#i'm trying to get into the habit of having oc tags

[scorndotexe]

just thought "he should be at the club" about one of my characters. girl he should NOT be at the club he'd hate it even though he'd want to like it.

[onethousxndvoices]

took a break from my main projects to do some visdev practice. have a line up for a layton fic that'll probably never see the light of day

[okkennymay]

Commission for @sophronns​ 

[SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE] MAN I LOVE EXPRESSION CHALLENGES! 

Oooooh I got a lovely batch of commissions once again and I couldn’t be happier!~ Had to take a moment to catch my breath after responding to so many wonderful people and getting WIPs done for most of them, so that I may settle in for the long haul, flipping between commissions, my own projects and resting in attempt for a healthy work life balance! Thank you to all who signal boosted by reblogging, it means a lot to me yah’ll think price sheets worth passing around~ 😊💖 

[jetii]

Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

Part Two | Part Three

Pairing: Thorn x Senator!Reader / Thorn x fem!Reader

Words: 12,428 / 34,682

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! enemies to lovers kinda, forced proximity, bodyguard!Thorn, protective!Thorn, a little more than canon-typical violence, so much arguing and flirting and banter, smut in part 2 part 3

Summary: You're the most infuriating charge Commander Thorn has ever had the misfortune to babysit, and yet, you're also the one he finds himself falling for.

A/N: This was a request from @capricornrabies that got so out of hand I decided to make it its own thing and split it into two three parts. The original prompt was 52. “Just because you're pretty, it doesn't mean you can just get away with anything." / "You think I'm pretty?" from my 500 follower celebration. Featuring my Corrie OCs Burst and Knock! Apologies if Thorn is not necessarily in character, but he had so little screen time this is just build a boyfriend tbh.

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"Commander?"

Thorn freezes, his finger hovering over his datapad before it clenches into a fist.

He glances over at his comm on his desk and heaves a sigh. Well, it’s not his desk, really. Your staff had been kind enough to provide him a private office, tucked away in the fourth level of the estate, far away from the rest of the government officials. They had tried to decorate it for him, but he had waved away most of their attempts, allowing them to only get rid of the garish gold accents and take down the large tapestries that were plastered all over the walls.

But it does still have a lot of useless stuff in it. A lot of useless, fragile stuff. And as much as he’d like to be grateful for the offer of a quiet place to work, he was sure your motives were far from altruistic. He knew exactly what you were trying to accomplish by keeping him so far from you.

 You were by far the most frustrating charge that Thorn has ever had the displeasure of babysitting, and he’d shadowed Senator Orn Free Taa on a pleasure cruise for two weeks, so that was saying something.

You were smart, manipulative, and you had the entire Senate eating out of your hand. The Jedi had no choice but to agree to your demands, and it seemed that every politician under the sun was at your beck and call. It was infuriating, watching you sit there with your perfect smile and your perfect manners, as if the world owed you something, as if you were the greatest thing to ever happen to Coruscant.

And maybe you were, because the last few years have been the most prosperous in recent memory for your planet. You had the support of nearly the entire Senate, and you were able to push through the majority of the legislation you proposed.

If it were not for the fact that you were also extremely stubborn, Thorn might have actually liked you.

But the two of you had locked horns almost immediately after you were introduced, and the past three months have been nothing but a test of wills. And even worse than your annoying personality and inability to stay out of trouble, was the fact that you were one of the few people who could make Thorn freeze up with nothing more than a simple question.

 It was humiliating, really, how weak he was when it came to you. He was a Commander, for kriff's sake. One of the best the Guard had to offer. And yet there was precious little he had in defense against your charming smile and witty comments.

He had no idea how you managed to make him so flustered, and that was the worst part. He never had any idea how you were going to react or what you were thinking, and you had an uncanny ability to make him feel like a complete and utter idiot. He didn’t consider himself an impulsive person, but when he was around you, he found himself speaking before he thought things through, a habit he had been trying to break since he was a cadet.

There was just something about you that threw him off balance. It didn’t matter how many times he saw you or how many meetings he attended with you, the moment you walked into the room, it was like all of his training went out the window, and he was once again a shiny fresh off Kamino, ready to embarrass himself at the slightest provocation.

He should hate you, really. He had no idea why he didn’t. It wasn’t like you got along well, not in the slightest. You had a sharp tongue and you always seemed to be testing his patience, and he found it impossible to relax in your presence. You always made him feel... off. On edge. Like he was a second away from saying or doing something he was going to regret. It was exhausting, really, and Thorn had no idea why you affected him so much. He had no idea what was so different about you. What made you stand out.

What made him act like such a fool whenever he saw you.

Maybe it was because you were a challenge. Maybe it was just the fact that he had been forced to spend so much time with you. Maybe he was just curious.

Whatever the reason, Thorn was beginning to grow tired of it. You had an irritating habit of finding trouble wherever you went, and the past few months have been particularly chaotic, thanks to your efforts.

You were not an easy person to protect, especially since you seemed to have an uncanny ability to slip out of sight when the moment called for it. He was starting to think that you were using the Force, because you would just disappear and then suddenly reappear again somewhere completely different.

Thorn was used to guarding difficult people, but you were taking the cake.

The Jedi Council had insisted that you needed to be assigned a permanent detail, and had tasked him and the rest of the Guard with doing so. And yet, after months, there was not one single clone in the entire GAR that was able to keep an eye on you.

The first time you had given them the slip, Thorn had felt like punching a wall. The second, he was convinced it was an accident. But by the fifth time? It was clear that you were intentionally trying to shake him.

And now, as he stares at his comm, the name of one of the troopers he’d assigned to watch you flashing on the screen, he feels the urge to hit something return with a vengeance.

"Yes?" he answers, his voice tight, and there's a brief silence on the other end.

"We lost her," the trooper admits, sounding miserable. "She said she was going to the refresher and...I guess she wasn't really going to the refresher."

"I see," Thorn says, pinching the bridge of his nose, and he hears the trooper start to apologize.

"It's fine, we'll get her," Thorn interrupts, even though it's far from fine. This is the fourth time they've lost you since they arrived on your home planet, and it was as if your ability to make fools of them all had only strengthened the further they got from the Core. The only solace was that they were far from the watchful eyes of the Jedi Council and the office of the Chancellor, so no one except him knew just how badly they were fucking this up.

“We’ll just track her comm and..." he stops, and his hand falls away from his face. "You did get her to wear her comm, didn't you? Please tell me you got her to wear her comm."

There's another, even longer, pause, and then a small, sheepish, "Sir."

Thorn groans. "She's going to get herself killed."

"We'll find her, sir!" the trooper promises. "We'll scour the entire planet if we have to, she can't have gone too far."

Thorn doubts that, but he doesn't say anything, and instead he hangs up the comm and gets to his feet. He gives a forlorn look to his half-finished report before grabbing his helmet off of the desk and pulling it on, marching out of the office and into the main room where the other Guards are sitting around and playing sabaac.

"Did you get it done?" Burst asks eagerly, glancing over as he strides into the room.

"No, and you're not going to believe what I've just been told," Thorn says dryly, and the troopers all groan.

"What did she do this time?" Knock grumbles. He throws down his cards and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Apparently she went to the refresher and hasn't been seen since."

The group all give each other exasperated looks.

"You know," Burst drawls, "if you just gave us a few minutes alone with her, we'd be able to talk some sense into her."

Thorn stiffens, a rush of...something, some feeling washing over him. It's no secret that his men have become infatuated with you, and Thorn doesn't blame them. You are, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy, and despite the fact that your personality is atrocious, you somehow manage to be charming.

That's the problem.

You're always charming, and he's the only one who ever sees your less favorable side. It's frustrating, and more than once he's had the urge to pull his men aside and ask them how they can stand it, how they can handle being in your presence without constantly wanting to strangle you.

It's bad enough that you make his blood boil, but having to deal with his own men mooning over you is too much.

"That's not how this works," Thorn snaps. "This is supposed to be an assignment, not an opportunity to flirt with our charge."

"So it's fine for you to flirt with her," Burst says, a teasing note in his voice, and the other clones around him snicker. "I see how it is."

"I don't have time for this," Thorn growls, his hands curling into fists. He can feel his face heating up, and he's glad for the protection of his helmet. "She's out there somewhere, unprotected, and you all are sitting here joking around. Now get up, all of you, we need to find her before she gets hurt. Or worse."

"Fine," Burst grumbles, getting to his feet, and the others follow suit. "Where do we start, sir?"

"Fan out, search the entire manor top to bottom. If she’s not here, we’ll start searching the streets."

"We can't possibly search the whole city," Knock protests, and Thorn gives him a long, hard look.

"We don't have a choice," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "We're not letting her out of our sight again. Do you hear me? She's going to listen to us, one way or another."

"Yes, sir," the troopers say, nodding their heads, and Thorn lets out a frustrated huff.

"Now let's go."

It takes the rest of the afternoon and a large chunk of the night, but eventually, Thorn finds you. You're sitting in a diner, your hands wrapped around a mug of caf, and you don't even look sorry when Thorn stalks over, yanking off his helmet and slamming it down on the table in front of you. The motion makes the carafe rattle, but neither of you flinch.

"Senator," he says through clenched teeth, and you glance up at him, raising a brow.

"Commander," you reply with a tilt of your head. You gesture to the empty mug placed across from you. "Caf?"

He falters slightly, confused for just a moment before he realizes what you're doing. You knew he would find you here. Of course you did. And you're just as smug about it as he expected, your eyes alight with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, the two of you at an impasse.

Thorn grits his teeth, forcing himself to calm down. He knows he should be angry with you, and part of him is. The other part, the part that is not furious or exhausted, is relieved that you're safe. You've been gone for hours, and as the time ticked by, he could feel his anxiety building.

You were so stubborn, and you had no concept of self-preservation. If anything had happened to you, it would have been his fault.

He should have taken better care of you. He should have been more careful, should have been watching you closer.

He was not going to let it happen again.

"Yes," he says curtly, sinking down into the booth and removing his gloves, shoving them into the pouch on his belt. "Please."

You pour him a cup, and then you pick up yours, holding it out for a toast. He narrows his eyes, but reluctantly he raises his cup, letting the two of you knock them together.

"To peace and prosperity," you murmur, and Thorn snorts.

"For everyone except me, apparently," he grumbles. You grin at that, a slow, dangerous smile that makes his stomach flip

"Don't be so dramatic," you chide him, and his eyes narrow.

"Dramatic?" he repeats incredulously. "Dramatic? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"Worried about me?" you tease, and he feels his face flush.

"I—you are—this is serious!" he splutters. "I'm responsible for your safety, and I can't do my job properly if you're running off whenever you please."

"All I want is a little privacy, is that too much to ask?"

“With three assassination attempts in the last month alone, yes, it is," he says flatly. "You are supposed to have a detail. Do you understand me? A detail. That means that there are going to be guards with you. At all times. If you don’t like it, take it up with the Chancellor, I don't make the rules."

You let out a huff, leaning back against the cushions and crossing your arms over your chest. He's sure that you're not used to being talked to like this, and normally he wouldn't have said anything, but he's fed up. It's been three months of constant arguing, of trying to keep you safe. Three months, and he was still no closer to figuring you out.

"I'm not your enemy," he adds. "We are not here to inconvenience you. We are not here to make you uncomfortable. Our only purpose is to protect you and keep you safe. If you would just work with us—"

"I am!" you protest. "I'm working very hard, and I would appreciate it if you would stop treating me like I'm some kind of spoiled brat."

"If the shoe fits..."

You glare at him. "Look, I understand that this is frustrating, but I have a life, Commander. I'm not going to stop living just because the Jedi and the Chancellor don't think I can take care of myself."

"Well, maybe you can't," Thorn mutters.

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe you can't," he repeats, louder this time. "You're not invincible, you know."

"You don't know what I can or cannot do," you hiss. "How can you make any judgements on how I should act when you barely even know me?"

"Because I've had the misfortune of being forced to deal with you," he snaps. "And I've had the misfortune of seeing you make a target of yourself every single day. Just because you're pretty, it doesn't mean you can just get away with anything."

He doesn’t realize what he said until he sees the surprised look on your face, and the color immediately drains from his own. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, your cheeks starting to flush pink, and Thorn feels his stomach drop. He hadn't meant to say that. In fact, he hadn't even realized he was thinking it.

But it was true.

You were gorgeous, and Thorn was not blind. He had noticed the moment he met you, had seen the way the men in the room were drawn to you. You had the same effect on him, although he liked to think he was at least somewhat better at hiding it than most.

Or so he had thought.

"I..."

"You think I'm pretty?" you finally say, a smile starting to tug at your lips, and he feels the tips of his ears start to burn.

"I, er," he says eloquently, and he clears his throat, his jaw clenching. He had walked right into this, and now he was going to have to pay the price.

Your grin widens, becoming impossibly more smug. The white hot anger that had been boiling inside him moments before is quickly replaced with mortification, and Thorn feels the urge to hide under the table.

"Well, thank you for the compliment, Commander," you murmur, and then you stand, gathering up your cloak and picking up his helmet. "But if that's all you came here to say, we'd best be on our way. I have an important meeting tomorrow morning."

"Wait, what?"

You raise a brow, holding the helmet out, and he hesitantly takes it.

"You can escort me home, can't you?"

"I...of course," he says, trying not to sound too flustered. He had expected this to be a lot harder, and his brain was struggling to catch up. He stands, placing his helmet back on his head, and tries not to wince at the smug expression on your face.

"Good," you say. "I'll give you two weeks."

"Two weeks?" he repeats dumbly.

"Two weeks," you confirm, "and not a single other trooper. You and only you. That's the only way I'll agree to this."

Thorn gapes at you, and then he sighs, shoulders sagging. "Why?"

"Because I'm not interested in having a detail. If you can convince me that I can trust you, then maybe I'll consider changing my mind." You shrug, and you hold out your coat, looking at him expectantly. "Well?"

He stares at you for a moment, and then he rolls his eyes and holds the jacket up, allowing you to slide your arms into the sleeves. "You're infuriating."

"And pretty," you say, turning back around to face him. Thorn reaches out to adjust your collar, smoothing the fabric over your shoulders, and you give him a dazzling smile. "So, do we have a deal, Commander?"

He knows it's a terrible idea. He knows the entire Jedi Council would disagree with him. He knows the Chancellor would never approve. But he's so tired of arguing with you, and his men are already annoyed enough. Maybe it would be easier this way. If it was just him, maybe he could find a way to make this work.

"Alright," he sighs, giving a defeated shrug. "Two weeks. And no tricks."

"No tricks," you promise, and despite his better judgement, he believes you. "Come along, then."

"Senator," he says flatly, falling into step behind you, and you give him a cheeky grin.

"Commander." Your voice is sweet, but he can hear the mocking note hidden underneath, and he grits his teeth. "You really are very cute, you know. I'm glad you think I'm pretty."

His blush comes back full force, and he turns his head away, refusing to look at you. Burst catches his eye through the window, giving him a thumbs up, and Thorn wants nothing more than to run into the street and push him into traffic. He gives him a sign to get lost, and the trooper salutes him, turning around and leading the others away.

He can't believe this is his life now. He's supposed to be the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. One of the toughest men in the Republic. How is it that he keeps losing these fights with you? How is it that every time, he's the one who walks away feeling like a complete and utter idiot?

He has no idea how he's going to make it through the rest of the trip.

"Two weeks," he grumbles, a reminder more to himself than to you, and your soft laugh only serves to deepen his embarrassment. He holds the door open for you, and you give him a playful pat on the shoulder as you pass him.

"Don't worry, Commander, I'll be on my best behavior," you promise, and he can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not.

He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as he follows you out into the street, the door slamming shut behind him. 

"Good," he says gruffly. "Because I'll be watching."

You slip your hood over your head, giving him a smirk. "I'll make sure to put on a good show, then."

He has no idea what you mean by that, but it doesn't stop his imagination from running wild. He has a feeling he's not going to sleep well tonight.

"Come along, Commander," you say, and then you're gone, disappearing into the crowds, and Thorn hurries after you, trying his best to ignore the strange warmth blooming in his chest.

It's going to be a long, long two weeks.

Thorn had been prepared for a fight.

He had spent the entire morning mentally preparing himself for the inevitable battle, going over different scenarios and practicing what he would say. It was something he did often, something that had saved him and his men countless times before, and he had expected this conversation to go exactly the same.

He was wrong.

He steeled his shoulders and knocked on your door, waiting for your soft, "Enter," before walking in, his jaw set, ready for an argument.

But instead of the sharp retort he had expected, the door opens, and you're standing there, dressed in an elegant robe, your hair pulled back in an intricate updo. He freezes, caught off guard by how lovely you look, and you smile.

"Commander," you say, and his brow furrows. "Good morning. Would you care to join me?"

"What?"

"Breakfast," you clarify, holding the door open wider, and he swallows thickly. He hadn't expected you to be so... pleasant.

"Of course," he says after a pause, stepping into your rooms. The suite is larger than any room he's ever stayed in, and as he looks around, he can't help but feel out of place. The furniture is ornate, the walls covered with beautiful artwork, and even the floor is lined with thick, expensive rugs. The Governor of your planet clearly likes to live lavishly, and Thorn's sure the cost of one meal in this place could feed a battalion.

He tries not to dwell on that, and he turns his attention back to you. You've closed the door behind him, and you're busy adjusting the folds of your robe. He watches as you smooth the fabric over your hips, and then he looks away, clearing his throat.

"So, are we having breakfast here?" he asks. You nod, motioning to the table set up near the window.

"Yes, if that's alright. My schedule is rather busy, so I thought it would be best to eat here instead," you say, and he follows you over, quickening his pace to pull your chair out for you. You give him a soft smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," you murmur, sitting down and letting him push the chair in.

"Of course," he says, and then he sits down across from you, removing his helmet and placing it on the table. There's a plate of food already set out for him, and he eyes it, wondering if this is all some elaborate trap. A droid wheels up, depositing a pitcher of juice and a carafe of caf on the table, and he waits until it has rolled away before speaking.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says, and you glance up at him. "About this... arrangement."

"Of course," you reply, picking up a fork and scooping up a bite of fruit. "What would you like to discuss?"

He shifts slightly, not quite comfortable with the whole situation. He had not been expecting to get along with you so well, and he wasn't entirely sure what to do with this newfound friendliness.

"We both have jobs to do," he says slowly, "and I understand that they are sometimes conflicting, but we need to make this work."

"Agreed."

"We can't have any more incidents," he continues, and you raise a brow, the corners of your mouth turning up slightly.

"You mean where I disappear?"

"Yes."

"Well, then," you say, taking another bite, and Thorn's fingers tighten around the edge of the table.

"I don't want you leaving the compound without telling me first. I'll escort you anywhere you need to go."

"Commander—"

"And no more wandering off," he interrupts, ignoring the look you're giving him. "I don't care if you need some fresh air or you're bored or tired, you'll ask me or one of my men first, and we'll make arrangements."

"Is that it?" you ask dryly, and he purses his lips.

"No," he replies. "We will continue to check in regularly, and we'll have a meeting every morning to discuss your schedule."

"So, you'll be joining me for breakfast every day, then?"

"I... yes," he says, surprised by your agreement. You shrug, taking another bite, and he feels like there's a catch.

"Very well. Is there anything else?"

He can't help but stare at you, waiting for the punchline, but you're still eating, and Thorn can't detect even a hint of deception on your face. He lets out a relieved sigh, leaning back in his chair.

"Just don't make things difficult," he says, and then he reaches for his caf. "Please."

"I'll try my best, Commander," you reply, giving him a sly smile. That strange warmth returns, the tightening in his chest, and he has to swallow before replying.

"Right," he says. "Good."

"I have a question for you," you say, and he glances at you, raising a brow.

"Okay..."

"Do you always treat your charges this way?"

"No," he says quickly, and he flushes slightly. "I mean, I've never had a charge like you, Senator. Usually the ones I protect are much more cooperative."

"So it's just me, then?"

"It seems so."

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "Well, I'm honored. Truly."

He huffs, and then the two of you lapse into silence. Thorn finds himself studying you as you eat, his eyes lingering on the curve of your neck, the delicate lines of your throat, the way your fingers move over the handle of your mug.

He's seen plenty of beautiful women in his lifetime. Coruscant is full of them. But there's something about you that he can't quite put his finger on. You're so unlike the other senators, and despite the fact that you seem to go out of your way to make him miserable, he can't deny there's a certain charm to your demeanor.

He's still trying to figure out what's going on, but he can't quite wrap his head around it. You're not being particularly argumentative, and for once, the two of you are able to sit in a room together without fighting.

"I'm sure," he mutters, and you glance up at him, a glint in your eye. Thorn meets your gaze, and then he quickly looks away, his heart beating a little faster.

He's in trouble.

"Well, I'll be damned."

Thorn's shoulders slump, and he glances over at Burst, raising a brow.

"What?"

"She actually got you to do it."

Thorn scowls, turning back to his datapad. "Shut up."

"Oh, come on, I'm just saying," Burst laughs, plopping down onto the bench next to him. "I didn't think she'd be able to convince you."

"Yeah, well, she did," Thorn mutters. He's not entirely sure how it happened, but you did. And now, here he was, stuck with you for the foreseeable future. It wasn't terrible, not in the slightest. You were actually pretty good company, when you weren't making his life miserable. But it was still a lot to deal with, and he had no idea how he was going to manage it.

He has no idea what it is that makes him act this way around you.

"How'd she do it?"

"Does it matter?"

"Kind of, yeah."

Thorn sighs, his fingers clenching around his datapad, and he stares down at his boots. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to admit that he was swayed so easily, but he knows that Burst is never going to let it go until he tells him.

"I just agreed to it," he finally says, shrugging his shoulders. "It was either this or spend another few weeks arguing with her, and I just...didn't have the energy for it."

"I guess," Burst says doubtfully.

"Look, the sooner we get this trip over with, the sooner we can all go home," Thorn points out. "It's not ideal, but at least now we can keep a closer eye on her."

"So it's just the two of you now, huh?"

"Yep."

"Just the two of you."

"That's what I said, Burst."

"Alone."

"What is your point?"

"I'm just saying, sir," Burst says innocently. "If you wanted a little alone time with her, you could have just said so. We wouldn't have minded. Hell, we would have encouraged it."

"Yeah, well, I don't need any encouragement," Thorn growls, and then he stands, tossing his datapad onto the bench and heading off to find a quiet spot.

The truth was, he hadn't really thought about it. He hadn't thought about the implications of what this would mean. Being alone with you, day after day, until the two of you could return to Coruscant. And now, he wasn't sure what to do.

He couldn't exactly go back on his word, not when he had agreed to it. Not when you had given him the chance to prove himself. But it was difficult, knowing that his feelings towards you had been... complicated, ever since he had met you. Knowing that, if he wasn't careful, things could easily spiral out of control.

And now, the two of you were going to be spending an absurd amount of time together. Alone. With no one around to stop him from doing or saying something stupid.

He was in a lot of trouble.

The rest of the morning goes smoothly enough, and when lunch rolls around, he goes in search of you. You'd spent most of the day holed up in a conference room with a bunch of stuffy politicians, and by the time Thorn comes to collect you, the room is empty except for you. You're sitting at the table, staring out the window, and he's taken aback by how melancholy you look.

"Senator?"

You jump, glancing over at him, and the gloomy expression on your face is quickly replaced with a cheerful smile.

"Commander," you greet him, and he gives you a small nod.

"Time for lunch," he says, and you give him a wry grin.

"Is it, now?"

"You didn't have plans, did you?"

"Only to avoid you," you say sweetly, getting to your feet. You dress flows like water around you, the soft fabric brushing against your legs as you stand, and Thorn finds himself momentarily mesmerized.

He blinks, shaking his head, and gives you a scowl.

"Very funny."

"I thought so," you reply, walking past him and out into the hall. You don't bother looking back to see if he's following, and Thorn lets out a sigh before hurrying after you. He catches up with you easily enough, and the two of you walk in silence down to the dining room. You're not particularly chatty, and Thorn is starting to wonder if there's something bothering you.

You usually like to talk his ear off, and the fact that you're not makes him a little nervous.

He's about to ask if everything's alright when you speak up, your voice so quiet he almost doesn't hear it.

"Thank you," you murmur, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, and Thorn can't help the way his brows furrow in confusion.

"For what?"

"For agreeing to this," you reply, giving him a wry smile. "I know it's not ideal, but...it means a lot to me."

"Of course," he says, surprised. "It was the logical choice."

"Logical," you repeat. "Is that why you agreed to it, then?"

He hesitates, not sure how to answer.

"Yes," he says slowly. "I'm sure the Chancellor would prefer that I spend a couple of weeks with you rather than chasing after you every day. He wouldn't be very happy if he knew I lost you again."

You give a small huff, the sound more amused than annoyed. "And the fact that I'm so charming and beautiful has nothing to do with it?"

Thorn snorts, shaking his head.

"You are very charming, Senator," he agrees. "And you are a very beautiful woman. But if I have to spend another day chasing you down the street, I'm going to lose my mind."

"Good," you say with a wicked smile. He turns his head away, pretending to inspect the paintings lining the hallway, and tries not to flush. "Then let's get through these next few weeks quickly."

"Agreed," he says gruffly.

He holds the door open for you, letting you enter the dining room first, and the two of you find an empty table. There's an assortment of dishes laid out, and Thorn is pleased to see that they're not nearly as lavish as the previous meals. You'd been quite up in arms about the excess and waste of the food yesterday, and the Governor has clearly learned from his mistakes.

Thorn pulls out a chair for you, and you settle down in it, giving him a nod of thanks.

"I'm glad to see he listened," you comment, and Thorn looks over at the table, realizing what you're talking about.

"Yes, well," he says, clearing his throat. "I'm sure he doesn't want to risk upsetting you again."

"No, I suppose not," you agree, picking up a plate. When Thorn moves back around the table, he finds a seat has already been set for him, and he gives you a puzzled look.

"Did you tell someone to prepare this for me?"

"Don't sound so surprised," you reply, rolling your eyes. "It's the least I can do."

He frowns, but sits down nonetheless. As the two of you settle in, a few of the other guests glance your way, and Thorn doesn't miss the way they look at you. He bristles, feeling a surge of protectiveness rush through him, and he straightens in his chair, his hand resting on his blaster. You don't seem to notice the attention, and Thorn doesn't want to embarrass you by bringing it up, but he's determined to keep a close eye on everyone around you.

The others take the hint, quickly looking away, and Thorn's mouth twists in a smirk. Satisfied, he turns back to his plate, and he picks up a fork, spearing a piece of meat.

"So, what are your plans for the rest of the day, Commander?"

"Watching you, making sure you don't wander off, and avoiding my paperwork," he says dryly, and he gets a laugh out of you. He feels his cheeks heat, and he busies himself with his food, trying not to stare.

You're even more radiant when you laugh.

"I'd apologize, but I know it wouldn't do much good," you reply. "How is the paperwork going, anyway?"

"Awful."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't believe you," he says, giving you a wry smile, and you grin at him.

"You're right," you agree. "But it's the polite thing to say, isn't it?"

"You don't need to be polite," he says, shaking his head. "We're supposed to be working together, remember? If we're going to have a successful partnership, we need to be honest with each other."

"Well, if that’s the case, Commander," you begin with a mischievous gleam in your eyes. "How do you expect us to survive this week without killing each other?"

"I don't know," he says, unable to hide his grin. "But I suppose we'll just have to make it work."

"You make it sound so easy," you laugh.

"Nothing about you is easy, Senator," he replies, and the two of you continue the conversation, the banter between the two of you becoming more comfortable. The rest of the meal passes in a blur, and by the time Thorn realizes what's happening, he's having a good time.

The conversation is easy, and he doesn't feel as uncomfortable as he usually does. He doesn't feel like he has to constantly monitor his words, or worry about accidentally offending you. He's able to relax and enjoy himself, and he's surprised to find that he likes talking with you.

It's the best meal he's had in a long time, and when the two of you part ways, Thorn's stomach is full, and his heart feels strangely light.

You really were very charming, and he's not entirely sure how he feels about that.

By the time the third day rolls around, Thorn has fallen into a routine.

It's a comfortable routine, one that he didn't expect, but one that is welcomed all the same. His men are less than thrilled, especially since they’ve been given no respite, but they seem happy enough to know that he’s taking the lead on the mission.

You have meetings early in the mornings, which means that Thorn gets up early too. It's not his favorite thing, but it's worth it to spend time with you. The two of you eat together, and then Thorn escorts you to the office, where he stands guard outside your door while you meet with various representatives from other planets.

Then the two of you go back to your rooms, where you quickly eat lunch before leaving to stroll through the gardens.

The weather is temperate on your planet, and the gardens around the compound are beautiful. You seem to enjoy the flowers, and he listens as you point out each plant, the names and the species. Thorn finds himself paying more attention to your voice than the words coming out of your mouth, and he can't help but think that he could listen to you talk for hours.

You're not the arrogant, self-important politician that he'd thought you were, and he's beginning to realize just how much of your personality is an act. The woman you pretend to be is someone who demands attention, and she gets it. The real you is far more humble, and you seem happy to fade into the background when necessary.

Your people love you. They're constantly coming up to you, greeting you, asking after your health, and Thorn is amazed by how many you know by name. He had expected that you would treat them the way you treated him, but they seem happy to see you, and you seem equally delighted to see them.

There are also the gifts. Every few minutes someone will come up and offer something, and it's a constant battle to keep you from accepting. You're not supposed to take gifts, and even though most are small and seemingly harmless, Thorn is not willing to risk anything. So he gently turns down each gift, and each time, your eyes widen slightly and you give a slight shake of your head. The gesture is subtle, almost imperceptible, and Thorn finds it strangely endearing.

It's not the first time he's found something about you to be endearing. The list has grown rather long since you've been here, and it only seems to get longer with every passing day. The way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you brush the hair out of your face. It's all so... charming, and Thorn is starting to wonder if this is what the other troopers meant when they talked about you.

He'd always dismissed them as foolish, but now, as he watches you from his spot in the garden, he wonders if maybe he should have paid a little more attention. He knows that there's no chance of anything happening between the two of you, not unless he suddenly becomes a different person, but that doesn't stop him from looking.

"Commander."

He jerks, his attention snapping back to you, and you give him a knowing smile. "Are you feeling well? You seem a bit distracted."

"I'm fine," he says, his ears burning, and he shifts uncomfortably. "Is it time to head back?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," you say, and Thorn moves closer, holding out a hand. You slip yours into it, letting him help you up, and his skin tingles where you touch him. "I have a conference call with the Chancellor this evening, and I need to prepare."

Thorn frowns. He had forgotten about that. The Chancellor had contacted him the previous night and asked for an update on your safety, and Thorn had told him that everything was going well. He's not sure what prompted the call, but it's not unusual for him to do that, and he tries not to let it bother him.

Still, he can't help but worry. The Chancellor is a busy man, and the fact that he's taking time out of his schedule to speak with you makes him nervous. Maybe the Chancellor is starting to question the wisdom of assigning him to be your personal guard, or perhaps the Council has had a change of heart and is ready to replace him. Either way, he doesn't like it.

"You should wear the purple," he says suddenly, and you turn to look at him, surprise written across your face. "It suits you."

You blink, and then a small smile spreads across your lips, a sparkle in your eye. "Why, Commander," you tease, "that almost sounded like a compliment."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

You let out a soft chuckle, and Thorn has to swallow hard. "Thank you," you murmur, reaching out to brush a stray petal off of his shoulder. He freezes, his breath catching in his throat, and he can't seem to look away. Your eyes are sparkling, and your fingers are trailing up his shoulder and across his chest, and suddenly the temperature seems to increase by several degrees.

He doesn't know what to say, or how to react, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to reach up and grab your wrist. He's not sure if he wants to stop you or hold you tighter, and the uncertainty scares him.

But just as quickly as it happened, it's over. You drop your hand and step away, turning to walk towards the house, and Thorn has to take a moment to compose himself.

"Are you coming, Commander?" you call over your shoulder, and he forces himself to take a deep breath.

"Yes, Senator," he says, and he falls into step behind you, his gaze sweeping over your form, a lump forming in his throat. You look beautiful today, dressed in a pale yellow gown that reminds him of the sun, and he can't help but think about what it would be like to wrap his arms around your waist, to kiss the back of your neck, to feel your skin beneath his fingers.

You look back at him, a mischievous glint in your eye, and his eyes widen.

How long has he felt this way?

He has no idea, and he's not sure he wants to know the answer. You're his charge, his job, and any feelings beyond that are inappropriate. If the Jedi Council ever found out, they would surely be disappointed in him.

He shouldn't want this.

But he does.

And he's starting to realize that the other troopers weren't exaggerating when they talked about how beautiful you were. In fact, Thorn thinks they didn't give you nearly enough credit.

The walk back to the compound is a quiet one, and when you arrive, you head straight to your room. He follows you inside, standing awkwardly in the doorway, and then you turn to look at him.

"Would you mind giving me a moment alone?" you ask.

He hesitates, glancing at the open door, and you roll your eyes.

"I promise not to disappear," you assure him, and he feels his cheeks burn.

"Of course," he says, stepping back into the hallway and shutting the door behind him. He waits a moment, listening for the sound of the lock, and then he walks over to the window, peering out. It's a beautiful view, the city spread out beneath him, the setting sun painting the sky orange and pink. The light catches on the glass buildings, and he can see the faint outlines of ships as they soar overhead.

It's peaceful here, and he can't help but relax a bit. He's used to the chaos of Coruscant, and this is a nice change of pace. The compound is large and well-fortified, and Thorn is confident that no one can get in without alerting the guards. It's a secure location, and it's easy to be lulled into a false sense of safety.

Which is why he's surprised when the door swings open, and a hand grabs him, dragging him inside and slamming him against the wall.

It's an ambush, and it happens so fast that Thorn barely has time to react. He's slammed back again, his helmet falling off, and a foot presses into his chest, pinning him to the wall. A fist comes out of nowhere, and Thorn barely manages to block it, grabbing the arm and twisting, using the assailant's momentum to slam them onto the floor.

The man grunts, and Thorn uses the opportunity to pin him, straddling his hips and trapping his arms, a knee on his chest. His heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he can't help but smile. He hasn't been in a fight in months, and it's been far too long since he's had a good brawl.

He's not sure what he was expecting, but he's glad that whoever it is isn't going down without a fight. He's been tense for weeks, and the opportunity to release some of that pent-up energy is a blessing.

The man bucks under him, and Thorn tightens his grip, a laugh escaping his lips. "Come on," he taunts, "is that the best you can do?"

"Fuck off."

He's about to respond when he hears the door swing open again, and another figure rushes in, tackling him and knocking him off his opponent. They're much smaller, and he's able to toss them off easily, but not before they manage to get in a few solid hits. They land a punch on his jaw, and he sees stars, his head ringing.

The first man is back on him, tackling him and sending him sprawling, and the second figure lands a kick to his ribs. He groans, the wind knocked out of him, and his vision swims. There's a sharp pain in his side, and he gasps, struggling to breathe.

A moment later, he’s on his back, his arms pinned, and a vibroblade pressed to his throat. The man stares down at him, and Thorn can see the anger burning in his eyes. He's panting, his breath coming in short bursts, and Thorn swallows. 

The man smiles. "Not so tough now, are you?"

Thorn grunts, struggling against the weight on top of him, but the blade digs deeper into his skin, and he can't move. He's pinned, and there's no way he can get free. He watches the second attacker stand, moving towards the bedroom, and he struggles harder, his eyes widening.

No.

The door opens, and he can hear you let out a gasp. Thorn's stomach drops, his heart clenching, and his fingers dig into the carpet. This can't be happening. If anything happens to you, if these men hurt you, he'll never forgive himself. He can't let that happen. He can't let you get hurt.

He can't lose you.

There’s the sound of a blaster going off in the other room, and Thorn feels ice run through his veins.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

He doesn't even think. He just reacts. The rage builds inside him, the fear and the adrenaline and the guilt all combining into one powerful emotion. He lets out a roar, bucking his hips and shoving the attacker off of him. The man tumbles to the ground, the knife flying out of his hand, and Thorn is on him in a second, his fists flying.

He hits the man again and again, until he can taste blood in his mouth, until his knuckles are raw, until a gentle hand touches his arm and stops him.

The world seems to come back into focus, and he can see the man lying beneath him, bloodied and bruised. He's breathing, but just barely, and Thorn's hand clenches into a fist. If you hadn't stopped him, the man would be dead.

He staggers to his feet, turning to face you. You're watching him, a blaster in your hand, and you give him a small smile. "Nice work, Commander."

Thorn can't speak, his breath coming out in ragged pants, and he shakes his head, the rage inside him threatening to consume him. 

"Senator—"

You place a finger over his lips, shushing him. 

"It's alright, Commander," you murmur, your expression gentle. "I'm okay."

He doesn't move, doesn't even breathe, and you reach up, placing your hands on either side of his face, stroking his cheeks. 

"I'm okay," you repeat, and he lets out a shuddering sigh, leaning into your touch. "See? I'm safe. Thanks to you."

Thorn still can't bring himself to speak, and you give him a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. He hesitates, his body tense, and then he relaxes, letting out a shaky breath and wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. You're safe. You're okay. You're here, in his arms, and he can feel his heart slowly beginning to calm.

You're okay.

He knows he shouldn't be doing this, but he can't bring himself to care. You're here, you're safe, and he needs to feel that you're alive, that you're real, and that you're here with him. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, and he feels your hands slide up his back, your fingers running through his hair, soothing him.

It's a long time before either of you speak, and when you do, it's Thorn who breaks the silence.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. You don't move, your fingers continuing to play with his hair, and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"They must have been waiting for me," you explain softly, and he can feel your voice vibrating through his body. "That man is a guard. And she—“ you nod your head toward the bedroom “—was a maid. I have no idea how they got past security, but I'm not surprised."

Thorn feels his anger start to build again, and he holds you a little tighter. His hands are still shaking, and his heart is racing. He can't believe how close he came to losing you. "Did they hurt you?"

"No," you assure him. "They didn't get a chance to."

He pulls back slightly, meeting your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have—"

You shake your head. "Commander, I'm fine."

"If I had been there..."

"You were there," you interrupt, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You were there, and you did everything right. You protected me."

He's not sure he did, but the look on your face tells him that he has no choice but to believe you. Thorn nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you give him another smile, your hands dropping to his chest. You're so close, your bodies pressed together, and Thorn finds himself unable to look away from you. You're beautiful, and he's not sure how he's ever going to stop wanting you.

"Senator," he says softly, and you tilt your head, raising a brow.

"Commander," you murmur, and his breath catches. Your voice is like silk, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

"You are a very difficult woman to protect."

You let out a soft laugh, and his gaze drops to your mouth, watching as your lips part, and your tongue darts out, wetting them. He wants to kiss you, wants to pull you close and press his mouth to yours. He wants, desperately, to forget all about the danger, the attack, the mission, and just be with you. He just wants you.

The two of you stare at each other, neither of you willing to break the spell, and Thorn's hands tighten on their own accord, pulling you closer. You're so close, your noses practically touching, and he can feel your breath ghosting over his lips.

“Commander!”

Thorn’s hands release you immediately, and you stumble back, turning around to face the window as Thorn spins on his heel and steps in front of you, shielding you with his body.

Burst stands in the doorway with Knock behind him, their blasters raised, and Thorn lets out a weary sigh.

Of course. Of course this would happen. He'd gotten so wrapped up in you that he'd forgotten to check his comm.

He's an idiot.

He should have known better.

Thorn raises a hand, signaling for the troopers to stand down, and they lower their weapons, their shoulders slumping.

"Sir," Burst says, looking between him and the battered body on the floor. "We heard shots fired.”

Thorn glances at you, and he can see the corner of your mouth twitching, the barest hint of a smile. You give him a tiny shrug, and he nods, his gaze shifting to the man on the floor.

"There was an attempt on the Senator's life. We handled it," he explains. The troopers tense, and their helmets dart to you, scanning your body.

"Are you hurt?" Knock asks.

"No," you reply, and Thorn can't help the swell of pride in his chest. You'd handled the situation like a true professional, and the fact that you were unharmed was a testament to your training. "I’m alright. Thank you, Knock.”

Knock nods, taking in the scene. "Good.”

“There’s another one in the bedroom," Thorn says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, and Knock nods again, moving past them and into the other room.

Thorn waits until he's gone, and then he turns back to you. He gives you a soft smile, taking a step forward. "Senator, why don't you go and clean up? I'll deal with this."

You look at him for a moment, and then you return his smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Thank you, Commander."

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing. "Of course, Senator. It's my job."

"And you're very good at it," you murmur. Your hand lingers for a moment, and then it falls, and when Thorn opens his eyes, you're gone, disappearing into your dressing room and shutting the door behind you.

Thorn stares at the closed door for a moment before letting out a breath and scrubbing a hand over his face. He can hear Burst snickering behind him, and he turns around, giving him a hard glare.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, sir," Burst replies, trying and failing to hide his amusement. "Nothing at all."

Thorn narrows his eyes. "Burst—"

"Commander, you can't deny that this is a bit amusing,” he says as he moves toward the unconscious man. He kicks him over onto his front, and Thorn has to suppress a wince at the damage he did. The man is covered in blood, his nose is broken, and there are several cuts on his face. His eyes are swollen shut, and his breathing is labored. He's lucky to be alive.

“I don’t find any of this amusing,” Thorn mutters, his expression dark. He's angry, and he's not entirely sure why. These men had tried to kill you, and he should be relieved that they had failed. But instead, all he can think about is how close he'd come to losing you, and how easy it would have been for him to get distracted. How close he'd come to not protecting you. How much worse this could have been.

He should have been more careful.

“If you say so,” Burst replies as he crouches down next to the man, a pair of cuffs in his hands. He whistles low under his breath, looking him over. "You did this?"

Thorn clears his throat, his cheeks heating, and he glares at the ground. "Yes."

"Wow, sir. Nice work.” Burst reaches down and pulls the man’s arms behind his back, and Thorn watches as he binds his wrists. The man doesn't move, his head lolling to the side. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Shut up," Thorn growls.

"Just saying, I'm impressed. You must really like the Senator."

"Burst," he says warningly.

"Relax, Commander," Knock interrupts, appearing in the doorway, and Thorn feels a surge of relief. He’s carrying the woman over his shoulder, her body limp, and he dumps her on the ground next to the man. "We won't say anything."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he lies, but even he can tell that it sounds weak. Burst snorts, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, right."

"Look, this is none of your concern," Thorn snaps, his eyes darting to the door and then back to his troopers. He doesn't want you overhearing their conversation, and the last thing he needs is for this to get back to the Chancellor.

If the Chancellor knew how he felt, if he found out how Thorn had failed him, failed his mission, failed you... well, Thorn would probably lose his position. Or worse.

And it was all because he couldn't keep his feelings in check.

He was an idiot.

The Chancellor had put him on this mission for a reason, and he'd made a promise. A promise to protect you, to keep you safe. And what had he done? He'd let his feelings get in the way, and now he'd failed you.

He couldn't afford to do that again.

“Take them down to the holding cells. Quietly,” he orders, his voice low. “We can’t know for sure that there aren't others. Until we have confirmation, I don’t want the rest of the household knowing about this. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they say in unison, and Thorn turns his back on them, moving towards the bedroom. It's quiet inside, the door hanging off its hinges, and Thorn surveys the damage, his lips pursed.

The room is a disaster, and he's not sure how long it's going to take to fix. He's definitely going to have to speak to the Governor about the security measures, and he makes a mental note to have a word with him first thing tomorrow. They’ll have to move you to another wing, and the compound will need to be swept for more would-be assassins. He's not going to take any chances.

But those are problems for tomorrow. Right now, he just needs a few minutes to calm down.

He walks over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and leaning forward, his head in his hands. His mind is racing, and his heart is pounding. He feels like he's falling apart, like his whole world is crashing down around him, and he can't catch his breath.

This is the first time he's felt like this in a long time, and it scares him. He'd thought he was beyond this. He'd thought he was above it, the feeling of helplessness, the fear and the panic. But as he sits there trying desperately to get his emotions under control, he realizes that he's not. He's not as strong as he thought. He's not invincible.

And it's all because of you.

He'd thought you were his charge, someone to protect. He'd never expected you to be more than that, to mean something to him. But as he sits here, thinking about how close he'd come to losing you, the terror that had gripped him when he'd thought you'd been shot, the rage he'd felt when he'd seen you in danger, he can't deny it any longer.

You mean something to him, and he doesn't know what he would do if anything happened to you.

Thorn shudders, and he closes his eyes. He can't let himself go down that road. You're safe, and that's what matters. The attack had been averted, and no one had been seriously hurt. Everything was fine. He has to keep reminding himself of that, or he'll drive himself crazy.

"Commander?"

He opens his mouth to respond, his head jerking up, but the words die in his throat when he sees you in the doorway. You're wearing the purple outfit he had suggested earlier, and your hair is styled elegantly atop your head. It's hard to describe the feeling that rises in his chest, a strange mix of relief and awe and longing, and it takes him a moment to compose himself.

When he finally speaks, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper.

"Senator."

"Commander, are you alright?"

He stares at you, his mind struggling to formulate a response, and you move into the room, kneeling in front of him and placing a gentle hand on his kne

"Commander?"

"I'm fine," he says, clearing his throat and looking away. "Don't worry about me."

You frown as you reach up to brush a lock of hair out of his face. "You're bleeding."

He blinks, startled, and then his hand rises to his forehead, his fingers coming away red. He hadn't even realized he was injured. "Oh."

"Let me take care of that," you murmur, standing up and disappearing into the bathroom. He hears you rummaging around for a moment, and then you return, a small medical kit in your hand. You open it, pulling out a bacta patch and tearing open the packaging.

Thorn lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. He knows he should protest, that he should tell you that he's fine, that you should leave him alone, but he doesn't want to. He's exhausted, and you're being so gentle with him. He can't bring himself to refuse.

You lean forward, pressing the patch on the cut. He winces, and you make a soft sound.

"Sorry," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You give him a half-smile and tilt your head. "Does it hurt?"

He shakes his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Not at all."

"Liar."

"Maybe."

You shake your head and sigh, your eyes flicking down to his hands. The blood from his split knuckles has soaked through his gloves, and the red darkens the black leather. "Let me see."

"I'll get a medic."

You frown, and he holds up his hands. "Please, Senator. I'm fine. You're already late for your call."

"The Chancellor can wait," you argue, but Thorn shakes his head.

"You know he can't," he says, giving you a wry grin. "I'm a big boy. I can handle a few scrapes and bruises."

You don't look convinced, but you seem to know better than to argue with him. You stare at him for a moment longer, and then you nod. "Fine. But I'll check on you afterwards. No arguing."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replies, and you give him a sharp look. He smiles, holding his hands up. "No, really, I wouldn't."

"Good," you say, your gaze lingering on his hands. "Will you escort me to the conference room?"

He nods. "Of course, Senator."

You stand up, offering him a hand, and he takes it and lets you pull him to his feet. You smile, and Thorn can't help but feel like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. He knows that he shouldn't, but he loves the way you smile at him.

You lead him out of the room, and the two of you head down the hallway. He folds your arm into his, his other hand resting on top of yours, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. He doesn't know what to say, and he's grateful that you don't seem inclined to talk either. There's nothing left to say.

As you make your way to the conference room, he thinks about the events of the past few hours. It had been a close call, and if you hadn't been so quick, or if Thorn hadn't been there...

He could have lost you. He could have lost this. The thought terrifies him, and he tightens his grip on your hand, unwilling to let go.

He doesn't want to think about what would happen if he did.

It's been three days since the attempt on your life, and the mood in the compound is tense.

No one speaks much, and the troopers are on high alert. You seem unbothered by the whole thing, much to his frustration. He's been watching you closely, waiting for a sign that something is wrong, but there's nothing. You're perfectly fine, and it makes him wonder how often you've been targeted. How many attacks have you endured, and how many has he not known about?

It bothers him more than he cares to admit.

He's been sleeping in the hall outside your new room, taking his shifts with the troopers who patrol the corridors at night. It's not a comfortable arrangement, and he's constantly worried that someone is going to attack him, but it's better than being caught off guard. He's not letting anything happen to you, and if that means sacrificing his own comfort, then so be it.

You, on the other hand, seem unfazed. You go about your day, holding meetings, making plans, and Thorn finds himself growing increasingly frustrated. You don't seem concerned, and while that should be a relief, it's not. You should be worried. You should be scared. But instead, you're acting as though nothing has changed, and it makes him furious.

"You need to take this seriously," he tells you after dinner. You're sitting in your room, reading a datapad, and you glance up at him, raising a brow.

"I am taking it seriously," you say, and Thorn huffs.

"You're not," he argues, and you roll your eyes.

"Are you questioning my judgment, Commander?"

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

You place the datapad on the table beside you and turn to face him. "And why is that?"

"Because," he says, his voice growing louder, "this is your life we're talking about. Don't you understand that? Someone tried to kill you."

"I'm aware."

"Then why aren't you acting like it?" he snaps.

You frown, folding your arms across your chest. "What exactly do you think I should be doing, Commander? Should I cry? Should I scream? Should I cower in fear? What would make you happy?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," he growls, pacing the length of the room. "You're acting as if nothing has happened. As if this isn't a big deal."

You shrug, picking up your datapad and returning your attention to it. "It's not."

"Not to you, maybe. But it is to me."

"I'm touched," you reply dryly, and he glares at you. You sigh and shake your head. "People try to kill me all the time, Commander. It's part of the job."

He freezes, his heart skipping a beat. "What?"

You shrug again, not looking up. "It's not a big deal."

Thorn's eyes widen, and he lets out a noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a cry of frustration. He doesn't know whether to be angry or horrified. You're completely unconcerned, and he doesn't know how to respond.

He's always known that your job is dangerous, but he'd never realized just how much danger you were actually in. He doesn't know if the Chancellor or the Council are aware of this, but he knows that he's going to have a word with them. He's not sure how much more of this he can take.

You raise a brow, giving him a small smile. "What?"

"You're unbelievable," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. He wants to punch a wall, or break something. Anything to release the pent-up energy. He feels like he's going to explode, and he's not sure how much longer he can contain his anger.

"Why, thank you, Commander," you say as you turn your attention back to your datapad, and he lets out a growl, pacing across the room. He can't believe this. He can't believe how cavalier you're being, how flippant, and it's infuriating.

He's never felt like this before, and he's not sure how to cope with the emotions bubbling up inside him. He's worried, and scared, and angry, and a million other things, and it's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to do.

"Commander, are you okay?"

Thorn stops pacing and looks over at you, his gaze meeting yours.

"Why are you so nonchalant about this?" he demands, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. "You could have died. Do you realize that? You could have died, and then where would I be?"

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you look shocked. You stare at him, and Thorn can see the concern in your gaze as you set your datapad down again. "I don't know. Where would you be, Commander?"

Thorn stares at you, unable to speak. He can't bring himself to voice his true feelings. If he does, there's no going back. If he admits how much you mean to him, how much he cares about you, he's afraid of what will happen.

He's afraid that he'll lose control, and that he won't be able to stop himself from telling you everything. From revealing how he truly feels about you. And that would be a disaster.

"Useless," he mutters. "I'd be useless. I'm supposed to be protecting you, and if you had died, I would have been a failure. I couldn't have lived with myself. So, yes, I'm questioning your judgment, and no, I don't think you're taking this seriously."

You're quiet for a moment, and Thorn takes a step closer, his hands on his hips. He's not sure why he's doing this. He knows he's overreacting, and he can't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. He needs you to understand, and he can't seem to keep his mouth shut.

"Commander," you murmur, "that's not—"

"If you'd died, it would have been my fault," he continues, ignoring you. "I would have failed you, and I would have failed the Chancellor, and I would have failed myself. And I'm not sorry. I'm angry. I'm pissed off. And I'm not going to apologize."

You sigh and lean back in your chair. "I didn't expect you to."

"Good."

"Look," you say, standing up and walking over to him. "I know you're worried, and I appreciate it. I really do. But I'm not some helpless damsel in distress, and I'm not going to stop living my life because someone wants me dead. If I did, I would never get anything done."

Thorn's jaw clenches, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I just don't understand how you can be so calm about this. It's dangerous, and I don't like it."

"That's not your choice," you point out, and he scoffs. "I'm not going to hide, Commander."

"Senator—"

"Commander."

"I don't care," he snaps. "I don't care what you want. This is about keeping you safe, and if that means you're not happy, then so be it."

You roll your eyes, turning your back on him and walking over to the window. You stand there for a moment, staring out at the city below, and Thorn watches as your shoulders slump.

"I'm not some pet, Commander," you say, glancing at him. "I have a job to do, and I'm going to do it." 

Thorn's eyes narrow, and he grits his teeth. "I'm not asking."

"I know," you say, looking back out the window. "But you can't stop me."

He opens his mouth, ready to argue, but you shake your head, cutting him off. "And I'm not going to fight with you about it. If you want to spend all your time worrying about me, that's your business. But don't expect me to do the same."

He scowls. "Senator—"

"Enough, Commander."

The words sting, and Thorn takes a step back, his face twisting in anger. "Fine," he growls, stalking towards the door. "If that's how you feel."

You turn, giving him a hard look. "It is."

He shakes his head and slams his hand against the door panel. The doors slide open, and he pauses, looking back at you.

"For the record, Senator, I do worry about you. A lot. And not just because it's my job. And I'll continue to worry, whether you like it or not."

Your face softens, and Thorn steps into the hallway, the doors closing behind him. He stands there for a moment, his hands clenched into fists, and then he lets out a frustrated groan, leaning against the wall.

He's an idiot. He's the biggest idiot in the entire galaxy.

He's never felt like this before, and he's not sure how to process his emotions. He's worried about you, and angry, and afraid, and he's so tired of arguing with you. But most of all, he's hurt. He thought that you understood, that you would listen to him. He thought that you would see that he's just trying to protect you. But you don't.

He doesn't know how else to convince you, and he doesn't know what else to do. He can't force you to change your mind, and he can't stop you from putting yourself in danger.

But he can try.

Thorn stalks down the hallway, his boots thudding on the floor, and he tries to clear his head. He needs to get his emotions under control. He's acting like a child, and he knows it. But he can't help himself. Why does he have to protect such an infuriating woman? Why does he have to want you so much? Why does he have to care about you so much?

He's been trying so hard not to let his feelings get the better of him, but he's failing. And it's only going to get worse. He can feel it. Every time he's around you, his emotions are in overdrive, and he's having a harder and harder time keeping them under control. He knows he should back off, but he can't. You're like a magnet, and he's drawn to you. He can't stay away. He doesn't want to.

And that scares him more than any assassin ever could.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

@marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino @silly-starfish

@floofyroro @veralii @chubbyhedgehog

[late-to-the-party-81]

Answer the questions and tag five fanfiction authors you know!

Thank you @metalbvcky. NPT for @mrs-illyrian-baby @doasyoudesireandlive @km-ffluv @labella420

🍓 How did you get into writing fanfiction?

As a teen I was a voracious reader and tried to write my own stuff based on other books I'd read. I also loved ST:TNG and wanted dearly to be in an episode and had lots of the books. I wrote my own ST stories with OC's (gratuitous self inserts), but they never went anywhere. In my late teens I read some Xena fanfic on the internet. But that was it for a great number of years.

At the beginning of 2021 I sat and watched the entirety of the MCU films in chronological order (I'd seen most of them before and was mainly a Thor gal.) I fell down the Stucky rabbithole. Deep. I decided to look up fanfic. AO3 was now a thing! I wrote (a very poor) Stucky fic and here we are, almost 3 years later

🍇How many fandoms have you written in?

As my ST stuff never made it further than my parent's old PC in the days of dial-up, I won't count it.

I've written for MCU, various Chris Evans and Seb Stan Characters and one fic for RWRB. I've been toying with writing a one-off Criminal Minds fic as a gift for a friend.

🍈How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Three in July since I first published anything on AO3.

🍎Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I try to balance it out. If I have a period of hyperfocus writing I try to then go through a period of reading. I read on both Tumblr and AO3, so try to keep that even as well.

🍌What is one way you've improved as a writer?

Getting betas to pick me up on tense changes, overuse of words and rogue commas. Reading more. Practising. Writing outlines for longer stories so I don't go off-piste.

🍑Do you have any bad habits as a writer?

Getting bored half-way through a long fic, especially if the first few parts haven't had a lot of interaction. Which is why I try to write the whole thing before I start posting.

🍍 What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Engineering courses at MIT and, for a separate fic, Violet wands, including the ways to use them and the differnt types of accessories you can use with them. I even watched a Youtube video.

🍉What's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

Any comment! Anything that gives me the validation I need!

🍐What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

I wrote a transformation into Tsum-tsum fic that was both cracky and smutty. That's pretty niche.

🥭What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Action scenes. I loathe them. I'm constantly wondering if they are long enough, and make sense.

🍏What is the easiest type?

Short things that are either PWP or fluffy slices of life.

🍑Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Mainly on my elderly laptop on G-Docs, and in every moment I can - normally afterwork before dinner and on Mondays when I don't have work.

🍋What is something you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

There are a few characters and ships I haven't written that I'd like to. And I suppose I'd like to write a proper long, over 100k fic at some point.

🍇 what made you choose your username?

When I made my AO3 account I felt as though that at 40, and only really starting in Fandom in this way, I was late to the party, so that is who I became.

[mikimakiboo]

Master post because why not

I wanna keep track of my own stuff lmao

Link to the art masterpost !

Latest update: 26/11

| Toxicity

Introduction post to my OC Toxicity !

@/sleepy-batz made an amazing fanart of him I'm in love + trick by @/mcnotok

Also put him in a pumpkin for Halloween

| Time Travelers AU

This one belongs to me !

A bad sans poly AU where they all come from different time periods and travel through time

Long ass reblog chain with all the lore so far

Backstories: Nightmare • Dust • Killer • Cross • Horror

Some silly thoughts :D ••• Dust listening to Tally Hall • The music they like • them getting drunk • what every friend group does • crossover with G&M AU • Nightmare writing books

First part ( the following parts will be linked in the posts :3 )

Checkpoints:

Part 5

| Incorrect quotes

I'm not not gonna link all of them lol, but you can find them under the "original post" tag or simply the "incorrect quotes" tag with the multiple ones I reblogged

| Some fics

Wheels of misfortune (disabled AU, Nightmare angst)

Muffins (Real Age AU)

Surprise Adoption (Real Age AU)

Just like them (no AU, Nightmare angst)

Tiny Menace - Tiny Steps Forward (Bitty Nightmare AU, related parts)

Your meat isn't dead, it's still moving (Ghost & Medium AU, Horror encounter)

You will be fine, now (16+) (Bitty Nightmare AU, angst)

Two for the price of one (Double Noot / Noot² AU)

Unexpected Visitors (Time Travelers AU)

Happier Somewhere Else (no AU, Nightmare angst)

| Disabled AU

The idea for the disabled au comes from @/unknownchoatic

Paraplegic Nightmare: first and second post that started everything, + wheels of misfortune

Aphasic Horror

ASD/Blind Killer

Schizophrenic Dust

Schizophrenic Error

| Gifts and Collabs

Every gifts and collabs I did for/with @/ancha-aus ! (the AUs all belong to her)

• Real Age AU

An AU in which Nightmare reverts back to his passive form (who is still six years old) and where the gang now takes care of him like their own child

We have two fanfics:

Muffins

Surprise adoption

And two fanarts here and here !

• Ghost and Medium AU

I simply wrote some interpretations of everyone's backstories :) so it's not canon ! (Unless she says so)

Biiiiiig post explaining everything (containing additional links)

+ fic Your meat isn't dead, it's still moving

In this AU you will find: medium Dust, ghost Killer, priest Cross, ghost Horror, demon Nightmare, and god Error

• Double Noot / Noot² AU

An AU in which Corrupt (aka Corrupted Nightmare) gets separated from Nightmare (aka passive Nightmare) who is still a child, turned out Corrupt was holding him without knowing it to give him time to heal

Reblog chain that kinda started it all

Fanfiction: Two for the price of one

| some headcanons

Not all 'cause I did so many lol and there's so much already omg

Holding hands (Nightmare)

Biting (Dream&Nightmare)

General Nightmare headcanons

Nonbinary Nightmare

Dream and Nightmare NSFW headcanon (not explicit but please be 18+)

Puns (Nightmare)

Nightmare's sexuality

Some Dream headcanon

Nightmare's bad eating habits

Fresh's soul

Kisses (bad sans poly/Nightmare)

Looking up to the grown ups

Horror feeding everyone

General headcanons about the mtt as a poly

Dreamtale twins' emotions affected by their aura

Nightmare and animals

Nightmare has automatonophobia

Nightmare's blind spot

Killer the yo-yo master

| Concepts

A weird crossover au idea inspired by HTTYD, featuring the Dreamtale twins as dragons for one and everyone as dragon-riders for the other

A story concept about the Bad Sanses being kidnapped by the Star Sanses

The Dreamtale twins being compared to the Viking Gods (Idunn, Baldr and Loki) + the twins' design

Nightmare trying very hard to cause negativity but it backfires and he creates positivity instead

Video game concept

| song analysis

Lifeline by Thousand Foot Krutch and Passive Nightmare getting corrupted

Take it out on me by Thousand Foot Krutch and the bad sanses

[keithsandwich]

Loss

Word Count: ~700

Rating: Teen And Up

Tags: Pregnancy, Parenting, Grief, Depression, Memory Loss.

Summary: The former King of Jade congratulates Maeve (OC) on her pregnancy, but the ghosts from the past are haunting him.

Notes: This was written in one sitting yesterday, and although I've edited a bit today, it may contain errors. Spoilers from Keith's route, but mainly some assumptions I'll mention in the end.

"Iris! Please!" Maeve shouted, to no ears. Both Iris and her maid had already disappeared into the garden. The kid was running relentlessly, the woman was trying to prevent her from going too far.

Meanwhile, Maeve sighed where she stood, beneath the shadows of the trees, with one toddler fussing in her arms and a baby kicking inside her belly. She rocked Aurora, attempting to calm her down. Back, and forth, and back again.

"Are you pregnant again?"

The calm voice startled her. She hastily turned to the former King and curtsied awkwardly while holding the little girl. He chuckled. No matter how many times he had told her there was no need for it, Maeve had never lost the habit.

"It just started showing." It had been six moons if her counts were correct. Her belly used to show sooner in the past, but now it had grown naturally round and soft even when she wasn't expecting. "I'm sorry, I thought the kids had already told you about their new sibling."

"I don't recall if they did," the former King said softly. His arms reached to take Aurora from hers. She was still wailing and kicking. Her grandfather started to rock her like Maeve had been doing, but with such gentleness he could easily be mistaken for Keith at a distance.

"I see... They must be used to it by now..." Maeve whispered with disappointment and looked away. Her hand touched her belly idly. In the distance, they could hear Iris laughing loudly as Aurora started to grow quieter.

"No, no, the fault is probably in my memory. It's not working as it did in the past, I wouldn't be surprised if they told me and I just... Forgot it. No offense."

His words captured Maeve's attention again. They looked at each other. Her interactions with the King had always been brief and stiff, although she knew he was a good grandfather -- way better than the father he had been. Having him somehow trying to comfort her was a rare thing.

"None taken. Don't worry about it."

"This is a good thing, you know? Having a big family. This is what we wanted, but..." his voice trailed off as gradually as Aurora's fussing, until they both fell silent. He reached for a flower from a lower tree branch and swirled it in front of her, sparking her curiosity and prompting her to reach for it with her little hands. "Sometimes I wonder if this is why... She passed so soon..."

"You mean...?"

"He knew of our plans. Three was easier to... To get rid of..." The former King looked at her, and in his tired amber eyes, she saw pain. Despair. A quiet cry for help. Maeve had heard that ever since Keith showed him the evidence of Fernand's guilt, the former King had been withering in grief; his mind so consumed by that that it started to weaken. The memories from minutes ago slipping away as he refused to let go of the memories from the past.

Maeve stepped forward, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"There's no way of knowing that. Don't torture yourself overthinking, please."

Then it all happened so fast. Aurora opened the cutest little smile with all of her four teeth and babbled with joy when she grabbed the flower, and Iris dashed in with her maid on her trail. "Granpapa! Granpapa!" she screamed excitedly, throwing herself against his long legs. If he weren't so sturdy, she could've thrown him to the ground.

"Iris, be careful!" Maeve tried to caution her daughter, but the former King used his free hand to tap hers lightly over his shoulder in reassurance. Then he leaned away from her touch to lift Iris up. The two girls giggled, safe in each of their grandfather's arms.

He turned to take a look at Maeve again. His gaze remained a little longer on her belly, as if intrigued by it.

"Oh, there's another one on the way, isn't there?"

Maeve gave him the most gracious smile she could.

"Yes! Yes, there is!"

End Notes: Okay, so, while during Keith's route it is said that he can't prove Fernand's involvement in Til's death, I have a feeling this is something that still can be done as his story is developed. And I assume it would probably be devasting for the King to know he's been blind for so long to the wrong deeds of his brother. Oh, and while Keith's mother passed when Mireille was born, in this fanfic the King is just being paranoid wondering if Fernand had murdered her too.

"Good, good. I should... I shall... I will congratulate my useless son later for doing one more thing right."

Taglist: @olivermorningstar @bicayaya @queengiuliettafirstlady @candied-boys @fang-and-feather @strawberry-scum @m-mmiy @hellecat @nightghoul381 @lorei-writes - let me know if you want in or out on my taglist!

[honeybewrites]

OC Facts Tag

Thank you @the-golden-comet for the tag and @sableglass for the tag!! Once again, sorry for the delay in tags!! Trying to get through most of them today and tomorrow, so wish me luck haha

Rules: Make a list of fun facts about your OCs. Like a headcanon list, if you will! Except it's actually canon lol.

Asset 703

-She doesn't like thunderstorms or small spaces. Both are a result of multiple traumatic situations. She can manage it most of the time though, more out of a necessity than actually coping. -She can and will sleep anywhere if she is not required to stay awake for some reason. Trees, the ground, the smallest spaces you can find. It doesn’t matter. -She keeps all of her things meticulously organized. This is more a habit drilled into her since birth from the Mors then something she does herself. -She's a big foodie, but you will never get her to admit it. She can’t cook worth shit, but she sure as hell will eat anything, especially if it’s good food *cough cough* Rage *cough cough*

Rage

-He is a fantastic cook/baker. He could have opened a restaurant if he’d wanted and it would have blown up so fast. People would kill for his food. -He is somewhat of a celebrity. The Airvix name is well known through Mirralia as a predominant family. Generally, he tries to avoid telling people his last name because of this. -He was actually the first person to come up with the technique he uses to see. It made news headlines and still to this day, he is the only one using the technique. -He is really good with kids. Whether it's in a clinical setting or just in everyday life, kids love him and he loves them. He'll sit at the kids table at Thanksgiving before sitting with the adults.

Fres

-They are a fashion expect and always look stylish. They have a massive wardrobe. Everything from dresses to suits and any kind of accessory you can think of. -They have a phenomenal singing voice, but they don't usually sing. They will often hum when they are absorbed in their work, but to hear them sing is a rarity and a treat. -They love their scars, even though the circumstances Fres got them under weren't good, they consider the scars an important part of them and often wear clothing that promptly displays the scars. -Fres loves plants! They are definitely a plant parent and their house is full of different plants, some extremely rare.

Tagging @yourpenpaldee @ominous-feychild @paeliae-occasionally @willtheweaver @nczaversnick and anyone else who wants to hop on!! Sorry for any double tags!! This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I'm sure some of you have already done it

[cozy-mp3]

hard feelings

abby x gn!reader

the aftermath of seattle is proving hard to deal with

word count: 1.6k(ish)

warnings: angst/hurt + comfort, abby is bad at processing feelings and so is reader, they're trying tho!!!, everyone cries, lev is mentioned a couple times, mentions of nightmares, kind of canon compliant?, not intended to be ellie bashing, only briefly proofread

a/n: honey, i'm home :D i promise i didnt mean to be gone this long!! i just got out of the habit of writing + using this account, i'm sorry :( i wrote this to help ease back in to everything, i missed u all and i'm gonna devour all the stuff in the ellie + abby tags that i've missed tomorrow

abby is tired. she’s so tired she can feel the weight it, the way her limbs feel like they’re almost too heavy to maneuver, the way her mind feels fuzzy around the edges like she has to pause before each passing thought in order for it to make sense. she can’t let herself sleep though, because sleeping means she has to let down her guard. she knows couldn’t live with herself if something happened to you or lev, she couldn’t save her father or manny or owen, she couldn’t protect them and she lost them and she can never make that mistake again. 

a smaller, weaker, more ashamed part of her can also admit it’s somehow easier to sit out here on the deck, to watch the peaks of the cliffs for the shadowy figures of scars or wlf even though seattle is far behind you all. it’s easier to sit and watch and defend because that’s what she’s good at, she can’t listen to the way you and lev whimper in your sleep from nightmares, the way the two of you toss and turn and thrash to get away from things she can’t see. 

she doesn’t know how comfort you, she can’t lie and say everything will be ok, she’s never been good at lying to you and she’s hesitant to fill you with false hopes, even more so lev, to treat you both like you’re too slow to see some vague, distant goal even, if it would bring you some comfort. but she can do this, she can sit out here with her gun in her lap and a mug of shitty instant coffee by her side and protect you both so that you won’t have anything to add to the things that scare you from your sleep.

she startles when the door to the cabin open and you slip through, you footsteps muffled by your thick, fuzzy socks. she can almost pretend nothing over the past week happened as you shuffle over to her in your old checkered pajama pants and a hoodie that’s soft and worn and smells like the detergent they used at the stadium. she can’t ignore your tired eyes though, the way they’re bloodshot from lack of sleep and haunted in a way she hadn’t seen before the girl from jackson and her friends had come to hunt her down. this is the only time she’s ever been glad she’s argued with you, that she hadn’t given in to your instance that you travel to find joel with her despite the fact you were healing from an injury at the time. she doesn’t think she believes in god or whatever prophet the scars worship, but when she thinks about that day too long she knows she could get on her knees and thank whoever, whatever, for preventing you from going on that trip.

you hesitate when you’re in touching distance from her and it takes you making a hesitant, aborted step towards her for abby to finally relax her posture enough to reassure you. she sets the gun down beside her cold mug of coffee, and with practiced ease, spreads her legs enough that they’ll be a comfortable cradle for your body before she holds her hand out to you. it doesn’t take long for you to get situated in her lap, your chin resting on her shoulder and your arms wrapped tight around her ribs, it’s a position you’ve been in countless times before.

“what are you looking for?,” you ask quietly, your voice tired and worn even to your own ears, it makes your brows furrow in discontent but there’s not much you can do to fix it. you shift and press your cheek to the firm muscle of abby’s shoulder, your eyes trained on the vast expanse of ocean behind her, it’s still dark enough that the moon casts a white reflection on the small waves that crest and break gently against the side of the boat.

“nothing,” abby replies, her head tilting so she can feel more of your skin against hers, you’re soft and warm and familiar in a way that makes an uncomfortable knot form in her throat, “there’s nothing there,” she continues, clearing her throat instead of acknowledging the urge to cry.

you nod, not quite knowing what to say in response to her so you shift one of your hands to stroke the tense plane of her back instead. everything has been harder than it should be since you’d left seattle. you’d dealt with loss and pain before and you thought you’d grown out of nightmares about people and what they could do to you, it’s frustrating, feeling these emotions that you’d dealt with so easily before threatening to overwhelm you the way they are.

“you should be in bed,” abby tells you after a few minutes of silence, the continued lapping of the water at the hull of the boat and your combined breathing the only sounds in the quiet still of the night.

“so should you,” you counter, shifting backwards on her lap so you can look at her face, your hand cupping her jaw, “come back with me?,” you question gently as you stroke the pad of your thumb over the skin beneath her right eye, she has tired bags that look dark enough to be bruises and the left side of her face is partially covered with gauze to protect a cut that you know hurts more than she lets on.

“i can’t,” she starts with a frustrated pinch between her brows, “i need some fresh air, i’ll come in later,” she sighs, unable to bring herself to tell you about the way her chest seizes with anxiety whenever she isn’t within arms reach of a weapon, that she convinces herself that behind every hill and peak along the coast the sniper who killed manny is waiting to take you away from her too.

“then i’ll stay,” you say, ignoring the long, suffering sigh abby lets out at your response as you lay your head against her shoulder again, “i feel better when i’m with you, so i’m staying,” you add softly to quieten whatever argument she was about to level you with, though you question if your honesty was the best response when her arms tighten around you and she makes a choked sound in the back of her throat.

“don’t say that,” abby mumbles, her lips brushing your hairline and her eyes burning with tears, “god, please don’t say that,” she says a little louder as she shakes her head, “this is all my fault, i ruined your fucking life, you should hate me,” she continues and with a start you realize she’s crying, her tears falling hot and wet against your skin.

“oh, abby,” you whisper and once again you curse the way your mind seems to want to work against you, the way you can’t come up with comfort for her the way you could before, “i don’t blame you for any of this, abby, listen to me,” you plead, your hands desperate as they find her jaw once again, your fingers clumsily wiping away her tears, “listen to me, abigail, none of this is your fault,” you persist as sympathetic tears sting at your own eyes.

abby doesn’t reply, though she allows you to guide her head against your shoulder, to rub soothing circles into her back and hold her against you as she sobs. you find yourself carding your fingers through her hair the way you would after a rough patrol, your nails scratching lightly at her scalp in a way that used to make her sigh in contentment but now only makes her cry harder.

she cries for long enough that your knees are beginning to get stiff where they’re bent either side of her, but the pain is dull enough to be ignored, especially as her sobs quiet down into strangled, hiccuping breaths that she lets out against your neck. you don’t force her to speak but you do steer her head away from you, just far enough that you can use a knuckle to wipe away the tears that cling to her lashes and to the tops of her cheeks.

“i love you,” you tell her a few moments later as she reciprocates the gesture, her calloused thumb brushing away the wetness on your cheeks, “i’ll always love you, ok?” you ask, using your hold on her jaw to finally force her eyes to meet yours so she can see that you aren’t just placating her.

“i love you,” abby replies, her eyes red rimmed and puffy but her gaze genuine and steady on yours, even as you bend down to kiss her forehead, “god, we’re a mess,” she mumbles with a wet laugh after she’s pressed a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, her grip on you loosening as you stand up and tuck her hair behind her ears.

“it’s ok, we’ll work it out together,” you reassure her, giving her the best smile you can muster, weak but honest, “come back to bed with me?,” you ask again, wrapping your fingers around her wrist to gently tug her to her feet. she makes a face like it’s painful but allows you to help her to her feet and lead her inside the cabin, her steps clumsy enough that it gives away her exhaustion but willing to follow you regardless.

it’s warm and dark inside despite the dawn that was lightening sky you’d left behind and lev’s sprawled out across the mattress you share, his breathing deep and slow as he sleeps. it takes a moment to manoeuvre yourself and abby around him without waking him but you manage, settling under the covers and letting abby tuck your head beneath her chin. she insists on sleeping with her back to the door and you’re both so exhausted that you can’t fight her, but as you close your eyes you promise yourself you’ll talk about it with her in the morning, all of it, you’ll work it all out.

[theysaidhush]

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

Chapter 1: Animal Farm

Pairing: Stray Kids x 9th member!OFC

Warnings:

I'll say this only once, this is the only warning you'll get. Future chapters will contain lot of smut (eventually) angst and fluff. Heavy topics will be discussed (idol life y'know) but I don't wanna spoil it. This story isn't for sensitive person? I don't know how to put it. Just don't read if you think you'll feel uncomfortable!

This is a x OC but will be tagged as a x Reader. I find it difficult to write properly about a character while worrying about making it inclusive and fitting my story. I don't really care about her name or physical apparence though so if you have any suggestion I'm up for it.

No pressure chill under the trees. Updates will not be regular as this story is solely for my entertainment and whenever I feel like writing it. Means that I'll keep on posting even if I don't have any feedbacks but also means that chapter lengths will vary to very short to more words. You can have many chapters the same day, depends on my life, but I don't really like short chapter so ill do my best.

"I am not being a pain in the ass."

"Yes you are."

"You kinda are."

Minho sent a chilling glance to the boy who was curled up next to him on the living room's couch. It was enough for Jisung to shudder. But the topic was serious, he wasn't about to change his opinion just because his hyung was giving him that look.

"No seriously, you really are."

"Okay."

Minho smiled and kept on doing what he was doing on his phone, ignoring everyone's stare - Jisung's stare particularly. The younger boy was looking intently at him, he was waiting for something, something he was sure his hyung would do. And he did. Like three minutes after. He blew through his nose, still looking at his screen.

"Ah! I knew it!"

"I really don't understand what's the problem. Has she done anything to upset you? We can talk it out like adults."

The couple on the couch looked up from each other and Minho stared at Chan intently yet silently. The leader couldn't really tell what was on the dancer's mind, and it was upsetting him to no extent. Any other day he would have brushed it off as Minho being Minho. The latter was a great friend, he almost considered him his brother, despite not knowing on the tip of his fingers the boy's small quirks and habits. It was a Jisung thing. But now, more than never, he wished he could know him a bit more, he wished for the other boy to let him in.

"I don't want to talk it out with you."

"Minho..."

Jisung's hush whispers was not a warning, yet, it felt like one. He was not scolding his Hyung, he was just trying to appease the tension. Chan's face was contorted in what people would consider anger, but Jisung knew better. He was frustrated.

"This is about the whole group, not just me. I didn’t come to you as a friend, Minho, I'm here as a leader."

And it might have not been the right thing to say. Because Minho frowned, and retreated into silence.

"What a mess." was Jisung's thoughts, his eyes drifting toward his leader’s, whose head was turned toward a silhouette standing in the hallway.

"No. You can't do this to us."

"You don't have a choice."

"We do! It's my group, our group, we've worked so hard to reach our goals and create the music that will fit us!"

Chan did not know what was more upsetting at the moment; the fact that he was having this conversation while he was sleep deprived - he would blame himself for that latter, saying that it was the reason he couldn't plead their case better - or the fact that he was even having this conversation.

"They've let you do your things, you know that Chan."

"No, they gave up on us, so we had to fight our way to the top! That's what happened."

The word 'top' was a far too big word for Chan, but one he had to use nonetheless to prove his case. They were enough. They were just fine.

"They..." his manager sighed and pinched his nose. The situation was getting out of hands and even he could not do a thing about it. But at the the end of the day, his job was on the line, and he had a family to feed. "They threatened to disband the group if you don't agree to the term."

"Just fine by then! We'll go elsewhere and keep on doing music together."

"You don't understand Chan, think it through! This is not a GOT7 type of situation, they'll take Stray Kids' name, your music, your brand and all that you've accomplished by yourself, and if you do try to prosecute them you'll lose. I've read the contracts, everyone's contract. You can't refuse."

"I can't - " Chan laughed and sat on his chair, running his hands on his face. "This is disgusting and despicable."

"I know, Chan, I'm sorry."

"They just want to make publicity, it'll bury us."

"I know..."

It was a one in a life time opportunity, the young woman really and truly understood that. She was considered too old to even sit in that room, she was told countless times. Yet, it did not change the fact that she was sitting in that room. The room where all important decisions were made.

She felt uncomfortable, growing uneasy, fighting the urge to scratch her skin off - one bad old habit. Her choices, her decisions; all of those were flashing in her mind like a broken tape, image and pictures of the times she spent practicing to be here - not that much, if you ask her.

Those people stare - those important people's stare was making her fidget in her sit, avoid eye contact. Were they testing her? Waiting for a particular reaction, the one which could get her out of here in a matter of seconds? The room was feeling too warm, she will sweat buckets if she doesn't go out. Right now.

"There you go. Miss?"

They did not even knew her name. It was a bit disappointing, but then again, she was just another someone wandering between those halls, wasn't she?

"Athéna."

"A- Axina..?"

"More like, Ah-thé-nah." she corrected their pronunciation with a soft voice, continuing, "You can google it."

But their glare was enough for her to shut her mouth and look at the ceiling. It was a fool idea to correct them, they were older, knew much more things than her. It was a little unnerving, this whole elder situation was a lot to get accustomed to in South Korea.

"Axina. Have you read the terms and condition of the contract?"

"I have."

"Any reclamation?"

She wanted to laugh at their face, but she couldn't. She did not had it in her to do that. So she nodded, pretending to be genuinely interested by their answer, even if she quite knew what they would say.

"Regarding the whole part of you managing my...image. I'd like to know if it concerns my hair too?"

"Yes, obviously. And your weight too."

Freezing cold in her bones. Was it because the window was opened? Or was it their stares? It was chilling nonetheless. It was sending her back into a period of her life where she had looked at her reflection days and nights to get a glimpse of her ribs and be satisfied with the view.

"Oh."

"You'll have to work on your Korean too, your pronunciation isn't that good."

"What are you?" another one asked, shifting through the page of the contract she had signed.

What she was. Not who. Not her nationality. But what.

"I'm French, mister."

"Great, it'll help with publicity oversea. Are you fluent in English?"

Why was she having this discussion with them?Wasn't she supposed to talk to the manager and the team helping Stray Kids? Why was she sitting in front of JYP's shareholder.

"I'm almost fluent. I've learned while traveling."

"What a shame. If she was prettier we could have scored partnerships with French luxury brands such as Dior or Channel."

"She'll be perfect for the role that will be given to her."

"I guess so."

"We're done with you."

Was it an animal farm? She never felt that disturbed by a conversation in her whole life. She shuddered, getting up from her sit as she grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt to pull on the lose strands. She couldn't help herself but rock back and forth on her feet - another bad habit of her that some even called weird.

"And stop doing that it's weird."

Chapter 2

[edgepunk]

OC Smash or pass

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

Tagged by @roseeway <3

Took me a while to pick which OC I wanted to do this, but I picked my Courier Six, Mrs. Ramona Fawkes

Basics:

Age: 38

Height: 176 cm/that's around 5'7''

Sexuality: well, she's bisexual, but she doesn't really think about her sexuality she's too busy trying to survive

Gender: she/they cowgirl yeehaw. Again, she doesn't really think about it, but she sometimes gets mistaken for a man bc of the way she dresses and doesn't mind being called a guy. so. take that as you will.

Extra: She knows some neat gunslinger tricks and doesn't mind showing them off. And she has a deep voice with a southern twang.

Ramona is very closed off and it takes some time and work to gain her trust, but it's worth getting on her good side, because she's incredibly loyal. Which comes with her bad habit of putting others' needs and wants before hers. She often avoids her own issues and rather deals with other people's problems.

Despite her closed off nature, she's pretty easygoing and cracks a lot of jokes in a sarcastic manner. You feel like you can talk to her about anything and she won't judge you, but you'll soon realize that you don't know anything about her, because she doesn't talk much about herself. There's a lot of baggage she refuses to share with others, unless she learns to trust you.

While she might not be the most morally righteous person and doesn't mind drilling a bullet between someone's eyes, she still believes there's good in people and tries to find a more peaceful solution before she reaches for her revolver. You could say she's this grizzled gunslinger with a heart of gold and one of the fastest hands in the Wild Wasteland.

And I'm too lazy to tag anyone, so if you wanna do this then consider yourself tagged.

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 22

And here's the final chapter of Part 2! Thank you to all who have taken the journey with me so far, I'm trying to make the slow pace as worth it as possible (even though it's taken me over a year to start the actual plotline *sweats*) Chances are I'll disappear for a while again, but that'll be because I'll be putting my all into Part 3. Enjoy! <3

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls end up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Kili x oc/reader - Fili x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 5622

Warnings: Swearing.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Want some background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 21 // Chapter 22 // Part 3

Part 2: Chapter 22 -

Rearranging furniture.

Psithurism (Definition): The sound of wind in the trees and rustling of leaves. (Noun / Origin: Ancient Greek /sith-yuh-riz-uhm)

Bag End, Hobbiton, The Shire – T.A. Saturday, 23rd April 2941 of the Third Age (Monday, 3rd Thrimidge, 1341 in Shire-reckoning)

11 MONTHS LATER

“WOAH, Griffo! I told you not to go for the head!” I yelled, watching the small hobbit child scamper into the bushes with his wooden sword, giggling to himself. Letting out a harsh sigh, I marched off after the troublemaker.

Almost a whole year had passed since Bertie had found those horses in the field, and eight months when he had officially declared them ours, shoving the oversized reigns he had found into our hands the second he had found them. We rode them whenever we had the time, learning the reigns – literally – though it took a lot of getting used to. It was difficult in the beginning, trying to understand how the two animals ticked, and how we were to balance on them; I had only ever ridden a horse two or three times during my life on Earth, and I didn’t even know about Kay, so this was a whole new experience for the both of us. But we learnt, and now Hecate and Calhourn were a perfect addition to our growing group.

It wasn’t just that, there were also physical changes. We hadn’t grown, no, but our bodies were changing.

Despite my chronic habit to sleep in for as long as possible, we had kept up with the exercises and training Seathan had drilled into our minds. Our muscles had developed, not extremely, but enough to be seen by the weight we had lost. Not only were we thinner, leaner, but also fitter. I personally was no longer losing my breath after about 20 minutes of hardcore exercise. Our hair had grown longer; we trimmed it a few times to rid of any split ends, and I had Gladiola cut my fringe and curtain bangs back in a few times, but the rest of my straight brown tresses were now reaching my lower back, and Kay’s copper waves reached her elbows. With our earnings from work, we had also paid Gladiola for some new outfits, and our wardrobes were getting fuller by the month.

On the topic of magic. After almost a year and a half, from getting our wands to practicing it in ‘our’ clearing, we had a several spells memorised between us, and a larger amount written down in my growing grimoire and spell books. The shelves in my room had filled, jars of herbs and other random ingredients that could be used in the cauldron Kay had gifted me for my birthday.

Despite the short amount of time, we had also increased our skills in sword-fighting, having upgraded from the wooden swords to the blunt steel ones, becoming familiar with wielding the heavier versions, and hopefully to the real thing once we paid Seathan another visit.

Right now, we were in the clearing, accompanied by Mrs Greenfoot’s kids. Menegilda was shyly letting Kay show her how to upper-swing with the wooden sword in her hand, along with her much more excitable younger sister, Berylla, who was currently spinning in circles as she flailed her own sword around. I was managing the other five as they pretended to battle each other, the boys – Rothad, Griffo and Madoc – against me and the other two girls – Melba and Lalia.

Us girls were winning. Until Griffo decided to adopt guerilla warfare tactics.

“Griffo I need you to stay in my sight. It’s your mum’s rules after all!” I called out, trying to peer through the leaves and branches of the bushes.

“He just wants you to follow him so he can scare you.” Said a young voice, and I looked down when I registered the feeling of a tiny hand gripping my knee, to see Lalia peering up at me with an exasperated look. Turning to the bushes, she raised her voice. “Griffo! We’re leaving without you and I’m telling mummy you ran off by yourself and broke a rule!” When she was met with silence, she called out again. “AND I’LL TELL TURPIN TO NOT INVITE YOU TO HIS BIRTHDAY PARTY!”

A moment of silence passed. But nothing could be heard apart from the chirping birds and the light wind rustling the leaves on the trees.

With a sigh, I patted Lalia on the shoulder. “Stay here, I’ll go find him.” And I reluctantly pushed my way through the branches, trying to ignore the way they snagged and scratched at my skin and clothes. Finding a small parting, I carefully knelt down, giving the ground a quick scan as I searched for any thistles or nettles before placing my hands down and began crawling my way through the undergrowth.

Hearing a giggle in the distance ahead, I sighed once again in exasperation and pushed forward. I tried not to hiss whenever I accidentally pressed my hand down on a gnarly fallen branch or thistle, ignoring the tiny beads of blood that grew in number on my palm. Eventually, the bushes began to thin, and it wasn’t long until I was in another clearing. Pushing myself up, I brushed any loose dirt that wasn’t already stuck to my now-stained dungarees, and scanned the area for the small hobbit boy.

“Griffo!” I called. “C’mon this isn’t funny! Your mum’s going to be really upset when she finds out what you did.”

Worry began to settle in my stomach when I was answered once again with silence, and I scanned my eyes over every bush to try and find where he was hidden. There was a tree up ahead, its branches low enough for someone 2-3 feet tall to climb onto, I marched over to it, but was stopped halfway there, frozen in my tracks, when my eyes met some very familiar green ones.

Up on one of the twisting branches, about level with my head, was the black cat, and my mind raced with flashbacks of that night I was chased through the woods, adrenaline beginning to rise as the memories returned.

Taking a cautious step forward, I eyed the cat wearily as it flicked its tail.

“You haven’t taken Griffo this time, have you?” I asked, half-jokingly, my hand unconsciously coming to grasp the wrist where my Grandad’s bracelet was clasped around.

All it did was continue to stare, slitted eyes shifting minutely as they darted slightly over my face, and I went to inch myself closer, arm raising slightly.

 But just my luck, the still air was suddenly broken by the sound of a war-cry, the bushes to the side of me shaking violently until Griffo burst out, his sword raised as he charged at my leg, whacking and hacking at whatever he could reach.

“Oh for – Griffo!” I cried, kneeling down to grasp at his small shoulders in attempt to calm him down. “What on Earth were you doing disappearing off like that?!”

The boy soon calmed down, attempting one last slap as he looked up at me through his brown curls with wide eyes.

I sighed. “Look, I’m all for you playing however you want, but you need to do it where I can see you ok?” All he did was stare, so I added on. “If you try something like this again, it’ll be Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that’ll be looking after you from now on.” I stated firmly, giving him a stern look.

This seemed to do the trick, as the boy let out a string of panicked ‘no, no, no!’s as he scurried off back in the direction of the clearing. I went to follow, but paused, turning my head to look back at the cat. Only to be met with an empty branch.

Gone. I was alone once again, the cat had vanished – leaving me with the wind rustling the leaves in the small clearing and the sound of the hobbit boy’s retreating footsteps.

Shaking my head, I jogged to catch up with Griffo, the hobbit thankfully taking a path that allowed me to stand up as we both returned.

When we did, he returned to normal, letting out another battle cry as he charged at Lalia, who was patiently waiting for the two of us. Letting out a squeal, she sprinted away as fast as her little legs would carry her, and the battle between the five rallied up again tenfold.

A quarter of an hour had passed when I found myself on the brink of exhaustion, and Kay had graciously offered to take over the battle, to which I gasped out a thank you, swapping places before I was overrun again by tiny, hyper children, and asking the slightly calmer, elder siblings if they wanted to learn archery.

--

Crouching behind Menegilda, I watched as she nocked the arrow and pulled it back as much as her strength would allow. It had been about half an hour, and she was yet to hit the target hung on the low branch, the arrows of her previous attempts littering the grass in front of us.

“Ok, just make sure your left arm is straight, and you’ve pulled it so your three fingers are brushing against your right cheek.” I urged gently, watching as she pulled the string back a little further, her arm trembling slightly with the tension. “Your feet are alright, so just make sure you release it as quickly as you can, so your grip doesn’t slow it down.”

With a shaky breath, she gave a slight nod, her large blue eyes remaining focused on the target directly ahead, trying to ignore the curl of hair that the wind brushed over her face. A sharp thwip whipped through the air, the arrow a blur as it crossed the distance. A second passed, and hit the target with a thunk.

Despite the arrow only hitting the outer ring, it was enough for Berylla to let out a whoop of victory from where she stood next to the girl, throwing her arms in the air before embracing her older sister, who returned her enthusiasm with her own shy smile.

“Well done Gilda!” Kay called from across the green as she headed over, the pretend-fight having ended just a minute ago. Leaving the other kids to catch their breath, she approached the three of us, though Menegilda and Berylla soon pattered off, joining their siblings to celebrate Menegilda’s progress. Stood at the edge, we both watched the seven of them chatter away.

“They’re learning well.” Kay commented, huffing in satisfaction.

I hummed in response, prodding at the tiny stab wounds on my palms that had now scabbed over. “As well as we can teach them. But we’ll all get better over time.”

Kay paused in thought, staring at the ground as she leant on the tree behind her, twisting her upper body slightly to face me. “Speaking of time, do you know what day it is?”

My brows twitched into a light frown. “You know what, I really don’t.” I looked over at her. “I forgot to write the date down once around late February and ended up losing track since. Why do you ask?”

She went to open her mouth, but snapped it shut as she regarded me with a look of confusion. “Have you seriously spent over two months not knowing what day it is?”

“I know what day of the week it is!” I shot back, slightly offended. “I just haven’t had the need to know the specifics.”

She sighed. “Maybe you needed to know because of what’s coming?”

I smacked my lips as I realised. “Yeaaa I should’ve kept that in mind.” I muttered regrettably. “The only thing that reminded me to check was the fact that Gandalf and Thorin should’ve already met in the Prancing Pony on the 15th March. To be honest they could all be on their way right now.”

“It could even be today and we’re completely unprepared for it!” hissed Kay quietly, as to not draw the attention of the children metres away.

“You’re not the only one who’s beginning to shit themselves, cause I don’t know when Gandalf is going to show up and if he shows up at all.” I uttered with wide eyes, not hearing the light patter of small feet approach me.

“Shit.” It parroted.

“Huh?” My eyes darted around in confusion, briefly meeting Kay’s as she also scanned the area, though hers quickly landed on something on the other side of me, and I twisted my head, looking down to meet the bright blue and very round eyes of Melba blinking up at me.

“Shit.” She chirped with a toothy grin, her dark curls flopping round her face as she bounced on her feet. Kay snorted from beside me as I immediately began to panic.

“Oh – crap. Mel-Melba! Melba.” I stuttered, dropping to my knees to become eye level with the tiny girl. “That’s a bad word – you can’t say it unless you’re a grown-up.”

She pouted. “But you aren’t a grown up. You only turned nineteen in August!” she protested with a whine.

“That’s because I’m not a Hobbit, darling. We grow up quicker because we’re humans. Promise me you won’t say it?” I pleaded, holding out my pinkie finger as an offering.

A couple seconds passed as the girl glanced between my face and outstretched finger, clearly debating whether or not she was willing to listen. But to my relief, she grinned, hooking her finger with mine, just as we had taught her and her siblings months ago.

“Okay! I won’t say it ever again!” she stated proudly, and she swiftly dashed off to join her siblings, though I highly doubted she would remember her promise for long.

“Wow.” Was all Kay could vocalise from behind me.

“Hush.” I retorted, pushing myself up from the ground. “Let’s head back – it’s still mid-morning so we can ask Bilbo what day it is just in case.” I suggested, trying to change the subject.

Nodding, Kay pushed herself away from the tree, marching across the clearing to where Calhourn and Hecate were roped up munching on the grass by the outskirts. Following suit, I called out for the kids whilst scooping up our weapons, who despite their whining about the session being cut short, they reluctantly trudged over, putting any belongings back in their packs and slinging them over their shoulders.

After much squabbling, the kids worked out who’s turn it was to ride on the horses with us. Madoc and Berylla were victorious, after much debate (and protests from Griffo). The rest ran ahead down the path, screaming battle cries as they brandished their swords, apart from Menegilda who was calmly leading the way as eldest sister as usual.

Keeping to the left of the path, we politely kept our horses out of the way of the locals walking past, who still craned their necks up to glance at the towering animals, then at the wave of loud, lively kids with a nervous or distrustful edge, despite us having taken them around town on numerous occasions – if not all the time.

Whilst trying to keep Berylla from squirming from where she sat in front of me as we rode over one of the bridges, my ears perked up at the sound of my name being called. Turning my head, I watched Kay nudge Calhourn into a brisk trot, hooves clacking against the stone then grass as she lined herself up with me, until we were riding side by side.

“We should probably think about packing as soon as we get back.” She suggested.

“Oh, definitely.” I agreed, failing to realise that we were being listened to by two intrigued children. “I’ll try and see if that undetectable extension charm will work on our bags.”

“Why are you packing??” “Are you leaving us?!” exclaimed Rothad and Berylla, the two of them trying to twist in their spots to face us with wide glossy eyes.

“Nononono, guys it’s fine.” Blurted Kay in an attempt to calm the two before their siblings overheard. “Nothing’s happening, we’re just talking about packing some furniture away, aren’t we Kate?” She eyed me expectantly, and I quickly nodded along.

“Ye-Yea! It’s nothing for you lot to worry about.” I agreed with a shaky laugh.

In the next twenty minutes it took to reach Gladiola’s house, we had spent it trying to convince the two that everything was alright before they fell off the horses in a panic. Eventually the squealing kids we’re received by their father, who ushered them inside, giving us his thanks. Though we could only give a short reply, when Melba had proudly stated to her dad that she had learnt a new word, and we immediately took that as our cue to flick the reigns and canter away as fast as politely possible.

Returning Calhourn and Hecate to the stables, we tossed a quick hello to Bertie, before trudging on foot back up the hill to Bag End.

Reaching the gate, Kay briefly checked the letterbox for mail, and we tiredly hauled ourselves up the stone steps, dropping our bags on the floor and dragging them behind us as I pushed open the large green door.

Wandering further into the house, I waited in the hallway as Kay ran to her room, snatching up her leather backpack, before rejoining me, and the two of us ducked through the hallways, crossing the house until we reached my bedroom.

Sitting cross-legged on my bed, the two of us laid our bags out between us, and took our wands out. Reaching over to my bedside table, I grabbed my soon-to-be-full spellbook, the pages now slightly crinkled and unable to lay flat after months of use.

“Ok,” I breathed. “So I’m pretty sure the charm is Capacious Extremis, and we just need to visualise how big we want the space to be.” I explained, Kay nodding along with me. “Now, this is a stupidly complex spell, so the chance of it working first try is low, so we’ll keep doing it until it works.”

With a snort, Kay rolled her eyes. “Or until it backfires and we blow the house up.” She remarked, shifting into a more comfortable position as she picked her wand up and pointed it at her bag.

“Probably.” I shrugged. “What size are you going for?”

“Umm, like probably about the equivalent of three of four large suitcases?” She answered. “And let me guess, you’re expanding yours to the size of a house?” She stated expectantly as she looked down at my briefcase.

I side-eyed her. “No.” I guffawed. “I’m only putting in a few rooms.”

She held back a laugh. “Of course you are.”

The attempts we made to successfully complete the spell were… entertaining, to say the least. At one point, instead of expanding the inside, Kay accidentally expanded the whole bag, the object growing in size so fast it ended up whacking me in the nose, and I spent the next five minutes bent over the bathroom sink as I waited for the blood to clot up as Kay desperately tried not to laugh. I was no better, when sparks ended up flying out the end of my wand during my third attempt, and we both had to quickly flap our arms about to stop them before they landed on the quilt and set it ablaze.

The both of us sighed in relief when nothing extreme happened on Kay’s fifth attempt, unclipping her bag to see that the spell had finally worked, peering down inside to see a space much too big to be physically able to fit in.

Mine worked on the sixth attempt, seeing as I was aiming for a much larger result. Laying the large rucksack on the rug, I unclasped the buttons and zips and swung open the flap, pulling the opening wide to reveal a steep set of wooden steps, leading down to what looked like the inside of a small wooden hut.

“I take it that Newt Scamander’s briefcase was the inspiration for this?” Kay remarked.

I grinned as I gave her a nod, before twisting myself around to reach my foot over the threshold, testing the planks as I cautiously made my way down. As my feet touched the floor, Kay poked her head over, leaning her torso in slightly to have a peek around.

Shuffling about, I inspected the rows of shelves and drawers that lined the walls, pulling my finger at the odd handle to check the space given. Creaks came from behind, as Kay made her own way down, coming to join me as she revered at the results I had luckily achieved. Her eyes landed on a door opposite the ladder, and she stepped towards it. The brass handle was shaped like an outstretched bird’s claw, waiting patiently for someone to grasp it. Turning her head, she silently asked to open it, and I nodded in response, watching as she curled her left hand around the shape, twisting it until the latch gave way and swung the door open.

Inside revealed a short hallway, barely a couple of metres, which led to two further doors with matching handles; one opened to a small room, that looked a bit more like a pantry, with shelves and cupboards lining the walls, along with some brass hooks on the ceiling to hang the odd thing, then a long table in the middle. The other room was quite bare, but had a small wardrobe and chest of drawers attached on one side, and a spindly three-quarter size wooden bedframe on the other with a matching bedside table.

“You’re not planning on sleeping in here?” Kay asked, a little concerned. “Because I think some people might be a bit jealous.”

“Oh, no.” I replied with a shake of my head. “That wouldn’t be fair. I was planning out this layout with the long term future in mind, not just what could potentially happen soon. This is only a backup for some other time.”

She nodded slowly. She spoke, and I hummed in question. “We’re doing some pretty advanced magic right now. We’ve learnt in a year what others would in almost a decade.”

I whirled round to face her. “It’s called being insane at everything.” I grinned.

She scoffed with a matching grin, lifting her hand up, to which I high-fived with my own. “Clearly.”

“Of course.” I answered obviously. “Now, we need to pack asap. Do you know what you’re bringing?” I pointed at her, waiting for an answer.

Kay put her hands on her hips. “Yep. I’m taking the essentials along with some precious keepsakes. And you’re bringing everything but the kitchen sink.”

I glanced around sheepishly. “Pretty much.”

She shook her head, stepping out the room. “I mean, you did prepare for it.” She said, gesturing to what was around her. “Now get cracking, I know how long you take.”

I gave a small salute. “I’ll get on it.”

--

The call of the early morning birds filtered through the crack of the paned windows as per usual, and as routine, I blinked in an attempt to clear my bleary eyes against the sun rays that glowed against my face as I tried to make out my brown hair in the mirror, running a soft bristled brush through it.

Gently placing it back on the dressing table, I stared emptily into my reflection, fixing the lace collar on my nightgown before pressing my eyes shut, as sleep had yet to lift its hands from my head.

My ears perked up at the sound of my bedroom door being opened, and I slowly turned my head to squint tiredly at whoever was stepping though the doorway.

I watched as Kay made her way over to my bed, already fully washed and dressed as she hauled a pile of random objects onto my bed.

“You’re never up this early.” I groaned, resting my head on my hand as I turned slightly in my seat to face her. “The only time I’ve seen you up before me was to get ready for that 7am flight to France.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She answered as she turned to face me. “Bilbo was up before me to visit the early market, so I took the liberty of nicking some of his stuff.”

Now my eyes were fully open. “You what. Why didn’t you invite me?”

She sat herself down on the quilted duvet. “I did earlier, but all I got was snoring in reply.”

Too tired to retaliate, all I gave was a pouty frown, turning back to the mirror to reach for my mascara that I had remembered – by some miracle – to use the duplication spell on (Geminio – a lifesaver when you realise eyeliner isn’t popular in Middle Earth), otherwise I would have ran out six copies ago.

Brushing the black paste onto my lashes, I look over at Kay through the mirror. “What did you get?” I asked.

“Just some things he would consider ‘essentials’ that he would forget.” She replied, rummaging through the small pile next to her. “A hat, some money, couple of books and random keepsakes he could look at.”

“Did you add the handkerchief?” I added.

“Of course I got the handkerchief, plus six more.” Kay remarked, and I felt the impact of something soft and light on the back of my head. “Saves us that awkward moment and his first impression with them.”

Slotting the mascara wand back in its bottle, I twisted in my seat to lean down and retrieve what had been thrown against my head, the object revealing itself as a finely-made handkerchief. Picking it up, I ran the soft material between my fingers. “Do you think he’ll notice these things gone?” I questioned, chucking the cloth back at her.

Raising her hands, Kay caught it. “My best guess is that Gandalf is gonna show up over the next few days, and Bilbo owns at least twenty of these. But knowing our luck so far? Yes.” She answered with a tired look as she placed the handkerchief back on the pile.

Standing up, I stretched my arms above my head until I felt my spine let out a series of pops. “ ‘Course.” I groaned, flopping my arms back down. “So why’d you bring them here?”

Standing up, Kay lifted the pile of stuff and hauled it into my unsuspecting arms. “You have the bigger bag, so I need you to hide them in one of your millions of drawers.”

Attempting to balance the load in my arms, I nodded, before padding over to one of the corners of my room, where the accursed wardrobe stood, and where my bag now sat slotted between the wall and that tall piece of furniture.

Placing the pile on the floor, I lowered myself on my knees as I dragged the bag out, trying my best not to jostle it too much and being mindful of the contents that were now sat within. Calling over my shoulder, I told Kay I would join her for breakfast soon, she agreed, and I listened as the door was swung shut with a click, the muffled sound of her bare feet against the wooden floor fading away as she ventured to the kitchen.

Five minutes later, after organising Bilbo’s belongings into one of the drawers, I found myself reorganising some of the herb jars. Sliding the last bottle in place, I stepped back, admiring my handy work. Almost everything I owned now lined the shelves of my bag, the remaining objects back up in my now bare-looking room being my everyday essentials that would be packed the morning we would leave.

Leaving. The thought of it made my stomach churn. Not in a bad way, but not quite in a good way either. Like the feeling you get when you’re at the front of a queue, about to step onto a ride you had never tried before at a theme park. Excited, but knowing that what is to happen might not quite be what you expect.

Swallowing the feeling down, I grasped the side of the step ladder and climbed my way up and out. I finished my morning routine, quickly washing in the bath and threw my shift, kirtle and skirt on as I braided my hair into two low space buns, finishing it off with a wide white ribbon over my head and tying it off with a bow underneath. Pulling my fringe and curtains bangs out from behind my ears, I twirled them into shape before heading over to the door, closing it behind me as I went to meet Kay in the kitchen.

Barely a few steps in, however, I was met by a spritely Bilbo.

“Ah! There you are!” He grinned as he marched over from where he came through the back door hallway (though it was more of a door that was round the bend further along the path), still in his blue overcoat as he handed me a straw-cloth sack full of something unknown.“ I thought about some furniture rearrangements for the parlour whilst I was out and could really use both of your opinions. But breakfast first! I heard Kay was making those pan-cakes.”

Slightly bewildered at the sudden onslaught of conversation, I blinked, nodding silently. Shifting the bag of itchy material in my arms, I followed him through to the kitchen.

After demolishing the stack of pancakes Kay had prepared, we wandered after the hobbit as he beckoned us into the parlour, now only in his green trousers, white shirt and golden waistcoat. “I’m not quite happy with the way it looks by the window.” He called out behind him. “I figured we could do some moving about to see if anything suits our fancy?”

--

“Right, Kay, could you just push the table this way.” Bilbo asked, pointing over to where he wanted to try it out next. “Try keeping the dishrags underneath the legs so you don’t scrape it –” The hobbit was abruptly cut off as he ducked, narrowly missing a wooden leg as he tried to not get hit by the floating chair that was flying towards him. “KATE! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT USING YOUR WAND INSIDE?!?!?”

I gaped slightly as I lowered my wand, the chair slowing down as it slowly approached the ground. “I was trying to help?!” I protested, trying to ignore Kay who was trying not to make a sound from where she was leaning over the table, shaking violently with laughter.

“You’re trying to incapacitate me, that’s what you’re doing!!” cried Bilbo, grabbing the chair as soon as it touched the floorboards beside him.

“Not on purpose.” I sulked with a frown.

“Clearly.” He remarked as he eyed me with a weary glare. Pausing for a moment he looked around. “Come to think of it, this arrangement looks nice.” He pondered, shoving the chair back under the table where it belonged. “Whelp! I’m off outside for a smoke.” He huffed, patting his trousers for the pipe weed hidden in one of the pockets. “You two can join if you’d like, it’s a lovely morning outside!” He offered, voice echoing through the hallways as he vanished off to fetch his pipe.

--

The sound of Hobbiton coming alive in the morning echoes over the hills, wagons being pushed and the chattering of neighbours as they hung out their washing mixed themselves with the chirping birds and rushing water. Kay and I were sat partially hidden behind some bushed in Bilbo’s front garden, and I tilted my head back to try and get the rays onto my pale skin.

 “I know we’ve been preparing for this trip for a while now, but is it bad that it makes me so nervous that I feel sick to my stomach sometimes?” I pondered as I leant back on my hands, feeling the blades of grass poke between my fingers.

“Not at all.” Kay replied from where she was laid next to me, an arm tossed over her eyes as she soaked up the early morning sun. “I don’t know how we keep forgetting to ask the date, but it’s causing me to wake up every morning worried that it’ll be our last day here.”

I hummed worriedly in agreement as I watched Bilbo’s smoke rings float above the bushes we were sat behind, the wisps fading into the air. Picking some dirt from under my nails, another thought came to mind.

“What if he doesn’t let us?” I muttered, aware of the hobbit sat on the bench out of sight a few metres away.

Kay made a confused noise. “Who?”

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Thorin. We’ve seen how he is, and there’s a strong chance he’ll say no. Hell, even Gandalf might!”

At this Kay pushed herself onto her elbows, squinting in the sun as she looked at me. “I highly doubt Gandalf will say no.” she whispered back. “Plus, Thorin wants an army to join him – he asked Dain after all – so chances are either us, or Gandalf – hopefully – will use that as the counter argument.”

My eyes flitted over the rose bush in front of me, listening to the sound of footsteps pass by as I thought it over. “You’re right, we’ll leave it to think about later.”

Kay nodded, and began lowering herself back down, when the sound of someone sputtering filled the air, followed by some throaty coughs. The two of us went silent, listening to see who was the culprit of the sound.

A few moments of silence passed, until it was finally broken by Bilbo’s wary voice.

“Good Morning.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[kaylinalexanderbooks]

OC interview

Thanks to @bloodmoonloveletter here, @mk-writes-stuff here, @illarian-rambling here, and @elsie-writes here!

Last did Wade here.

Doing Jazlyn now because I don't talk about her enough and I'd like to develop her character more!

Are you named after anyone?

“Nope. The one and only, girl. I'm just Jazlyn!”

When was the last time you cried?

“Oh, pfft! I don't cry. Maybe out of sheer boredom listening to Dr. Ass-ghar ramble on about her rules and how I'm not following them! Like, girl, I can't help that I have fire powers and lit something on fire! That would be like getting mad that Gabe got a little dirty. Oh, and her meetings are the wooorst. Yeah crying for my life in there.” [It was during Ewan's clarinet solo actually]

Do you have kids?

“Girl, what? I'm not even eighteen yet! Close... I'd love kids, honestly. A lot of them! I'd have so much fun with them!”

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

“Look, I know I come across as someone who uses sarcasm, but I'd rather just flat out say what I'm thinking. Why be like ‘wow that was so riveting’ when I could say, ‘this is the most boring crap I have ever seen in my entire life’? So much easier, no mental hoops. Besides, Ewan is the most oblivious to sarcasm I have ever seen.”

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

“Their confidence level. I can usually tell how someone feels about themselves based on how they stand. Posture is the key, but also what they're doing with their hands.”

What’s your eye colour?

“Brown. With some golden flecks when the light hits them right, according to Ewan.”

Scary movies or happy endings?

“Easy, scary movies. This question is stupid - they aren't opposites. However, nothing is more fun than a horror movie. Love getting the blood pumping. Yelling at the characters for being massive dummies is also the best. Horror is the most entertaining to watch with others. Ewan thank the Lord is also a horror enthusiast. We make a habit to have at least one or two horror movie nights a month.”

Any special talents?

“Oh, several. I am pretty athletic. Took cheerleading a while back and now I am on my high school basketball team. At first, I wasn't sure I would like basketball - my coach in middle school pulled me aside and recommended it due to my height, but I love it now. I am also getting pretty good at learning archery. Lighting the arrows on fire makes that more exciting. I am also pretty good at martial arts and my pyrokinesis. Working on breathing fire without burning my throat. Thank the Lord I have Wade to heal me so I can try again!”

Where were you born?

“I was born in flippin' Utah. I know--lily white state, you'd never guess. Ewan and I plan to move somewhere else once we can. Can you believe he was born in Alium? That ain't fair.”

Do you have any pets?

“Ewan and I plan to one day get a dog. We have been planning on moving in together for a while.”

What sort of sports do you play?

“Like I said, basketball. I would love to learn how to play this Alii fireball sport. It's very similar to basketball, but pyrokinetics pass around fire. That sounds like so much fun, man. Did you know they have to keep a healer at each game because not all pyrokinetics are immune to fire? And the audience can get hit too if they're not careful! This sounds like such a fun sport.”

How tall are you?

“I have finally passed six-foot-three. Alii heights are a blessing and a curse.”

What was your favourite subject in school?

“I hope you tell me PE counts as a subject cause I ain't saying anything else. School sucks, girl. I have gotten detention for the lamest reasons imaginable.”

What is your dream job?

“I would love to be in sales. Something about convincing people to do what I want is inticing. Planning on getting a marketing degree when I go to college next year.”

Tagging @leahnardo-da-veggie @eccaiia @mysticstarlightduck @monstrouswrites @mrbexwrites @gottestod-writes @willtheweaver @winterandwords @i-can-even-burn-salad @elizaellwrites @chauceryfairytales @somethingclevermahogony @faeriecinna + anyone else who wants to!

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

Blanks below the cut

Are you named after anyone? When was the last time you cried? Do you have kids? Do you use sarcasm a lot? What’s the first thing you notice about people? What’s your eye colour? Scary movies or happy endings? Any special talents? Where were you born? Do you have any pets? What sort of sports do you play? How tall are you? What was your favourite subject in school? What is your dream job?

^for an easy copy and paste

[tryslora]

Hi

Do you have any advice on dialogue and how to make it flow?

I'm constantly stuck with "he said as he looked away"

"He smirked and replied"

It never feels flowy

I don't write fics I mostly write OC stuff so I have to build around my characters to really put them together.

It's just having my quiet and stoic character respond to the hyperactive pyromaniac is hard because one doesn't speak much and the other speaks too much.

Or when my other two characters are in the conversation it gets all messy and hard to keep up with who is talking and what they're doing.

Maybe I'm just blind to my own writing and don't see everything I want to see, yknow?

Hullo, Nonnie.

I’m so sorry for taking so long to reply to this question! Life has been… a particular form of chaos for the last couple of months, and I’m trying to wrangle all my tasks under control now. Which includes keeping up with responses and blogging!

ANYWAY. You’ve asked a really great question, and I’ll admit, I might struggle to answer it.

I’m one of those folks for whom the personalities come first—complete with dialogue patterns and habits—before I get descriptions, setting, plot, or oh… anything else… so breaking down how to best make your dialogue snappy and flow means taking a step back from what I do and looking at how I do it.

This is going to be a mix of advice from how I do things, and advice I’ve adopted and found useful from other writers.

First and foremost: there are two parts to creating natural, flowing dialogue. One is the dialogue itself—the words the characters choose, and how they come out—and the other is the description around it (such as the dialogue tags you reference in your examples). They have different focuses, but both are important to how the text flows.

I’m going to drop a caveat here first, because it’s my downfall: we, as humans (and uh, especially those of us with ADHD, *cough cough me*), have a tendency to repeat ourselves. We also um, ah, like, y’know, a lot. Some of this is fantastic in dialogue. Too much can change flow into drag. So. With everything else I say, please take that into account as well. When I’m editing, I have been learning to trim out the spaces where I am saying or doing the same thing multiple times in a few paragraphs. BUT. That’s the important part—it can ALL be fixed in edits!

Let’s talk words first. You say you have quiet and stoic character matched up with a hyperactive chatterbox (a dynamic I enjoy). And you’re right, this can be tough when the stoic character is like “grunt” or “mm” or “yeah” and there’s nothing else coming out. BUT. This is true to the character and gives great insight—in this case, the character’s actual dialogue is going to come from their actions. So, we’ll get to that.

The thing with the stoic character is that every word needs to mean something. Every word they say is going to be solid and important because they say so little. It might even be overloaded. I’ll admit, with this kind of character, I love writing from their POV because I can put the few words out into the open, but let them ramble inside their own head (which yes, can sometimes be like pulling teeth). I get that flow out of their thoughts more than what they say. The freebie story I drafted for my newsletter subscribers is an outtake missing scene from my next book written from the point of view of my (more) stoic character in the book, because I wanted to play with that myself.

For the chatterbox, I’m curious—do they talk so much in order to hide what they’re really feeling? I know most of my talkative characters are spilling everything in order to hide in plain sight. After all, if you’ve left every card on the table, no one can claim you’re hiding something. Even if you are leaving that one important thing out (keeping a last ace up your sleeve), no one will notice in the glut of other information.

One way to handle this is to have the stoic character really listen and pay attention to what’s underneath all the chatter. Let them respond to the one thing that really means something in the flow of words, which might stop your chatterbox in their tracks. Being seen/heard can be a shock for the kind of character who lets it all hang out.

Let’s get back to those dialogue tags and talk about actions. Every character (every person!) has body language that does a lot of the talking for them. If someone’s arms are crossed, they might be resistant to and idea, or they might be cold, or they might be trying to hold themself still. One of the things I’ve done is to roleplay my character through a scene—move like they move, fall into why they say what they say, and what they do when they are not saying something to hold back. What actions do they take, and how can I put that on the page? Not just movement, but also what do they smell/see, what’s going on inside their head, and all the why involved.

And here’s the thing: sometimes “He says” is a valid way to do it. It’s okay. Let the dialogue do its thing and don’t worry. Remember, you can add blocking later, if you need it. 

Here, quick example from one of my serialized pieces:

“I don’t feel like I can talk to Hannah.” Nevaeh scrunches up her nose. “God, no, I don’t mean that I want to be involved with her. Just. She was so weird about Stevie, and I think she might get even weirder if I asked Liz out. And I don’t know if Liz is even ready to do dating things. Or if she’s into girls! We’ve never talked about it. Why is it all so weird and complicated?” That’s one thing Pawel can answer. “Because humans are gloriously complicated beings, and we have a tendency to take even things that could be simple and overcomplicate them by worrying at them. Anxiety, intelligence, fear… they all make things feel big. And these questions are both very big and very small all at once.” “Because labels are helpful, but not necessary,” Nevaeh says. “Because they make it easier and harder all at once.” “Yes.” He’s not sure if she really gets it, so he adds, “Follow your heart.” “Is that what you do?” No, it’s not. Pawel has too many things to weigh before he can make any decisions. His career. The kids in his care. His own son. There are so many variables in his life, and he hasn’t had any chance to just leap after emotional responses. Not since Conor was conceived. Not since Chelsea first disappeared. “When I can.” He glances sideways at her, away from where Alanna and Jennie have finally stopped their game and are on the swings. “I’m glad you feel comfortable talking to me.”

This is a chatterbox teen talking to the guy her two dads are trying to bring into their relationship. And Pawel is a chatterbox as well, but he’s definitely the kind who will talk constantly in order to not say a lot of things, which is illustrated by letting him ramble internally in the final paragraph of the example.

Also, they’ve been given a setting where they are both somewhat distracted by two of Neveah’s siblings playing at the park, so they have something to do. If I were better, I’d have included things about summer scents, the sky, etc. etc. in the descriptions (they are my downfall).

If you look at the dialogue, you’ll see that the sentences are all over the place in length. Long ones, short ones, and ones that aren’t much more than fragments. I try to echo how people really talk, but avoid the pitfalls of things getting circular or buried in extra words (except Neveah says “like” a lot and it is absolutely on purpose).

One of the biggest things for me is being inside the head of the point of view character. Being able to hear the things they don’t say can really help when it feels like they aren’t saying anything, and you a build a whole story in those subtleties. Kind of like having subtitles that interpret what’s happening rather than what’s said.

If you have a lot of characters, it’s going to get confusing—90% of the book I excerpted above included multiple adults on screen and 7 or 8 kids. It was chaos. People talk over each other. In those cases a simple “Neveah says” is the easiest tag. Let them talk, and let the dialogue shine. And if characters have quirks, let those shine, too. If someone’s screaming about sugary desserts in that book, it’s probably Jennie—no need for an attribution. Growling is Leo. Finishing each others’ sentences are Emma and Conor. Spattered with “like” is Neveah. Little quirks and details are things you can hang a lot on.

And just to say… yeah, we’re all blind to our own writing. It happens. We are so close to our own words that it’s hard to see them as words anymore. I usually have to set something aside for months if I want to do a truly deep edit on it, because I need to see it as Not Mine first. Then I can be objective. Do you have a reader? Either an alpha cheerleader, or a beta you trust? That’s the best. They can tell you if they trip over something, or if something feels stilted. Or if you’ve had someone shrug six times on one page (I certainly do that, like, all the freakin’  TIME).

And in the end, less is more. It’s okay to strip things back and focus more on sentence length and how words taste in your mouth if you read them aloud. It’s okay to write just the conversation first, then figure out how they move around each other while talking. It’s okay to write the blocking first, then fit the dialogue around that. Sometimes stepping back to one piece of the puzzle helps the other one shine in your mind’s eye.

I’ve rambled a lot, and I’m not sure if this is what you were looking for. And uh, again, I’m sorry how late this response it. I really hope you are still here and see this!!

Best of luck with your words, Nonnie. And remember: whatever you write today, that’s another step on your writing journey. It’s okay to delete them, edit them, love them, put them in a box for later… whatever you want to do. Just write them, and tomorrow write a little more. Even if this isn’t your final book, pieces of it will come back in another way later. I’m currently writing “fic” of people I’ve been building over the last uhhh thirty or so years. 

Enjoy your characters and your stories. And remember, everything comes with time. Keep writing, and keep learning. You’ve got this!

[irbcallmefynn]

Pinned Post for 2024!

A new year calls for a new pinned! Hi! I'm Fynn (you can also call me Fynni if you want)!

https://pronouns.cc/@irbcallmefynn <My Pronouns Page Furry, artist, autism+adhd+ocd+chronic anxiety (undiagnosed) so bear with me. I'm 20, so I reserve the right to be a freak! Despite that, this blog should be safe. I do have an 18+ sideblog but I don't wanna tag it here. I will tag things to the best of my ability when needed. If I have tagged something wrong, or forgot to tag something, Please Let Me Know. Send an ask or a message or something.

DNI lists don't really work. If I don't wanna see you here I'm just gonna block you.

I'd be careful if you're a minor. I tend to tag things as "#suggestive" fairly well, so block that if you don't wanna see that stuff and you should be fine. Especially since I have a separate 18+ blog now. If I do slip up and either forget to tag something or accidentally reblog something to or from the wrong account please let me know so I can fix it!

I'm Sex Repulsed (I do experience sexual attraction, but actual sex grosses me out), Polyamorous and Demiromantic (taken x2: @ricochete29 & @0rionslay <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 )

I'm Therian to some degree. I know I'm not a wolf or mantis or anything. Never have been. But I really wish I was anything other than a human. So Therian it is! I'm also Plushie-kin and Program-kin. Just feel like there's a lot in common between plushies and what I want to be like, and the dependence betwern programs and the machines they're on is my ideal type of relationship. I'm also Alterhuman, Please refer to me as a wolf or dog or puppy or bug or plushie it makes me happy :3 you can find my kinlist thing here

I try and stay out of politics, but sometimes I've gotta say something. So keep that in mind. If a political topic stresses me out to see constantly, I will block the tags/content. I am the master of my online experience, so if I'm seemingly ignoring a major political topic, it's probably because I don't want to stress myself out with it constantly.

I have three main OCs: Fynn (not to be confused with me. I took his name :3) is a he/him half demon wolf thing who magicked his mouth off and is basically the mascot of the blog. Nauno is a he/they avali and is extremely gay and very kleptomaniac and I love them. Euphi is a she/heart protogen that happens to be immortal for some reason. Click on their names to see their reference sheets! Click here for a link to the lore doc all about them and the world of Cosme! And click here for my truesona's ref sheet(s)!

And now, some tags. "#fynn art" is for all of my art things. Pictures mainly, little bits of music here and there maybe. "#oc lore" is for when I talk about the lore of my ocs (or worldbuilding for them). "#bedposting" is something I do every night, just kinda whatever's on my mind before bed (may be very weird so heads up). "#art rb" is just for when I reblog art, if I keysmashed a whole bunch in another tag it means I really love it :3. "#transfur" is for any furry transformation stuff cause I like that in sfw ways here. "#reblog forcing" is a tag I will use if I decide to reblog something that other people are aggressively trying to make people reblog by saying things like "You have to reblog this" or "Reblog this every time you see it" (stop doing this shit please, a lot of people have anxiety about these sorts of things).

FAQ (frequently-ish asked questions):

Do you take Commissions? No, and I currently have no plans to. I don't want to make money off of my art. I create for the sake of creating, not for fame or fortune. Unfortunately, capitalism means I need to make money or I will Fucking Die. So maybe some day I'll open icon commissions or something. I don't have any means of giving or accepting money online anyways, so that's not a possibility.

What does the IRB stand for? My real initials. My legal first, middle, and last name. It's a force of habit. If/When I get my legal name changed I will change the blog name.

Thanks for taking the time to read my pinned! Assuming you actually read it and didn't just scroll to the bottom. Regardless, I hope you have a nice day!

[quillswriting]

🕯 OC Most Likely Tag 🕯

I got tagged back to back by two cool people on here, so I'm gonna do the two posts together!

Rules

Answer with which of your OCs would be the most likely to do the following statement, then give new statements for the next person.

My Statements

Part One

Most likely to arrive ridiculously early.

Most likely to be in a relationship less than a week.

Most likely to secretly be really good at music, but just not tell anyone.

Part Two

Most likely to burn something while cooking.

Most likely to stop a robbery if they see it taking place.

Most likely to not tell people they're sick until they really need the help.

Your Statements

Most likely to bury a crush and ignore their feelings, but in a super obvious way.

Most likely to enable someone's bad habits and who they would enable if possible.

Most likely to bring home strays - whether it's stray humans, cats, dogs, etc.

🕯 Part One, from @paeliae-occasionally

Ft. My project.ties characters

1) Most likely to arrive ridiculously early.

Dr. Hilda Dahl hates tardiness with a burning passion and is compulsively early to everything regardless of the circumstances. She takes the phrase "if you're not early, you're late" and kicks it up to the next level.

2) Most likely to be in a relationship less than a week.

Fey-Lin Morgenstern is a mix of commitment issues and being a straight up ass to everyone he meets. Very few have actually even been in a relationship with him by his standards and even fewer he actually liked as more than a play thing. His favorite (in the future) is his relationship with Aiden Dahl, before children are in the mix.

3) Most likely to secretly be really good at music, but just not tell anyone.

Heather Kaiser is a brilliant woman and very academically oriented, also horrible with most music and art expect for pianos though she keeps it to herself. The only ones that know how well she can play the piano are Hilda, who taught her, and the twins Ingrid and Toril, who always listen to her play on the occasion she does.

🕯 Part Two, from @the-golden-comet

Ft. My project.survival characters

1) Most likely to burn something while cooking.

Folke Odjura can't cook to save his life since he was raised with servants doing all of the cooking and cleaning throughout the palace. He would certainly still try to, especially if it's for his younger sister Frida.

2) Most likely to stop a robbery if they see it taking place.

Demos Kattat has a very strong moral compass and is very confident in his skill set, even if he realistically can't accomplish what he wants to. He usually gets himself in over his head and has to be bailed out by various family members.

3) Most likely to not tell people they're sick until they really need the help.

Ikiri Linjal is fiercely independent and will refuse any kind of assistance even if she's bleeding out. She doesn't want to be thought of as weak, especially as an 'exiled' royal.

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