#and my darlings both real and fictional have been lovely with me through all of this

[cupidxkisser]

the whole arthritis thing sucks ass but I can't lie but it is nice at times just. thinking abt my f/os helping me wrap it, or doing the silly lil "kissing it better" thing. and even just... comforting me because I am still really upset abt it.

just trying to find some kind of coziness in something that's kinda scary for me, because despite all of my chronic pain issues, this one is just... the least ideal. and maybe I want to be held through it sometimes.

[justporo]

My new bestie, I honestly would love to see you write Father!Astarion 🤤🤤

How would he react to the news? Would he want a little girl or boy? How would he react when they are born, and they look just like him, but pre vamp eyes?

(Vampires can sire babies, with the highest chance after they are fully well fed)

Hello my tadpole bestie and thanks for the request! Astarion as a father really seems to be on people's minds, hm?

I get it, I like it too, but let me put this out there (yeah yeah, I know it's all fictional, but let's be real for a second): I would much rather imagine this when Astarion has done some much needed healing. This man hasn't had autonomy in two centuries and really needs to find himself again and work through trauma - with Tav on his side of course. And children are a huge responsibility - mentally, physically, emotionally, financially - I imagine (I wouldn't know, I'm not a parent...). I'd really wish for him to be ready for something like that.

But the thought is incredibly sweet, so let's go:

Headcanons about Astarion being a father

When Tav tells him she's expecting, he's truly speechless for perhaps the first time in his life; and then he can't sit still: swinging from delusionally happy to overthinking and being worried; but Tav takes his hand and reassures him that they'll be in it together

Has he thought about having kids? Yeah sure, but he'd never thought of it being possible until it happened, although when Cazador forced him and the other spawn to behave like a family he'd sometimes thought about what could've been

He's absolutely overprotective when Tav's pregnant: "Oh no, no, darling, you are not carrying that around, think of the baby!" "Astarion, it's A MUG OF WATER!"

Also he adores her body that is creating such a miracle: "You're glowing, my heart. You are truly a goddess!"

If he was handsy before there are now no moments where his hands aren't on Tav's body and on her belly

When he feels the first movements, he cries, and then Tav cries and then there's just a fountain of happy tears and lots of "I love you"s

He's taking such good care of Tav; especially when she doesn't feel well or when she's exhausted - she'll get all the herbal teas and massages

Birth though is scary - for both of them; but I'm sure he'll have some friends by his side (because think about the adventure troupe waiting with him while he's pacing the room like a panther: Karlach's biting her nails off, Gale's just blabbering to distract himself, Shadowheart is praying for everything to go well, Wyll tries to calm Astarion down (unsuccessfully), Lae'zel is unusually silent with crossed arms hoping everything will be okay, Halsin's keeping the group fed and all because "Nature will make it all right")

Boy or girl? Doesn't matter at all, all that's important is that Tav and the baby are healthy and ready to receive all his love

First time holding his child - he can't even cry because it's such a miracle; "This... this is the best thing I've ever had and created!"

The tears come later when you're alone - just the three of you

He's absolutely a very loving father, caring so much about his kid - and also equally taking on responsibilities and care with Tav

When the kid's eyes become their real colour and it sparks a memory Astarion had long forgotten, he's too stunned to acknowledge what he's seeing: the kid has his eyes - the way they were before he was turned

Later, when the child's already a little bigger he loves to show them stuff, teach them, read to them; also inciting them to go and annoy Mom - which makes Tav want to push him off a cliff but also hug him to death - because who'd have thought it would ever be possible?

Alright alright - I've gotten almost off the rails with this one. Because honestly, there's a lot to imagine there. Also maybe I wasn't prepared for the things that would make me feel (and I don't mean baby fever).

Alright, hope you enjoyed this headcanons, time for me to go to bed!

[novelizt]

I CAN BUILD A CASTLE OUT OF ALL THE BRICKS THEY THROW AT ME ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ angst + fluff, fake relationship

SYNOPSIS ➺ you recruit the daring anthony lockwood to stage a relationship that will rile up the press and give his company publicity.

WC ➺ 10.9k

DISCLAIMER ➺ actress! reader. the fic also sings the "all these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret" beat. lockwood calls reader "darling" and "starlet" because... you'll read why. i'm not sure if The Daily Gazette is a real thing. if it is, i mean no slander — this is merely fiction and I needed a publication name.

NOTE ➺ this is for the oldest/only child who takes on a lot for their family �� i see you. also, imagine the nick-priyanka chair pull; i like to think that it's lockwood and darling in a nutshell. my ideas were all over the place so this came out a bit messier than i anticipated, but it is lockwood content so i hope you enjoy! especially you, @t2sh0 !!

They say the brightest stars are the ones that burn out first. That was probably what the gazette was counting on, at least.

Ever since you stepped into the limelight, and shortly earned the title of London's Darling, they made a dime a dozen in making your business their business. They would sing your name to high praise one moment then drag it through the mud the next.

You were content with letting them run their mouths, because it was no skin off your nose, but you drew the line at insulting your family.

Someone at the gazette thought it would be absolutely riveting to write about the dirt poor origins you were raised from. In the article, they not only criticized you, but put your parents under a microscope as well.

"All that really happened is, their daughter put on diamonds and called herself a queen," the Daily Gazette said. "It's only about time until they return to their roots—of which aren't much."

They insinuated that you might not even be your father's daughter—or if you were, it wouldn't be long 'til you came out to be as ill as he was. They called your mother weak for not being as proacticve in generating money, and you a fool for being their lapdog. No one in their right mind would just sit and let a publication sully their name like that.

If they were going to make up hullabaloo, you were going to step ahead and give them something else to talk about, and what better play than having London's Darling Starlet fall in love?

It had came to your attention that the gazette had set their eyes on one agency in particular: Lockwood and Company. Specifically one, Anthony Lockwood.

Where they besmirched your name, they glorified his. The kid was talented at weaving through a conversation, you'd give him that. From what you'd read, you already knew he liked being in the glare of publicity.

You were taking a gamble when you walked right up to their statute of work without a disguise. If the someone at the gazette saw you, you hoped that they would get the ball rolling. All that would be left to do is recruit Mr. Lockwood.

But Lockwood hadn't been the one to greet you at the door. You tried not to appear too shocked, but no one really expects to see someone geared in oversized cleaning gear. Whoever it was looked more alien than human.

"Arif's?" the curly haired boy inquired.

You were tempted to scratch your head, because what in the world was an 'Arifs'?

You were conjuring up a response, but then the boy was shoved aside. The girl who had taken his placed looked both inquisitive and sleep-deprived at the same time. Some kind of recognition happened in her eyes and you smiled, mirroring hers.

The curly haired boy looked positively disturbed by it.

"Hello," you said delicately. "does Mr. Lockwood happen to be in at the moment?"

"He is," the girl said. "You must be the Darling of London. I've seen you in the papers. My friend, Norrie, would be so happy if you could—"

"Luce?"

You weren't usually struck by strangers but you knew right away, that it must be him: Anthony Lockwood. He had the timbre and tone of a well-trained celebrity. It was no wonder the gazette was tripping over themselves to write him.

"Lucy's busy smiling at the Darling of London, or whatever she called her," the curly-haired boy reported, akin to a child who wanted to see their sibling be scolded.

"George," Lockwood turned his attention with a terse intonation. "why don't you pop on the kettle?"

George's smirk fell. He muttered something at Lucy before retreating to the door beside the stairwell. The wide berth he left gave you your first glimpse of the gazette's most recent favorite.

Anthony Lockwood was a spectacle in a suit and tie, looking exactly like his pictures in the papers. He cleaned up nicely enough. You just couldn't help but wince at the disarray his hair was in.

"Lucy, will you please?" Lockwood gave Lucy a look. She cast a glance at you before hesitantly joining George in the kitchen.

You made a mental note to ask about her friend, Norrie, later. It's the least you could do for her saving you from George.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Lockwood turned his attention back to you. He leaned easily against the doorframe, giving off the impression that he was conversational enough, even if you weren't being very good at being polite.

"Welcome to Lockwood and Co., I'm Anthony Lockwood," he said courteously, flashing a smile that would make the press go crazy. You've seen just one like it on cast mates, but he had done it so well you know he'd practiced to get it perfect, or maybe he was naturally good at smiling. You wouldn't know. His voice waded through your reverie. "How can we help you?"

"The kind of help I need isn't a usual request, Mr. Lockwood," you said forwardly. You glanced over his shoulder before offering a chaste smile. "May I come in?"

—

You didn't expect an audience of three after being lead to the receiving room. Then again, you should have. The reasonable assumption was that you were here for ghost-related troubles. You weren't sure how to clarify that you weren't.

You accepted a cup of tea and took in the air in the room before proceeding. Lockwood was sat right across from you, attentively bent toward you. Lucy was trying to keep on a amiable façade in her seat (likely to get a signature for her friend). George was... being himself. He was an odd one, but he had rid himself of his space suit, so that was nice. None of them seemed to be hostile though. That was always a good thing.

"I have a personal favor to ask of you," you started. You rested your hands over your knees, retaining your resolution. "and it involves the recent rumors about me."

"Which one? The one about your prissy attitude or the inevitable downfall of your entire family?" George wasn't as ignorant as he made himself out to be. He took a sip of tea when Lucy glared his way. Lockwood didn't look too surprised by his snide, George must regularly be like this.

You stifled a laugh of your own, amused by his forward nature. "Both, to be honest. The gazette has been generous with their slander lately." You tapped your finger on your knee. "One can only take so much . . . That's what brought me here. I need your help to keep them under control. You'll be properly compensated, of course."

"Miss Darling—" Lockwood started. It wasn't your name but you let it be since he sounded genuine enough. "—we are a psychical agency. What you're asking, it's out of our area of expertise."

"I am aware of that, but I'm not making this request to Lockwood & Co.," you said firmly. You steeled yourself when you set your eyes on him. He flinched under the intensity. "I'm asking you directly, Mr. Lockwood."

George hunched forward, unsuccessfully staunching a laugh. Lucy had straightened in her seat, eyes bugged out of her head. And Lockwood? The surprise on his face couldn't have been fake. He blinked and blinked, but his brain couldn't catch up.

You went on. "My family's been involved. I can't sit idly by while their names are being tarnished. I need something to dissolve those rumors, or at least distract the public enough to forget about them."

He cleared his throat but it was clear he was still ruffled by your earlier admission. "And how would I contribute to that?"

You tried to sound professional, but even your most prim tone sounded odd when it came to a request like this. "I need you to court me."

George stopped trying to muffle his laughter. He even grew bold enough to take a biscuit to snack on. "This is rich. 'Court' and 'Lockwood' in the same sentence? Never thought I'd see the day. You're better off with someone like Quill Kipps, Miss Darling—was it? At least he can act."

Lockwood shot a glare at George but he didn't budge, smiling as he devoured his biscuit. Lucy had recovered and gave her two cents. "George is right. Lockwood doesn't have the best track record in terms of subtlety."

Lockwood looked affronted. "I'm not as bad as you make me out to be."

"You're right," George said gleefully, smiling at you with his eyes. "He's worse."

"You know what," Lockwood said with renewed inspiration. "I'll help you, Miss Darling. Regardless of what my colleagues have to say." He turned his attention to you. You almost cracked a smile at the sheer determination in his complexion. Anthony Lockwood clearly despised being bad at anything. "I'm at your service, starting this very second." He poked the table to enunciate every word. Amused didn't feel like an apt word to describe what you were feeling.

"I was hoping you'd be the opposite of subtle," you said with a polite smile. "You're an enigma to the gazette, Mr. Lockwood. I need you to attract as much attention to us as you can."

He lifted his chin with that award-winning smile. "Consider it done."

George was still grinning to himself, finishing off his biscuit with a dodgy sort of laugh. Lucy had thrown herself back, likely holding in a sigh by the way her shoulders sunk.

Regardless, you felt hope rush through you as you reached across the table, sealing the deal with a handshake that shouldn't have been half as memorable as it was.

—

Lucy's Norrie had set off the domino effect, and you would be forever grateful for it. It didn't take long for the gazette to catch wind and write up their narrative.

!! LOCKWOOD & CO.'S SPECIAL CONNECTION TO LONDON'S DARLING

Recipients, it has come to our attention that London's Darling has shipped out a special signed poster for a friend from Lockwood & Co. The two parties have never had an interaction prior to this instance. We suspect a budding alliance from two very distinct worlds. More about Lockwood & Co.'s most recent escapade on page 7!

It was the first time you finished reading an article without your jaw tensing. It was doing well for your family's temperaments as well. Your mother was now inquiring about the blooming relationship between you and a certain someone instead of agonizing over the manic rumors told about the family. Whenever asked, you feigned ignorance and left the conversation at that.

—

The next time the gazette wrote about London's Darling and Lockwood & Co., it had been about a genuine act of kindness that had been caught on camera.

The trio had finished up a case late in the morning and you dropped by to gift them a hearty breakfast. You didn't intend for the gazette to pick up on the minute interaction, but they always found ways to weasel their way into things. If you didn't despise them so, you would have given them credit for their tenacity.

!! LONDON'S DARLING NOW BECOMING THE DARLING OF LOCKWOOD & CO.

Recipients, an insider recounts the story of seeing our Darling at 35 Portland Row. Coincidentally, the official offices for the psychical agency, Lockwood & Co. She narrates that the starlet had hand-delivered doughnuts and some other necessities; Actively taking time out of her bustling schedule to tend to the operatives she has recently befriended. For the first time since her limelight debut, she has a heart! Our insider also notes a particularly bright smile from the agency's founder and boss, Anthony Lockwood. Is this another one of our Darling's summer flings? See page 4 for news about Darling's controversial role in unveiled coming-of-age film.

You saw a couple reading the recent print as you were walking to Portland Row. They were particularly giggly, so it was safe to assume that the public was falling for your theatrics.

You arrived to Lockwood's abode with a smile.

—

"The gazette's gone feral, haven't they?" George exasperated, throwing the paper on the table after he had cut out Lockwood & Co's bit in the headlines. "You didn't even have to try for this one, did you?"

"Not at all," you chuckled. "They have a way of finding out, even if we don't mean for them to."

"They could have chosen a better picture," Lockwood murmured, eyes permanently narrowed at the cut-out George had hung on their wall. "I did not look that worn out that morning."

"I can't remember it, so I can't lie," Lucy said passively. She slid a pot of tamarind soup through the disarray of cups and papers. It gave you a wider glimpse of the doodles on the cloth. Lockwood had explained the nuance of the doodles earlier. You strongly believed anyone would find the scrawled notes (and insults) endearing.

You leaned over the table as the fragrance of the soup wafted into the air, like tendrils of smoke tempting you for a taste. You held back a smile and tried not to stare at their dinner for too long. You had more self-control than that, but, despite your best efforts, your stomach had a mind of its own.

Your stomach didn't usually rumble but it had chosen that specific moment to do so. You tried to play it off but the members of Lockwood & Co. had already paused in their steps, turning to you with varying levels of surprise. George looked disturbed; Lucy, startled; and Lockwood, amused.

"Hungry?" Lockwood asked, already knowing the answer.

"Not at all," you waved off. He saw right through your stoicism with a growing smile. "It was just a stomach cramp," you insisted.

He didn't move his eyes away from you as he pulled out a chair, but didn't sit in it. "Can't send you home with your belly doing that, can we, George?"

"The gazette might as well write us up for being terrible hosts," George said agreeably.

Lucy set out an additional plate and bowl. "We have a reputation to uphold, you know."

There was an air of something you couldn't quite place. You saw Lockwood's smile first, amused and welcoming all at once. From the corner of your eye, you found George and Lucy doing the same. There was no other word that could describe the moment other than 'warm'. With a feeble smile, you sat in the chair Lockwood had pulled out for you and tried not to look like a mangy raccoon in the midst of a famine.

Only when the sound of clinking cutlery and plates filled the room did you muster the courage to speak again. "Thank you for having me."

"Don't mention it, Starlet," Lockwood said, nudging your side. "You're the reason our clients have been burgeoning lately."

"Who knew a movie star had so much influence?" George asked rhetorically. "If we keep this up, we might be able to afford more biscuits."

"Even if that happens, the biscuit rule stays," Lucy stated, pointing her spoon at George.

There was always something gleefully odd about this place. Sometimes, it was hard to keep up. "What is this biscuit rule?" you asked, looking between all three of them.

"I'll tell you after dinner," Lockwood promised, carefully placing a bowl of soup next to your plate. "Eat. You must be starving."

You withheld the urge to smile but found that, even with your experties in pretending, you had a hard time acting in the company of Lockwood and Co.

—

"How strict is the biscuit rule rotation?" you inquired Lucy.

You had never experienced sleeping over at someone else's house. Doing so, at your mature age, felt a little zany. Not that you could do much about it.

The expert (Anthony John Lockwood) was firm about not letting you walk home at this dark hour. Even more so because the sun had set earlier than expected. Hence, the reason you found yourself rooming with Lucy for the night.

"Strict," was Lucy's answer; half with you, half not. She was at the vanity, writing in a journal. Likely for her friend, Norrie—if their names scribbled on the front was anything to go by. She looked so focused, you would have guessed she was aspiring to out-write the folks at the Daily Gazette.

Defeated, you heaved a sigh and submitted yourself to a few moments of quiet in a place so unfamiliar.

The bed bounced under your weight. The springs you heard in the mattress reminded of you of home, yet, the stars on the ceiling reminded you that you weren't. Most of them clung on but some had fallen off, leaving behind star-shaped irregularities in the paint. You counted four fallen stars before you were reeled back by the feeling of another weight falling beside you.

"Comfortable, Miss Darling?"

Lockwood.

You righted your posture. He sat up with you, taken-aback by your shift in demeanor.

"Yes," you said stiffly, combing down your hair. "Thank you for letting me stay the night."

"I couldn't let you go in good conscience," he said offhandedly. "Don't be tense. I'm only here to offer pajamas."

Your eyes found the neat pile stacked right beside him. The little act of kindness had warranted him a smile, one he returned with equal sheepishness.

"Thank you," you said again.

"It's no trouble." He flourished his hand as he said it. The springs creaked again when he shuffled off the bed. "Sleep well, Miss Darling."

"My name or just 'Darling' is fine, Mr. Lockwood. 'Miss' is much too formal."

"It's Anthony then, darling." He said it with such resounding charm, you almost regret allowing him to continue on that way. "Sleep well," he trailed off.

He stared at you, like he was looking for something in you. You were accustomed to getting weird, prolonged glances in the street, but you felt conscious when it was him. You blamed it on First Sleep-over Jitters. When you finally averted your gaze, he snapped out of his reverie. With a noncommital smile, he jerked a thumb at the door. "I'm right downstairs if you need anything."

"I'll keep that in mind, Anthony." As you said it, you couldn't shake the feeling similar to stepping into a classroom for the first time. There was a flash of surprise on his face before he schooled his expression, back to his notorious smile.

You wouldn't have known, but he couldn't shake the thought that he'd never heard his name sound so nice before.

He held back a smile as he said, "Goodnight then, darling."

You did worse at hiding yours. "Goodnight, Anthony."

You said his name so carefully, he ought to think he was important. Even if the smiles exchanged were bashful, it encapsulated his world.

He retreated to the steps, halting to occasionally look at you before Lucy had gotten sick of his snail pace and told him to bugger off. She had taken her side of the bed when her journal entry for Norrie was finished.

"Is he always that odd?" you asked her, taking the pajamas and heading to the bathroom to change.

The clothes were light, but they weighed much more to you. Who could blame you for admiring a simple shirt and pajama pants? That was your first sleep-over, after all.

Past your ogling, you could still hear Lucy's voice through the door. "Who, Lockwood? Not usually. Suppose he wants to make a good impression."

"Because I'm your highest paying client?" you inquired in a sing-song tone, slipping the shirt over your head. You should have expected the smell of lavender to engulf you.

Lucy snorted, laying back on her pillows. "Because he's a fan, Miss Darling."

"You can call me by my name, Ms. Carlyle," you chuckled, trying to keep your tone even as you examine which way the pajama pants go.

"And you can call me by mine, Miss Darling," she retorted.

When you got your pajama situation under control, you poked your head out of he door. "Touché, Lucy."

She tipped her invisible hat. "I try, Miss Darling."

"Is my name ugly?" You questioned, tone bordering on a sigh. You set yourself down on the vacant side of her bed, planting straight into the pillow on contact. "Just tell me that it is, I won't be offended. Why else would people avoid it like the plague?"

"Miss Darling does sound odd, doesn't it? In my opinion, it's quite regal. You should change your surname to it, honestly. The word just fits you."

You exhaled, catching sight of the stars on the ceiling once more. "And who gave you that absurd idea?"

"Lockwood did," she told you, taking you by surprise. You physically reeled at the fact. "He watched—What was the name of that film again?—Timeless. You played the teenage version of the main character. He wouldn't shut up about the movie for ages, said your character was his favorite. I believe her name was—"

"Darling..." you whispered the same time she said it.

"—and he kept going on and on and on about how you were the epitome of the word. He wouldn't put a stopper on it," Lucy shook her head, recalling his raving vividly. "We couldn't get him to shut up, even while we were off on fieldwork. Eventually, it stuck with us. I couldn't unsee you as 'Miss Darling'. Then the press started calling you 'The Darling of London'. It only proved his case. If there was a word more fitting than 'insufferable', 'Lockwood' would be it."

You believed snorting was the only correct response to that.

"I'm surprised he hasn't fallen over himself trying to impress you," she chuckled. Lucy crossed her arms over her belly, cozying up to her pillow. "Don't tell him I told you though. He might take away my turn in the biscuit rotation. He can be petty like that."

"Sounds childish," you muttered.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Lucy said with a shrug. "He already thinks he's God's gift."

"He's in the good graces of the Daily Gazette. So, he's close enough to it for me," you chuckled.

"Only you would think that." Lucy shook her head. "Go to sleep, Miss Darling. Else you'll have nightmares 'bout him."

"Is that a real warning?"

Lucy shut off the lights. "Yes," she said into the dark.

It was far too late for you. Just seeing the gentle limerence on the ceiling brought your thoughts right back to him.

Unbeknownst to you, Lockwood couldn't put his mind to rest either. Him knowing you were just a stairwell away was an involuntary shot of adrenaline.

—

Amusement parks smelt like burned popcorn and sugar. It was unbearably noisy but the neon lights and the shining attractions negated the cons. Lockwood thought he might just kiss you for bringing them here on a Thursday.

There were enough people to make the place feel alive but it wasn't so crowded that they couldn't get on the rides they wanted to try.

He namely appreciated that fact because Lucy and George didn't look too upset about being out of their element. They looked excited, even. Lucy was glancing at a shooting game and George was oddly fascinated by the horror house.

As if driving them here wasn't surprise enough, you dropped a heavy pouch in each of their palms with the simple instruction to knock themselves out.

After agreeing to meet up before dark, the group broke into three. Lucy went off to win herself a rapier, George was off to scare the clowns in the horror house, and Lockwood was trailing behind you.

"You can do your own thing, Anthony," you reassured, lined up for cotton candy. "I can handle myself in daylight."

"Darling, I'm a gentleman. I can't leave a dame alone in such a vast scape," he replied, bold enough to tap your nose. "What kind of make-believe boyfriend would I be if I did?"

He was amused by the way you rolled your eyes. Lockwood was convinced that only you could make something so trivial so enigmatic. Warmth prickled on your cheeks, turning them the same shade of pink as the cotton candy the store owner handed to you. You ordered one for Lockwood before telling him, "Press isn't here—they'd have to pay the tall entrance fee to enter. At ease, soldier."

"Negative. I'm staying by you—as a very concerned friend," he rebutted with resolve, asking for a brief pause to receive the cotton cone spun for him. "Is that so bad?"

"I thought you three deserved to enjoy some time away from work," you confessed.

You didn't know where to head so Lockwood steered you toward a bench, guiding you with one hand on the small of your back. It took all your effort to keep your expression neutral but you continued to chatter, biting down the urge to grin like an idiot.

The only way you knew how to distract yourself was to speak. And speak, you did. "You're either working with ghouls or with me for you know what. I thought you'd be sick of me by now," you joked.

"Of you? Never."

He said it like it wasn't an arrow straight to your heart, and you couldn't shirk the feeling that you should have prepared yourself better. He was Anthony Lockwood, after all.

Like the heathen he is, took a sizeable bite out of his fluff of cotton candy. In your favor, your attention was drawn somewhere else. His upper lip was crusted in princess pink sugar and he was flashing his princely smile, completely unaware of his mustache. You pressed your lips together to keep your laugh in.

He lowered his head, trying to meet your eyes, to no avail. You screwed them shut and curled into yourself to keep your composure.

He cocked a brow. "Cute as you are, I want to know what are you laughing about."

"Nothing," you said unconvincingly. You took a glance at him and snorted.

With a pinched expression, he looked at himself in the reflection of a metal stall then he rubbed the sugar away with the sleeve of his coat, scarlet tinging his ears.

"Never speak of this," he told you.

You mimed yourself zipping your lips and he nodded, satisfied.

Your composure broke the moment he crossed his arms and hunched into himself like a kid.

—

You'd been to that same amusement park many times in your life. You rode the same rides back when you were a starlet in the entertainment world. You won the same prizes when you wanted to impress your parents. You ate the same food you did when you were a tyke.

All those memories, and none of them compared to experiencing all of it with Anthony John Lockwood. His incandescence weaved into every new memory, leaving his face seared into the back of your eyelids. Even if you tried to deny it, the pain in your cheeks reminded you that you spend hours on end smiling with him or at him.

Despite your best efforts, his presence made you feel something you never expected to feel for anyone. There was no word for it, and you refused to give it a name.

When the sky theatened to turn orange, you snagged his arm and drove him all the way to your favorite ride. Even if you craned your neck all the way, you could never see the top of the ferris wheel. Perhaps Lockwood could, but you were too timid to ask.

The decorative lights looked weak in daylight but it was magical nonetheless. Nothing could complete your day like hopping into your favorite gondola and seeing the park from all the way up.

When you pulled him back, he had to complain. "That one was empty." Lockwood frowned at the dandy green gondola that circled past.

"No, no. We can't take that one, it has to be this one."

Lockwood had never seen so much excitement shine through your usually collected demeanor. It was like a breath of fresh air. He couldn't bring himself to fight you on it.

When the coral pink gondola swung to a stop and creaked its doors open, you pulled him right into its bowels. The interior was vandalized with countless pens and markers. Even in the chaos, he recognized your penmanship. It was messier than it was now but it was undeniably yours. Only you swooped your 'y's that extravagantly.

Someday soon, I'm going to be the biggest star you'll ever see!

Some of the ink was scratched off but the message stood the test of time. He wondered if you remember even writing it, but one glance at you told him all he needed to know. You paid no mind to the vandalism, eyes enthralled by the rising view outside. He felt his cheeks ache from the beginnings of a smile. He forced it down when you laid your eyes on him.

"Just wait 'til we reach the top. The pathways form a giant star if you look down. There's nothing quite like it."

Endeared, he asked, "How did you find that out?"

If your smile was anything to go by, the memory was very fond to you. "The first time I passed an audition, my parents took me up here and told me to look down. I was terrified of heights back then but they told me some things were worth conquering fears for." You let out a seraphic laugh at the memory. "I saw the giant star . . . and I swore that I'd be a bigger star than it one day; that all their sacrifices would be worth it. They did their best to support me and my pipe dream. I would pay back their labor, ten-fold."

"And you did," Lockwood said in an out-of-breath kind of way. You didn't know what to make of it.

"And I did," you whispered in reply. "I even scribbled my promise somewhere in here. I don't remember where exactly. May have been scratched off."

"Maybe," Lockwood chuckled, leaning his side against the wall; hiding your kiddish penmanship from your view. He had no explanation as to why he did, but he'd rather you to focus on the present. You achieved a lot between then and now. He thought it was much nicer to look forward than to look back.

He didn't realize how long the trip to the top would be. The silence didn't feel tense or forced, it was comfortable. Like an air of understanding had made the air warm instead of still.

Perhaps it was you and how unguarded you had become since stepping into the gondola, but all he knew was that your honest heart inspired him to be brave. He took a leap in a brightly painted gondola, miles up from the ground, just about to touch the clouds.

"My family would have loved seeing this," he said.

Your eyes tore away from the view to look at him. Curiosity whirling in those eyes of yours. "Where is your family? I don't think I've seen them. Are they abroad?"

When you looked at him like that, he forgot all his fears. "They aren't around anymore."

Your expression heartened. You turned all your attention to him. "I'm so sorry, Anthony. I shouldn't have—"

"No," he interrupted you, a ghost of a smile on his face. "I want you to know."

Your lips quivered, forming something that was a half-smile, half-frown. "I don't know what to say..."

"You don't have to say anything. I just thought you should know." His eyes fell to his knees, picking at the frays of his coat sleeves to distract himself. "My parents were researchers. They wanted to know what rituals other cultures had to communicate with spirits and keep themselves safe. They were working when they passed away. My sister, Jessica, she was ghost-touched." Everything came out when he was looking directly at you. Knowing you were paying attention was solace enough. "You should have seen the ghost when I was done with him, ha. As for my family . . . Even if they're not around anymore, they continue to remind me of the most valuable lessons. I do my best to never forget."

"Must be why you're so protective of Lucy and George," you said lightly, offering him a sunrise of a smile that brought back the color into the world.

"I am," he said with renewed confidence. "I'd do anything for them."

"Like make deals with prissy, troubled actresses?" you jested, bumping your knee against his.

His lips twitched, threatening a smile. "Yeah." He bumped his knee to yours but didn't move away, content with being close to you in any way you'd have him. "Exactly."

A smile crept up your face. "You have a wonderful family now, Anthony."

"I would say the same but I realize I haven't met them yet."

You threw your head back, laughing. The sound was so precious, he wished he had half the hearing of Lucy to remember it well. "Someday, Anthony. Someday..."

"I'll hold you to it."

The light that filtered in turned yellow, touching your face with gold. The sun was dipping between the far hills and, finally, your gondola had reached the pinnacle of the wheel.

You gently cupped his chin to turn his attention to the view. Your touch made his breath hitch, but the view had successfully stolen the air from his lungs. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn't have predicted just how breath-taking the view was.

True to your word, the amusement park was laid out in a way that made the pathways draw a star—the stall lights that began to appear accentuated the shape. The stripped roofs of the attractions were like swirling patterns that encircled the the display. For lack of a better word, it was stupendous.

Your voice matched the sereneness of the moment. "My grandparents said that seeing fireworks from the top of a ferris wheel was an experience like no other, but with the Problem and the curfew, we might never be able to see something like it..."

"Wouldn't hurt to dream though, would it?"

You chuckled. "No, it wouldn't..."

Vaguely, in the reflection of the window, he saw your smile. A true, unfiltered smile. It's the brightest you'd ever appeared to him, and it was worlds better than the view you were gawking over.

The magic fizzled when the gondola began to decend, bringing you closer to earth and away from the utopia in the middle of a ferris wheel.

He couldn't recognize you once your mask came back on. Lockwood didn't realize why until he saw a flash of light in the corner of his eye.

The gazette had spilled coffee all over a perfectly good day.

—

!! LOCKWOOD'S DARLING

Recipients, we can confirm that there is a blooming romance between London's favorite Starlet and Lockwood & Co.'s charismatic leader. In the middle of a busy week for both individuals, they set aside time for a romantic ferris wheel ride in Starcrest Amusement Park—an ideal recreational venue for families and couples. See also: additional reports from our inside sources on page 7.

!! A DARLING'S DARLING

Recipients, we have more news on London's most fetching young couple. Both Darling and Lockwood have been growing bolder in putting their relationship in the spotlight. Recent reports state that Darling had invited Lockwood and Company to her film set — a feat of trust we haven't seen from her until she'd been swept of her feet by her latest and only suitor, Anthony Lockwood. He even presented her a bouquet of her favored flowers upon visiting. Backstage photographs from our insider on page 3!

!! A NOT VERY INVISIBLE STRING

Recipients, London's most captivating young couple was spotted wearing matching red-string bracelets, shifting to the 'private but not secret' path in their relationship. However, we always fetch you the ripest updates on their heart-stopping romance. More on page 4!

—

You were more than pleased by the sound of swishing newspaper and the snip of scissors. George had extracted another pretty picture of the recent news and hung it on the wall of achievements.

"Featured on a handful of headlines and it hasn't even been a year," Lockwood said, sounding very pleased with himself. He barely lifted a finger and Lockwood and Co. already had five additional clippings to their wall. "Gazette patrons are calling in to have us take care of visitors with all this media exposure." He set his hands on the stair newel and set his chin on them, looking up at you. It may have been a trick of a light but he was more radiant from where you were standing. "I have you to thank for that."

"You're the one helping me," you smiled. "I haven't heard a bad word about myself or my family. The peace is . . . unsettling. They really are bent on painting you as a saint, Anthony."

"Am I not?" he smiled.

You returned it, just as joyous. "That's the charisma I need for my birthday ball."

That made him straighten and grow brighter, if that were possible. "Birthday ball?"

You nodded, returning your eyes to Lockwood & Co.'s wall of accomplishments. "Lucy and George, too. It's a black tie event, and, yes, you may bring your rapiers."

He tilted his head, jarred. "What kind of people will be in attendance if we're allowed rapiers?"

"The most terrifying kind," you said with exaggerated dread, starting for the door. "Extended family I don't know well and journalists."

He sped ahead, clicking the door open for you. "Petrifying."

"Very," you chuckled. "Can I expect you to be there?"

He leaned toward you and you deluded yourself to believe he was doing so for his own benefit, but you knew damn well that there was a camera in the corner of your eye. Lockwood had caught sight of it before you, crowding you against the doorframe to paint the stomach-fluttering picture of a boy who simply couldn't resist being near his girl.

The idea was far more appealing than it was supposed to be.

His voice sounded saccharine up close. "What kind of flowers does your mother like?"

You titlted your head. "What for?"

"It's common courtesy to gift the in-laws. It wouldn't hurt to be prepared." He grinned at you, and you couldn't help but return it.

"She likes roses, and my dad is a fan of Ferrero Rochers."

"Noted," he chirped. He tugged a strand of your hair lightly before pulling away, taking his warmth with him.

You mustered a convincing enough smile. "Goodbye, Anthony."

"Goodbye, darling starlet."

He should have known you were going to do something. You grew up under the limelight, after all.

You've kissed many boys but he hoped you don't kiss them like you kissed him. Truthfully, it was only a kiss on the cheek, but he'd recall the feeling of your lips at the most untimely moments. He was ghost-touched because he couldn't shirk it.

—

You gave them a plot of the house. So, they did expect your house to be massive. What you did not tell them was the fact that your birthday ball was a masquerade ball. Lockwood was quite struck as he watched people file in with half their faces concealed under frivolously decorated masks. Lucy and George were just as confused.

"You're sure you didn't hear her say anything about this?" Lucy asked, hugging her arms as the evening chill began to creep in.

"Positively. Would I lie about something like this?" Lockwood replied, readjusting his grip on the generous bouquet of roses.

"Lie or not, we have to head in eventually. Unless your girl has a butler or handmaid who'd fetch us," George nipped. It was bad enough that Lockwood had forced him into a suit, but he had to stand in the freezing cold while passerbys walked right into the grandeur of your family's estate. The chandeliers casted gold silhouettes across the shadows. George bet it was warm in there. "Perhaps a visitor will come put us out of our misery."

"Keep your shirt on, George," Lockwood said firmly. "Perhaps having us enter without decoration was her intention."

"Who goes to a masquerade ball without a mask?" George scoffed.

"Lockwood & Co., apparently." Lucy rolled her eyes. She cast a nervous glance behind her but found lanterns had been lit. They smelt of lavender, reassuring her that despite your family's reputation, you weren't ignorant to the Problem. "Shall we head inside or face the treacherous cold?"

Lockwood, thoroughly done with their snideness, promptly decided on the former. He rolled his shoulders back and righted his posture before joining the line to the threshold.

"I see a buffet," Lucy said with new-found energy. Suddenly, the cold wasn't so unforgiving.

"Is that a chocolate fountain?" George inquired. Even if he did his best to keep his tone even, they caught the subtle intonation on the word 'chocolate'.

"Compose yourselves," Lockwood reminded primly. "we are representatives of the agency as well as guests, so, do try to mingle before losing yourselves in the smorgasbord."

"Sure."

"Absolutely."

Lockwood didn't know who said what, but he knew their answers were merely supplementary. They would bolt for the buffet as soon as the made it past the front door. At least their concerns about the lack of disguise were put to rest.

As they neared the doors, the warmth from the inside began to thaw away their frigidness. By the time they stepped into your abode, they were swallowed by the luxury. The word 'cold' didn't exist in a place as decadent as this.

The velvet curtains were pulled back fully, showcasing ceiling-length windows that glimmered with reflections of your guests, . A large chandelier illuminated the ballroom, washing everyone in supple, golden light. It brought out everyone's best features. Even the floor was polished so perfectly, it could have been a mirror.

If he didn't know better, Lockwood would have thought he walked right into a fairytale. He didn't realize Lucy and George had made their escape until he looked behind himself to find them gone.

He didn't have to idle by for very long. Like how sun rays pierce through storm clouds, you parted the crowd. You shone under the chandelier-light, a star put on earth, and you smiled so brightly he had to think you only smile like that for him. Lockwood lost his words, but his mouth was moving.

You were chuckling when you neared. Only when you dodged the roses and leaned on your toes to kiss his cheek did he realize that you didn't supply yourself with a mask either. His earlier guess had been right.

Whatever mirage he was in the middle of was cut through by two more figures coming into view; your parents, most likely. You resembled them a lot.

His joints went rigid but he was experienced enough to project an easygoing energy. All while he repressed bubbling exclamations.

He played on his best smile and reached for your father's outstretched hand. They met in the middle for a firm handshake.

"You must be the lad our little darling speaks so highly of," Mr. Darling chuckled. He had the kind of smile that put everyone in the room at ease. It reached his eyes. He must be the one you inherited your eye-smile from. A nail of guilt hit him right on the head because it was obvious that the man didn't know his daughter's romance was a fad. "Anthony, is it?"

"You're correct," Lockwood said amiably. His smile widened as he watched your mother's eyes gravitate to the bouquet of roses. "Anthony Lockwood, at your service, sir. And ma'am . . . These are for you." He offered the arrangement to your mother, who accepted them with the grace of a royal. You must have inherited that from her. He would have found it adoring if another strike of guilt didn't come down on him.

"How courteous," your mother said, hiding a smile behind her newly acquired bouquet. Her eyes moved to you and you shared a look Lockwood didn't quite understand. His stomach churned. Your mother then shot a peculiar look at him — like she could see right through him. It made his blood run cold.

Lockwood didn't have the option to ponder on it. Your father had seized Lockwood's attention with a firm pat on the shoulder. Lockwood had to tense his back to keep himself from toppling over.

As grayed as your father was, he had the kind of voice that commanded authority. "Don't be coy, boy. You can call us Ma and Pa. If our little starlet likes you enough to introduce you to us, you must be something special."

Lockwood glanced at you, momentarily paused by your smile. "She's the special one between us, sir—"

"Pa," your father corrected.

"Pa," Lockwood rectified smilingly. He wasn't sure what about it made him feel so melancholic and comforted at the same time. "I should be groveling at her feet. I'm very lucky to have caught her attention."

"I like the way you talk. It's no wonder she's so taken by you, Anthony."

Your father surprised Lockwood with a boisterous laugh. He was sure the room tremored for a moment. Lockwood was happy enough to laugh with him, the same time his heart was pounding against his ribcage.

The exchange was interrupted by your mother's squeal of delight. She had found the Ferrero Rochers laying in the bed of roses. She, with bright eyes, brandished them to her husband and Mr. Darling looked positively thrilled by the surprise.

"And thoughtful, too." Your father gave Lockwood the kind of nod you'd only get after you ask for their daughter's hand in marriage. "He's a keeper, little darling."

Lockwood's smile shook. Your mother looked at him strangely once more. He tried to regained himself.

Guilt.

Guilt.

GUILT.

It was drowning him, yet, he kept his cool. (At least, tried to.) You didn't seem to notice the change in his attitude.

You, with your rosy cheeks and resplendent smile, hooked your arm with Lockwood's and said, "I know, pa. That's the plan."

—

"That was not the plan," Lockwood respired, loosening his tie as soon as he stepped into open air. Even when he breathed in lavender, his lungs felt as if they were stuffed with cotton.

You had lead him to a balcony to give him a moment of reprieve only to be met with a glare. So much for being bad at acting, you were convinced his earlier niceties were real.

You regarded him with crossed arms, your cool façade practically a wall between you. "I invited, and you came. That's all that happened here."

"You made a spectacle of me," he rasped, his breath coming out as frost. "I would have been alright with that, but you brought your parents into this. They don't even know you're doing this, do they?"

The way he motioned between you as he said 'this' made you feel like someone's dirty secret. The way you faltered was laughable. Your heart clenched and your nails dug into your palms. You replied the only way you knew how: stronger.

"I don't see what the big issue is, Anthony," you scoffed. "I pay you, you do as I say. What if my parents don't know it's a ploy? The point is to set the stage for the press. I told you that."

"God," he laughed without feeling, raking a hand through his hair. He was heaving like he had just ran a marathon, face turning red. "You don't get it do you? We don't play with people. I don't want to play with people. And that's your family, starlet! Does it not bother you that you are lying to their faces?"

"No, it doesn't," you replied, stoically, standing your ground. "and neither should you. You know I'm doing this for them."

"Are you?" Where you stepped back, he stepped forward. He scoffed. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "It's ironic that a whole ballroom of people hiding behind masks are more honest with themselves than you are to yourself."

"What are you implying?" Your words come out through gritted teeth.

He stood tall, more intimidating than you'd ever seen him. The gauntness in his eyes were more pronounced then. His stature made your composure slip. His words made your knees buckle. "You're an actress. You're a professional at what you do. Even in your own home, you have a façade. Maybe you are, in some twisted way, doing this for the sake of your family, but I can't see that anymore. You're stringing them along . . . As far as I can see, you're just as bad as the gazette makes you out to be. I don't even know if you've been lying to me for the sake of keeping your mask on."

You feel the full force of his words drop down on you. Taking a few steps isn't enough to quiet the rush of throughts crowding your mind. All you see is his despondent face and a hundred and one headlines flash before your eyes.

He takes your hand—making you wish the circumstances were different—before he dropped his red-string bracelet into your palm. It felt heavier than it was supposed to. You couldn't pry your eyes away.

When he turned and left, your thoughts turned into white noise. He had taken every joy with him, deserting you in the muted chatter of what was supposed to be a celebration.

—

!! TROUBLE IN PARADISE

Recipients, it is to our sorrow that the couple that took the country by storm, Darling and Lockwood, seems to have called it quits. Lockwood no longer flaunts the bracelet that had started a trend for couples on this side of the globe. It is unknown whether he had lost it during a skirmish or willingly stopped wearing his. With Darling's trail of broken hearts, it's safe to assume the worst. The Starlet seems to be continuing activities, as usual. The ice princess, unmoved by a romance put to the grave. On a lighter note, read more about Lockwood & Co.'s achievements on page 7.

—

The gazette went for the jugular with that one. For once, they wrote something that had some truth to it. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Even your newly developed habit of morning walking barely helped your heartbreak. You've never mourned for something that never was, but, damn, did it hurt. You knew you were in too deep when your feet carried you right to 35 Portland Row.

You stared at the agency plaque for an unnecessary amount of time before you folded yourself over and hugged your knees. At the time, George and Lucy would be out running errands before a case and Lockwood would be arranging their bags inside. Perhaps the security of knowing their schedule made you so confident to sit and wallow the death of what could have been.

Yet, you couldn't mourn that in peace. The silence was interrupted by a shutter. You lifted your head and spotted a paparazzo who didn't even try to hide his presence. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties and already fading. He had a smile on but it set off alarms in your head. You didn't have to ask. You had a feeling. The gazette was all too good at dampening a sunny day.

You stood up quickly but found yourself backed against the wrought-iron gate.

"The Darling Starlet of London... Quite the title. Never thought I'd get to see you in person." His smile widened. You didn't budge. Even with your fiercest glare, he didn't get the message. He looked down at his camera before his smile fell. "Do you know how upset we were when you started going out with that... that pathetic excuse of a human—"

"He's an agent," you cut off. "and he's the reason degenerates like you get to walk the streets without being ghost-touched at every turn."

"Degenerates?" He laughed, covering his mouth. "Oh, Darling Starlet—" The name you found home in was chemical coming from him. "you should know that we made you. He's lucky the chief likes him enough. You'd be nothing without us."

"Without the gazette?" You scoffed, tempted to roll your eyes at the fool. "You do more harm than good."

"But we make or break a career." His hand came away from his mouth, revealing a smile made of pointed teeth. "and what would happen to your folks if your reputation makes a sharp decline, hm? Your father needing all that medicine, your mother taking care of him... What would happen if our little darling turned out to be a little bitch?"

Your anger was boiling over, but the fear of that possibility had crippled you. Words died in your throat. Your will fizzled to nothing. You felt blood drip into your palm, nails clenched into your flesh.

You were still trying to regain yourself when the cold of the gate was pardoned from your back. A familiar warmth replaced it, an arm coming around your middle and a voice that quelled all your fears sounded in your ears. A rapier crossed the distance, severing the neckstrap around the photographer and sending his camera into the pavement. It's lens shattered and the photographer let out a yell.

"If you ever talk to my girlfriend like that again, a broken camera will be the least of your problems."

"Anthony J. Lockwood," the paparazzo snorted. "Your agency hinges on the exposure you get from us. Don't play hero when you know you're defending a sham."

"I'm defending my girlfriend," Lockwood's grip tightened on your hip, and his rapier shined in the light. Your heart did immeasurable things in lieu of Lockwood's doing. "and if you ever threaten my family like this again, I will come after you. The gazette isn't the only publication in London, and I've built a rapport with enough people in the industry to secure my place. I'm not afraid of you."

"You—"

Lockwood turned you around, covering you from view and urging you toward the door. "Head inside, darling. I'll take care of this."

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for resentment or even hate, but found none. His eyes were sunlight through bottles of whiskey. The smile had disarmed you, finally getting through to you.

You took a few hesitant steps before he nodded, assuring you that it was alright. He made sure you were safety inside before he returned his attention to the photographer.

"I do have morals. So, I'll be civil." Lockwood poised his blade. " That said, get off my street before I show you how proficient I am at my job."

—

Some part of you was desperately hoping that things would smooth themselves out after what had transpired. When he offered you his coat before telling you that he'd be walking you home, you knew you were in over your head.

That same night, you flipped the events over in your head. Clenching and unclenching your newly bandaged hand to remind yourself that it was real.

You didn't get much sleep with his voice echoing in your ears and his eyes burned into the back of your eyelids.

—

Your mother must have known something was wrong with you. You mistaked salt for sugar in your morning coffee, you walked into a wall on more than one occasion (a large vase had fallen victim to your daze), and you refused ice cream for the first time in your life.

In the middle of the day, Mama Darling decided that she'd seen enough. She set her knitting things down and urged you to put your book down. You obliged because you couldn't absorb the words anyway.

"My darling girl," your mother started. Her tone is so heartfelt, you felt yourself lax in your seat. A smile came to your face as she caressed your cheek, just as she'd always done. "You've always been such a kind child. So selfless . . . Your only flaw is that you need to know when to let go of your fear and let us handle ourselves, dearest."

You stared at her, lost. She simply smiled, taking your hands in hers. "I know your recent escapades with Anthony were a play, my dear girl." Your spine calcified, heat prickled your eyes. "I always knew. I'm honest when I say he's good for you. He brings out your ugly smile— Don't frown, I mean it in a romantic sense. I know the look of love when I see it, dearest. Don't sacrifice it for pride or fear, my girl. Go get him back."

"Ma," you shuttered, pausing to collect yourself. You were choking on yourself and that wasn't the worst of it. Your vision had blurred from your tears. "you and Pa need me to focus on my career. I have to—"

"No, you don't." She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and swiped her thumb across your cheek. "You'll always be a princess in the eyes of the public, dearest. Any person with two eyes and common sense will see that. You just have to break out of your shell, actually talk to the journalists. Just not the ones from the Daily Gazette—they are something else entirely."

"They are, aren't they?" You manage to laugh through your tears. Only your mother could make you feel these many things at once. She saw right through you. "Right now, Anthony doesn't even want to talk to me. I'm so scared that if I try, he'll tell me everything I don't want to hear. I'm scared he'll see all the nasty things the gazette talked about and hate me for them."

"Darling," your mother said sternly. "we just went over the fact that the gazette is complete and utter bullshit."

You can't help but snort. The rare curse from her had broken through to you. "Sorry, Ma."

"Don't be sorry, my dear girl, be brave." She flipped your hand over and drew lines across your palm. She did it three times before you realized what she was doing; she was drawing stars. "Some things are worth conquering fears for."

The Starcrest ferris wheel. Stolen smiles. Dreams of fireworks.

Your mother smiled at the renewed light in your eyes. She didn't question you as you bolted to the exit.

"Home before dinner! You may bring Anthony!" she called just before you smiled and closed the door behind you.

—

"Lucy?"

"No, this is George."

The world must hate you. You couldn't do much about that. You coiled the telephone wire around your finger as you took a deep breath. "This is... darling."

"I don't know anyone with a ridiculous name like that. Sorry."

You bit your cheek, inhaling the urge to sigh. "The prissy actress."

"Oh. You." He shuffled, crossing his arms. "Speak, before I hang up."

"I have a favor to ask of you," you winced, already expecting the worst.

"What's in it for me?"

You took a breath. "What do you want? Biscuits? An allowance? Access to the VIP collection in the library—"

"All of that, and you have yourself a deal."

"Done."

—

"George— You're usually against room invasion," Lockwood quipped, allowing himself to be dragged up the steps. "and Lucy wouldn't be happy about this."

"When I tell her what I bargained, she'll be fine with it."

"Bargained?"

"Not that important right now, Lockwood. Sit. And for all things grotesque, don't move."

George had pushed Lockwood into the mustard seat beside the attic window. The latter was ready to protest, confusion evident.

A resounding pop had interrupted him. The lights in the room shifted. The shadows stretched and receeded. It took a moment for Lockwood to realize that there were fireworks going off outside.

On the third floor, he had a bird's eye view of the shower of sparks in varying shades of blues, reds, and yellows. He was wondering where the firework show had come from, but his questions were put to rest with a singular look onto the street.

Other than the tins of fireworks, he saw you—looking much like a panicked frog while lighting the fireworks. You looked absolutely ridiculous. His perceptions of you had been thrown to the wind, and he couldn't help but smile.

The last firework burst into pink sparks, lighting up his eyes and your silhouette; embedding itself into his memories. When the air had cleared, he cracked the window open.

"What are you doing down there? Have you gone mad?"

You cupped your hands around your mouth, shouting an answer at him. "Lighting fireworks! You like dem?"

He shook his head, endeared. "How do you even know how to light them?"

"I don't! It was about time I learned!"

"You really are a lunatic..." he chuckled.

You cocked your head. "What did you say?"

"Come in!"

You showed him your thumbs, scuttling to the front door.

Lockwood had never raced down the stairs so quickly before. He apologized quickly to George, who he had almost bumped to ground floor, and Lucy, who had just gotten home with groceries. He raced for the door; hair a mess, breathing short, but smiling widely. He greeted you with the same smile he had on when you first met.

Cute as he was, you couldn't take it anymore. You reached up, fingers brushing his forehead and fixing the strands that had been bothering you for ages.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing you said. You were still heaving from outrunning fireworks but he wasn't in much better shape. "I was scared, and my first instinct was to act like I don't care, but I do. I care so much. About you."

"I got the message," he laughed, looking over your shoulder to the smoke remnants of the showcase.

"No, I'm not done." You took a breath, bracing yourself for it. "I want you to know about me, too. Pa has been sick for a long time. He worked through it so they could afford my commute to and from auditions. The money Ma made was used for medicine or keeping me in school. We struggled for a long time. Some days, I couldn't sleep because I felt so helpless. I wanted to give back to them with every fiber of my being. When I finally could, I never wanted to go back to having nothing. I was willing to do anything to stay where I was—"

"Darling, I get it—"

"—and I lost sight of who I was doing it for. I was so comfortable in allowing anything just to keep a pristine reputation—"

"Darling—"

"—and I hurt you. I never meant to, I'm so sorry. I realize now that I was wrong and I should have been more honest with you because I don't just want to be colleagues anymore—"

"Oh, shut up already."

He bunched your shirt in his fist, pulling you to him with the anticipation born from a thousand dreams. When his lips touched yours, it felt like all of this was worth the wait.

You were sweet and a little smokey, he could have laughed but settled with smiling into the kiss. You stole a breath from him when you nipped at his bottom lip. He could have spent the night like that but the resounding boom from outside made the two of you jump, breaking away from The Best Kiss Ever™ to see the last of the fireworks finish off the moment with golden sparks.

Lockwood couldn't stay upset. After a short laugh, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him right back to you—giving him another kiss to think about for the rest of his life.

—

!! THE COUPLE OF THE CENTRURY, BACK AGAIN !!

Recipients, after a short-lived break, the couple of the century are back—stronger than ever! Various photographs have been taken of them: Dancing in the foyer of the Darling estate, partaking in Mrs. Darling's notorious tea parties, and running away from premiers to steal time for themselves. To see more of them, see page 4!

That was possibly the last good article written about anyone coming from the gazette. Not long after that, they began to be brazen in their attempts to tarnish your reputations. They published photos of the two of you flipping off the photographer, spitting your tongues out at unwanted paparazzi, and spreading the most degrading rumors you had ever heard.

At the same time, the gazette had been losing viewership to London Squire, who was only gaining traction with every article written about the It Couple of Europe. Soon enough, the gazette had lost all credibility; reduced to a mere scandal sheet. It was a breath of fresh air.

The public was enamored by your honest nature and respected the fact that you'd prefer to keep your relationship private. Though, you would be the talk of the town once the Squire got a hold of an exclusive interview.

The topic? Vows, silver rings, and rapiers to cut wedding cake.

DARLING-LOCKWOOD

— It's now official. Our Darling Starlet is off the market after exchanging vows with Lockwood & Co.'s founder and president, Anthony Lockwood. The union took place this weekend in a private ceremony with close family. The couple reveals that the ceremony was grand but they would like nothing more than to keep it to themselves. We are honored that both Mr. & Mrs. Lockwood has given us the opportunity to publish a few pictures taken during their most special day. The writers here at London Squire send all our warmest regards to the newly weds.

The picture wasn't much; Just a scene recreated from the movie that earned you the title of 'Darling'. Even when you shared his name, he persisted in calling you his darling starlet. Though, he takes the utmost pride when he does call you his missus.

NOTE ➺ i don't know if i can get all my 1989 tv songfics done in time but i plan to get them all published before the end of 2023 !

i hope this finds you when you need it. as always, don't be afraid to leave your thoughts in the comments or reblogs. i love to read feedback so don't hold back!!

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

[blurredcolour]

I Wish You Love | Part Five

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

You and Lewis make the most of your time together before he returns to America to do his best to free himself to spend his future at your side.

Warnings: Angst, Class Divide, Discussion of Divorce, Lots of Kissing, Sexual Tension and Innuendos, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: I am a lying liar who lies - there are now six parts because Lewis and his darling do not know how to leave me alone. Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5393

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Returning home shortly before noon the next day, you could not help the fond shake of your head to see Lewis’s borrowed car already parked at the curb outside your flat building. The lovely, impatient man was early, of course. Early enough to see you tired, sweaty, and underdressed once again. You wanted to be annoyed with him, yet you could not find it within yourself to summon any emotion other than amused affection. Stepping into the building, you were in the process of fishing your keys from your handbag when a stunningly familiar voice carrying through the door halted your movements.

“And so that was your plan all along?”

Johnny. Your twin brother, physically absent from your life, existing only in intermittent letters, for years. Much longer than the just war, with your mutual need for employment to support your father had driven you both from home in 1934. A lot was made of some sort of intuition that was supposed to exist between twins, that as they had shared a womb, they surely shared a lot more, but his return home today was a complete shock that had you frozen in place in the hall. The next words out of his mouth did nothing to encourage you to proceed inside.

“You’ve permitted a married man to seduce your daughter, your sweet pea.” He spat, an unfamiliar ugliness in his tone. The comment was certainly directed at your father, but Lewis was undoubtedly in the room, and he confirmed your supposition as he spoke up.

“I would ask you not to insult your sister’s honor, it has been, and remains, utterly unimpeachable.”

“Bloody hell you sure speak like one of them…”

“Johnathon you will mind your tongue. I understand that you have lived differently for quite some time now, but I will not tolerate that sort of language or disrespect in this home.”

Your eyes widened as you heard your father raise his voice, something that happened so infrequently that you could count the sum total of such occasions on the fingers of your own two hands.

“I am quite satisfied,” Your father continued, “with the correspondence between Captain Nixon and his solicitor. I find his intentions for your sister, my daughter, to be completely honourable and I thoroughly encourage them. She has never been happier, Johnny, and if you cannot manage to smile for her when she comes through that door any moment now then you’d better go for a walk until you find a way to.”

Tensing at the thought of your brother angrily storming out of the flat, and right into you, you crept backwards and down the hall toward the stairs leading up to the higher floors, obscuring yourself behind the landing to wait. To see if he was indeed so against the idea of you being happy with Lewis that he would rob you of a reunion with him then. You waited nearly five minutes, which felt like an eternity, until you heard Mrs. Stokes and her herd of children leaving their flat a few stories up, tromping down the staircase towards your hiding place. Johnny had remained inside, there had been no further shouting – at least none that you could hear at this distance.

Taking a fortifying breath, you pulled your keys from your handbag and headed into the apartment, smiling softly as your father and Lewis were chatting in the sitting room. “Good afternoon you two.”

“Well look at you, sis.” Johnny spoke from the doorway to the kitchen, and it was not hard to present a face of shock, for in place of a gangly sixteen-year-old boy, there was a rugged twenty-five-year-old man standing there, grinning at you.

“Johnny!?” You gasped, dropping your handbag as you rushed forward to hug him, squealing as he hauled you off your feet, his time with the 78th Infantry having made him unspeakably strong.

“Blimey you really have gone yellow haven’t you.” He teased and you smacked him affectionately as he set you back on the ground gently. “I’ve heard it goes away after a few months, don’t get your you-know-what’s in a twist.”

“Can we please stop talking about my underclothes and talk about when you got home?” You glanced at Lewis, feeling rather embarrassed to have your knickers discussed in front of him, but he was smiling warmly, unfazed.

“This morning on the first train from London. I gather we’re going out for dinner later?”

“Absolutely, I am looking forward to taking all three of you out together.” Lewis nodded firmly and you smiled at him fondly, vaguely aware of your brother’s scrutinizing gaze upon your face in your periphery.

“We were going to go out for the afternoon, but you just got back and–”

“Go on sis, I hear he’s only in town a few days and you’ll have to put up with me for a lot longer than that. Go have fun, I’ll see you for dinner.”

Hugging him tightly once more, you then kissed Lewis’s cheek quickly before going to get changed into something suitable for a drive and a picnic before the pair of you made your way out to the car, leaving your brother and father to catch up.

“You two look nothing alike you know, I’d never have guessed that you were twins…” Lewis teased as he opened the car door for you.

“That’s what fraternal means – not identical.” You shook your head fondly, hesitating a moment, an apology for your brother’s behaviour dangling on the tip of your tongue.

“Well either way, he loves you very much and that’s all I could ask for on your behalf.” He nodded, eyes widening as you grabbed his face and kissed him soundly, your heart swelling almost painfully inside your ribcage.

His hands planted on your hips, holding tightly but letting you direct the kiss, lips parting compliantly at the tentative swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip. Losing your nerve, particularly in full view of the front window of the flat, you stopped short of sliding your tongue to his, but still felt a rush of pride tingle through you at the ruddy hue to his cheeks as you pulled back from his mouth.

“I’m not entirely certain what I did to earn that but…you’re welcome.” He grinned cockily and your jaw dropped at his impertinence before you laughed brightly, shaking your head as you slid into the car, happy to leave him wondering.

Glancing at the backseat, you raised an eyebrow curiously at the picnic basket and blankets there, wondering just what Lewis had planned for the afternoon.

“No peeking.” He smirked, sliding his arm around your waist to pull you close across the bench seat once he’d started the car, pulling his hand back to shift the car into gear.

“Might I know where we are going?” You asked curiously, resting your chin on his shoulder to look at him playfully as he headed down the lane.

“I thought I might show you where I lived while I was in England – well not the actual house, we’ve given it back to the Wills family, but the town.”

“I’d like that very much.” You nodded firmly, turning to look out the windshield as he headed out on the road out of town.

“We will have to drive past Lydiard, unless you’d like me to take the long way?” He glanced at you, and you shook your head quickly.

“No, it’s alright, I suppose I will eventually pass it at some point, I’d much rather it be with you.”

His hand squeezed your knee affectionately, fingers lingering on your bare skin when he found no interfering stockings until he was forced to employ it again in changing gears as he sped up as you left Swindon behind. You had somewhat bemoaned the difficulty related to finding stockings lately, but as his fingertips idly caressed the side of your knee, suddenly you really didn’t mind very much at all.

As the pair of you drove past the tree-lined drive leading towards Lydiard House, you swallowed to see a series of guards posted at the road, finding the sight altogether unwelcoming and eliminating any last bit of nostalgia you may have felt for the place you had called home for a decade.

“I would bet it feels an awful lot like a prison for the St Johns and the rest of the staff, too.” Lewis muttered and you nodded quickly.

“I have to say I certainly do not miss working fifteen hours a day. Free time in the evenings, it’s been quite a revelation.”

Lewis grinned at you softly, squeezing his hand that had promptly returned to your knee. “I told you that you were much better suited to this life.”

“You did, yes. Thank you.” You pressed a careful kiss to his cheek, paying closer attention to your surroundings as you neared Aldbourne, a town you’d rarely had occasion to visit previously.

Lewis took you on a small tour, pointing out the Nissen huts, or Quonsets as he called them, where the enlisted men had stayed before swinging by Littlecote House where he had been billeted. He regaled you with funny stories from training and that one time his closest friend Dick had been forced to upend his mattress to get him out of bed after a very intense night of celebration. Circling back to the centre of the village, he parked in front of a small bakery, opposite the village green.

“We just need to pick up our dessert and then we’ll be ready for lunch?”

You nodded warmly, sliding out of the car with him as he led you into the shop. It smelled positively divine inside, all sorts of sweets in the display cases.

“I’m here to pick up an order for Nixon?” Lewis smiled and the girl behind the counter looked up with wide eyes.

“Leftenant! We didn’t think we’d see any of you boys back here again.” She smiled up at him brightly, fairly batting her eyelashes at him.

“Just wanted to be sure my girl had a chance to try the best lardy cake in all of England.” He smiled smoothly, looking to you warmly.

Swallowing tightly, you could not help but notice the way the girl’s face fell as he tugged you closer.

“Anything you’d think your father and brother would like as a souvenir of our travels?”

Normally you would have refused, been stubborn and reticent in the face of his generosity, but there was something about the way the girl was throwing daggers at you as she retrieved a box with his name on it from under the counter that emboldened you.

“Perhaps a few imperial cookies?” You looked up at him hopefully and he rewarded you with a quick peck to the cheek.

“A dozen of the imperial cookies as well please.”

“Of course, leftentant.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the impulse to correct her sharply as you felt rather territorial about that title – more precisely that pronunciation of that title. You waited quietly as she packed a box of the cookies and Lewis paid the total. You were more than a little relieved to say your goodbyes and leave the shop, baked goods in hand, and retrieve the picnic supplies from the car.

“Can I help you carry something?”

Lewis paused a moment before passing you the blankets, taking the boxes from the bakery and the rather heavy looking basket himself.

“You know I packed artillery shells for the past seven months, I am not helpless.” You teased as you followed him across the street onto the village green.

“Just because you can, darling, doesn’t mean you are expected to.” He replied with a smirk, waiting for you to unfurl the blankets on the ground before the pair of you settled in.

“So long as you remember that I am not helpless, Lewis.” You replied firmly, watching him unearth several packets of sandwiches, some fruit, and a bottle of lemonade from the basket along with glasses to drink from.

“I assure you I would never dream of considering you helpless. After all you rescued a drowning dog from a lake while wearing a full-length dress.” He grinned, popping the seal on the bottle to fill you a glass. “Climbed the highlands to procure me heather and grouse feathers, poured TNT and lifted artillery shells, served a certain honorable without murdering her for her deplorable behavior…” His tone had started off teasing but as he set the glass in your outstretched hand his face grew serious. “No darling, if anything I really quite admire you.”

Ducking your head shyly you took a sip of the tart liquid, enjoying the way it sparkled on your tongue. The pair of you picnicked happily in the sunshine, demolishing most of the sandwiches and fruit before Lewis unboxed the cake.

“The best in England, you say?” You grinned, peering at it curiously.

“Well, all of us in the 506th would certainly say that, but I wonder what a real Englishwoman will say.” He smirked, using a knife from the picnic basket to cut a slice, holding it out for you to take a bite.

Looking to his expectant face before glancing back down at the outstretched piece of cake, you leaned in to take a bite, holding your hand in front of your mouth as you sat up to chew thoughtfully. As the flavour of it spread across your tongue, you began to nod happily.

“Oh wow, that’s probably the best I’ve ever eaten as well.” You agreed once you swallowed your mouthful.

Lewis beamed happily before taking the next bite from the piece still in his grasp, leaning back onto his forearm lazily as you prepped another slice for yourself, trying not to spend too long drinking in the length of his body in such an enticing pose. Looking around the village square instead, you smiled.

“It’s so peaceful now, I can only imagine the havoc you all wreaked.” You laughed softly and he chuckled.

“Havoc is an excellent choice of word, darling…”

After you’d both eaten your fill, you carefully packed up the remnants into the basket, setting the bakery boxes aside to take home for your father and Johnny to have a go at them. The shadows began to creep across the grass and a glance at your utilitarian wristwatch told you it was nearly four-thirty. Lewis suddenly sat up, drawing your gaze as he fidgeted slightly before shifting closer to you.

“Darling I…know I can’t make as much of a fuss about this as I’d like to but… We’ve been talking an awful lot about the future and what it might look like, and it would be a mistake if I didn’t make it official. Or as official as I am able, at this point.”

You held your breath, focusing intently as you did your best to hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears.

“Would you do me the honor of wearing this ring as a promise of my intention to marry you?” He produced a velvet box from his pocket, opening the lid to reveal a ring very much to your taste, not too many stones, in the metal of your choice, showing just how closely he had been paying attention to your preferences yesterday.

“Lewis…” You exhaled in awe and looked to him, eyes wide with wonder. “Yes…I of course…” You smiled, finding your eyes suddenly blurred by tears as he pulled you into his warm embrace.

“I thought…you’d maybe want to wear it on your right hand and then…when I get the divorce finalized, I’ll write you right away and then you can put it on your left, like a proper engagement ring.” He murmured against your cheek, and you smiled so broadly it made your jaw ache.

“I love you so very much, Lewis Nixon.” You shifted back to kiss him warmly, sighing against his lips as his fingers slid up your neck to cup your jaw.

“I love you too, darling.” He replied once you’d parted for breath, and he plucked the ring from its box to slide it onto the fourth finger of your right hand. “This is only the beginning.”

If only you’d known how seriously Lewis would take that statement. The baked goods immediately followed by a lavish dinner went a long way to easing your brother’s concerns and then all too soon Lewis had to return to France for his boat home. It was exceedingly difficult to see him go, though it was a relief to know you that, at least this time, you were not sending him off to combat.

It was not long after his departure, however, that your father began to receive regular wire transfers to cover rent and other necessities. Your father feigned innocence, though you did not believe him for one moment, as Lewis would not have known the necessary sum otherwise. You took to a letter to chastise Lewis, albeit lovingly.

While his subsequent responses acknowledged your wishes, they also cleverly shifted the focus to seeking your approval of potential homes and venues for your inevitable nuptials. It was late January of 1946 when a large trunk arrived by courier when you finally received the news you had been long awaiting. Johnny was at work, your father at the pub. You were enjoying a rare moment at home alone after finishing work for the day, having kept a small roster of clients to accumulate pocket money to spend on previously frivolous things like skin care and hair cuts.

Signing the receipt slip, you had the delivery man set it in the living room before kneeling to open it, gasping at the neatly folded piles of clothing contained within. Laying atop were two envelopes, one letter-sized and another legal-sized. You quickly retrieved the letter, assuming it would contain the most explanation, and sliced it open with your trusty butter knife.

It was fortunate that you were the only one at home, for the childish squeal you let out as you fell onto the sofa would have been a mortifying thing for anyone else to witness. Fumbling slightly, fingers made clumsy with glee, you took the ring from your right hand and quickly slid it onto your left where it truly belonged, holding it up to admire it proudly. Glancing at the watch on the same wrist, you sat up, realizing you still had time to send your reply and grabbed your handbag and overcoat, dashing out the door and down the lane to the post office.

It took a bit of explanation from the clerk, it being your first telegram after all, but you managed to condense your words to keep the entire process affordable.

The next few weeks were a flurry of activity, with Lewis’s reply arriving by cable the next day that he would be in London mid-February. You employed the services of a local seamstress, as ordered, to have your trousseau properly fitted. Lewis proved yet again that he had paid attention, having sent a few dresses and ensembles in ivory and white to choose from – and mercifully nothing so ostentatious as a full wedding gown. You were able to give ample notice to your clients and you’d already procured a passport – thankfully you’d started that process in September of the previous year.  Using your accumulated ration coupons, you purchased a swimming costume and an irresistibly fine nightgown for your wedding night.

It felt like no time at all before the three of you were stepping into the suite at the Ritz that Lewis had reserved for you to get ready for your wedding that evening, and the rest of your family to stay the night before returning to Swindon on the morning train while the pair of you headed out on your honeymoon. You were startled to find a young woman waiting for you there.

“Good afternoon miss, sirs. My name is Sara. Mr. Nixon has sent me to assist you in getting ready. He asked me to give you this before you could protest.” She held out an envelope of telltale Ritz stationery and you took it with a fond sigh, following her into the room where the bellhop deposited your trunk.

Huffing in bemused annoyance, you quickly turned your attention back to Sara, working with her to hang up your outfit for the impending ceremony before looking over the selection of ‘decorations.’ Lewis had sent several sets of jewelry for you to choose from and after some deliberation you eventually settled on one before submitting yourself to Sara’s talents as she saw to your hair. Mercifully, all rumours had proven true, and the yellow hue had vanished from your skin and hair, returning you to your normal appearance. Your diligent use of skin care had also gone a long way to soften the callouses of your work-roughened hands and by the time Sara was through with you, you almost didn’t recognize yourself.

Stepping out to where Johnny and your father were waiting in their new suits, purchased with a hoarding of ration coupons and Johnny’s excellent wages from his new post at the Great Western Railway, the three of you gawked openly at one another.

“Well, we certainly clean up nice, aye?” Your father grinned.

“You look pretty as a picture, sis.” Johnny grinned and pulled you in for a hug just as Sara hurried out with a small bouquet of white roses.

“Don’t forget these, miss. Your car to the embassy is waiting downstairs.”

You took it carefully and smiled to her. “Thank you so very much for your assistance, Sara, I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, my pleasure miss.” She blushed prettily, bowing her head shyly. “I’ll see to it that your trunk is moved to Mr. Nixon’s suite with the rest of your luggage. Congratulations.”

You parted with your thanks before heading downstairs, trying not to roll your eyes when you found the waiting car was a Rolls Royce. You really might have to murder him at the end of that aisle. Climbing in carefully, the three of you drove to number one Grosvenor Square, the address of the American Embassy. It had been Lewis’s idea of course, and only possible given that he personally knew the ambassador Mr. Harriman.

It was his hope that it would ease your immigration to the United States, to be technically married on American soil, while still being able to have Johnny and your father in attendance. The building was rather imposing as you climbed out of the car, thanking the driver as he held the door, not at all what you would have imagined for your wedding. Then again, you’d never imagined marrying an American divorcé set to inherit a great fortune one day, either.

Surrendering your coats to one of the ambassadorial staff, you took a moment to compose yourself as Johnny stepped into the reception room, nodding to your father when you were ready before the doors were opened and you made slow progress down the aisle, allowing for the extra time it took him to manipulate his prosthetic leg with each step. You were pleased Lewis had chosen a smaller room, there were not that many people in attendance, really just the ambassador and his wife, your small family, and Lewis and yourself. But as you walked down the short aisle towards the man waiting for you in black tie with the officiant at his side you were certain nothing had ever been more perfect in your entire life.

Your father shook Lewis’s hand before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, ambling over to his chair as Lewis took your arm in turn. He leaned in to whisper warmly in your ear.

“You look incredible, darling.”

Swallowing tightly, you whispered back. “You are lucky there are too many witnesses to commit manslaughter here.”

He barely contained his laughter.

The ceremony was sweet and simple. The signing of the licence took a little extra time as you also completed your immigration application at the same time, with his excellency Mr. Harriman signing as a sponsor – a breathtaking honour which you were quite certain you would never be able to fully process. Lewis had also clearly bought the wedding bands at the same time as the engagement ring as they all looked quite smart next to one another once placed on your respective fingers.

The intensity of Lewis’s eyes on yours as the officiant pronounced you man and wife had you feeling rather apprehensive of the kiss he was about the lay on you, a kiss you were admittedly no less desperate for after nearly six months, but reticent to share in front of an audience. To your surprise, and slight disappointment, it was a soft and utterly appropriate kiss that only left you wanting more as the small group of attendees applauded your finally-accomplished-union.

Bestowing the bouquet upon the ambassador’s wife insistently, in gratitude, you finally allowed Lewis to pull you down to the separate car waiting to take the pair of you back to the hotel where the four of you would celebrate in a private dining room. The driver had barely closed the door before Lewis was pulling you close, at last delivering the thorough conquering of your mouth you had been yearning for as you clung to his coat, not wanting to ruin his styled hair.

“I have missed you far too much, darling.” He whispered against your lips as the driver pulled the car into traffic. “How will I ever repay your patience with me?”

“Do not remind me of balances and things owing, Lewis, I’m in a good mood.” You teased fondly. “You will meet my rage tomorrow when we’re stuck on a boat together for days on end. Tonight is for celebration only.”

He responded with a lopsided grin as his gaze traversed your face, expression fading slowly to one of seriousness before he kissed you fiercely once more, hands sliding dangerously close to your carefully pinned hair. You pulled back quickly with a pout.

“You can ruin that later.” You panted a little and he pressed his face against the crook of your shoulder.

“I will ruin more than your hair later.” He spoke, breath skating along your skin, making you shudder for many reasons. “Darling, are you certain this is not your murder plot unfurling right before my eyes?” He lifted his eyes to look up at you with a pained expression, your fingers reaching out to cup his cheek sympathetically as the car pulled up outside the hotel.

Summoning the strength to compose yourselves as the driver came around to open the door, you stepped out carefully and took Lewis’s arm to head inside, rather enjoying the way people glanced at the pair of you approvingly.

A small feast of beef wellington, Victoria sponge, and tea with milk and sugar – among other delights – awaited you all back at the Ritz. Lewis was barely able to keep his hands from ensnaring yours, his knee from pressing against your thigh, from feeding you bites of food proudly. He did an amiable job of getting to know Johnny better this time despite his distraction, the previous adversarial tension having evaporated from your brother with the arrival of the divorce decree several weeks ago. Lewis took great interest in Johnny’s employment and the topic of conversation devolved into a rather intense debate about railways…even as Lewis began to pull the hem of your dress higher beneath the tablecloth with tantalizingly bold fingertips. Eventually your father dragged a very stuffed and well-liquored Johnny off to bed, freeing the two of you from the obligation of entertaining them any longer at which point Lewis lifted your left hand to press a kiss to the rings on your finger.

“Well, Mrs. Nixon.”

You smiled shyly, but delightedly, to hear your new title from his lips. “Well, Mr. Nixon.”

“Fait accompli. At last.”

Nodding warmly, you leaned in to kiss him gently, giggling as he tasted of icing sugar and strawberry jam from his last bite of cake. “We should let them in here to clean up.”

“Are you propositioning me, Mrs. Nixon?” He teased as he stood, sliding his arm around your waist as you stood in turn.

“No!” You squeaked in self-defence, though you were more than a little enticed by his earlier promises from the car.

“Then allow me to proposition you, I would very much like to see what you’re wearing underneath this lovely outfit.”

“Mr. Nixon!” You feigned shock even as you pulled him out of the private dining room to head up to your shared suite.

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Read Part Six

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse

[madhatterbri]

Talk Dirty To Me | Hangman A.P.

Summary: Prompt 8: You and your love end up having phone sex because they’re away for Valentine’s Day.

Author's Note: If you know me in real life, I was just in a silly, goofy mood. 🤪🤪 Gonna take a small break writing smut for him for a while.

ImPure fiction.

"You there, baby? You know I love to hear you like this," the Hangman's raspy voice played in your ear. Your phone was held next to your ear by your left hand. You could have sworn you heard the zipper of his jeans coming undone. "When you need me,"

You whined in frustration, wishing that he could have been home instead of at work. "Adam..."

"I know, I wish I was there too," he revealed loving your soft whines.

"I need you," you confessed. Your right hand was between your legs as two fingers are pushed inside of you. It felt good, but it wasn't him. You wanted Adam with you tonight more than anything, but this was his dream. You would never want to take that away from him.

"I need you too. Go ahead and keep playing with yourself, baby. I want to hear you," he spoke, but it sounded more like a plead. You shoved your index finger slowly inside of you. Within moments, your slick covered the new finger.

"Oh God, Adam," you whimpered. Your fingers pumped inside of you. Calls for his name filled the bedroom. Your hips slightly off the bed as they thrusted your fingers.

"I know, baby, me too," he grunted. He sounded farther away from his phone. You could hear him rustling with his jeans and boxers now. "Keep going. I want to hear you,"

You scooted up and leaned against the headboard. Your legs are bent and spread wide. Your fingers find the same spot Adam would hit if he was here with you. You placed the phone in speaker mode on your leg. He was going to hear every sound from you.

"Is that? Oh," he couldn't bring himself to say it. He moaned in his pillow, not wanting to disturb those sleeping in the rooms next to him. "God, I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Better get a good night's sleep tonight. I'm going to give my needy girl everything she wants,"

The promise of tomorrow made you clench your fingers. You told him that you were close. The pressure in your lower abdomen was too heavy to ignore.

"You touching your clit, love? Go ahead,"

His question was answered with the loudest moan of the night. You could feel him smiling through the phone. He panted as his mind imagined you playing with yourself. The idea of phone sex seemed farfetched at the beginning, but it proved good for both of you.

"I'm so close," you confessed in a long whine. The way he was egging you on with his words and noises was almost too much to handle. All you ever wanted to do was please him.

"Me too, darling. I need you to let it all out. Imagine I'm between your legs licking you and fucking you with my fingers," he demanded. It sounded like when he was getting to business in the ring. You loved it when he was in control. The image he painted was too hard to ignore. Your mind went blank, and your mouth dropped open. The pressure in your stomach suddenly blew.

"Adam!" You called out as your legs twitched. He called out your name as well. You leaned forward and panted, trying to catch your breath. The mess on the sheets under you made you blush. Adam had so much control over you.

Your fingers slipped out of you. Your body and mind slowly coming back from your high. You leaned against the headboard with a satisfied smile. This all started from you teasing him that you were touching yourself to his voice. You never imagined that it would lead to the two of you completely undone.

"That was amazing, baby," you paused. "Can we talk until we fall asleep?"

"Anything for you,"

[liminalpebble]

My loves. I find myself in the middle of a real life shitty/angst situation. So I will use it to make creativity lemonade rather than wallowing.

It sucks, but holy shit is it a good prompt and if any of you would like to write about how our beloved fictional men would handle said situation with "reader" I would love to be tagged.

Situation: I was supposed to host my birthday party at a bar this weekend with a very big friend group. This is the kind of group where there's always some kind of drama between some people. I've always stayed out of it. I just decided to invite everyone openly, and they can sort it out like adults amongst themselves.

I've been planning for weeks...putting together games, decorations, party favors, all that, then yesterday shit hit the fan. A friend chewed me out for inviting someone she hates, and said she won't come because of it. (She was a major part of the plans for the day, so there's a bit of both a social and logistical domino effect...lots of things going tits up).

This morning I decided to cancel the whole party, realizing that if it's already this miserable, it's only going to get worse, and I dont want to suffer through it. I did so tactfully, not saying anything about anyone to anyone. Just saying I don't have it in me right now to host.

So today I've been sitting here staring at all the party favors I wrapped, with a knot in my stomach, being mad at myself. I even cried a little, which I usually have trouble doing.

Any ideas how our fictional darlings might cheer me up? I would welcome your words (be they smut, fluff, comfort whatever). Thanks for humoring and distracting me in advance, sweet SAS. 🥰

P.s. if you're comfortable with it, DM me your address/PO BOX, and I'll send a few party favors. 🥳 might as well share the love, otherwise they'll just sit here.

@lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtiggerv2 @goblingirlsarah @acidcasualties @mochie85 @smolvenger @ladyofthestayingpower @sunflowerdaydreamer @glitchquake @tripleyeeet @unlucky-number-13 @infinitystoner @peaches1958 @alexakeyloveloki @marcotheflychair @coldnique @thedistractedagglomeration @muddyorbs @thenerdyoldersister @icytrickster17 @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @littlespaceyelf @love-letters-from-loki @sarahscribbles @lovelysizzlingbluebird @sweetsigyn

[theyanderespecialist]

Base Yandere Sentient Toy Bonnie Headcanons: BonBon's EGO and Obsessive Love (Five Nights At Freddy's)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am here with a new chapter! IT IS SPOOKY SEASON TIME! So Spooky Season! Please enjoy this!] 

(Disclaimer: Toy Bonnie IN THIS Is Sentinet/Sapient! Mean he can feel like a human does AND he has a consciousness! He is a living creature through AI! He can feel like a human does and be aware of his sense of self! 

Disclaimer 2: Toy Bonnie is not yandere in canon! This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! You know who you are! You Dirty, Flaky, Biscuits! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!) 

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Toy Bonnie From The FNAF Fandom- 

.Toy Bonnie is an arrogant and self-absorbed animatronic who thinks he is a superstar! 

.Yes, Toy Bonnie, or BonBon, as I like to call him (I have been calling him this for years! Sue me!), has fallen for you, a worker at the Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. 

.Of course, he is an AI and has no soul inside him. But he is Sentient and Sapient in which he is aware that he is alive and that he can feel things like a human would. 

.That goes for obsessive love as well as he fell into deep obsessive love for you. 

.You were his and he was downright possessive towards you. 

.He is the type of yandere that thinks and in his mind, knows that he is the best damn thing for you. 

.He was the superstar, he was way more amazing than the other toy animatronics and WAY better than The original Bonnie. 

.He could not stand that you grew up with the classic animatronics and that you preferred those relics to him! 

.HE IS THE STAR! YOU SHOULD LOVE HIM! AND ONLY HIM! 

.He is an animatronic with a huge ego! So of course he would think that he is the only one good enough for you, especially as a yandere for you. 

.He would even tear up his fellow animatronics if they got too close to you. 

.He also likes to take his anger out on mangle since she is such an easy target. 

.He can be a very cruel yandere and is actually a very sadistic yandere as well. 

.He takes rivals out by hurting them badly, and I mean bad. 

.Even human rivals are harmed and now Toy Bonnie has to be watched during the day since he accidentally dislocated one of your coworker's arms. 

.Of course, Toy Bonnie would make sure that it was you being the one that has to watch him all day long. 

.And night to if he can make your boss force you to do overtime! 

.He is a super petty yandere, so with rivals he is beyond petty! Like man oh man, if someone gives you a pat on the back you can bet Toy Bonnie is going to hurt them. 

.No one had the right to touch you or to even look at you. You were his! AND HIS ALONE! 

.He is also petty with you, that is right Toy Bonnie, BonBon, our man with the streetwalker makeup! He is a toxic yandere and that ends up affecting how he treats you! 

.Oh you wore makeup one day or have been working out, who are you trying to impress? You are his so you should only wear makeup or work out if he says so! 

(side note men/non-binary/women can wear makeup too and women/nonbinary/men can get buff this is why I said both makeup and working out!! Slay/Get SWOLL Queen, Kings, and Majesties!) 

.Oh you got a new haircut, is it for some date you have? You should only plan to improve yourself for him! 

.Doing anything that makes you more attractive or stunning to anyone other than him is a way for you to sell yourself to other people. 

.And He fucking hates that, you should only look good for him and only improve your looks for him! No One Else, EVER! 

.He believes he is the only one worthy for you and that you are the only one worthy of him! 

.So you should be lucky that he chooses you and that he wants you to be his darling. 

.He would also openly taunt the people who are your friends, family, or even coworkers. 

.He is going to make everyone hate being around you and maybe even hate you! 

.That way no one will want to be around you and you will be forced to just accept him. 

.He will be your best friend, he will be your future family, he will be your boyfriend and one day your husband. 

.He would be all that you need and no one, NO ONE, Will ever be able to take you away from him! 

.He is also a very manipulative yandere and a yandere that would gaslight you one hundred percent for sure. 

.He would make you feel like you a crazy and that no one could ever love you. 

.That he is the only one who could love you and that he is very much the only one who even likes you. 

.He would make you believe that everyone hates you and that you are unlovable.  BUT HE LOVES You! 

.He sees past all your flaws and sees the beauty that you are and that he accepts you with all your ugly flaws.  .Seriously this yandere is the KEY WORDS Of Toxic Yandere. 

.He also has a thing for seeing you break down and cry. 

.He knows that he is so in control of your emotional state and he loves it! 

.He loves the control he has over you and he gets off on it. 

.He is a very controlling yandere and the control he now has on the very person that you are makes him feel great. 

.He is the type of yandere that will break you down and build you up in the image that he has in mind. 

.If he can get away with it he will make you his handler so that you can live on sight and so he can see you almost twenty-four-seven. 

.He is the type of yandere that will always get what he wants and he is never ever going to lose you. 

.He would grandly confess to you, by bringing you up in front of everyone and declaring his love for you. 

.He did this on purpose so you cannot turn him down, because you would break the kids's hearts if you were to turn down their favorite star! 

.I did say he was manipulative and this is one of the many ways he would have done it, he is a very bad bonbon. 

.So you are forced to say yes, and he would say no takebacks and since that day it did not matter if you loved him or not, because in his mind you were his and accepted his love. 

.So it does not matter how many times you say you don't as he would believe fully that you do love him. 

.Also if you tried to break up with him he would make a scene in front of the kids. So that you would be the one apologizing to him. 

.It gives him a huge ego boost and makes him feel so damn confident that you can never ever leave him. 

.Oh and do not think of quitting because if you do he will hunt you down and kidnap you and keep you as his sweet little bunny. 

.He calls you his little bunny, I just thought that was another fun bit of info! 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter is done! I hope you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins! AND ALSO STAY SPOOKY My Muffins!] 

[therealslimshakespeare]

What got you into writing/how long have you been writing?

What’s your writing inspiration?

Do you write in silence or need background sounds? Like music?

Do you struggle more with dialogue or detail?

Any tips for someone who wants to write fanfiction?

How do you differ all your OC’s so you don’t rewrite the same characters over and over?

Do you do research?

— from someone who would love to write their own stories lol but yours are great!

My darling. So many apologies for how tardy I’ve been in replying to this, I really wanted to give it due thought because I’m quite touched you’d even ask.

1: I’ve been writing since I was little, my mama was always reading me classics and my greatest ambition was to be some kind of author every bit as colorful as their characters, a la Oscar Wilde. 🥳

2. Writing inspiration? Oh that’s a hard one only in that I could cite a million things and chat your poor ear off, but to be boring and also frank -I just love stories. I think they’re so inspiring and healing and necessary for making sense of things, or else resigning to things that can’t be explained. I love to study love and how very human and fallible and also indestructible it is in its many forms. I love to dig through tragedy and find the refining purpose of it, I love to take characters through hells I’ve been through so that I can imagine their triumphs, too, and my own through them. If this can happen to -name your hero- then I’m no smaller for it happening to me, if -name your hero- can get through it and be loved and admired by a whole fandom? -I deserve the same commendation from myself at the very least. Stories are essential and fun and I never ever imagined I’d have a little group one day liking my own where we could all scream about these things together. I’m legit so humbled each time I log on here and find y’all ready and waiting and interactive. The community of it, that’s the biggest drive right now, tbh. What a sweet season.

3. I usually write in silence, or else at any chance where I have a moment, so that could be public transport or lunch breaks or in the loo during family holidays, ha. However I do find music to be an inspiring mood setter for writing later that day. Especially as i juggle many ongoing projects at once, the genre im listening to before may very well influence what gets worked on.

4. Detail!! Dialogue can be challenging but I hear it so clearly in my head most of the time that it’s not hard. Details can devastate me.

5. Ooof, I still feel like I’m a baby at it, this is only my second fandom to dare for. I’d say for sure write what you find inspiring instead of what appears to be wanted, i firmly believe that’s the only sure way to keep up any inspiration and the niche will draw its own crowd, one’s who will like it all the better for its specially crafted world. Also, for dialogue -replay and replay dialogue from the character before you write. Are they terse or do they ramble? Are they sarcastic or earnest? Do they have a word they repeat often? -I noticed the other day how Rosenthal uses “you know?” often in the show. Also, sometimes switch up sentence structure from character to character, it helps feel like hopping brains without a fully jarring POV change. All these are things I’m currently working at myself, but that’s the best I’ve got for advice.

6. Oh boy I’m still figuring this out myself. Three things come to mind as little helps I use- first off, read real biographies, it helps tremendously with crafting fully dimensional fictional people. Two -have a maturing arc for your OC during the story, separate from whatever adventure or romance that occurs, this will make it feel less like a inserted person into the broader story. Three, choose a personality type or something similar to both keep them separate from the next but also to ensure their virtues have corresponding vices.

7. I do research a lot. But I find that it’s a fine line for myself of when that drains all creativity or bravery. Im massively indebted to so many mutuals who generously share their own with me.

[sotwk]

Hi! I’ve never requested something like this before (I guess that’s why I’d like to be anonymous) but I really like your work and have a real life situation that I would kind of love to see addressed in fiction with my dream resolution to it. So apologies if this is kind of specific—feel free, of course, to adjust anything you think is needed if this is something you’re interested in doing.

The scenario would be Eomer has chosen a partner for himself (I guess this could be written as the reader herself?) who is very different, personality wise, both from Eomer himself and from the Rohirrim that he’s grown up around and been friends with all his life. He adores her and those differences, but, despite her best efforts, she cannot get those friends to accept her. Instead, they frequently exclude her, subtly make her feel bad about herself, etc., especially during times when Eomer is absent. When he finds out that this has been going on, he is furious and comes (publicly and heroically) to her defense and puts those (now former) friends in their place.

As I said, I think I’d find that resolution personally very cathartic. And I adore Eomer, who is my number one fictional boyfriend. (Haldir comes a close second, but I know he’s happily married in your head canon. Though if he showed up somehow as a handsome and supportive presence, I certainly wouldn’t object!)

Thanks for taking the time to consider! I definitely enjoy your work and following along whenever you add new material.

Excuse me while I exercise my right to insert Eomer gifs at every possible opportunity. <3

My darling Anon, you honor me with this request, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart! I believe that cathartic release is one of fanfiction's greatest functions, and I would love to be able to gift that to you in an Eomer fic!

If you have suffered through a situation like this, where others have made you feel like you are unsuitable for someone you love, or in any way made you feel bad about simply being yourself, I am sorry you have to experience that! Let's fix it through fiction!

Because this request is personal to you, it is really important to me that I hit the right notes in the story so you can experience maximum catharsis. Would you mind giving me at least a couple of (or many, if you want!) specific details about how you want the Female Reader to be? I know you want her to be different in personality and background from Eomer/his friends, but maybe you can specify in what ways? Is she common/of humble birth? Gentle and sensitive to violence? Introverted and quiet? Bookish and struggles in the wild outdoors?

If you could please send me another Ask, giving me just a little bit more insight, I'd really appreciate it. I want to make this fic as close to your preferences as possible!

Again, thank you for entrusting me with this special request, and I will put in on my WIP list right away! I hope you are well! All of Eomer's love to you! <3

[ellierenae]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* The Notebook of a Fictional Man ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Finally, I'm ready to publish my most darling book.

For the last two years, I've been pouring my heart and soul into this high-concept, science fiction, queer romance- just slathered with art to make it feel more real. It contains drawings by its protagonist, splatters and stains from their adventures, love notes from when his partner steals the journal away, and even scribbles or blank pages to emphasize the most overwhelming and emotional moments of the book.

If you can, I really recommend the paperback over its digital counterpart. Holding it in your hands is one of the best parts of the story, just because of its nature as a handwritten work of the character, a book that he has carried with him throughout his adventures in the multiverse. Even having made it myself, it feels so magical just to flip through and touch those shiny ink splotches.

If all goes to plan, the paperback will be available on Amazon, and the digital copy will be pay-what-you-want on a separate platform (yet to be determined). I'm even proudly expecting both to be available in time for Christmas :')

With that... happy holidays, my friends. Hope you're eating well, hope you're drinking lots of water, hope you're remembering your meds, and, most relevantly, I hope this NaNo was your best one yet

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆..⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆..⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆..⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Thank you to the patient people on my taglist: @herchemicalromance, @adelaide-kane, @audelialee, @melloyelloblogs, @ieppiq, @bk-poetry, @thats-my-type-writer, and @gerbermatter. Knowing you were waiting is probably the only thing that got me to hit "publish" <3

[spikybanana]

fic writer tag game

@to-proudly-go thank u for the tag pal <3<3 (I very definitely love your poetic angst & your art)

How many works do you have on ao3?

25 :) 15 for hp and 10 for star wars

What's your ao3 word count?

144,107!

What fandoms do you write for?

hp and star wars, though I've definitely brought the marauders fandom habits (delusional obsession w main character's dad and his best friends) straight to the prequels

What are your top five fics by kudos?

"trust" the inscription said (hp/wolfstar)

then he came home (hp/wolfstar)

don't let's die as heroes (hp/jegulily)

the prophecies spoke of you and I (sw/obikin) (which is also my most recent work, so it's crazy to me that it's up here)

slipped back in (hp/wolfstar)

Do you respond to comments?

I always do eventually!! even if it's the smallest comment I like to send a smiley face in reply. It's just that I might take forever coming up with what to say, especially for the super nice ones ;3;

What's the fic you write with the happiest ending?

hmm I'd say don't let's die as heroes for the marauders (literally turns 3 canonical funerals into a wedding) and Designation for obikin. & I usually write happy endings (minus canon fics) even if they're more "the future is uncertain but bright" rather than happily ever afters

Do you get hate on fics?

none so far! & they better not because if I do get hate I will cry

Do you write smut? What kind?

listen. listen. this is a whole Thing. as your neighbourhood ace, smut is like science fiction/horror to me. which is to say I have written both mlm and wlw sex scenes lol. it happens very rarely, but it has happened before & will happen again.

Do you write cross-overs?

I hope you know that I'm constantly thinking about how sirius/remus and anakin/obi-wan are homomorphic creatures and I really want them to meet. but also, so far, no. except if you count the wolfstar sw au sitting in the docs.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not afaik!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not afaik either!

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I don't think so, but I would absolutely love to try

What's your all time favourite ship?

wolfstar and obikin are the same ship actually, so both. (unserious)

What's your WIP you like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I read back on What You Will earlier today and scared myself so possibly that. (it's a jegulily parody of Shakespeare's twelfth night, and has already been rewritten from scratch twice, so maybe mayyybe there's a sign)

What are your writing strengths?

errrrr. occasionally poetic-ish description? I like writing pretty vibes. and occasionally punchy-feely stuff. where you stand above & survey a life through tiny poignant snippets far apart. quite a few of my fics are like that

What are your writing weaknesses?

so many. definitely more than I'm aware of too. I feel I'm awful at pacing & easily get bogged down in tiny details, which is why long fics have not worked out for me lol. It's also hard for characters to feel real to me, like I'd just stop in the middle of a story and think "my darling I do not understand you at all"

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I definitely love when I see them, but I've not tried it myself. it feels impossible to merge Mandarin and English in a way that feels natural (or write it down in English characters), even though come to think of it I do it with my brother all the time. huh.

First fandom you wrote for?

drarry! and I still wanna go back sometimes

Favourite fic you've ever written?

awh but I always like them better before they're words on the screen/on ao3. ideas are just pure vibes and potential yk? rather than a dozen annoying imperfections you're not good enough to fix. lol sorry, if I have to pick, Once Upon a Green Haze. it's unfinished & only has 3 chapters for now, but I like them.

I've seen this going around the dash for a while now, so open tag :)

[merp-blerp]

A Hasty, Overblown Lyrical Analysis of Hozier’s “Francesca” Beacause I’m Currently Obsessed With It

Just like my song analysis of Hozier’s “Arsonist’s Lullabye”, this is just my personal interpretation. You are fully allowed to have your own. And I acknowledge that I could be “wrong,” in the sense that Hozier could have a totally different aim with this song than what I mention here, and that is beyond fine. Let’s all just be respectful.

Note: I will be referring to the voice of this song as “the singer”, not Hozier. Much like how when you talk about a poem you refer to “the speaker”, not the author of the poem. I don’t want to pry into Hozier’s personally feelings when I obviously don’t know him, so whatever I say about “the singer” it’s only referring to the person reflected in the song, not Hozier himself. We genuinely respect the artist we like in this house.

I’ll do my best, but I certainly don’t consider myself particularly amazing at lyrical analysis, I just like to try for fun.

Let’s begin!

“Do you think I'd give up // That this might've shook the love from me // Or that I was on the brink? // How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily? // Now that it's done // There's not one thing that I would change // My life was a storm, since I was born // How could I fear any hurricane?”

It seems like the singer has been through a very turbulent experience with the person they are talking to, presumably a lover. We’ll assume it’s a romantic lover for the remainder of this analysis, but it’s worth noting that it could be any kind of loved one. This lover seemed to assume that in the aftermath of this experience that the singer was going to leave them after such a crushing blow to their lives. The speaker is shocked or down right offended by their lover thinking these things. They reveal that they were not thinking such things. They don’t regret the relationship and they aren't leaving them. The singer’s life has been turbulent since they were young. Maybe they were born into a hard life or something along those lines. Therefore whatever trouble was thrown at the singer and their lover means nothing in comparison to their entire life. Likely just another thing to add to the list.

I’ll skip the pre-chorus, chorus, and post-chorus for now and move on to the second verse.

“For all that was said // Of where we'd end up at the end of it…”

It seems like the singer and his lover were talked about negatively by others. Critics of the couple seemed to warn that they’d end up in a negative spot, physically or emotionally, by the end of the their relationship, or the end of their lives, due to the consequences of the relationship.

This song seems to be very inspired by the real life Francesca da Polenta and Paolo Malatesta, as well as their fictional punishment in Inferno, or the more famously titled Dante’s inferno, section of the epic poem Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri. In real life, Francesca cheated on her husband, Giovanni Malatesta, with his brother, Paolo. Giovanni, enraged, murdered Paolo and Francesca. In Dante’s Inferno, Paolo and Francesca are punished for their infidelity by being sent to the second circle of Hell when they died, where they are internally swept by violent winds, or an internal hurricane, mirroring how they were swept away by their feelings for each other. With this context, the remainder of this analysis will use this story as the lose context of what happened to the singer and his lover. Let’s say they were sent to hell for “lust”.

“When the heart would cease // Ours never knew peace // What good would it be on the far side of things?”

The lovers both have turbulent backstories throughout their lives. Maybe a life full of sin prior to their final sin of loving each other that ended their lives. They never knew peace. I believe the singer asks themselves what good would not loving their lover during their lives have done if they probably were going to end up in hell anyway (Oddly enough this question was the hardest part of the song to interpret for me). What good would it be in the long run, or far side of things, if we were going to hell anyway?

“It was too soon // When that part of you was ripped away // A grip taking hold // Like a cancer that grows // Each piece of your body that it takes.”

In the context of Francesca and Paolo in history, they were murdered, therefore, taken too soon. Maybe this is what the singer is referring to, if you go with the interpretation that the singer is supposed to literally be Paolo, talking to Francesca (or Francesca talking to Paolo—l’ve seen that interpretation). Outside of that exact context, the singer might be talking about his lover’s past. What ever happened to the lover, it killed a part of them, sooner than it should've died. Maybe this missing part of the lover affected their relationship with the singer. I take it as mental illness taking away some part of their lover and if affecting they're relationship, but it could be anything. This could be the alternative negative to their relationship, or punishment, that they were warned of, other than Hell.

Now, let’s look at the pre-chorus, chorus, and post-chorus.

“If someone asked me at the end // I'll tell them put me back in it // Dar-Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah // If I could hold you for a minute // Dar-Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah // I would still be surprised I could find you, darling // In any life // If I could hold you for a minute // Dar-Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah.”

“Though I know my heart would break // I'll tell them put me back in it…”

The most beautiful aspect of this song: the singer revels that he would never change a thing about what happened to them, even if the two are receiving punishment for their love. Even though this punishment, or the consequences leading up to the punishment, breaks their heart or kills them, they would make the same “mistake” if they were given a second chance to fix it to where they aren’t being punished. They’d still sin and find their lover in any second chance of life and be just as in love, then suffer in the name of it. Ah! Francesca and Paolo were in Hell, but they were in it together. They aren’t apart in Dante’s Inferno, they get to be swept in the wind while holding onto each other. This might be defeating the point of Hell, but I think they probably make the most of their situation down there, since they’re still together and in love.

Now the outro (Note: I’ve been seeing some slightly different lyrics for the outro on different sites and Hozier’s very ethereal annunciation, while beautiful, doesn’t really help in that department. Forgive me if these lyrics are wrong and if it affects the analysis).

“I would not change it each time (I would not change it each time) // Heaven is not fit to house a love (Heaven is not fit to house a love) // Like you and I (like you and I).”

Again, the singer would not change the way things happened with their lover, despite the penalty they face for it. The singer decides that Heaven can’t house their love anyway. Maybe this is because it’s too big of a love that even Heaven, a place that is supposed to house an unimaginable amount of people, can't make room for it. Or their love is too complex to perfectly fit into the typical box of “pure” or “good”, aka Heaven.

This is admittedly a bit of a detour, but I wanted to add a possible extra literary reference this song might take from. I’m probably so off, but I couldn’t help myself after it came to me.

The pre-chorus, chorus, post-chorus, and outro specifically remind me of Adam and Eve from Paradise Lost by John Milton. In that story, Adam and Eve live in the paradise that is the garden of Eden. They live in unfiltered joy and in pure love (they’re actually surprisingly so cute during this period when you read the epic poem). Adam regularly dubs her the “Holy Mother” and other titles like that. Then Satan, disguised as a snake, convinces Eve to eat the fruit of knowledge. As Eve eats she loses her purity, now knowing and wondering things that she wasn’t built to for. Things such as death and how it’s in her now, or if she’ll know what God knows, or if the fruit kills her will God make Adam a new Eve. Eve, loving Adam so greatly, decides she can’t stand Adam having another Eve, now able to have the flaw of jealousy, so she offers Adam, who had been making a flower crown for her, some of the fruit. Adam, knowing that Eve has condemned herself and that he can’t love a new Eve, decides to go down with the woman he loves and eats the fruit, unbeknownst to him that she is no longer the exact woman he fell for. She now has impurities. They both become jaded versions of themselves and they’re original love is gone. Adam and Eve get punished by having no choice but to die eventually and toil through the pains of life. Both Adam and Eve, for the first time ever, since they just introduced the concept into the world, want death, and Eve begs for his forgiveness, as long as he doesn’t leave her. They decide to live in faith that things will improve and ask the angels forgiveness. They gain that forgiveness, but must leave Eden. Adam and Eve also now somewhat fear the angels that they once considered friends and know they will never seem them the same way again, now being corrupt. Eve takes the revelation hard, but, even after all they’ve been through and are now going to go through, Adam remarks that Eve is still the “Holy Mother” to him, sin and all, and that he still loves her, even if it’s different now. After Adam is told about how sin will be forgiven after Christ (he’s not told as directly as that, but you know), Adam and Eve decide to make the best of their lives, hopeful, and leave Eden.

The outro especially remains me of this story. Both are about loving someone in spite of the pain it caused. My gay, Christian, hopeless-romantic ass loves that shit. I do think the main inspiration to this song was Francesca da Polenta, Paolo Malatesta, and Dante’s Inferno, but I couldn’t help but also think of that version of Adam and Eve too, and just thought I’d throw it in here as a slight bonus analysis (I totally recommend Milton’s Paradise Lost and it’s sequel Paradise Regained, whether or not you're Christian. They’re such cool retellings of the story of the first sin and the temptation of Christ. Paradise Lost is so much more interesting beyond the common—in my opinion, wrong—rhetoric that it’s about “Ooh—Is Satan actually the good guy??? Is he in the right???” No. His a master manipulator and you fell for it. Adam and Eve are the real show in my eyes. They are so fascinating). Adam and Eve don’t fit the song perfectly or anything, but I… just wanted an excuse to talk about them…

I’ve seen some interpretations of this song as sexy or about lust, I guess since Francesca and Paolo were in Hell for lust. I‘m not saying that’s an incorrect interpretation at all, as you can interpret things however you want. But I can’t seem to see it that way. It feels more about romantic, “real” love to me, not just lust, if there’s any lust at all. Sex doesn’t even seem to be referenced in this song from what I can tell. Maybe they mean it’s a sexy song? Like the song is so good it’s sexy, but not really about sex? I don’t know. I can be kinda “sex-blind” sometimes, as I call it, and sexual references can go over my head, so maybe that’s why I can’t see it. Hozier has plenty of songs that are about sex or sexually charged (i.e. Talk, It Will Come Back, Moment’s Silence, probably etc.) but I don't personally think this is one of them.

I hoped you enjoyed and got something out of my dribble that I wrote instead of sleeping. 💚

[thepuppeterproject]

Part 1 - The old tales

CHAPTER ONE 

For the longest time now, a house has been lying vacant, a white and blue FOR SALE sign plastered in the large front window. Nothing was wrong with this home, brand new plumbing, gorgeous interior, and unbelievably cheap compared to other house prices in the area.  

It was the neiborhood that was the problem. Tales of spooks, monsters, and paranormal activity floated around the workspace, newspapers, and school gossip. Tales of werewolves in the forests, witches living in old cabins, and people claiming to have seen the dead moving on their own – much like a puppet. 

So there the house lies on Fortcress Drive. However, one day when a group of high school students pass by the old house, there it is. A big, red, SOLD sign sitting in front of the torn old sign.  

Who in their right mind would move here? The town of Roseview, Michigan has just been getting smaller and smaller sense the . . . incidents. The talk of paranormal activity only began 20 years ago, when a home burned down out of nowhere, and other house fires began unexpectedly. 

Some say it’s all superstitions, old stories passed around for no other reason besides gossip to fill boredom. Others say they’re all nonsense, just fiction, as if anything hidden from the eye is not real. But others . . . others have been part of it.  

* * * 

“Maria, darling, get your nose out of that book and help us unload the car!” Harlie Malicent, Maria’s mom said. Ah Harlie, the living embodiment of ‘Live, Laugh, Love, Family’. Sometimes I wonder how she ever tricked a man into marriage. An attractive one too – not my cup of tea, but I can see how he’s fuckable.  

“Mom, I-” Maria went to protest, but Harlie isn’t one to take no for an answer. “Nonono, no backtalk. Book down.” With a groan, Maria put down her book on the windowsill of the porch. Almost hitting her head on the hanging potted cherry tree. Vines sprawl out, pouring out of the sides. The way the vines are hanging . . . something is drawing Maria towards it - “Mama!” whined a little girl. Annoying as ever, she’ll probably grow up to be a pick-me cheerleader. 

Liela Malicent. Just turned ten years of age – still as childish as a toddler. “Mama, where’s bubbles?” She asked. Ah, Bubbles. I almost forgot about him. The poor abused goldfish – well one of them at least. They have gone through seven in the past year, these stupid adults too stuck up to tell their daughter that her fish died.  

“Oh, your father took him to the vet, he got sick.” Harlie said. Liela huffed and muttered, more like yelled, “I want to see him!” as she stormed inside. Just as the little brat went inside, Maria walked back out. “Bubbles?” She asked her mom and closed the door.  

Harlie nodded, “Yeah sadly. I just can’t tell her that her fish died, you know how emotional she is!” Before Maria had a chance to answer, a car pulled up into the driveway. Liela ran back out squealing, “Papa’s home, Papa’s home!” 

Then there he was, in all his glory! Jessie Malicent! Jessie is an attractive man with a fit shape. He’s what you’d think of as your typical attractive man. Fit body, great smile, and not bad on the eyes.  

Jessie gets out of the car holding a pizza box, and a smaller box that sits up top with breadsticks. Liela doesn’t care that brat not caring if the pizza falls- and runs right up to Jessie and hugs him. “Hi, Papa!” She said happily.  

“Hey there, Kiddo!” Jessie said and handed the pizza to Maria, “Can you set that inside dear?” He asked. Maria just nodded and grabbed the food, her book, and walked inside. She was close with her father, but after the day she had she wasn’t in the mood to chit-chat.  

There was barely anywhere to set the pizza box. There were two folding chairs, both surrounded by boxes. Maria groaned under her breath and stumbled her way outside, and called out from the porch, “Hey Mama, Papa, could we eat outside?” It’s not like they had a choice – there was no room inside to even walk. 

“Of course, dear, great idea!” Harlie agreed. Then before they knew it, the family was sitting on the stone porch and eating pizza, using gas station napkins as plates.  

Maria had been mostly spaced-out reading, though when her mom said her name, it caught her attention quite well. “Oh, Maria! We know how you like reading and tend to be – antisocial – at times, but we signed you up to the school nearby!” Maria was shocked. She was social, but only with those she was close with. She had a tough time making friends but was rather enthusiastic when she had friends back at their old home.  

“Mama-” Maria went to say but Harlie carried on. “And it is biking distance from here! Now listen, I know the school year has already started, but it was just a week or two! Just think, being a first-year high school student!” Jessie added, “New school, new home, new start!” “I think it’s-” Maria couldn’t get a single sentence in before her mom cut her off again. “This will be great, darling!” 

Maria stood up, “I’m going to bed.” She said and walked inside without another word to her family. Maria shuffled around the boxes, grabbed her sleeping bag and went upstairs. Maria opened the vacant room which would soon be hers.  

Laying out the sleeping bag, she spoke to herself. “I wanna go home...” Instead of laying down, she walked to the window. Maria was looking outside, her bedroom window having a full view of a forest. She could almost see what looked like the roof of a house . . . but there was no way that there would be a house all the way out there-right? It was darkening outside, so she wasn’t sure.  

Sighing, Maria sat down on top of her sleeping bag. Despite trying, Maria suffered a restless night tossing and turning. And then before she knew it, it was Monday morning.  

* * * 

Ah, Autumn mornings in Michigan. It could be anywhere from 80°F to a literal blizzard. Though this morning was a special one, crisp air, leaves of orange and yellow dancing in the wind, absolutely gorgeous.  

Maria hopped onto her bike and set off for school. Her mother texted her the address and she had Google Maps pulled up on her phone. Maria rode her bike through a quick shortcut. It looked like other people also used this, as there was a trail of tire marks from bikes indented in the ground of a forest. Though something caught her eye . . . 

Looking to her left, Maria sees just what she thought she had seen yesterday. That old cabin . . . so it was there! Maria stared at it for a moment, gazing at little beams of light floating around it – she's just seeing things. Tiny light beams flying isn’t real.  

Shaking her head, Maria put her hands back to her bike handles and continued back off towards school hell. 

Maria stopped by the office and picked up her schedule. Looking at her electives, she wasn’t the happiest. Drama and Spanish. Maria knew Spanish before this, so why did she need to take classes on it?  

Either way, it was better to get Drama than something crappy like ‘creative writing.’ Was Maria excited – no. Was she wanting to walk out of those doors and go home – yes. But she did the only thing people can do – suck it up and deal with it. 

A few weeks went by, and Maria was slowly adjusting to her new life. She wasn’t happy about it, but she accepted it. Her life now was quite boring until one day she met some new friends – little did she know they would be the reason for her torture. 

So, there she sat, bored as could be. Maria was in English, studying for math. Hey, gotta study sometime, right? Never mind, she was on her phone behind her textbook. Who really studies anymore? 

“Hey there, new kid! Maria, right?” a boy asked suddenly. Maria was startled, jumping in her chair a little. Maria blankly stared at the boy for a moment before eventually saying, “Can I help you?” 

  The boy passed her a smile. He was . . . interesting . . . to say the least. He wore more casual clothing, with brightly colored pins flowing down his school lanyard. Pins of anime, music, and pride pins. Anymore and he would have sold out Hot Topic. 

The boy said, “I’m Mark,” as he knelt beside her. “You don’t talk a lot, and I haven’t seen you hang around anyone, so I thought I'd come and say hello!” 

Ah, the gay theatre kid – just the light of every classroom. Look – even if this kid didn’t look like a unicorn died on him, you could still tell he’s gay “What lunch period do you have?” 

Maria shuffled through some papers and found her schedule, “I have A.” She spoke. “No way, so do I! I eat lunch with my friends, you should join us!”  

Maria asked, “Why?” “Because, you look alone, and why not? I like to meet new people!” Mark answered. “So, is that a deal?” Maria let out a small sigh, “Alright.” She spoke. Aria now started to smile. No harm in making friends, right? Wrong. 

Just a moment later, the bell had rung. Mark walked back over to his desk while Maria gathered her things and got her bag on. When Mark walked back over, he asked, “Ready?” With a nod from Maria, they were out. 

 The hallways were like your average high school hallway. A fight the next hall to their left, a straight couple about to fuck on the water fountain, and a teacher dress coding girls that look like they’re cosplaying clowns in lingerie.  

Walking into the cafeteria was just as bad. The table of ‘straight’ guys jerking each other off under the table, the kids off to the side mixing chocolate milk with fruit cups, the ‘couple table’ - which the whole table is just the assortment of couples; you know – the ones that only last for a day? The ‘popular kids’ relationships! 

Mark led Maria to a table of 3 others. Two girls and a guy – Maria recognized them from other classes she had. The girls were leaning against each other – clearly dating; no doubt. Though they didn’t over-do it like some people (AKA straight people). 

The boy looked chilled out, casually reading. He was reading, ‘May the Best Man Win” by Zr Ellor. Maria recognized the book from the library in her old town but had never read it. 

The boy looked up, his face had a small touch of pink as his eyes met Mark’s, “Oh, hey!” He spoke. “Hey! I brought someone, y’all mind if she hangs out?” “Go right ahead!” One of the girls said. 

Taking a seat, Maria said, “I’m Maria.” With a slight smile. “I’m Jill!” The boy said, then looked to the girls, “That’s Caroline and Sara!” Caroline waved, followed by Sara. “It’s nice to meet you!” Caroline said. After a while of talking and eating, Jill said, “Hey, Maria! We planned on a sleepover tonight! What do you say? I can give you my address!”  

Maria looked up from her food, “Sure!” she said, “That sounds great!” 

[notjanine]

i did not make my reading goal of 69 books this year. life was crazy and my brain was bad. but i did read 53 books, and of those, i liked 50- good hit rate! favorites--in no particular order--under the cut

The Gilda Stories by Jewelle Gomez - black lesbian vampire period piece starting in the 19th century (iirc) through the 20th and into the future. good compelling stuff.

Gathering Moss by Robin Wall Kimmerer - a delightful natural history of mosses. they're more interesting and cool than you think they are. i can't wait to go out and look at some with the loupe i was given for christmas.

Sorcerer to the Crown and The True Queen by Zen Cho - british wizardry stuff, but good. if i hadn't already known, there is no way i would have guessed that these were written by the same person who wrote Black Water Sister. darling she has the range. Sorcerer was surprisingly hilarious and they are both such fun. whimsical, but not overly so. i hope she writes a third, but either way, she's got me, i'll read anything from her.

Rocks by Jan Zalasiewicz - yes, this is about literal, actual rocks. i read it during a little geology phase early in the year. it's rocks. yes. but... it reads like a fairy tale? idk. i usually tune out when it comes to geologic timescales, but this guy made even that interesting to me. it's surprisingly lovely. and very short.

You Feel It Just Below the Ribs by Janina Matthewson and Jeffrey Cranor - i had mixed expectations for this one. a podcast spinoff book could never be good, could it? if it's my favorite podcast, is it more likely to be good or more likely to be extremely disappointing? but a title like that... visceral, pulling you in (YOU feel it, YOU FEEL it), all phonemes spoken at the front of your mouth like it's meant to be whispered... oh. oh it's good. i think this is the only book i read all in one sitting this year. the alternate history in this fictional universe has been worming its way into my brain for years, and finally learning more was so compelling and satisfying. (note: read this book with Stephen Rennicks' score for the little stranger as background music, would recommend.) and i love that the stories told within this universe are all able to stand alone, including this one, but there're always enough details (big and small) to tie them together. gosh. i haven't listened to the new season of within the wires yet, but i look forward to it emotionally destroying me when i do :)

Provecho by Edgar Castrejon - vegan mexican cookbook that fuuuuuucks. the writing is so straightforward and warm, the photos are plentiful and gorgeous, and the recipes are mostly very approachable. however, there were a few surprises that made me gasp out loud. amazing

Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner - this is one of those books i was reluctant to read because i didn't think it could live up to the hype. it does tho

Certain Dark Things and Velvet Was the Night by Silvia Moreno-Garcia - i do not like noir! and she made me like it twice!

Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie - i had only seen the 2010 tv adaptation of this (bonkers cast). the original ending is way funnier

The Bone Ship's Wake by RJ Barker - last book in the tide child series :( i will definitely read and enjoy the whole trilogy again someday. fantasy pirates on ships made of dragon bones and also there are freaky bird creatures who control the weather. plus like politics and war and stuff. interesting subversions of typical white western cultural norms. and cool monsters. a lot to like in these books. (playlist for reading this series is heavy on the assassins creed black flag score, and daniel pemberton's for king arthur)

Beast at Every Threshold by Natalie Wee - when she said This body isn't a trial run for your real life... Make your hands useful or you'll be sorry....

The Library of the Dead and Our Lady of Mysterious Ailments by TL Huchu - i don't understand why these aren't classified as YA, but i'm glad they're not, or i wouldn't have read them. street-smart teenage girl in near-future edinburgh talks to ghosts and solves mysteries. sometimes it's gross. sometimes it's silly. there's a vibe and it's enjoyable

My Heart Is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones - he does one thing i really, really hate in this book. but i understand why. other than that thing, it is a blast. a literary take on the slasher genre. gets meta, but not annoyingly so. it was just the right level of scary for me (i.e., i had to stay up late to finish it so i could be DONE with it, but the scariness didn't persist past that).

plus some honorable mentions:

I'm Waiting for You by Kim Bo-Young - short story collection bookended by parallel stories about a couple separated in time. the first half wrecked me. the second didn't. i fell out of love in the middle. this book will always remind me of that.

A Marvellous Light and A Restless Truth by Freya Marske - victorian (?) era fantasy that's like 30% smut. not bad. but i mostly like them because i read the first one very soon after Sorcerer to the Crown, and in my head, they are in the same universe. delightful.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built and A Prayer for the Crown-Shy by Becky Chambers - the usual Becky Chambers stuff. thinly veiled personal philosophy with a veneer of sci-fi bullshit. it's pretty sweet tho

ngl my book completion rate steadily decreased as the year progressed; most of these are from before i started my internship in august. i have no idea what to expect in my life next year, so i'm not even going to make a reading goal. i will, however, keep my self-imposed rule that no more than 25% of the books i read in a year can be written by white men. (i have read wayyy fewer mediocre and shitty books since implementing this policy.) i might even try no more than 25% white authors full stop. we'll see. i'm excited to see what books i'll find next year! i wonder if i'll knock out all of the unread books in my apartment before i move...

[fluorescentvermin]

Chapter 1

The Beginning of the End - Charlie

Finding a job isn't easy. Finding a good place to work is even harder. I've been on the search for the right job for months, it's been a test of my mental stamina. Journalism isn't what it used to be. Written media these days is mostly celebrity gossip and conspiracy theories. The political climate has become an over-dramatized shit show. It seems as if both sides aren't fit for anyone.

Even with all that, there's one publication that seems to value the truth over gossip. The Neo Journal. I read their articles every day. Not only are their writers eloquent and fluent, but they are one of the only publications talking about the real issues. They're truly a rare gem. I've applied for them on multiple occasions but have yet to receive any word back. I guess my university degree and independent works aren't good enough for them. One day I'll work for the Neo Journal. Maybe I just need one piece that highlights my writing chops. Sadly, I've yet to find the inspiration for that one piece.

My life is pretty boring in my unemployment. I live with my wife, Ella. She's my rock. She's an Editor at a publishing company that specializes in non-fictional work, and she's been supporting us financially. I have self-issued myself the role of house husband, and I quite enjoy it! Even though I want to work, having a clean house and a wife that's properly fed makes me happy.

After taking the stairs to the 17th floor, I search my pockets to look for my key. It was strange though, when I put my key into the lock it wouldn't open.

"Ella. It's Charlie. My key isn’t working" I yell, rapping my knuckles on my front door. I hear movement. Shuffling feet grow louder, approaching the door. After a long day of job searching at the library, I was mentally drained. I looked forward to snuggling up with my wife on the couch and watching a movie.

“Good” Ellas’s voice was muffled by the door and the walls between us, surely, I was mistaken by what I heard.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that. Can you let me in, please?” I yell again. I shuffle on the spot; my satchel weighed heavy on my shoulder.

“I said good! I changed the locks” Ella shouted through the door.

“I wish you would have told me about that so I could have bought a new key” I yell and mumble at the same time. Ella forgets to tell me things sometimes, but she’s a busy woman so I don’t blame her.

“I don’t have to tell you anything” she yells.

“Ella, honey, I’ve had a long day. Can you please just let me in?” I beg.

"No, I don't think I will" She pouts, or I assume she is.

"Ella, I hear that you’re upset. I don’t know what I have done, but I’ll make it up to you. Open the door so that I can fix it"

“You can’t fix what’s already broken, Charlie”

“Broken? What are you talking about?”

“Our relationship, Charlie. It’s not working out anymore”

“Darling, we can talk about this. Can you let me in? We’ll have some coffee and talk about it. We can figure this out”

"I want a divorce, Charlie!" She shouts. My knees buckle at her words.

"A divorce? What? No! Can you let me in so we can talk?" I plead. I'm taken back by her words. I know things have been rocky but going that far is a bit extreme. We're supposed to be there for each other, and I've tried my hardest to be a good husband. I didn’t have the energy for this right now, my brain was fried. Not to mention the sheer embarrassment of the neighbours hearing our lovers spat.

"NO! YOU DON'T DESERVE TO SEE ME EVER AGAIN!" Ella wails like a banshee. Her voice piercing my ears even through the cover of the door.

"Ella, you're being irrational. Let me in, we'll talk it over. We'll think it through. I get it, you're angry, but we should think about something like that calmly with a clear and level head" I beg. I don't want to be without her. Even with the rollercoaster of emotions she's put me through, I still love her.

"I have thought about it, Charlie. I am level-headed. Our marriage hasn't been working out and I think it's about time we admit to that" She pouts.

"Ella, I made a vow to be there for you in sickness and in health. I have been distracted and I admit to it. I'll do better, I promise" I plead, leaning against the door in my weakness.

"Do you know how many times you've said that, and nothing has happened? I don't believe you will do better honestly" she hisses.

"Ella! God, please! Can we talk about this in the flat? The neighbours can hear everything" I beg, cowering against the door.

"Good! Let the neighbours know that I have a terrible EX-HUSBAND!" Ella screamed.

"Ella! Don’t be like that. Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?" I ask. This is embarrassing.

"Don't act dumb! I've been telling you for years that I'm unhappy and you've stood by and done nothing! I've tried to fix us, but nothing has worked! I'm exhausted! I can't do it anymore!" Ella sounds so hurt and frustrated. I can't bear to hear her like this. I need to hold her and tell her that it'll all be okay. One day.

"Look, I'm sorry. Okay? We'll go to couple’s therapy. We can work this out" I try to bargain. Yet I'm confused, searching my brain for memories of when Ella would have genuinely told me that she was unhappy. She pouts constantly and judges me at times, sure, but I can't recall a single time she's said anything about trying to mend our relationship.

"Are you not listening to me? It's not WORKING!" Her voice raspy and desperate.

"Ella! This is ridiculous! Let me in!" my face feels hot. I can't tell if I'm angry, sad or mortified. Probably all three.

"No!" She screamed so defiantly.

"It's my home too!"

"Not anymore!"

"You're kicking me out??" I bark. Tears welling in my eyes.

"Yes! You're never allowed in the flat again!"

"Where am I supposed to go? You know I don't have anywhere!"

"You'll figure it out"

"Ella! Let me in!"

"No! I'm done! It's over" She screams, surely her throat hurts just as much as mine.

"What about my stuff? My clothes?" I ask. But she doesn't answer.

"ELLA!" I scream again, knocking on the door feverishly.

"ELLA! LET ME IN! WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS!” desperate wails followed by desperate knocking. Still no answer. Tears stream down my hot cheeks and I let the sadness take over. Crying turns into a blubber as fat tears roll down my face.

I stood there crying, uncertain of what to do. The sound of a door opening down the hall caught my attention, and a head peeked out.

"Hey, could you keep it down?" The head shouted out.

"Don't worry, I'm leaving" I scream with vitriol before storming out of the building.

<- Prologue | Next Chapter ->

[volfoss]

the really serious vampire book series character lestat:

[ID: Text that reads:

"Alas, my being the James Bond of vampires isn’t the whole issue. Vanity must wait. I want you to know what really took place with us, even if you never believe it. In fiction if nowhere else, I must have a little meaning, a little coherence, or I will go mad.

So until we meet again, I am thinking of you always; I love you; I wish you were here . . . in my arms." /end ID]

[ID: Text that reads:

"After all, I’d told our history in my autobiography; I’d told our deepest secrets, things I’d been sworn never to reveal. And I was strutting before the hot lights and the camera lenses. And what if some scientist had gotten hold of me, or more likely a zealous police officer on a minor traffic violation five minutes before sunup, and somehow I’d been incarcerated, inspected, identified, and classified—all during the daylight hours while I lay helpless—to the satisfaction of the worst mortal skeptics worldwide?

Granted, that wasn’t very likely. Still isn’t. (Though it could be such fun, it really could!)"/end ID]

[ID: Text that reads:

"In my isolation now I dream of finding some sweet young thing in a moonlighted chamber—one of those tender teenagers, as they call them now, who read my book and listened to my songs; one of the idealistic lovelies who wrote me fan letters on scented paper, during that brief period of ill-fated glory, talking of poetry and the power of illusion, saying she wished I was real; I dream of stealing into her darkened room, where maybe my book lies on a bedside table, with a pretty velvet marker in it, and I dream of touching her shoulder and smiling as our eyes meet. “Lestat! I always believed in you. I always knew you would come!”

I clasp her face in both hands as I bend to kiss her. “Yes, darling,” I answer, “and you don’t know how I need you, how I love you, how I always have.”

Maybe she would find me more charming on account of what’s befallen me—the unexpected horror I’ve seen, the inevitable pain I’ve endured. It’s an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater luster to our colors, a richer resonance to our words. That is, if it doesn’t destroy us, if it doesn’t burn away the optimism and the spirit, the capacity for visions, and the respect for simple yet indispensable things.

Please forgive me if I sound bitter." /end ID]

[ID: Text that reads "Occasionally I throw up all the disguises; I just go out the way I am. Hair long, a velvet blazer that makes me think of the olden times, and an emerald ring or two on my right hand. I walk fast right through the downtown crowds in this lovely corrupt southern city; or stroll slowly along the beaches, breathing the warm southern breeze, on sands that are as white as the moon."/end ID]

^he is referring to miami here