Chandler Hinton 📓
LightNews LightNews
banner
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.
Posts Replies Media Videos
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
Imara really can't seem to catch a break...

My #WIPSnips submission for "shirt"

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #Threadwalker #SFF
“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 10:49 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
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
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
One coin in the right hands can change everything.

Here's my submission from Threadwalker for #WIPSnips for "nowhere"
“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 10:32 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Crucidans don't enjoy coffee much, but they love their tea. And perhaps being cruel 💀

#WIPSnips #SFF #GildedCage #LGBTQWriters #writesky #writingcommunity #FemaleCenteredFantasy
“We had to throw the flowers out entirely because the gardener cut them horizontally instead of at an angle, like I specifically requested,” Calista heard Estrella complain from the other side of the tea table as they sat in the Palladium’s sun-room. “I don’t see why we put the effort into sending the subalterns to school they aren’t even going to learn anything.” “Perhaps it was a mistake,” Calista said, placing her card on the game set up before them. “Those do happen you know.” The two other girls in attendance, Catalina and Sofia, giggled at the comment. In all reality, the heir to the Reyes title had been prattling on about nonsense like this since they were toddlers. Looking at them all, she knew these were the closest people she had to friends and even then she couldn’t help but wonder if that would still be the case if she was of the same rank as them—or lower. Calista didn’t feel as if the waters ran very deep with them. There was never a world she could tell them about Jere—or Imara and Bue—or the fact that she gave away the Crown’s wealth like it was nothing last night.
September 4, 2025 at 10:33 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
My submission to #WIPSnips

#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #SFF #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 energy. “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 needles. If there was nothing to be done, then she needed to leave. Climbing down, her hands felt so weak she feared she might just tumble off the tower. As her feet met the ground again, her breath felt cold. “Let’s go,” she demanded. “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 them all.
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
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
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Here is my contribution to #WIPSnips for “certify”. Been MIA doing some deep edits—glad to be back at it. Enjoy!

#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 10:15 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
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Here's my submission for #WIPSnips for "side"

This scene was surprisingly fun to write for how quiet it is.
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 4:59 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
Heartwarming discussions between friends 🥰

My submission to #WIPSnips for "sheet"
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, trying not to show 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 the autumn,” she said with a sly, heavy, smile.
June 18, 2025 at 12:40 PM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Calista is plotting as we speak 💀🍷

🔊 Your old governess shows up with a bottle of arsenic and a mission. What do you do?

#QueerFantasyWIP #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #FemaleLedFantasy #poisonisabitch
Calista had made a morning ritual of holding the amber bottle of arsenic, watching the metallic liquid swirl in the light of her oil lamp. The princess hadn’t done anything with it, but every day, she psychologically toyed with it. “It’d be a nightmare for [REDACTED] if this landed in the wrong glass,” she whispered. She pulled out the journal she had taken to playing out her wildest fantasies, the ink stained with dark ink. [REDACTED]? Massive dose in his bedtime chalice of wine? No—like it or not, the man is about to be a father. Yet, maybe I’d be doing Marija Desgov a favor. [REDACTED] — I could add a little to his morning tea…slow death…might be chalked up to illness…probably can’t be tied to me. [REDACTED]? No political advantage—however, it would make my life easier. Her eyes turned up to the bottle, taking in the massive quantity of it. Maybe I could do all three, she pondered. Execution of [REDACTED] is not an option — I’d look suspicious being the only one left standing. One person might slip go unnoticed, but three, or even two, might raise alarms. It has to be a tragedy—at least to anyone who doesn’t have a heart.
June 10, 2025 at 10:48 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
#WIPSnips for "nightmare"

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #Fantasy #SFF #amwriting
Calista had made a morning ritual of holding the amber bottle of arsenic, watching the metallic liquid swirl in the light of her oil lamp. The princess hadn’t done anything with it, but every day, she psychologically toyed with it. “It’d be a nightmare for [REDACTED] if this landed in the wrong glass,” she whispered. She pulled out the journal she had taken to playing out her wildest fantasies, the ink stained with dark ink. [REDACTED]? Massive dose in his bedtime chalice of wine? No—like it or not, the man is about to be a father. Yet, maybe I’d be doing Marija Desgov a favor. [REDACTED] — I could add a little to his morning tea…slow death…might be chalked up to illness…probably can’t be tied to me. [REDACTED]? No political advantage—however, it would make my life easier. Her eyes turned up to the bottle, taking in the massive quantity of it. Maybe I could do all three, she pondered. Execution of [REDACTED] is not an option — I’d look suspicious being the only one left standing. One person might slip go unnoticed, but three, or even two, might raise alarms. It has to be a tragedy—at least to anyone who doesn’t have a heart.
June 10, 2025 at 10:39 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
THREADWALKER | BUE 🏹
"Burn in hell," Bue said. And he meant it.

What happens when a son stops asking for love and demands control instead?

#WIPSnips #THREADWALKER #AmWritingFantasy #ComingofAge #LetBoysBeComplicated #POVScene
🗣️ Is power ever clean?
“Again,” Bue’s father demanded. The boy’s chest rose and fell as he glared at the five arrows driven into the bullseye of the target. The sun beat down on them, causing salty sweat to drip past is brow. “How many more times are you going to make me do this?” Bue complained, his voice cracking with dying youth. He thrust the bow in front of him, “Let’s see you do one.” The older man glowered at him and then smacked the weapon from his hands, the string thrumming against one of the fountains which sat near the Tenebris. “So you think you’re a man?” his father asked with a simmering contempt that almost boiled Bue alive. “Prove it.” The teenager recoiled as his father fell back into a fighting stance. Every day had been a metaphorical fight with him since Tyus lost his leg—and now it had transmuted into the physical plane. “Fine!” Bue yelled, launching into a flurry of hand movements and punches. It wasn’t a fair start, but was any of this fair? After a few blows, a solid fist crashed into his jaw, causing the entire world to go hazy. They fell to the ground, sticks and dirt surrounding them in the tumble. Another blow, more haze. No, he thought. Summoning strength from somewhere he couldn’t pinpoint, he launched his weighty father to his side. “Burn in hell!” he screamed, reversing the roles by scrambling on top of him. The inferno with him evaporated the last echoes of his boyhood into violent steam. At that moment, he admitted to himself that he felt powerful. Perhaps even unstoppable. “Bue!” a voice called out. Teq was soon upon him, grabbing at his arms which were still pumping with vengeance. “Stop! What are you doing?!” “Get off me!” he said, pushing Teq’s grasping hands away. Looking at his father, he saw a bloodied, mangled mess. He’d done enough.
June 8, 2025 at 9:37 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
#WIPSnips for "glare"

I won't lie, this one is pretty bleak.

#THREADWALKER #FantasyWIP #SFF #WritingCommunity
“Again,” Bue’s father demanded. The boy’s chest rose and fell as he glared at the five arrows driven into the bullseye of the target. The sun beat down on them, causing salty sweat to drip past is brow. “How many more times are you going to make me do this?” Bue complained, his voice cracking with dying youth. He thrust the bow in front of him, “Let’s see you do one.” The older man glowered at him and then smacked the weapon from his hands, the string thrumming against one of the fountains which sat near the Tenebris. “So you think you’re a man?” his father asked with a simmering contempt that almost boiled Bue alive. “Prove it.” The teenager recoiled as his father fell back into a fighting stance. Every day had been a metaphorical fight with him since Tyus lost his leg—and now it had transmuted into the physical plane. “Fine!” Bue yelled, launching into a flurry of hand movements and punches. It wasn’t a fair start, but was any of this fair? After a few blows, a solid fist crashed into his jaw, causing the entire world to go hazy. They fell to the ground, sticks and dirt surrounding them in the tumble. Another blow, more haze. No, he thought. Summoning strength from somewhere he couldn’t pinpoint, he launched his weighty father to his side. “Burn in hell!” he screamed, reversing the roles by scrambling on top of him. The inferno with him evaporated the last echoes of his boyhood into violent steam. At that moment, he admitted to himself that he felt powerful. Perhaps even unstoppable. “Bue!” a voice called out. Teq was soon upon him, grabbing at his arms which were still pumping with vengeance. “Stop! What are you doing?!” “Get off me!” he said, pushing Teq’s grasping hands away. Looking at his father, he saw a bloodied, mangled mess. He’d done enough.
June 8, 2025 at 9:28 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Sometimes, the hardest truth is realizing you can even do something about it.

THREADWALKER asks: What happens when the legacy you inherit is the same one you must end?

Writers: How do you handle inherited guilt and privilege in your stories?

#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WIPSnips #SFF #FantasyWIP
“What brings you down?” he murmured, his tone the complete opposite of last night. “Come to torch down here too?” Calista felt an ache in her chest as the brunette glared at her. “What are you talking about?” she said, taking a step back and bumping into the barrel behind her. “You don’t know?” he scoffed. “Do they really shelter you that much that you don’t know your father killed hundreds of people last night?” The accusation spawned a painful burn behind her eyes. “He did what?” she said. For the first time, she stopped to ponder what other sanctuaries her father had destroyed for the sanctity of the Crown. And what happened to their inhabitants? “The Tenebris,” he said, “the one place where the peons could come together and survive—I suppose you people finally hit your quota on empathy.” A certain frustration brewed in her that only came with being written into a story that wasn’t hers. “I didn’t have any part in whatever happened there,” she said. “You aren’t even letting me form an opinion about it.” “Do you really get to have an opinion when your silks are weaved from other people’s suffering?” Jere asked, his tone softening, but still keeping an overall cutting demeanor. “Should I just die?” Calista cried out. “I already know this place is utterly fucked, I just wish you would give me a moment to figure out what I’m going to do about it.” Jere’s eyes widened. “You’re going to do something about it?”
June 7, 2025 at 11:03 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
My #WIPSnips for "written"

#Threadwalker #FantasyWIP #SFF
“What brings you down?” he murmured, his tone the complete opposite of last night. “Come to torch down here too?” Calista felt an ache in her chest as the brunette glared at her. “What are you talking about?” she said, taking a step back and bumping into the barrel behind her. “You don’t know?” he scoffed. “Do they really shelter you that much that you don’t know your father killed hundreds of people last night?” The accusation spawned a painful burn behind her eyes. “He did what?” she said. For the first time, she stopped to ponder what other sanctuaries her father had destroyed for the sanctity of the Crown. And what happened to their inhabitants? “The Tenebris,” he said, “the one place where the peons could come together and survive—I suppose you people finally hit your quota on empathy.” A certain frustration brewed in her that only came with being written into a story that wasn’t hers. “I didn’t have any part in whatever happened there,” she said. “You aren’t even letting me form an opinion about it.” “Do you really get to have an opinion when your silks are weaved from other people’s suffering?” Jere asked, his tone softening, but still keeping an overall cutting demeanor. “Should I just die?” Calista cried out. “I already know this place is utterly fucked, I just wish you would give me a moment to figure out what I’m going to do about it.” Jere’s eyes widened. “You’re going to do something about it?”
June 7, 2025 at 10:54 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Here are some moodboards I made for Calista!

#Threadwalker #QueerFantasyWIP #WriteSky #WriteSky #SFF
A mood board featuring a woman in a red dress, a palace roof, a decorated journal, and a hand pouring something into a chalice A mood board featuring a blue eye looking up, multiple hands holding a crown, a woman in a while dress starring into the darkness, and a woman extracting venom from a snake
June 6, 2025 at 4:05 PM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Imara always loved her rather "pointed" conversations with Teorin.

#WIPSnips #TheDarkestCrown #WriteSky #SFF #prose #QueerFantasyWIP
“Since when did you have street smarts?” Imara asked. “Since I was a street orphan,” Teorin shot back, clearly insulted by the question. “You don’t necessarily get book smarts with that walk of life.” “I apologize,” Imara said as they quickly moved back towards the outskirts of the Gape. “I guess you just don’t have that look.” Teorin had a delicateness to him that contrasted the solid strength that coursed through Bue—and even more so with the gruffness that permeated anyone who had the misfortune of living in Blood’s Landing. His curly blond hair and pale skin, painted in certain areas with light freckles, almost made him look soft. “That’s the whole point,” her told her. “People don’t expect me to know anything until it’s too late for them.” “Have you ever killed someone?” Imara asked. “Too many to count,” he responded. Imara’s breath hitched. “Really?” she asked. However, she thought what makes me so different? “Some in defense, some in greed,” he said. “All necessary though.” All necessary, she repeated in her head. “And my kills aren’t?”
June 5, 2025 at 8:34 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
Teorin looked soft. Imara had killed for less.

Today's #WIPSnips was supposed to be about "point"

...Turns out that point was rather sharp.

#TheDarkestCrown #QueerFantasyWIP #FantasyDialogue #WriteSky #KillcountConfessional
“Since when did you have street smarts?” Imara asked. “Since I was a street orphan,” Teorin shot back, clearly insulted by the question. “You don’t necessarily get book smarts with that walk of life.” “I apologize,” Imara said as they quickly moved back towards the outskirts of the Gape. “I guess you just don’t have that look.” Teorin had a delicateness to him that contrasted the solid strength that coursed through Bue—and even more so with the gruffness that permeated anyone who had the misfortune of living in Blood’s Landing. His curly blond hair and pale skin, painted in certain areas with light freckles, almost made him look soft. “That’s the whole point,” he told her. “People don’t expect me to know anything until it’s too late for them.” “Have you ever killed someone?” Imara asked. “Too many to count,” he responded. Imara’s breath hitched. “Really?” she asked. However, she thought, what makes me so different? “Some in defense, some in greed,” he said. “All necessary, though.” All necessary, she repeated in her head. “And my kills aren’t?”
June 5, 2025 at 8:28 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
That feeling when you witness swathes of a city be harvested for soul magic 💀

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #TheDarkestCrown #WritingCommunity #Fantasy #SFF #BookTeaser
His brows furrowed. "Did you hear that or am I making for things up? Those were really— BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Confident in his perception now, he shot to his feet, quickening when he began to hear screams. Even with his determination, the crocus still made the room feel as if it weren't quite tangible-each step feeling like quicksand and a slingshot all at once. I hate it when Imara is right, he thought. Finally making it out the door, he was unsure if what he was seeing was real. Swirling columns of violent, piercing blue light shot up out of several points within Turvos. As he craned his eyes, he saw..figures wrapped within them, their lower halves being stretched into infinity until they followed the pillar all the way into the sky, past the clouds. "Those are souls," he heard a voice say through the commotion. Imara was standing beside him. "Those are fucking souls." People pushed past them, unchecked, not realizing they were just running in the direction of another danger. It felt as if he were watching his ally calcify in real time. She grasped at her daggers even though there was nothing left to stab.
June 4, 2025 at 10:16 AM
chandlerhinton.bsky.social
#WIPSnips for “check”

This scene from The Darkest Crown was a total roller coaster to write.
His brows furrowed. "Did you hear that or am I making for things up? Those were really— BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Confident in his perception now, he shot to his feet, quickening when he began to hear screams. Even with his determination, the crocus still made the room feel as if it weren't quite tangible-each step feeling like quicksand and a slingshot all at once. I hate it when Imara is right, he thought. Finally making it out the door, he was unsure if what he was seeing was real. Swirling columns of violent, piercing blue light shot up out of several points within Turvos. As he craned his eyes, he saw..figures wrapped within them, their lower halves being stretched into infinity until they followed the pillar all the way into the sky, past the clouds. "Those are souls," he heard a voice say through the commotion. Imara was standing beside him. "Those are fucking souls." People pushed past them, unchecked, not realizing they were just running in the direction of another danger. It felt as if he were watching his ally calcify in real time. She grasped at her daggers even though there was nothing left to stab.
June 4, 2025 at 10:13 AM