Hey, you.

You're here — which means something in the quiet pulled you in.
Maybe it was a glance, a sentence, a breath that lingered just a little too long.
Maybe it was ache. Or hunger. Or softness you couldn’t name.

Whatever it was, you followed it.
And for that, I’m grateful.

What The Thorne Dispatch is

This space isn’t just a newsletter.
It’s a dispatch — a note stitched with tension, sealed in leather, and sent from somewhere raw and real.

Here, we move slowly.
We sit with discomfort.
We crave the story behind the silence.

This is a home for:

• Queer longing that doesn’t apologize

• Intimacy built on trust, ache, and surrender

• Characters who whisper things they can’t say out loud

• Behind-the-scenes glimpses at how it’s written, why it hurts, and where it’s going

Some posts will be tender.
Some will tease.
Some might ruin you, just a little.

What to expect next

In the coming days, you’ll get:

• The first story updates (because yes, the ache begins soon)

• A peek behind the scenes — notes from the writing desk

• Occasional extras: character moodboards, annotated lines, voice memos, and confessions

I won’t flood your inbox. I’ll just send the kind of dispatch I’d want to find —
quiet, intentional, intimate.

Before you go

If you ever want to reply — do.
This isn't just me shouting into the void.
I want to know what wrecks you, what lingers, and what lines made you stop breathing.

We’re building this together.
I’m glad you’re here.

With care,
Riley