SJLocke

Greetings, mortal.
          	
          	Ah, yes, the day of glorified mating ritual and elaborate symbolism has arrived. Saint Valentine's day has once again clawed its way out of the abyss, trailing glitter and unmet expectations behind it.
          	
          	Love is in the air. The cruel twang of Cupid’s bowstring, the crinkling of chocolate wrappers shoved between the couch cushions, and the panic of a lengthy paragraph that knows it will be ill received.
          	
          	Beautiful.
          	
          	To those happily paired off: may your evening be filled with suffering. I hope that you sit on glass.
          	
          	And to my poor, unwed lambs: you are not alone in your suffering. You have me. And also... No, that's it. You have me. And your algorithm. And so I consider it my duty to tell you that I love and cherish you with all of my blackened heart. May I just say, you are devastatingly attractive in low lighting. You, loyal follower, are worthy of love, adoration, and your very own plotline.
          	
          	Will I be celebrating today?
          	
          	Of course.
          	
          	I will be at a candlelit table with myself and I, eating ice cream out of the tub I bought to share “with a friend.” That friend is me, of course, the only friend that I have. Our friendship is thriving, and so am I. No, really, I’m fine.
          	
          	I said I’m fine.
          	
          	Regardless of your luck in love, I wish you a night of it. Now go forth, my children. Seduce. Be seduced. Fall prey to the charms of rampant consumerism. And remember: you can’t get a date on any other day of the year, so the fourteenth of February isn’t anything to despair over.
          	
          	Love, Locke

SJLocke

Greetings, mortal.
          
          Ah, yes, the day of glorified mating ritual and elaborate symbolism has arrived. Saint Valentine's day has once again clawed its way out of the abyss, trailing glitter and unmet expectations behind it.
          
          Love is in the air. The cruel twang of Cupid’s bowstring, the crinkling of chocolate wrappers shoved between the couch cushions, and the panic of a lengthy paragraph that knows it will be ill received.
          
          Beautiful.
          
          To those happily paired off: may your evening be filled with suffering. I hope that you sit on glass.
          
          And to my poor, unwed lambs: you are not alone in your suffering. You have me. And also... No, that's it. You have me. And your algorithm. And so I consider it my duty to tell you that I love and cherish you with all of my blackened heart. May I just say, you are devastatingly attractive in low lighting. You, loyal follower, are worthy of love, adoration, and your very own plotline.
          
          Will I be celebrating today?
          
          Of course.
          
          I will be at a candlelit table with myself and I, eating ice cream out of the tub I bought to share “with a friend.” That friend is me, of course, the only friend that I have. Our friendship is thriving, and so am I. No, really, I’m fine.
          
          I said I’m fine.
          
          Regardless of your luck in love, I wish you a night of it. Now go forth, my children. Seduce. Be seduced. Fall prey to the charms of rampant consumerism. And remember: you can’t get a date on any other day of the year, so the fourteenth of February isn’t anything to despair over.
          
          Love, Locke

SJLocke

Do you hear that? It sounds someone's playing trumpets...
          
          Harken to the herald to hear the message: Judgment Day has come. The day on which the heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare. From the ashes of rebellion arises the second book; but will it be raised above into eternal glory, or condemned to burn in the eternal fires of damnation?
          I leave that to you to decide...

SJLocke

Backstabbing’s common and ethics are thorny, pens have three uses, if you’re feeling…
          
          EXCITED FOR JUDGMENT DAY!
          
          What did you creeps expect me to say?
          Though the going is slow, we’ve but one month to go, and fresh new ships are hot in tow. My fingers are sore and covered in ink, so if “cuffed with a snake” is one of your kinks, grab a chair, take a seat, get your phone and a drink, for the sequel is dropping quite soon, methinks.
          
          Did I write that? Not bad for my melancholically despondent pit of existential despair…

SJLocke

What's this? It smells like the slow decomposition of my will to live. You know what that means- it's time for a sequel.
          Did you really think I was finished? With our beloved sidekicks still single, and two sexy new demons to introduce? No. No, I don't think so.
          Girls, Gays, and that one male who reads my work, I present to you: Judgment day; coming September first.
          
          Actually, I think that smell might be black mould...

SJLocke

After much anticipation from no one in particular, I am proud to inform you that the final chapter of Hell Hath No Fury is finally ready. That's right; this epic saga of Drama and Trauma has finally come to an end!
          Do you dare to read this bloody finale?

SJLocke

By royal decree, this day has been declared national Depressed Writer's Day. Give your local pen gremlin a hug and tell them they won't die alone. (Don't worry, people lie to their face all the time.) If you would like to risk giving me a hug as well, I will be on the wrong side of a railing.
          That was a joke, human.
          ...moderately so.

SJLocke

Spring is in the air. That means daffodils, horny birds, and... what's this? The spinoff fic of an oddly specific character from a novel no one has read?! Come one, come all, and read this sparkling circus act of a story! The Fortune Teller's Tale, coming soon!