Chandler Hinton 📓
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chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Chandler Hinton 📓
@chandlerhinton.bsky.social
72 followers 59 following 80 posts
I write about soulstealers, rotting kingdoms, and people who seethe instead of burn. THREADWALKER nears completion. Open to rep inquiries.
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chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Chandler Hinton 📓 @chandlerhinton.bsky.social · Jun 18
"We killed 50 people who were asking for it. You don't carry a sword when you think you're safe."

Imara doesn't need you to like her—she needs you to understand the stakes.

#WIPSnips #THREADWALKER #SFFWriters #QueerFantasy #FoundFamily #Trauma
When it was just the two of them, Imara could see right through Bue’s shell and into how he was really feeling. As they sat in front of the safehouse’s fireplace, she watched as his eyes got lost in thought. “What’s wrong?” Imara asked, sitting down next to him. “You only stare like that when you’re unhappy.” “I didn’t realize how stiff corpses got,” he said, a sheet of apathy layered over his face. “I knew they tensed up, but I just—,” Imara interrupted him. “It’s haunting, isn’t it?” she asked. She didn’t realize how much the events of the evening had been affecting Bue. Why don’t I feel that way? “What if we’re wrong?” Bue asked. “I don’t think we are, but what if we killed all those people for the wrong reason?” What are you saying? “We didn’t,” she said, conceal her bewilderment at his question. “They were coming to kill countless innocent people—we killed 50 people who were asking for it. You don’t carry a sword when you think you’re safe.” Bue turned to look at her. “I didn’t look at it that way,” he said. Imara could tell the realization brought his mind the smallest bit of relief. “How many more people do you reckon are holding swords?” “Ask me again in autumn,” she said with a sly, heavy, smile.
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | shirt

Start of Blood on the Snow, and Sabbat having a completely proportional reaction to Archer lending Viola a shirt (Jealous? Course not, why the fuck would he be jealous?)

(In his defence, Viola *did* hit him over the head with a basin)

( saranadosfiction.com/2020/05/02/b... )
“I know, Sabbat.” “-th’fuck’s she got your shirt for?” “Because someone stabbed her,” Archer said, leaning forward to place his tea glass back under the spigot of the samovar. “And, unlike in Old Town, people walking around covered in blood in this particular district tend to attract a certain amount of unwanted attention.” He twisted the tap, savouring the sudden cloud of fragrant steam as the boiling water hit the dark layer of concentrated tea in the bottom of the glass. “Given the fact that her shirt was utterly ruined, lending her one of mine seemed like the logical choice.” Sabbat scowled, obviously unconvinced by the argument (though for the life of him Archer couldn’t figure out why). Finally, he said, slowly: “So you gave her your shirt.” “…That is in fact what I just said, yes.” “Fuckin’ chivalrous of you,” the assassin commented, venomously. Archer rolled his eye, taking a spoonful of jam from the open jar on the table and stirring it into his freshly-poured glass of tea. “I could hardly let her walk around half-naked, Sabbat. And besides, I don’t see why it’s anything to do with you. It’s my shirt.” “An’ you’re givin’ it t’some werewolf bitch who fuckin’ jumped me – after she *broke into your sixdamn house*,” Sabbat snarled. He took a swig of his own tea, slamming the glass down hard enough on the table to make Archer jump slightly. “Y’don’t see why that might – just might – be a fuckin’ *problem*, Archer?”
November 12, 2025 at 8:40 AM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
marinestjean.bsky.social
#WIPSnips *shirt*
Yes, she is.
#lesfic #sapphic
“I mean, yeah, there are ugly ones, but look.” Lisa ran over to the sofa to grab the romance paperback splayed open on the armrest. She shoved the cover in Pat’s face. Pat curled her lip. “No, thank you.” Lisa turned the cover around to look at it. “Really?” Pat shook her head. “He kinda looks like you though. I mean, if you take away the ripped abs.” Pat pulled her head back and frowned. “Wait, are you hiding abs under there?” Lisa tried to lift Pat’s shirt, but she ended up sloshing her coffee on herself.
November 12, 2025 at 11:34 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
You really can't trust anyone in Crucid

My #WIPSnips submission for "shirt"!

#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #SFF #Fantasy #Threadwalker
“Sava would never,” Imara said. “I’ve done plenty of crimes like this and she never has. Besides, she would have ratted me out the second she saw me if that was the case.” “Oh,” Teorin cut back. “You’re regularly stealing high royal’s souls?” Imara didn’t necessarily have an answer for that. “Still,” she said. “Sava respects the code.” “I agree,” Bue said, his voice taking on an unfamiliar lilt. “Sava is a good, good girl. She’d never do that.” If I can’t trust her, who can I? “Imara,” Sava asked. “Can you come in here? I need help fastening the back of this shirt.” She looked at Bue and Teorin. “I’ll be back.” Imara looked at the door—sturdy, oak—and grabbed onto the handle. As she passed the threshold and felt the the barrier secure, a fist slammed into her face. As soon as Imara recovered, she saw what Teorin had predicted—Sava in full assassin’s attire and daggered fist waiting for her. “Traitor,” Imara seethed. “Extractor,” Sava spat back. A crash came from the room behind them. “Bue?!” Teorin’s muffled voice cried out, followed by Kaya’s. Imara been set up like a child. Her hand grasped the attacker’s hand as it descended upon her. The only bounty you are collecting is in Hell, she thought.
November 12, 2025 at 10:52 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Seeking feedback for #Threadwalker! Hope to hear from you guys soon :)

#amquerying #SFF #writesky #writingcommunity #publishing
SEEKING BETA READERS FOR THREADWALKER AN EPIC FANTASY FOR THE FURIOUS IN CRUCID... In Crucid, grief is a weakness-and magic is a blade with no hilt. A velvet-wrapped empire turns both weapons into a game no one can win. Imara is a soul-stealer, and perhaps something more, her kind whispered about in myth, reviled in practice. Calista is the princess no one chose. Her brother may one day wear the Crown, but she'll always bear its burden. Bue is surviving in a world, determined to convince him it wants everything dead. He's even more determined to prove it wrong. Unrest is rising. The lines between faith, power, and control are fading. And the three of them are forged in a fire no one asked for. When a new magical plane opens, granting Imara an even greater, more terrifying strength, it leaves everyone unsure of what side they are playing on. Some revolutions start with a bang. This one ripples in the silence. THREADWALKER IS... A 100,000-word dark political fantasy novel that launches a sweeping trilogy. For fans of the brutality of The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang, the messaging of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, and the interior storytelling of Neon Genesis Evangelion, this novel weaves political shattering, ancestral magic, and moral fury into a brutal tapestry. As a soulstealer bound by laws she didn't write and doctrine she didn't choose, Imara must decide whether to dismantle the system that exploits her—or become its deadliest weapon. Nearing completion, sample chapters and a teaser soundtrack will be available for interested beta readers in the coming weeks. IF INTERESTED... Please contact chintonwrites@gmail.com with a valid email address to receive PDF files as well as a low-commitment structured questionnaire centering around character development, worldbuilding, and plot pacing. I am seeking information on how themes of moral fury, political tension, and power are resonating with readers.
October 25, 2025 at 7:07 PM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
mr0mega.bsky.social
#WIPSnips #Fantasy
MC is exploring a new city, making note of how the houses and streets are arranged and how some items are priced. Tree/forest cities are always fun to write. Had a Star Wars tabletop campaign that went to Kashyyyk multiple times, and it was always a good time.
The bigger trees in the center could have housing carved in, but once you got further out, the trees were exclusively for growing and supporting branches to make up the streets, grow fruit to feed the populace and do… whatever else it was trees did at this size. We mostly just used them for lumber and growing fruit back home, and nowhere near this much. The stand I came across selling fruit was selling them at such a low price, I was baffled at how they managed to stay in business.
September 7, 2025 at 12:52 PM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Sometimes, we lose track of our true impact. My #WIPSnips submission for "nowhere"

#Threadwalker #SFF #DarkFantasy #LGBTQWriters #WritingCommunity #WriteSky
“Poor girl,” Imara said as they approached. “Can you flick her a queensmark out of my share? I’m feeling generous.” Bue reached in, and decided to contribute a queensmark of his own, making a whole kingsmark. It would get some food in her stomach and maybe even a new coat if she was smart with it. It would cut into the profit, but Bue couldn’t deny his coin purse was almost overflowing. “Thank you,” she said, quietly shifting out of the fetal position and clutching the coin with her life. Now Mai was sitting before him in leather boots and a tunic that made him a little envious; she had clearly made that kingsmark multiply. He did himself a favor by not thinking about how. “You’re that girl?” he asked, trying to keep his mouth from falling agape. “You look completely different.” “I’d hope so,” she said. “If you helped someone like me, I’m sure I’m not the only one.” “I guess I’ve felt like I’ve brought a lot of death to this place lately,” Bue said, taking a sip of the earthy tea, its warmth a strange reassurance. “I know it’s all necessarily but it’s still death and the unceremonious kind at that.” “Balance,” she said. “Sometimes you rebuild, other times you destroy. It’s what a place like this demands of you. Just don’t let the souls warp you.” The last sentence hit him like a cart of bricks. The souls are charring me, he thought.
September 7, 2025 at 10:38 AM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
bookspotlight.bsky.social
Remember darlings and darklings:

Don’t yuck another reader’s book tastes. You don’t have to read it or buy it. You don’t even have to vibe with it. You just have to not be disrespectful about different tastes 😘
August 1, 2025 at 5:53 PM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Just wanted to post, in case anyone happened to be curious, and say that #Threadwalker is still in development. I have a rather unfortunate injury that’s eating up at lot of my mental bandwidth but I plan on having at least a few excerpts up in the next few days. Thanks for understanding 😌
July 31, 2025 at 5:19 AM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
charliedeltawrites.bsky.social
July 21st - certify

Going with the synonym ‘confirm’ today.

On punishment (or maybe not).

Mikiva is still dealing with some possession related issues.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
“R’allick wasn’t punished,” Myrith clarified. “Could have fooled me.” “I know.” She smirked. Mikiva felt her fists tighten, and she tucked them behind her back, out of sight. “He was not punished, he was repurposed,” Myrith continued. “He was not competent enough to be useful in his role, so he was given another. We all serve, however we can.” “Some service.” “Yes. His suffering was the catalyst. The lure that drew in the demon, so that the pact could be made. He performed this last task admirably.” “Drew in the demon? How?” “Oh, didn’t you know?” she gloated. “Demons who wish to enter our world are drawn by pain, suffering, regret. Drawn to hosts that will willingly give up their lives if it would end their torment. Easy prey. R’allick became the bait, and once the demon came to him, my Master made it an offer.” “What exactly did he offer it?” “You. Obviously.” Mikiva struggled to keep her expression neutral. It took every bit of training she’d ever had. She had known that the demon came from D’arieth, this wasn’t news for her, she had just wanted the woman to confirm it. To see if she would tell the truth. Still, the words turned her stomach.
July 21, 2025 at 1:43 PM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
nicolelsopergorden.bsky.social
It turns out picking up odd jobs in other dimensions is a bit easier if you happen to have forklift certification. Who knew?

From Tennyson's arc of The Atlas Brothers Break the Multiverse

#WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WriteSky #AmWriting
“Neither of you are driving the forklift,” Byron said. “I’ve been in vehicles while both of you were behind the wheel, and I wouldn’t trust you with a go-cart, let alone a forklift. Besides, our employer only let Poe drive the forklift because he has forklift certification.” “Certification?” Tennyson scoffed. “What, did he bring his forklift license with him?” “Yes.” “Fucking hell. He would, the nerd. Why does he even have forklift certification in the first place?”
July 21, 2025 at 5:10 PM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
jangoeswriting.bsky.social
Ilbnot tries to be threatening.

From “Threads of Fate”.

#WiPSnips
“Let us in you miserable old git!” The words projected from Ilbnot toward the walls of the tower. “Or I swear The Guild will cut your funding.” No mage could ignore consequences so dire. No mage could live with the knowledge that The Guild had severed the steady stream of money that paid for essential things, such as tobacco, talcum powder and gout remedies. The words travelled along the fleece strands of magic, hiccuped, fell to the ground, transformed into several dozen ears, exactly how Ilbnot had pictured them, with extra-added mouths holding thin, sharp, needle-like teeth, that then proceeded to attempt, unsuccessfully, to eat through the wall. Little teeth snapping and flying in glittering arcs in all directions.
July 22, 2025 at 8:06 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
"If Erebus could do that to one of them, he'd do it to all of them."

No clever caption. This is a fantasy scene I wrote in 2024 but it feels uncomfortably close to home now. Maybe some stories aren't for comfort.

#WIPSnips #SFFWriters #WriteSky #THREADWALKER #ImaraTW #History #QueerWriters
“Brothers!” he yelled, bringing the room to a quiet. “The Saints have bestowed upon us the answer to our prayers.” The room responded with murmured cheers. “Watch as they I demonstrate how they’ve leveled the playing field,” he continued, pulling out a bucket of a dark blue fluid. As it swirled in the vat, the liquid emanated an ominous, repulsive vibe. “Please!” she cried, as she looked up, she locked eye contact with Imara. Part of her mind told her to descend upon the group but she knew it would be pointless. 10 men? She could handle. 100 was just too much. He didn’t grant her a response as he dunked her hand in the vat. The room flashed pink before quickly turning back to normal, except now the woman was screaming in agony. When her hand was revealed again, Imara’s stomach dropped—the intricate, intertwining lines that should have painted her hands had vanished. She almost lost her balance on the perch as her eyes flew away from the window. “What the hell?” Imara cried under her breath, wincing at the searing sizzle on her own markings. She felt at them, letting out a sigh of relief when she could confirm in the moonlight they were still there. The screams of the Gora continued in her ears, driving into them like a needles. If there was nothing to be done, then she needed to leave. Climbing down, her hands felt so weak she fear she might just tumble off the tower. As her feet met the ground again, her breath felt cold. “Let’s go,” she said. “Are you okay?” Teorin asked. “I don’t know,” Imara said. “I just want to get out of here.” One resounding truth kept playing through Imara’s mind: if Erebus could do that to one Gora then he’d to it to all.
July 22, 2025 at 8:02 AM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
zprospero.bsky.social
The #WritingCommunity here is large and some of the best ways to make new friends and have something to talk about regularly are prompt games!

Here's a Starter Pack of hosts of great writing prompts!

Let me know any I'm missing out on so I can add them!

#WritingPrompts #WriteSky #Writers
July 21, 2025 at 4:27 PM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
marinestjean.bsky.social
#WIPSnips *certify*
I went with *certain*

Lisa learns some things.
#Lesfic #Sapphic
And then they’d had that conversation. She remembered every detail about that moment, down to the sagging cream and rust patterned sofa. She’d been drinking Moroccan mint tea out of her blue and white RCMP coffee mug, complaining about a hook up. “And then after all that, he wouldn’t even reciprocate.” Lisa leaned back, her mug cradled warmly between her crossed legs. “But that’s normal, I guess.” Pat looked up from her textbook. “What’s normal?” Lisa was confused. “Guys not going down on you. It’s like, gross or whatever, so they don’t do it.” Pat squinted. “Gross?” “Yeah, you know? All the blood and hair and… smells.” Pat’s lack of reaction made Lisa feel a lot less sure about what she thought she knew for certain. Pat nodded slowly. “I see. Are you sure he likes women?” Lisa pulled her head back. “You think he’s gay?” “You don’t have to be gay to not like women.” Pat laughed. “But why would you think your body is grosser than a guy’s pasty skin tube that he’s had crammed into his sweaty underwear all day? At least your parts are self-cleaning. Better hope he took a shower that day.” Lisa felt her forehead tighten. She had heard that last part in health class at one point. “Personally,” Pat placed a hand on her chest, “I love women.” Her hazel eyes met Lisa’s. Something stirred that she hadn’t felt before. “I could go down on a woman all day.” She bit her lip, eyes closed. The way Pat had said it, like she was giving testimony in a church. Hallelujah, Praise Jesus. Lisa sipped her mug of tea.
July 21, 2025 at 10:28 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
When a mind-reader and a soulstealer enter a wine cellar, very few things can happen. Even fewer are of those positive.

They got lucky.

#WIPSnips #FantasyWIP #DarkFantasy #GrimdarkFantasy #EnemiesToAllies #FantasyWriters #WritingCommunity
#THREADWALKER
THREADWALKER IMARA "Fuck with my mind again and I'll knock your teeth in," she said, cutting though his playfulness like a hot blade. No part of her sovereignty being violated came off as cheeky. "Understood," he said, his voice gaining gravity. Then, there was a tense, lingering pause. "You don't hold any sort of prejudice, do you?" In the coolness of the cellar, she could feel what it was like to stand next to someone else who might get judged before they walk into the room. "I fear what you can do," Imara said as she slid a bottle of aged wine into her gloved hands. "Rich coming from you," he said, looking at his own. Imara couldn't help but slightly gasp at the blunt statement. The brunette looked up. "No disrespect," he said. "I'm just not going to let you judge me for melting minds while you yank souls." She swallowed hard, driving brown her eyes into him. "You have a point," she said, feeling the philosophical walls closing in on her. Jurists and Gora had never gotten along; perhaps, it was because their praxis shared too much of the same heartbeat. Neither group had been able to certify the other wasn't trying to kill them. "So, I say we make an agreement that I won't mess with your mind and you make sure to not render my soul," he said with an air of lightness. "You're probably right," she said, loosening her shoulders. "They'll never understand upstairs." "Not a shot in hell," Jere said as they ascended the stairs. Coming to the top, Imara felt soothed by the tentative alliance. As long as it held. CHANDLER HINTON
July 21, 2025 at 10:23 AM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
kleighdiaz.bsky.social
#WIPSnips | certify

Vibes from an old fantasy #WIP. 😁

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky
Writing snippet: The man set out a scale and dumped the gems onto it. Two fell off, but he made no move to replace them. “I’ll issue a contract for twenty tokens,” he said. Elam stared at him, then plucked the two stones from the desk and added them to the scale. “Try again.” The man’s beady eyes narrowed. “Twenty-one.” The weight-to-token ratio was off, but he wasn't going to win this one. The cost of insubordination, for the embarrassment of being rebuffed by a Port official. “I want the tokens instead,” he said. “It’s worth the same.” “I can’t hire with a damned contract, and you know that.” The man poured the gems into a different container. “Not my problem. You dig, I give you what you’re owed.” Elam tapped his fingers on the desk before muttering, “Fine.” The man removed a piece of parchment from a drawer and scrawled hurriedly across it, then sealed it with a sigil to secure the transaction. He slid it over, and Elam pocketed it inside his shirt, bloodying the white of the paper in the process. The sigil hummed softly against his chest as he made his way to the exit. The rain outside was relentless. He opened his mouth to the water, wishing he had dumped out that bucket after all. For a long while he just stood, drinking it in. Then the shouting started, and he knew that the violence had begun, so he walked toward the slums, squinting through the rain, one hand tucked inside his coat, bloody fingers wrapped around the blade there.
July 21, 2025 at 8:10 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Things have been quiet in Blood’s Landing—until now.

Enjoy the sounds Imara & the crew have been battling through. Or don’t. The Crown can’t bring itself to care either way.

#THREADWALKER #WritingCommunity #playlist #SFF #FemaleLedFantasy #queerwriters #music

music.youtube.com/playlist?lis...
THREADWALKER: An Original Soundtrack
YouTube video by c hinton
music.youtube.com
July 19, 2025 at 10:54 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Bue isn't used to softness.
But he notices when it shows up.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #FoundFamily #DarkFantasy #QueerWIP #BoysWithFeelings #THREADWALKER
As they passed through into a pasture filled with stakes wrapped in the dry remnants of grapevines, snarling around them. In front of them, a good-sized villa sat, with a large balcony overlooking the vineyard. “You grew up here?” Bue asked. The sheer size of the property is his as they began the long trek down the central stone brick path—their boots kicking up the moss and weeds which sprang up in the cracks. “Born and raised,” he said. “I spent every summer picking grapes and racking bottles of different shades.” “Do you guys actually crush the wine with your feet?” Bue asked, indulging his youthful curiosity. “The ceremonial wine, yes,” he said. “Most of it gets processed in machines, though.” “Huh,” Bue said. This was a different side of Teorin that Imara never seemed to be in the right place at the right time to witness. After several more minutes of walking, they finally reached the house. Teorin groaned as he grasped the doorknob. It turned with little effort, allowing them into the dusty interior. Upon entering, the dark room was illuminated by the lantern. To one side sat a sitting room with several lush chaises and ottomans, caked in time. The other led to an elaborate dining room and kitchen. “It’s very open,” Bue said, looking at the solid wooden columns that supported the roof in the absence of walls. Looking even further down, he could see a hallway that he assumed led to bedrooms. “My parents liked to see everything at once,” he said, a tiny bit of laughter in the statement. “Privacy was an illusion with them."
June 27, 2025 at 5:09 PM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
jlombardi.bsky.social
Protagonists don't need to be likeable; they need to be compelling.

I don't want to share a beer with any of the following: Patrick Bateman (American Psycho), Humbert Humbert (Lolita), Jorg Ancrath (Prince of Thorns), & Alex (A Clockwork Orange). But I'll spend time with them in the pgs of a book.
June 21, 2025 at 2:16 PM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
virgiljames.bsky.social
Happy Juneteenth! Reminder that not every enslaved person was set free on June 19, 1865, so this is Alice leaving her plantation after she burnt it down in November of 1865 :)

#WIPSnips
An irrational fear crept up on her. In the past, Alice heard stories of other enslaved people who were found, and either murdered or locked up trying to escape. She recalled an old poster that she found six years ago because Mr. Liddell dropped it. It describes a three hundred dollar reward for three enslaved people named Harry, Ben, and Minty, each described strangely, like objects or pets, especially the woman, Minty. She found it gross even though she couldn’t read it, but she was only seven years old then and didn't want to think about it, so she didn't. It was an old poster, made three years before she was born, in 1849. Alice doesn't know why Mr. Liddell still had it at all, and she never found out if those three were ever captured or not, but she hopes not. Of course, anyone reading this who knows anything about history knows that Ben, Harry, and Minty were Harriet Tubman and her brothers, and that Harriet Tubman eventually did escape and even came back for others. However, Alice wouldn’t learn about Harriet Tubman until much later. Even then, I don’t know if Alice ever learned that Harriet Tubman and Minty were the same person. So, she was afraid she’d be put on a poster like that.
June 19, 2025 at 5:34 PM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
"We killed 50 people who were asking for it. You don't carry a sword when you think you're safe."

Imara doesn't need you to like her—she needs you to understand the stakes.

#WIPSnips #THREADWALKER #SFFWriters #QueerFantasy #FoundFamily #Trauma
When it was just the two of them, Imara could see right through Bue’s shell and into how he was really feeling. As they sat in front of the safehouse’s fireplace, she watched as his eyes got lost in thought. “What’s wrong?” Imara asked, sitting down next to him. “You only stare like that when you’re unhappy.” “I didn’t realize how stiff corpses got,” he said, a sheet of apathy layered over his face. “I knew they tensed up, but I just—,” Imara interrupted him. “It’s haunting, isn’t it?” she asked. She didn’t realize how much the events of the evening had been affecting Bue. Why don’t I feel that way? “What if we’re wrong?” Bue asked. “I don’t think we are, but what if we killed all those people for the wrong reason?” What are you saying? “We didn’t,” she said, conceal her bewilderment at his question. “They were coming to kill countless innocent people—we killed 50 people who were asking for it. You don’t carry a sword when you think you’re safe.” Bue turned to look at her. “I didn’t look at it that way,” he said. Imara could tell the realization brought his mind the smallest bit of relief. “How many more people do you reckon are holding swords?” “Ask me again in autumn,” she said with a sly, heavy, smile.
June 18, 2025 at 12:46 PM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Bad writing day, GREAT protest day. #NoKings #WriteSky
June 14, 2025 at 6:19 PM
Reposted by Chandler Hinton 📓
premeemohamed.com
Canada: *confused but trying really hard to fit in* ... One king??
June 14, 2025 at 2:09 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Hi #ComJunity!

This one's easy—Imara answers it herself in the first 10 pages. Turns out, the answer is no one 💪

🗣️What's your favorite kind of opening: slowburn or powder keg?

#THREADWALKER #QueerFantasyWIP #WriteSky #FemaleLedFantasy #WritingCommunity #CharacterDrivenFantasy
June 11, 2025 at 3:48 PM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
“Calista chuckled. ‘Such fanfare isn’t necessary,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure if I even pass for royal these days”

#FantasyWIP #WritingCommunity #THREADWALKER
June 10, 2025 at 10:01 PM