit, as he met her earnest gaze. Completely wrong, of course, but wise all the same. In his experience, the truth didn’t change minds so much as harden whichever part of the skull it bounced off. And showing it to them would accomplish no more than showing a haddock a fresco. Sophie was right about the way things ought to be, but people, at their very core, simply didn't work like that. If they did, half the city wouldn't be outside proving her wrong.
November 28, 2025 at 9:22 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
kleighdiaz.bsky.social
Today, I'm thankful for the friends I've made here. The #WritingCommunity in general and the #WIPSnips community, specifically, without whom, I would not have met those incredible friends. They are talented (*so* talented, multitalented, all the talents), kind, inspiring, kinda hot, more adjectives…
reaper-man.bsky.social 🖼️ Samuelo da Vimci 🖌️ @reaper-man.bsky.social · 5d
Brand new sketch! 😁 My friends and I were joking about what animals we'd be if we had the choice, and it resulted in this. Presenting...

Almost Home.
A picture of some woodland animals sitting on a wall, looking at a forest. From left to right, a crow laughing with a deer, an owl leaning on a beaver, then a rabbit and a fox. Done in pencil, with the contrast, clarity, and brightness slightly raised because I'm terrible at taking proper photos. 😅
November 27, 2025 at 2:09 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
professoremily.bsky.social
#WIPSnips #writingcommunity #writers #writesky

A nice little party turns suddenly uhh, not nice 😰

Hope everyone who's doing Thanksgiving today has a lovely day & no sudden crystal bomb attacks! 😁

From Book 1 of my #Atlantis trilogy.
“What’s happening?” someone called. Beneath the sounds of distant screaming, a new sound began to take shape: an angry chant, though the words were indistinguishable. Then, down a nearby lane, there was a blinding flash of light. Without a sound, but with a vibration that shook the earth even where they stood, one of the stacked slave-dwellings lost an enormous chunk of itself, as if some invisible giant had taken a bite out of it. “Crystal bomb!” a man shouted. The crowd erupted into panicked shrieks. The sea of people now became a chaotic stampede, as everyone rushed to escape. Kena still hadn’t managed to fully grasp what was happening. But he saw Mireia run forward, against the flow of the crowd. He took off after her, heart racing.
November 27, 2025 at 2:09 PM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
abdicatedblood.bsky.social
#WIPSnips
Ryani reflects on his time in the FIC military, and enjoys doing the one thing he's best at...
(Excerpt from FHSD Book 3: Rise Up, Strike Harder)
The space around Zoridian VIc was on fire and strewn with debris, the Echoes had a hole in its side, and there were intercepted comms about FIC reinforcements. But, the FIC fleet was scattered and disorganized, the warship in command having been taken down almost as soon as the fighting started. Ryani winced as he remembered watching the warship debris rain down on the moon’s surface. The asteroid turrets had now been set to fire automatically on anything matching FIC ship silhouettes, barring the single one transmitting the control signal. Now, the Echoes hunted down the remaining FIC ships, firing single shots of liquid metal into their ill-prepared hulls, tearing them to pieces in seconds. It was satisfying stuff, taking down the feds. Ryani regretted having ever been a part of their armed forces, even if he’d never done much oppressing personally. Mostly just garrison duty, then that quarantine station… ugh. He hated even remembering that place. Ten years with no outside contact, only FIC propaganda to read, watching a barren world slowly be consumed by a mutant plant. Ryani tensed, switching thruster controls from aft to stern, slowing the Echoes as it came around in its orbit of Zoridian VIg. Two FIC destroyers huddled together in a close orbit. Their crews no doubt frantically attempting repairs and trying to regroup with the rest of the fleet. Tiny dots moved about the hulls and between the two ships, humans on EVA repair duty, proving Ryani’s assumption. Ryani grinned, knowing they’d never get the chance. His hands moved so quickly they seemed to have a mind of their own as he flipped switches and turned dials, reorienting the ship by careful activation and deactivation of its thrusters, adjusting the power sent to them as needed. This was what he was meant to do. The crazy shit nobody else could. No one could work a ship's controls like he could. No one he’d met, anyway. He glanced back up at Nikrianth, who stood at the commander’s post atop the bridge…
November 27, 2025 at 9:04 AM
Reposted by Pamela Jeong
tarasgeir.bsky.social
Making sweet potato soup in a self cleaning kitchen seemed appropriate for Thanksgiving in todays #WIPSnips. From DDQ about finding out why a spaceship accidentally creates a planet of ducks. #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #WritingPrompts
Gloria busied herself with cooking. Vivid orange smears covered the normally pristine white worktops but it was a relief to see some colour in the room. Gloria had even spent a lot of credits on real flowers that were already wilting under the harsh lights. The florist had told her they were sunflowers but Gloria had liked them as the petals were the same colour as Isley's eyes. More splatter covered the kitchen as Gloria started to blend the last few chunks of sweet potatoes. And then she wiggled in excitement, causing the blender to veer to the left, when the blue light started to blink rapidly. Isley was nearly home. Smooth orange splatters covered the pristine surfaces and a thin, black scraper emerged from the edge and ran over the dirt to suck it up. Mess was not allowed in Isley's home and Gloria had, eventually, got used to living somewhere that lacked both grease and dust.
November 27, 2025 at 10:13 AM