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nerdcactus.bsky.social
C Alexandra
@nerdcactus.bsky.social
560 followers 330 following 1.3K posts
I'm a #writer of the three Gs: gods, ghosts, and (usually magical) girls.

She/Her. Neurodivergent. Ace. Unapologetically leftist. I even write with my left hand.

Say nice things about Detroit!

#writingcommunity #amwriting #writesky
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nerdcactus.bsky.social
C Alexandra @nerdcactus.bsky.social · 2d
Finally(!), we bring you part 4 of Eleanor Roosevelt: or, Yes, Healthcare is a Human Right, the UN Literally Voted For It. In this, Eleanor is freed of her cheating husband and does badass shit.

www.buzzsprout.com/1855074/epis...
#history #womenshistory #eleanorroosevelt #podcast #feministhistory
Eleanor Roosevelt pt 4: "Then remaining silent is cowardly." - Mythsogyny
"If silence seems to give approval then remaining silent is cowardly." - Eleanor Roosevelt, My Day September 1944.And now, dear listeners, C takes us on a voyage through the final years of Eleanor's l...
www.buzzsprout.com
nerdcactus.bsky.social
28. For the first series, the important ones are the Archyne-Sarqan Wars, which grew into a Salbyssan-wide affair. It began with border skirmishes, with the Sarqani making insursions into Archyne lands. They grew into whole scale religious war when Kythe entered. #JanuaryWorldbuilders #writesky
kiraofthewind.com Kira of the Wind (Erika McCorkle) @kiraofthewind.com · 1d
#JanuaryWorldbuilders, tell me why a war, either historical or current, started in your world. If this is your first time seeing my prompts: please note that these are for fictional worlds of our own creations! Please no discussions of real wars unless it relates to your fictional story!
MonthlyWorldbuilders prompts daily feed card #JanuaryWorldbuilders Hosted by Kira of the Wind Week 4: Military/Warfare 28. Why did a war--current or historical--start? The background image shows a blurred magic tree with a waterfall coming down between two halves of its trunk. It’s nighttime and the night sky is magical with lots of blues and pinks and purples
January 28, 2026 at 10:47 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
nerdcactus.bsky.social
Had to go with 'delayed' since the whole 'this whole thing is going to end in a ritualistic mass murder if we don't hurry' vibe didn't really allow for much procrastination. #WIPSnips #writingcommunity #writesky
The Wainwrights only lived two blocks over, which had provided its joys as well as its grievances. Encouraging the neighborhood children to focus their Devil’s Night antics on the white house with the sculptures made of leaves was a treat, as was lobbing insincere sympathy at Mr. Wainwright the next day as they took a purposeful walk into town. The weekly noise nuisance complaints during the remodel had become fodder for Phoebe’s compost heap or Beren’s art projects. And then there were the Yule decorations. Cass’ one true love, her wife excepting, was turning the house into a Winter Wonderland every year and always—with the aid of her gift for divination—finding just the right addition to outdo the latest Wainwright surprise. A dramatic reading of Edith’s yearly screed on certain persons ‘making a mockery of the holy season’ was a Christmas Eve tradition, complete with egg nog and more pie than a mathematics convention. It was a beautiful house, Beren had to admit, especially since it reminded her of the dramatic Victorians she’d loved back in Detroit. And like everything Edith did, it was manicured to within an inch of its life. Beren was tempted to stomp across the grass just to see if hounds came rushing at her. Taking a deep breath to center herself, Beren rang the doorbell, half hoping some harried housemaid would open it and tell her the Wainwrights had gone on a long-delayed vacation and, no, she didn’t know when they would be back. What she didn’t expect was Edith herself, splotches of paint on her cheek, hair unbound and wild, a smock of psychedelic florals tossed over her clothes with haphazard carelessness. And were those jeans? In all Beren’s years of knowing her, Edith had never once worn pants. Beren would have bet on the woman thinking of women’s trousers as the root of licentiousness and the doom of America, but here she was dressed like an extra out of Hair. And that was definitely Bon Jovi playing in the background. “Uh, hi, Edith.”
January 28, 2026 at 9:05 AM
Reposted by C Alexandra
charliedeltawrites.bsky.social
January 28th – procrastinate (put off)

Back in a part where things are a bit tense between Fox and Mikiva.

It doesn’t help that unpleasant dreams mean Fox has been avoiding sleep.

Still, she needs to rest eventually.

#DawnsBlood

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
“First watch? I can’t decide whether that was meant to be an olive branch or a jab.” Av’ry raised an eyebrow. “Can’t it be both?” Fox grinned. “No. It can’t. Don’t make this more difficult, Fox.” “Hey, I did not start this. You saw that, she bumped into me on purpose.” Av’ry gave her a withering look. “Alright, alright.” Fox raised her hands. “Best behavior. But you had better go. Don’t want her getting the wrong idea and taking it out on you.” “Oh, it’s not so bad.” He smiled slyly. “I kind of enjoy her taking it out on me, if you know what I mean.” Fox shook her head. “You’re exhausting; you do know that, right?” “It’s come up.” He chuckled. Fox sighed. “Go get some sleep. I need you sharp tomorrow.” “Yeah, yeah.” Av’ry rolled his eyes, but he nodded as he strode off towards his tent. Fox watched him go for a moment, then turned away, chewing her lip thoughtfully as she regarded her own tent. She couldn’t put off rest forever, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
January 28, 2026 at 8:35 AM
Reposted by C Alexandra
smoking-gnu.bsky.social
G'morning #WIPSnips! Had to really dig for a synonym here and glad i found one! Here ya go, Jennifer doing her best not to seem like she's procrastinating while dealing with a matter of the heart.
#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
“Excuse me,” I say and turn to face them fully, “my deepest apologies, but I must conduct some TLC business related to this operation before we move on ahead. Do I have your permission to do so?” I ask them. “We are not here to interfere, Miss Jennifer,” Digran replies. “We will wait here until your business is concluded, though we request you not tarry, else we might view this as interfering with our observer duties in turn.” “Right, message received. I’ll be right back!” I say and spin around to walk towards Driona. “Now wait just a-“ Voliannas starts protesting before being cut off by Omuna with some quiet words I don’t catch. Not that I’m listening, because my mind is focused exclusively on the sight ahead of me. Driona’s clothes have indeed changed, into thick and heavy looking fabric with heavy armoured plates layered over it in several different places. Over her chest and upper arms, as if suggesting that she might use them as actual shields, like wonder woman. The fabric and the plates are all in forest camouflage motif, and I remember Vander saying that the area surrounding the compound is lightly cultivated forest, so that makes sense. She has a large helmet under her lower left arm, large enough to fit over her head. It even has a visor, which is flipped up at this moment. She sees me coming and stops adjusting her battle gear and stands there, looking at me awkwardly until I stop right in front of her. “Jennifer,” she says in a neutral tone, and my heart skips a beat.
January 28, 2026 at 8:47 AM
Reposted by C Alexandra
jangoeswriting.bsky.social
From: ‘Just Stay Calm!’
Prompt: ‘Procrastinate’

#WiPSnips
The sounds of the night, the constant noise of traffic, the inevitable sirens, the occasional blazing rows that happened far more frequently than anyone would dare to expect, sometimes that she was involved in, were all utterly absent during that first night in Michelle’s new ‘home’ and it kept her up and staring into the darkness. Sometime around four in the morning, she managed to drift off, more due to being unable to keep her eyes open than anything else, and then the birds started. All the birds. Every single bird in the world had decided to sing outside her window. Then, around nine, when the birds had decided that the full production including dancers, full orchestra and tenor and soprano declaring their love for each other had started to diminish, she decided to stay in bed and procrastinate before getting up and seeing what the town could offer on a Sunday. Coffee being her primary objective. And to see if the game shop had Sunday opening hours and had possibly the one thing that could, almost certainly not save her life. Which was when someone knocked on her door. Which was a little odd because people had to go through the shop to get to that door, which could only mean … “It’s Fran.” The girl was a menace! A book reading, largely ambivalent menace.
January 28, 2026 at 9:17 AM
Reposted by C Alexandra
reaper-man.bsky.social
The Citylord is after our intrepid crew for... reasons. They debate how best to avoid capture. 🏃🏼🏃🏼‍♂️🏃🏿‍♀️ 💨

Note: "Post-deceased" is the polite term for zombie in Shorespine.

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

#WIPSnips #AmWriting
#WritingCommunity
💙📖
“What if we just cut our losses and ran?” Sophie said. “We can slip out of the city tonight, even. What if we sailed to Silverfen? I have friends there.” She sounded slightly seasick already. “No point,” Fia replied with a sigh. “He’d find us. Florenti’s men are relentless. They spent ten years chasing old Wally Stumps and caught him halfway across the world, hiding in a barrel somewhere in the Benessé Desert.”42 “It’s true, Soph,” added Fishman. “There was also that post-deceased cat burglar, Noseless Nancy, who’d buried herself up on the clifftop while on the run. It only took them three days to find her.”43 Scruffy groaned again. “Knowing Florenti’s theatrics, he’ll probably send us a gilded invitation.” He stood up straighter and clasped his hands together, speaking in jovial tones: “Dear Traitors, come in of your own accord, and we shall keep things civil. Delay, and I fear my hospitality may begin to flay.” “It’s ‘fray’, Scruffy, not ‘flay’.” “No, Fishman, I think we’ll be losing our skins this time.” 42. Walter Weenthresh, later known as Wally Stumps, was on the most-wanted list for masterminding a highly illegal pyramid scheme. More specifically, he ran a real-estate scam involving triangular apartment complexes with increasingly smaller units stacked atop each other, promising buyers a stake in the “pinnacle of luxury living.” He earned his unfortunate nickname after Florenti’s agents took the phrase “disarm the suspect before apprehending him” a tad too literally. 43. She had the unique distinction of being wanted both dead and alive. Unlike Walter, her nickname was fairly self-explanatory.
January 28, 2026 at 9:46 AM
Reposted by C Alexandra
jundlife.bsky.social
Called out
From "Hat"
#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #WIPSnips
I decide to take another risk. If he is honest with me I am going to be honest with him. “Honors classes are just extra work. I don’t know why kids who think they are smart can’t figure that out.” “You're lazy.” “I’m not lazy. I just have other things to worry about. Talk to my case manager. He'll tell you things that will keep you up at night.” “You don’t scare me Hessian.” How dare he. I wasn’t trying to scare anyone. I was trying to be truthful.
January 28, 2026 at 10:11 AM
Reposted by C Alexandra
ellielieberman.bsky.social
"I am buying him some time..." Leon grit out.
"He doesn't have time! He's out of time! He was out of time the minute the crown touched his head!"
- my WIP, When Morning Comes

#WIPSnips
wipsnips.bsky.social ✨#WIPSnips✨ A Daily Writing Share Tag @wipsnips.bsky.social · 1d
The #WIPSnips word for January 28th is my absolute favorite thing to do... procrastinate!

I'm a huge procrastinator but my characters don't tend to be. Maybe I could learn something from them 😂

#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
WIPSnips a bluesky writing community tag January 28 - procrastinate Share a line from your WIP with the daily word for inspiration Use #WIPSnips. Don't forget Alt Text for graphics Synonyms, variation and vibes are fine. Support others on the #WIPSnips tag! Hosted by rosie-j-potter.bsky.social The image behind the text is a border that is dark blue with gold stars with a black background with neon blue border. An illustrated caticorn holding a pencil and writing in a book with a rose behind one ear is in the lower right corner. A different version of the same illustrated caticorn is curled up writing in the lower left corner.
January 28, 2026 at 10:25 AM
Reposted by C Alexandra
jade-lawrence.bsky.social
(CW: Fire aftermath)

This is the inciting incident. The moment Aldous can’t procrastinate his way through life anymore. Unable to keep doing what he always has, he has to choose a new path. That doesn’t mean he’s ready to face what waits.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity
The iron doors shut behind him. A white glow sealed them closed. He drew a slow, agonizing breath and glanced around. Once again, he was alone. He hadn’t been outside since the fire. His lungs still ached from the smoke, but it wasn’t just that. It was what lay ahead. The stairs. The brazier. The stable. He knew what waited at the bottom. That wouldn't change with time. Still, his foot hovering over the first step, as if a pause might delay the truth. But the cold bit deeper, and hesitation would bring nothing back. He descended, each step slow and deliberate, until he reached the blackened remains of his life. Charred boards. Burned hay. Twisted remnants of what had once been his stable. The scent of ash still clung to the air. A cruel reminder of all he had lost. And worst of all, they thought he had done it.
January 28, 2026 at 11:37 AM
Reposted by C Alexandra
sayaashrah.bsky.social
#WIPSnips 28. "Procrastinate" > "Delay"

Sonya tells Askaly the truth about the Crimson Pact.

#ChroniclesOfTheRealms #BattlemageAskaly #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #QueerWriters
“Neither Raiden nor Fujin ever told us in detail what happened during the meeting, but that’s when the Crimson Scales came to be. Earthrealm versus Outworld, Edenia versus Seido. The first to achieve ten victories earns the right to absorb the other. No more wars.” Sonya chuckled, though there was no humour in it. “Except it’s all bullshit. The pact isn’t for peace, it’s merely to delay the inevitable. The Great Realms will never allow one to absorb the other, not while they can still fight. It would elevate the winner’s sovereignty above every other realm. Shao Kahn, Sindel, the Council. Hells, even Raiden. None of them could ever be trusted with this kind of power.” Obvious, now that Askaly thought about it. Did Vaeternus know this? It must. The question then became: when this war inevitably begun, would the nensiis and the other species lend their strength against the would-be conqueror? Or, unaffected by the Crimson Pact, would they try to take advantage of the chaos?
January 28, 2026 at 11:49 AM
Reposted by C Alexandra
claraweaverwrites.bsky.social
I write fantasy, so none of my characters procrastinate.

#WIPSNIPS #urbanfantasy #writingcommunity #writesky #booksky #amwriting #writingprompts
The next day Niamh ached all over. Human bodies really weren’t meant to operate independently of their soul for long, it felt weird and bad in different ways for different people. Kimmy described it like feeling numb, or like her senses were operating on a delay. Niamh felt like she’d been beaten with a sack of oranges. Which was another excellent reminder as to why she shouldn’t just shuck off her meat willy nilly.
January 28, 2026 at 12:09 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
5feetofredfury.bsky.social
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #writingprompt

Cheating again with Dance of Demons 🙈 (Daisuke’s getting his onmitsu tattoo and, uh　, well 😂)
“Will it hurt?” he asked. “So many questions.” Oko grinned, but didn’t bother looking at him as he aligned the needles with Daisuke’s skin, holding it barely an inch away from making contact. “Most people say it isn’t bad. Now stop squirming, or it will hurt.” “W-what about bleeding? Will it bleed?” “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re stalling,” Oko teased. “I’m going to begin now, so hold still.” Daisuke warily eyed the needlepoint, then Oko, and finally settled for looking at the furthest wall.
January 28, 2026 at 12:39 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
woodenvelt.bsky.social
Procrastinate = delay

Elton and Wren are having a quiet moment together.

From my romantic fantasy, Thief of Death, about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WipSnips #Wrencer #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity
Quiet filled the room like an unwelcome guest, making everything awkward and strained. Elton’s chair creaked softly as he rocked back further, twirling the lock around one finger and then catching it over and over again. Wren fiddled with the equipment on the table, sorting it by size and when that wasn’t enough of a distraction, rearranging it again by function. “What’s it like in Portsbridge?” Elton asked, finally breaking the silence. “Cold. Windy. Lots of rocks.” Memories of snow covered peaks scraping the sky just beyond Portsbridge’s winding streets rose like ghosts, haunting Wren’s thoughts. Lonely, too. But that wasn’t something she could say out loud. “Everyone’s tall and pale. Most of the women wear bonnets.” She said instead, listing things that set the northern country apart from Fenholt. “The people are blunt and to the point. You’re never in any danger of a stranger talking your ear off about how this year’s monsoons delayed the ships from Islas and now their favorite tea blend is double the price when you’re just trying to buy a loaf of bread for dinner.”
January 28, 2026 at 12:47 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
professoremily.bsky.social
#WIPSnips #amwriting #writingcommunity #writers #writesky

I've posted this snip before I think, but it's one of my faves. Mireia is having a little existential crisis & really needs a hug... or maybe more than a hug ❤️

From Book 2 of my #Atlantis trilogy.
She’d never felt so small. She’d never felt so fragile. She’d never felt so—desperate. Kena. Desperate to reach out and touch a hand in the darkness, and find reassurance that she wasn’t alone here after all. Desperate to feel that something still meant something, that life still had something supporting it. Desperate to do something—to do everything—before she lost her chance and it was all ripped away from her forever. Kena. It was all so absurdly fragile—all of it. She saw that now. She’d had a glimpse of it before when her father died, but the truth of it hadn’t really flattened her back then the way it was doing now. It had all always been fragile. Yet what had she been doing all this time? Playing silly games, procrastinating, telling herself “someday,” or “maybe tomorrow,” or “eventually.” Assuring herself that there was no need to act now because it was all inevitable anyway. Debating with herself over pointless philosophical questions about fate and free will when it didn’t really matter, did it? The only thing that mattered was that it was all going to end, one way or another, maybe sooner, maybe later. The only thing that mattered was reaching out into that abyss and finding a hand to grasp so that you knew you weren’t really alone. Kena.
January 28, 2026 at 1:02 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
acturek.bsky.social
#fantasy #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #WIPSnips #procrastinate

Surprised I have this word! Just once.

Virgil pushes himself to reach the Forest home of the Sheltri.

- From Brother’s Keeper, first book of my fantasy WIP about two brothers bound by a misunderstood power.
The afternoon waning, Virgil continued PROCRASTINATING his decision on a camping spot. Over every rise he half expected to see the Ninurtan hills and vales open below him, the lush grasslands and forests, the gleaming rivers and beyond them the bluish Lago Mountains sheltering the Forest, the home of the Sheltri. Every time, it was not so. Moreover, he knew it couldn't be. The actual push to the top had not yet begun. And yet visions of Sheltria from a distance filled his thoughts. He'd a steep bowl yet to traverse and a high mesa to cross, not far beyond where the sheepherders were wont to bring their flocks and wagons. And as he climbed, cresting stepwise hillsides, he saw darkness gathering over the west as well as behind him in the east. The sun, lowering directly into his eyes, seemed drawn into it. Black clouds inhaled the sunlight and snuffed it all, leaving only thin blades of fire limning their edges. Brother's Keeper A.C. Turek
January 28, 2026 at 1:15 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
triempery.bsky.social
#WIPSnips The word for January 28 is PROCRASTINATE

While a great word--I am myself a world-class procrastinator--I found no use of this word in THE RILL LORD. But there is procrastination. It involves waiting, but strategically. Hans and Levyathan talk about that.
#WritingCommunity #WriteSky
Text excerpt from THE RILL LORD, sixth and final book (April) of the Triempery Revelations series by L.L. Stephens. Snip is of a conversation between Hans and Levyathan about how they've reached the end point of something foreseen by the Wall: “The Wall showed me the Diadem’s final form,” Levyathan said, “what it would become… what it would do. I am that form. If I am taken, the Undying Crown will be forced upon me and the Vllyr godhead will assume the immortal state it craves. Vllyr would inhabit the Creation only to destroy it. I am the greatest danger of all.” It seemed every snowflake slithered across the glass. “He wanted me to grow up first. Dorilian… he wanted to give us more time.” Us. Levyathan and Dorilian himself, and Hans too… Marenthro and the Entities and the World. And now they were out of time. All of them. “Nammuor won’t let Dorilian escape. Or you either. Or the Entities. Not now. We have no choice but to move forward. And we must do it now. We can’t wait.” Hans felt the pressure of Levyathan’s mind, curious, seeking to locate points of understanding in the structures of his thoughts. Dorilian, however, had taught them both the ease with which thoughts could be shielded and the necessity of doing so. Even the Highborn had need of secrets.
January 28, 2026 at 1:19 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
mm-rees.bsky.social
From The Oracle’s Journey, 2nd edition. Lhoris is eavesdropping on his prisoners. #Wipsnips #writesky #writingcommunity #romantasy
"You say we need to keep our heads down," came the princess' soprano. "But you're not, are you?" "No," answered Ozanna. "I have a duty to hinder them and stall for time. It's possible the horses will make it back to your father after a time. Their riderless return could alert him that something's gone wrong. Hindering the highwaymen will give his men a better trail to follow if not provide us an opening for escape. And at the very least, I have to protect you physically." "Oh, you don't have to worry about that," the princess giggled. "Lhoris won't let them hurt me. I don't think he'd let them hurt you, either, if you just relax. You should have seen his face while he undid your hair. So tender!" Well, it was little wonder Lobikno had warned me off the mercenary. If the girl had noticed through the intensity of her storytelling, it must have been quite a bit more obvious than I realized.
January 28, 2026 at 1:48 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
mcburnellauthor.bsky.social
#WIPSnips 'procrastinate'

it's a huge theme in the first 3 books of TW, but I don't ever use the word. So here's some vibes
“I will not claim it doesn’t matter that I was a fool and a dupe, but it does not matter nearly as much as the fact that we now know exactly who our enemy is and where we need to go if we mean to put an end to his villainy.” “You’re not going to stand out here in the rain rehashing the same tired suspicions that are the reason you left us to die in the desert?” Resten demanded. That was that for the standoff, and the Elitarian mages backed down without conversation or any orders being given, falling to talking among themselves. Mairid couldn’t tell that they were even annoyed to have been chastised, and he raked his attention across them. Studying their auras and demeanors. The Vriomeh had alluded to this on the event of their reunion, and he had sensed it coming. But it struck him now that he hadn’t begun to comprehend the influence this mage had over the people who hid from their responsibility while he was being beaten.
January 28, 2026 at 2:44 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
zprospero.bsky.social
#WIPSnips

I don't use the word, but as an ADHD person I've heard it A LOT. So, here's executive dysfunction.

Your brain says, "do this" and your body goes "nah".

The slap triggers a fight response and maybe adrenaline, which can push past... sometimes.

#WriteSky #WritingPrompt #WritingCommunity
January 28, 2026 at 3:15 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
theronshan3666.bsky.social
yep, like me putting off uploading all my new pages to the archive.
ugh
#WIPSnips #WriteSky
#WritingCommunity #AmWriting #ColonialHistory #Algonquin #NativeAmerican
#PrettyGayBoys
#LGBTQ
Boston - 3 February 1774 The snow was old and gray along the edges of the field. Jeremiah stood with his coat unbuttoned, breath clouding in the cold as he pressed the stake into the frozen earth. It took effort. The ground resisted. He leaned into it until it held Kitchi watched silently, arms folded, eyes tracking the line Jeremiah was marking. "Here," Jeremiah said quietly, stepping back. "From the oak to the stream. No farther." Kitchi studied it, then looked at him. "You do not have to do this." "I do," Jeremiah replied. He reached into his coat and drew out a folded paper, already creased from being handled too often. He held it out, not ceremonially — simply. "It will be recorded as leased land," he continued. "Long-term. No rent. No improvements demanded. No interference." Kitchi's jaw tightened. "They will question it." "They already question everything," Jeremiah said. "This will look like charity. Or sentiment. Or foolishness." He met Kitchi's eyes. "They rarely suspect conviction." Kitchi took the paper but did not open it. Instead, he touched Jeremiah's wrist - brief, grounding. "My people will remember this," he said. "It's the least I could do." He admitted quietly. Later, elders came quietly, one by one, walking the boundary Jeremiah had marked. No speeches were made. No thanks spoken aloud. Wàbà Nibi pressed her palm to the earth and nodded once. That night, Jeremiah returned to the manor with boots still damp and hands aching from cold Lady Eleanor noticed immediately. "You've given something away," she said as she poured wine. "Yes." She did not ask what. She did not need to. "Then it was necessary," she said. He inclined his head. Outside, the land lay silent under snow — claimed on paper, protected in practice. And for the first time in a long while, something had been given back. next day... Kitchi clutched the parchment in his hand, reading it over again. His emotions gathered as he thought about the action that Jeremiah had taken to protect his people. "The south-west quarter of the property will be allocated to Chief Morning Sun and his people. No interference, violent action, or harm shall come to them while on my property." signed, Lord Jeremiah Baker Twenty acres had been given to them. A small piece of land, but just enough for their remaining tribe which had been decimated by the sickness that the Europeans brought when they came to the land. There was enough ground for shelters. Enough woods for hunting. Enough space to exist without being watched every moment. He thought of the empty places where voices had once been. Of fires that no longer burned. Of names spoken now only in memory. The sickness had taken so many that counting no longer felt honest. This land would not bring them back. But it would let the rest remain. Kitchi closed his eyes, steadying himself, then folded the parchment with care. When he looked up, Jeremiah was watching him — not proudly, not expectantly. Just waiting. "You did this," Kitchi said quietly. Jeremiah nodded once. "It's yours." Kitchi crossed the space between them and rested his forehead against Jeremiah's shoulder, holding there longer than usual. "My people will live," he said. "Because you chose them." Jeremiah's hand came up, firm at his back. "and because they deserve to." Lord Jeremiah, Kitchi and his mother Wàbà Nibi *Art by Preston Tucker
January 28, 2026 at 3:30 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
adregem.bsky.social
This is as close as I could get to "procrastinate," wherein Macsen is pissed off about all the faffing. #WIPSnips #WIP #AmWriting #WritingPrompts #Writers #Writing #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #Fantasy #FantasySky #DarkFantasy #Necromancy
January 28, 2026 at 3:41 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
pjccahill.bsky.social
#WIPSnips - Demon King Daughter - Subbed 'put off' - a peek at book 2 here. Masuyo being cute and also contemplating her wounds from her ex.
#writesky #writingcommunity #fantasy #yafiction #demon #witch #wlw
-Print/eBook: a.co/d/9WbG4e5
Masuyo hadn't felt so foolish in a long while. She was desperate to be impressive, but felt like that was impossible, and it left her feeling like a teenager again. The bad kind of feeling like a teenager. She'd gone through four different outfits, then gave up and showered to put off the decision, then felt like her hair looked miserable and plain. She finally chose a completely normal outfit for herself. A turtleneck, her usual leather jacket, dark pants, and sneakers. They were going to a club supposedly, and she didn't even own any kind of dress like that after all this time caring for Kyoka. Her hair was at least clean, so she brushed it, made sure the black strands weren't knotted or frizzy, and lightly tapped it with her fingers to try to get her usual neck-length mane of it to at least look presentable. The only real splurge she went for was full, proper make-up. She rarely bothered with it, even for work, but she'd been quite proficient during her relationship with Soji, so she was glad to reclaim it for something that might bring new, happy memories instead. Even the good times with Soji were so badly tainted by his betrayal that they made her cringe or be sick. #WIPSnips a Bluesky Writing Community Tag Hosted by rosie-j-potter.bsky.social January 26th through February 1st. January 26th - commit January 27th - storm January 28th - procrastinate January 29th - formation January 30th - suggest January 31st - academy February 1st - zeal
January 28, 2026 at 4:05 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
theronshan3666.bsky.social
-Procrastinate- Delay-
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Spring, 1771 the Baker estate The thaw came late that year. Jeremiah stood at the edge of the clearing, boots sinking into softened earth, watching breath rise from men and horses alike. The snow had retreated reluctantly, leaving the ground raw and exposed. It was the kind of land that demanded patience before it yielded anything back. Kitchi knelt nearby, pressing his palm to the soil, feeling it rather than judging it by sight. "Another week," he said. "Maybe two. Then the ground will hold." Jeremiah nodded. "We'll wait." When construction began, it did not begin with walls. It began with clearing-slow, deliberate work. Jeremiah swung an axe alongside the hired men, his shoulders aching, hands blistered. He refused to stand aside and direct. When someone offered to take the tool from him, he shook his head. "This is my land," he said. "I'll know it by the work I put into it." Kitchi watched that, said nothing, and stayed. The first days were nothing but clearing. Trees felled carefully, not wasted. Brush burned down to ash. Stones hauled and stacked. Jeremiah worked until his shoulders screamed and his hands split, refusing every offer to step back and supervise. If the land was going to take him, he intended to meet it honestly. Kitchi worked beside him without instruction. He marked where the ground would hold a foundation and where it would betray one. He redirected effort without argument, shifted the men without humiliating them. When Jeremiah paused to drink, Kitchi handed him water without looking. By the time the frame began to rise, the work had settled into rhythm. Sunup to dusk. Hammer, saw, breath. The house took shape slowly, stubbornly, like something being coaxed into existence rather than built. At night, Jeremiah sat on the half-built steps, muscles trembling with exhaustion, and Kitchi would sit beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. They spoke little. The work spoke for them. Then the Letters arrived. They came folded thick, ink careful and precise, written in a hand that assumed obedience without ever demanding it outright. At first they were congratulatory, Approval wrapped in careful language. It read: Your progress pleases us. You are establishing yourself properly. It is time to think of permanence. Jeremiah read them by lamplight, jaw tightening with each line. By autumn, the words had changed. It read: We have made arrangements. She will be arriving before winter: It is time you stopped delaying the inevitable. She will sail before harvest. Boston first. You will receive her properly. He folded the letter carefully, hands steady, and set it aside. Kitchi did not ask. He had learned the shape of Jeremiah's silences. Jeremiah read them at night by lamplight and answered dutifully, never lying outright, never saying more than necessary. Then the tone shifted. It read: You are of age. The delays are no longer reasonable. We have taken the liberty of arranging matters. Jeremiah read it twice, then once more, then placed it face-down on the table. Kitchi was sharpening a blade nearby. "She is coming," Jeremiah said. Kitchi did not stop his work. "Yes." There was no accusation in it. No bitterness. Just acknowledgment. "She will expect things," Jeremiah said. Kitchi looked up then. "Do you intend to give them?" Then the Letters arrived. They came folded thick, ink careful and precise, written in a hand that assumed obedience without ever demanding it outright. At first they were congratulatory, Approval wrapped in careful language. It read: Your progress pleases us. You are establishing yourself properly. It is time to think of permanence. Jeremiah read them by lamplight, jaw tightening with each line. By autumn, the words had changed. It read: We have made arrangements. She will be arriving before winter: It is time you stopped delaying the inevitable. She will sail before harvest. Boston first. You will receive her properly. He folded the letter carefully, hands steady, and set it aside. Kitchi did not ask. He had learned the shape of Jeremiah's silences. Jeremiah read them at night by lamplight and answered dutifully, never lying outright, never saying more than necessary. Then the tone shifted. It read: You are of age. The delays are no longer reasonable. We have taken the liberty of arranging matters. Jeremiah read it twice, then once more, then placed it face-down on the table. Kitchi was sharpening a blade nearby. "She is coming," Jeremiah said. Kitchi did not stop his work. "Yes." There was no accusation in it. No bitterness. Just acknowledgment. "She will expect things," Jeremiah said. Kitchi looked up then. "Do you intend to give them?"
January 28, 2026 at 4:22 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
dennycore.bsky.social
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I don't have any instances of "procrastinate", but "put off" comes up in one of my favorite character introductions.
Anna Goodhawk began her day at 6 AM. It had been made painstakingly clear to her over the years that she could start it far later if she desired, that she could sleep in as late as she liked. It had even been made clear to her that she could entirely skip a day if she wished, that she could stay in her room and have meals brought to her and look at the literature she was given and the limited TV access she was allowed and put off whatever duties were required of her until she was ready to perform them. Within reason. Really she had a lot of freedom over her routine, but she chose to take her breakfast at 6 AM because it allowed her to view the sunrise exploding over the solidified lava pits to the east and if there was one thing that she did not find unpleasant about this place, it was the sunrise. If there was another, it was the lizards, the little blinking beige-and-brown lizards that poked their heads out of their dens and skittered over to her after years of feasting on her crumbs and listening to the things she cooed and murmured to them in the morning hours. She was seventy-seven years old and had officially been dead since she was in her forties.
January 28, 2026 at 4:23 PM
Reposted by C Alexandra
julespeacock.com
Going for the spirit of today's word 😊 Paul and Yuhwa are having a knock-down, barn-burner fight in this scene. Its additionally fueled by their underlying-yet-denied attraction to one another.

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Paul bent his head so close they could have touched noses. As it was, she felt his breath on her lips. “I never said that! Why do you exaggerate anything I say or do? You are the most aggravating person I’ve ever known!” He took several steps back and threw his arms wide. “I’ve spent the last three days with Quý while you’ve been dragging out finding a replacement majio.” “I am not dragging it out,” she spit through clenched teeth. “The top experts of the dao can’t find a way for someone to do it!” “Then get two or three or twenty! Anything is better than how you keep delaying the inevitable.” His chest heaved with the force of his words. “Quý has explained a lot; he’s feckin’ had to because you keep blowing us off. All the Hunzo have taught me things about pâtexi and the Binding Bath. You aren’t losing anything, Yuhwa, you’re becoming who you’re meant to be.” Stung, Yuhwa whispered, “I’m already who I’m meant to be. Waja or the nawa aren’t going to improve me.” She turned away, ready to retreat inside. This hurt her more than she wanted to acknowledge. “I thought…I thought you understood that.”
January 28, 2026 at 4:58 PM