#Probably seats warmed by Serv but I digress

[theirondragonrants]

Everyone has different opinions so why does it bother people so much that you dislike Servando?

I guess everyone assumes I'm hating every aspect of him? Or I'm like speaking gospel and trying to influence the masses???

Like yeah man I think Alex can do better. That's just an opinion in the same way I think team USA needs to dump Jill Ellis and Team Argentina needs to break up with journalism and it's only Argentinian coaches unspoken rule. Am I her marriage councilor? Her mother? No bitch, I'm just one more person on the internet. So fuck off, Jesus. I'm not out there trying to sabotage their God damn marriage, what do you take me for Wile E fucking Coyote!?

I know he's a really good person! And he's actually super chill irl. I know he's an activist, a feminist and not a dick. I know he stays after games to spend time with fans and he's not a very public person despite him picking a career that puts him in the spotlight and therefore leaves us with some expectations for him (or at least me). He also married a gorgeous woman, and a kickass soccer player, who Def deserves some public attention my g. But again, that's just me. I'm not trying to get anyone to agree with me here.

What other people around me say or do about Servando hasn't influenced my opinions about him. If x y or z person used to write hate on his posts or not is none of my business. I haven't done any of that so why are you telling me about it? The hell do I care. I'm 21yrs old and have no time to be influenced by my own bullshit, let alone the actions of other people.

I HATE him as a player and I think his best CV skill is being a bench warmer. From my sports fanatism I think he needs to call it quits. I think there are other players that deserve the spot he's getting paid for way more than him. But I also dislike so many other players? It's not personal I just think he sucks. Tbh if i was getting paid the big bucks to be a glorified bench warmer I probably wouldn't drop the job either so what do I know.

People take shit personally like I'm coming at their lives for reasons I don't understand. If you don't agree with me then good! I had a professor say that unparalleled agreement is the death of progress. If we all agreed then life would be so boring.

TLDR: stop taking my Servando hate so seriously. It won't change my mind. It won't change yours. The only thing it's doing is costing me precious time. I'm really about to send yalls my tuition bill so you can split it because I'll fail classes over this at this rate.

P. S: I'm ignoring all the Servando asks I'm getting rn bc honestly it's getting boring. 🤷‍♀️ I'M ALSO GETTING LIKE 5 PAGE FULL CHICAGO CITED PAPERS AT THIS POINT AND I DONT GET PAID ENOUGH (READ: I DONT GET PAID) TO ANSWER THIS SO. KINDLY. ESTAAAAHP

LETS GO TEAM OOSA!

[somanyerikas]

Nostalgia sells - or does it? About BBC’s rehiring of a previous showrunner for Doctor Who as a marketing strategy

All, right, this is the one where I deal with my issues about RTD’s rehiring from the standpoint of BBC’s business strategy . Brace for passive agression, swearwords, brief history of british television and numbers. So, so many numbers.

Allright, so I already wrote a post about my problem with RTD’s (re)hire from the creative standpoint (it’s here in case you’re interested), but hey, I can bitch about it all I want, but we all know what caused the BBC to make this decision, right? You’ve heard about it for sure. The Dropping Ratings. You’ve read about it on so many posts, lots of them probably oh-so-gladly conflating this fact with their own opinion about the deteriorating quality of the show. (Don’t worry, we’ll get to that.) So Obviously the execs at the Big BBC Quarters needed to do something about it, and what better way to go than rehire a guy who’s run at Doctor Who is a warm childhood memory for so many in it’s fanbase? After all, it’s what we’re seeing nowadays: from Star Wars return to wave of 80′s nostalgia to every old blockbuster star doing a comeback, there is but a single conclusion - nostalgia sells.

Or does it?

Part One: Moving with the change; or very much refusing to.

Let’s start this off with some facts about the ratings for Doctor Who. (Well, I warned you there’s gonna be numbers, didn’t I. Stick with me, I’m going somewhere with this I promise.) In it’s beginnings, in the sixties and seventies , the series flown high, averaging a viewership from 8 up to 10 million viewers per season. Collin Baker’s series 17 brought in a record of 11.21 milion viewer asses in front of a good ol’ TV screen, real champagne opener here. But, as it happens, things were downhill from here. During the eighties, the rating started dropping steadily, reaching an all-time low of 4.15 milion couch-warming bottoms in 1989, the last season of the classic era. 

Years passed, 16 of those years to be exact, and here comes our saviour RTD. Under his wings, the revived series premiered, bringing in over 10 milion viewers to the premiere episode of season 1, Rose. A viewership this high did not last for long, but still, RTD’s seasons averaged between 7 and 8 milion viewers per season, which seemed pretty respectable. But then, as the story likes to repeat itself, not unlike the bbc execs just did, along came the decline again. Ever since 2010, the ratings began steadily dropping again, from 7.95 in 2010 to 5.46 in 2017. Then DW experienced an unexpected peak in 2018 with the premiere of Jodie Whittaker’s first season, which averaged 7.96 viewing asses, but then continued the dropping trend on the next season, averaging 5.40 viewing butts.

So what went wrong?

You see, part of the reason that Doctor Who was bringing in such great viewership numbers in the 60′s and 70′s, was that, to put it simply, BBC did not have much competition. Or, to be exact, only had one competitor. ITV was literally founded in order to break BBC’s monopoly over British television. But in the 80′s, with the launch of Channel 4 and Sky, the british viewers had more and more options to choose from. So logically speaking, they no longer had to watch BBC’s programming just because there was nothing else on. There was more and more new programes to boredom-watch. And here’s something y’all need to know about the tv industry: the boredom-watchers, the casuals? That’s the most important demographic. As hard as it might be to swallow, us hardcore fans, forum dwellers and Ao3 gremlins, we’re not as big of a group as we’d like to think. Loving fans are important to the tv execs as providers of word-of-mouth advertisment, but the real numbers come from the casual, everyday viewer who will just put on the next episode cause the other one was kinda fun I guess. Or more fun than the other options, anyway.

And this is why, by the way, when someone is conflating low viewership with the show Dissapointing The Fans, they’re full of shit. I’m sorry, but we’re really not that much of a force here, definitely not enough to make such a big impact on the numbers. Another factor, that some of you probably noticed already, is that the numbers I’m quoting are from british tv only, while the online fandom is very much international, so our opinions matter even less to the british execs, I’m sorry again, hard pill to swallow I know, but true nonetheless.

But I digress. So, to sum up the previous paragraph, Doctor Who’s viewership decline in the 80′s was the effect of the changing landscape of the TV industry, with which the BBC struggled to come to terms with.

Sound familiar?

Let’s move on to the 2010′s, shall we?

2010 was is actually a good marker of a year to choose, because it marks one important thing that begun a big change in the industry. This was the year in which Netflix expanded their services overseas, from being a DVD rental company to providing VOD services. Over the next decade streaming services grew in importance, from being an add-on to your cable TV that you didn’t really want but they were throwing it in for cheap, to very much self-sustainable media services you might very well buy instead of buying the cable. And if you look at the numbers for Doctor Who viewership declining over the last 10 years, that’s precisely what’s been happening. It’s not that people don’t want to watch Doctor Who on tv, they don’t want to watch tv in general. Do you know what was the most popular channel in Britain this year? Can you guess? Fucking Netflix that’s what. It’s just slowly-yet-steadily ceasing to be the way we use home entertainment anymore. Again, not much to do with the audience approval, because for that matter, let’s see about the specific episodes that saw the spikes in viewership. 

Rose, which i mentioned at the start of it, was for the longest time the unquestionable queen when it comes to viewership, at 10.81 milion. The next episode, The End of the World, pulled in 7.97 - almost 3 millions worth of lost viewer-butts in one week? Is it because it was so much worse than it’s predecessor? No, it simply did not have the smell of Newness, the Event You Must See, and as such brought forth less of the casual viewers who were simply curious about The New Thing. The next season followed the similar formula, peaking at the premiere, when the marketing was at it’s strongest, going down during the season, sometimes rising slightly for the finale, sometimes not. The most popular episodes are, of course, the specials - yet again, the vibe of The Event To Be Seen worked here, but one more thing working to their advantage is they often aired in spaces between seasons, serving as both a long-waited Crumbs of Content for the fans, and the basically stand-alones for the casuals. Do you know what the single most watched episode of revived DW is? No, it’s not Tennant’s goodbye with the role (yeah I know, I thought it had to be that as well). It was Voyage of the Damned, between seasons 3 and 4. The perfect standalone for the casual watcher. And last but not least, you know one more special feature that brought, maybe not as much, but definitely more than expected? The 1996 movie Doctor Who, with 9.08 million. Again, a perfect standalone.

But the standalones aren’t the only way to grab the viewership. The currently-highest viewing non-special episode of DW? The Woman Who Fell to Earth, Jodie Whittaker’s introduction. In 2018 no less, in the year when the streaming was the ruler supreme, this episode brought a whooping 10.96 million buts to the good ol’ TV again. Let me reiterate: this episode brought in more viewers than Rose did in 2005, while having WAY more competition and way less favorable circumstances of release that RTD’s debiut did. Not only that, it managed to bring on some numbers for the entire season as well, not as good of course as the premiere (because again, the Event vibes faded), but still brought a better average than the last six seasons did. (Again, let me reiterate: more than the last SIX seasons. More viewership than any series since 2010, since the Streaming Wars.) So clearly, this must be the way, right? Catering to this Weird New Trend, that saw directors notice there do in fact exist other actors than white men, that surely brought in some profit, even Marvel does it now, right? Out with the old, in with the new!

Part 2 The Deceitful Charm of Nostalgia

Well, it turns out the whole Doing New Things deal didn’t work out that well after all, now did it? The second season penned by Chibbnal averaged 5.40 milion, that’s 2.5 million drop from the previous one! It must mean it didn’t work, right? Well, yes and no. As much as the refreshment of the formula as simple as Let’s Put A Woman In It absolutely worked for one season, it very visibly did not hold up for longer. An Event-Episode is something that can still happen on TV, Event-Series? That’s pretty much reserved for streaming now, if you think about it, and it’s honestly kind of a miracle that Series 11 did as well as it had. Two consecutive Event-Series on network tv? Flat out impossible. 

So how to make those ratings great again? How to get those butts in seats of the Good Ol’? Well, the execs of the BBC have a plan for that. They brought in a devouring beast, and it’s name is: Nostalgia.

Without a doubt, there is a number of people who feel nostalgic about RTD’s era of Doctor Who. It’s a lot of people’s fond childhood memory, or the series they started with, and judging by the numbers, there should be quite a lot of them. So the new plan, as it appears, is to get to those who maybe lost interest in the show and lure them with the promise of the thing That Is Totally Like The Thing You Used To Love, Remember? (This is why I don’t actually think that RTD will be allowed to do anything new and interesting, that’s not what they hired him for. And that’s why I think this is bad from the creative standpoint.) So there are two questions here: One, will the people be lured? And two, for how long?

Nostalgia as a marketing strategy is something that you’re probably sick of seeing already (I know I am). But it has very much been effective on many levels, especially the eighties-baiting, Stranger Things style, can bring a new IP up to relevance. But what about old IP’s that want to have a comeback? 

It’s kind of dificult to find another TV show that I could compare to Doctor Who. Most series that have been running for that long are mostly soap operas, that operate on slightly different rules, and are also targeted to a different audience. So as much as the movie series is still not exactly the best comparison, when I think about a big IP, campy sci-fi, family-oriented (at least in theory) on its path back to relevance, I think about Star Wars, obviously. The Force Awakens gambled on that nostalgic feeling and won big, but the next two movies, while still financially successful, were nowhere near the astounding success of the first one. And that’s because - you guessed it - it created the Event You Must See again, The Great Comeback, but merely two years later, the comeback became old news. So what we can gain from that is that nostalgia can create an Event as well as a new trend, if not better. But the question remains: how long will that last?

That is, after all, the main difference between a movie franchise and a TV series in the traditional, network TV sense of the word: movie franchise must bring in the viewership every year or two, and TV series must bring in viewers every week for at least two months. Is RTD’s Nostalgia Vibes enough to provide for that?

I’ll say this: I’m absolutely certain that the 60th anniversary will be very popular. I still don’t think it will break any records because, as I’ve been trying to explain for this whole post, it is not 2007 anymore no matter how much the tv execs would like it to be. But ironically, the almost-certain success of the special is the very thing that could undermine the effect of bringing their precious Nostagia Boi back onboard. Remember, the first Event Episode is The Big Oof. That’s the one that gets asses to the Good Ol’, if anything ever does. After the first big event one, that’s the point when things start going down. They’re wasting their Special Event Boi for something that already would be an event, dear fucking gods, I hate your plan and I would still execute it better. Either have RTD be the Anniversary Guy and then hire someone new, use that hype and keep it going, OR have RTD come in after the anniversary, then at least you get the Event Effect for the premiere of his first return season. Fukin’ amateurs.

But even if they did that, here’s the thing: do you think that the people who departed from the show years ago actually want to watch another three to five seasons of The RTD Show? I mean, I’m sure the thought warmed some hearts, for sure. A number of people will definitely gladly watch the anniversary, probably the first few episodes of the first return to the basics, but after that? In the world when, due to streaming, they have an easy way to revisit the actual thing they’re nostalgic towards? I honestly don’t think so. And you’re not really gonna get many new people by going back, if that nostalgia factor isn’t there. And then there’s casual viewers, the backbone, as we established. And here’s the thing: lots of those people don’t even know who the current showrunner is, cause they’re not Terminally Online like we are, and the second thing? Lots of those people ARE JUST NOT WATCHING NETWORK TV, IM SORRY GARRY. They’re just. They’re just not. I don’t know how to spell it out better. Even my mum has netflix now. Your biggest base is in another castle mate, gotta get moving and gotta get moving quick, cause here’s another thing: all the nostalgia in the world will not do SHIT for you if your target, people who were kids/teens when the RTD era was airing, PROBABLY DON’T EVEN HAVE A FUCKING TV ANYMORE CAUSE THEY MOVED OUT OF THEIR PARENTS FLAT AND LOTS OF YOUNG PEOPLE JUST DON’T BOTHER. Just. I’m sorry but you’re trying to resuscitate a decade-deceased corpse there buddy. It just won’t work. The times have changed and you gotta swim or drown, and it’s just not gonna be 2005 again, no matter how hard you pretend it is. It’s not your content it’s your business model. Just push more marketing for your iplayer or whatever, focus on streaming as your primary not your secondary cause that’s just what it is now, and maybe don’t rely on the viewer-counting systems of the yesteryear to evaluate your business. Or else you’re gonna get stuck sacrificing the creative growth of your show for a marketing strategy that probably won’t even fucking WORK.

There, I got it of my chest. Feel free to reblog, and also: you somehow got to the end of this, congrats! I’ll make numbers nerds out of y’all yet.

[gilorestel]

A sorta Demo from my book!

It’s a chapter from my upcoming novel that I’d like you to read, kinda like a demo, especially @promptoschocohoe and @neil-gaiman(If he’s interested). I don’t want corrections on stuff like grammar or spelling, just the overall feel and if the things I went for work. Genres are romance and a bit horror/mystery. Yes, the protagonist is a dude, but cmon. 

Darkness there and nothing more.

I sat in my rather grand room, thinking. I wasn't thinking about anything particular, my mind was just reviewing all the things that had happened to bring me thus far. My mind was someplace entirely else, when someone knocked on the door. I bolted up almost comically and went to see who it was. To my surprise, it was Morticia. She now had a different dress on, that looked a lot heavier than the one from before, but still just as gorgeous. The dress was following the same dark and cold motives as the first one, but with less detail and a lot darker and silkier. This dress, though, looked more like one you would wear to shield against the coldness rather than being a physical embodiment of it. Just as I was finishing my thoughts, I looked up and practically starred into her face. Morticia had a thin, lean face with a pointy chin. Her mouth was wide, but that did not make her overall appearance worse. She had bound her hair back with a kind of knot on the back of her head, but that did not elude from the fact that it was surprisingly short. Normally, women of royalty or of great wealth had no need to cut their hair for practical purposes. They usually let it grow. When I finally came to examine her eyes, which were just the same as Jacob's, I realized I had been starring at her for a few to many moments. I only smiled sheepishly and asked her what she wanted. Her answer cut into my question. I had apparently taken to long for her comfort. “Dinner is served,” and then she vanished in the darkening shadows of the corridor. Well, it seemed it was time to get ready. I looked suspiciously at the clothes Jacob had laid out for me. After inspecting each article of clothing, I decided it wouldn't hurt to at least try them on. My struggle was a fierce one, but after what seemed like ages, I was finally able to put everything on. But after looking at myself in the mirror and deciding I couldn't and wouldn't wear this, I practically ripped everything off of me and went as I was dressed. The shadows had grown longer, I noticed as I made my way toward the entrance hall. From there, Jacob had said he would be waiting for me to pick me up, so that he could show me the way to the dining room. Room after room I passed. Great God this house is gigantic, I thought to myself. But finally, after some more rooms, some twists and turns, one small staircase followed by more rooms, I found the entrance hall. Below me stood Jacob, to whom I hurried. “This place looks totally different from the other side,” I said and gave myself a inner facepalm. I hate saying obvious things. Jacob laughed and said: “Yeah, things tend to do that from different perspectives. What happened to the clothes I lent you?,” He inquired after realizing I didn't wear the things he had laid out for me. “Well...,” I began, but Jacob interrupted me: “It's okay”, he grinned, “I never liked the things myself. I just thought they might fit you better than my other stuff” With that he referenced the fact that I was shorter than him. I elbowed his side and only replied with: “Want to show me to dinner?”. Jacob laughed and said: “Follow me, Sir”. This time I elbowed him even harder, which made him laugh even more. Jacob lead me through a series of corridors that all kind of looked the same, until we came to yet another set of double-winged doors. He pushed them open and gestured me to go in first. We stepped into a huge hall with a very long table set in the middle of it. And this table was filled with the most delicious looking stuff. There were honey roasted vegetables next to a strange, yellow-orange-ish drink that looked equally good, but the most eye-catching thing on the table wasn't something to eat, but it was the candle-holder in the middle of the huge table. It was apparently made of pure crystal, reflecting its own light throughout the whole room, somehow making the foods on the table look even better. “Like it?”, Jacob asked me unnecessarily, since he, judging by that playful smile surrounding his lips, already knew the answer. As an answer simply raised my hands to his face, held it softly,  and looked him in the eyes. His gaze said all I needed, and so I stretched a bit toward his face and kissed it softly. He lowered his head a bit so that we could better engage in smooching. We stood like this for the next ten seconds, our faces pressed against each other's. Until we heard a cough. That kind of cough that respectfully wanted to tell you that you weren't alone in the room anymore. So, we parted from our long kiss, and looked to the big doors, where Morticia was standing. I could never really read her expressions, because she either always smiled politely or showed no emotions at all. Even her eyes rarely did, which, according to some, couldn't actually lie. Emphasis on the “actually”. Morticia had her “emotionless” expression on, but quickly switched to the polite smile. “Dinner,” she said softly, “Don't forget about dinner”. Her long, dark blue dress made no sounds at all, as she slowly floated to her chair on the far end of the table. Just as soundless, and very graceful, she seated herself. We did the same, with me sitting myself directly next to Jacob. I let my gaze sweep the table once more. Oh, the deliciousness! The agony of choosing! My decision- making was, as always, brilliant, that's why I simply chose a small loaf of white bread with onions baked in it, and a red wine to drink. Who needs exotic foods and drinks to choose from, when you only need what you always eat, right? Is that a thing... you say? But I digress. I bit into the onion-bread with a big bite. It was still warm. This was quickly eaten up and I reached for the next deliciousness. I now saw that Morticia still sat there, smiling politely. I wanted to ask her why she wasn't eating with us, but decided against doing that. If she didn't want to eat any of this amazingly good-looking(and smelling) food, she just didn't. I was not in a position to judge anyone for that. I let my eyes wander around the room once more, this time without limiting myself to the large dinner table made probably from the wood of an incredibly old and rare tree. The hall was even bigger than the entrance hall, but just not as high. A silvern chandelier hung up on the ceiling and distributed light nicely around the room. But the chandelier and the crystal candle-holder weren't the only light sources. On one side of the room there was a enormous fire place in which an equally enormous fire burned. You could probably feel the heat radiating from it in every corner of the room. And it was tall. Very tall. Presumably so tall that you could easily fit in a standing man. I returned my attention to my food. Just as I was about to grab a bowl of salad and place it next to me, so that I may take from it comfortably, a cat jumped on the table. The salad bowl was thrown out of my hand, and sailed across the room. There, it smashed on the floor and broke neatly into two pieces. I could feel all six eyes darting at me, and my face turned red very quickly. “How?,” Jacob started after a short while, obviously very amused from this whole situation. “Cheshire didn't slap you, she didn't even touch you!” My face turned crimson-red. “I-I have to go-”, I stammered and stood up. After shutting the double winged doors behind me, I heard Morticia say quietly, but clear enough for me to understand: “Well, that was an awkward... thing, that just happened” I stood there for the next few minutes, baffled about how foolish I had made myself look. Why couldn't I have just stayed in there and laugh it off? I sighed out of disappointment for my social skills. Going in there again would be hell, so I just decided to walk about and look at the house. I hadn't seen much when we arrived, not more than the way to my room and the dining hall. Well, and of course the way to the front door. I shivered. It was cold outside the living spaces, which were all lit up with bright fires. That's why my first stop was my room, where I put on more warm clothing. Also, I lit a candle, because what idiot would explore a house without light, I thought whilst peering out a window facing a dark forest that looked like one big entity in this darkness, expanding far beyond the visible horizon. It may not be very late, but it was autumn, with winter creeping up. I wandered down long corridors, with my footsteps and my breath being the only sounds I heard, and looked at creepy medieval paintings that depicted gallant knights and bored, but pretty looking ladies. The light I held made everything look possibly ten times creepier than they probably were. Suddenly, I heard a noise. It sounded like a creaking door. Obviously, it came from behind me. But against all my urges, I did not turn around, as I was frozen to the spot I was standing on. The creaking had ceased, but it was replaced almost immediately by other sounds. Breathing. Footsteps. Coming toward me from behind. It couldn't really be a human doing those noises, seeing as the breathing was to loud and the footsteps too fast to qualify as human. Closer and closer they came. My whole body froze into a state of neither being able to duck and hide, nor to run away. The candle flickered as the footsteps sped up and came closer still. Just as they were right behind me, they stopped. But the breathing didn't. In fact, I could feel its breath on my neck. Slow, but steadily. A few moments passed. The breathing had stopped. But not suddenly, it sort of faded away. Finally, I let out my own breath, which I now only noticed that I had held it in for that long. It took me a few moments, but then I decided to carry on doing my exploring, even though I was still very much frightened by the thing that just happened moments before.  Carefully I set one step before the other, not wanting to generate any noise myself to hear it coming... if it came again. But after a while I couldn't hold the tension any longer and almost bolted to the door nearest to me. While still walking toward it, I tried to grab the doorknob. And while I touched it, I forgot to turn it, so I ended up running against it. Now, this was certainly something. After a second attempt I finally managed to open the door. I stumbled into the room and closed the door behind me, still fearing something to spring out at me while I wasn't looking. Relieved I leaned against the door and allowed myself to breathe a bit louder. I looked around. I was in a very large room, apparently, since all I could see were shadows dancing on the floor, that was only partially illuminated by my candle. A large room, huh, I thought. So it must have electricity. Next to the door I found a switch. So this room had electricity! I turned on the light and flickering the seemingly hundreds of light bulbs on the ceiling were lit. I was standing in a library. I loved books, and especially the older ones had a very special aesthetic that I just adored. And this very library seemed to be a source of old books. I almost screamed out of excitement, but then I remembered what just had happened and I shivered about the thought of it hearing and watching me. Whatever that just was. A ghost, mayhaps? But no matter, I was safe here. Or at least I felt safe. I began to wander through the library, past tall and wide shelves almost bursting with books. My fingers were almost instantly gray of dust as I brushed them on the many books as I past by. It even smelled wonderful in here! Of old paper, dust, and dry wood. I took a random book from the shelf. It was a book about cooking. I slowly opened it and made the discovery that it was a spanish cook book. I didn't speak spanish, so I couldn't be sure, but it definitely looked like spanish. The book next to it was a book with tips for intercourse. I blushed and closed it almost immediately, and went to the next book. This book, on the other hand, was the bible. I made the assumption that nobody had ever cared to sort any of these books ever. Not even genres were consistent. I discovered this after I saw that a romance novel, a collection of poems, and a ghost story standing side by side on the shelf below the one with the cook book. After a few more books opened and closed, I came to the conclusion that there was definitely no order to these things. I took the book of  poem collections and went to a comfortable looking chair near a cold fire place. On the way there I passed a window. The cold of the night streamed in through the thin glass. I shuddered, lit a candle that was near the stove, turned off the lights to save precious energy(a room full of light bulbs must cost a ton to maintain) and seated myself with the candle on the chair. It squeaked and protested, and I could swear a moth flew out of it as I sat down, but I remained seated nonetheless. I put the candle on a little table near me, and began to read. The first poem I opened at was, “The Raven”, from a chap called “Edgar Allan Poe”. I doze off when I was about half done reading, and woke up in complete darkness, the word “Nevermore” was still echoing in my mind. The candle had expired and I only now noticed how freezing cold it was in here. I waved my hand in front of my face to see how much I could see. And that was hardly anything. I sighed and fumbled around on he small table if I had taken the lighter with me. Of course I hadn't. I wanted to sigh again, but I froze as I saw a light behind a bookshelf lighting up. It wavered up and down, left and right, never standing still. My first thought was that it might be someone holding a candle, but as my eyes adjusted to this new brightness, I realized. The light was glowing green. For what seemed like hours I stared at it, not having the courage of investigating what the hell that was. But slowly and surely I made the decision to do so. And just as slowly I uncovered myself and stood up. Just in that moment the window closest to me burst open which made the curtains flutter in the ice cold wind and I imagine large amounts of dust clouds and perhaps even a few lighter books being lifted off of into the air. In the split second this happened I ran over to the window and shut it almost as quickly as it had happened. As I closed the window, I could hear thunder rolling in the distance. My heart thundered as well. Now, again with silence dominating the room, I looked back at the light. It was gone. But there I saw it, in another corner. Again it remained hidden behind a bookshelf, so I couldn't  make out its source, but with new-found courage, I went to investigate. Slowly I stumbled my way to the light's source, hitting my knee against chairs and shelves that just stood kind of off as I proceeded. I was certainly still very self conscious about the noises I made, but I worried less and less about them the closer I got. But right before I could turn around the corner of the shelf and see what cast such a light, it fled. Again I slowly made my way to the light, but this time, it stayed. It was like a glowing orb of green light, wavering around in the air. It didn't have an exact shape, it just looked like it was shaped. My breathing increased as I lifted my hand to touch it. Just before my fingers came into contact with it, it vanished. I looked around, seeking where it could be next, but it was gone. Totally. Suddenly, something was screaming. It was an unnatural, high pitched sound, and it filled the room. My ears felt like they were bleeding, from all that and I covered my ears with the palm of my hands and sank to the ground. I wanted it to stop! And then it did. But right as the monstrous screaming stopped, I heard glass shatter. The light bulbs must've not liked all that screaming, I noted, as I felt and heard glass fall to the floor from a great height. Just in that moment Jacob burst into the room. He automatically tried the switch, but as no light turned on, he ignored it and began yelling my name in despair. I could hardly hear him, my ears were still numb, but I yelled back anyways, still curled up at the floor, eyes closed and ears covered. Somehow, even in this complete darkness, he found me. Even though there were glass splinters everywhere on the floor and on my back, he took me in his arms. Eventually he helped me stand up, brush all the remaining glass off of me and hugged me once again. “So, what happened?”; Jacob asked softly, “We've been looking for you. After your sudden disappearance at dinner I of course looked for you in your room, But after you weren't there... I asked Morticia if she would help me find you. And by God I needed her. This house is way to big for the three of us” “You think yourself the house is to big?”, I asked in surprise, “Didn't you grow up here?” Jacob shook his head, “No, I didn't. I grew up in a much smaller house. We only moved here when I was maybe your age. And even if I had, this house would still be to big”, he smiled at me in understanding, “So, what happened”, he repeated, this time expecting an answer. “I- I don't know, I was just... embarrassed-” “No, not that,” he smiled even brighter, in amusement this time, “I mean here, what happened here”. Still lying in his arms, in began my tale: “After that... indecent, I went exploring this house. This castle of a house,” I smiled back at him when I said this, “and then something... strange happened. I think I was almost molested by a ghost!”, Jacob laughed at this, looked around and then said: “Well, it looks more like the ghost took out a great wooden club and smashed all these lights.” “No, no, I mean-before that,” I gathered my breath and continued: “When I was on the way here it happened. I was walking down the hall, looking at these super old, super creepy paintings, and then it was like I was being followed. I heard noises, like footsteps, and then something was breathing on my neck... so I fled in here,” I swallowed, noticing only now how thirsty I was, “in here... there was this weird light, and I-I am scared!” And I was scared as I recalled those frightening moments. “Shush,” Jacob hugged me tighter, “I'm here with you, I'm here...” Slowly I relaxed. I was not alone. Jacob was here, with me. “So he is found?”, a voice called from the doorway. It was of course, Morticia. “Yes, he is here,” Jacob replied. “Good. Don't ever lose him again in this house,” she said and was gone. I looked at Jacob curiously and asked: “What-what's that about?” He looked at me strangely and said: “She meant the house. It's so vast... She worries you might lose yourself in it” “Lose myself in it? That's a weird way to say I might get lost” “Ah well, Morticia...”, he only replied and proceeded to help me get up. “Let's go,” he then said and we left the library in silence. For what seemed like the tenth time today Jacob led me through the house. We arrived in a small kitchen, where he showed me to a couch directly next to a large window. “Uhm, Jacob,” I asked, “why is there a couch in a kitchen? And where did all the food come from today? I haven't seen a servant at all. And if you don't have servants, then who made all of it?” “Whoa, slow down mister,” he said, looking taken aback, “Okay, so, the servants have already left for today, but there are still servants. Even though I plan on firing most, if not all due to our relationship. And those servants made the food, okay?”, he glanced over to the couch, and the couch is just there because why not.” “Rich people are so weird,” I stated and then asked: “And why are we in a kitchen?” Jacob sighed: “Questions about questions, huh? Because I thought it'd be nice for you to eat a bit more and also I wanted to have a bit privacy with you, without making certain sisters suspicious. So, now it's your turn to answer me some questions” I seated myself next to him and said: “I'm not hungry, thank you, but what for questions?” Jacob took a moment before he finally asked me: “Well, your backgrounds, for instance. I know where you come from and that you lived with your aunt, but hardly anything else. Like your parents” As Jacob saw my blank face I got after hearing his questions, he quickly added: “N-Not if you don't want to, honestly, I can handle not knowing quite well” “No, no it's okay”, I assured him and thought about what to tell him. “My life had always been a horrid one,” I finally started, unsure where to begin. I decided my birth would be a good place to do so: “Born with only one eye functioning, as you can clearly see, and a father that died on a business trip when I was only three or so, my life shaped up to be a glamorous one, overflowing with luck.” Neither Jacob nor I chuckled at this dry joke. We were both much to melancholic for that. “After that my mother fell into depression, yet she still wanted to care for her child, and so remarried, after maybe three years or so” I took a deep breath before I went on. “That lucky bastard didn't quite turn out how we expected, working hard and earning almost nothing, and he soon was injured by a speeding train ignoring the stop signals, while he was working to repair the tracks. Long story short, there was a major explosion and he was completely burned and paralyzed, leaving him to our care. At least, that's what would've happened if he hadn't stopped breathing in the middle of one night, next to my mother, who was still clutching their big pillow the next morning that was smeared full of burned skin and a bit of blood he must've coughed up during the whole ordeal, still trying to breathe desperately.” After saying this I looked at Jacob, trying to read his emotions. It didn't happen every day you revealed your mother to be a murderer. But Jacob didn't even look at me, starring glumly out of the window. Taking another deep breath, I continued: “Or that's what I figured, I was only seven back then after all. Nobody ever suspected her though, or maybe the people coming to mourn for him and our loss just took pity on us. Maybe no one just cared” Here, I stopped. The next part was going to be difficult for me: “But one day my mother came home announcing that she now knew how to care for us, and from that day on a lot of people came in and out of our house. They all slept in her room, and most were men. She told me they stayed the night because they worked here in this part of the city but lived some place else. I don't know how much of that was actually true, but the money came in, you know. At least, until she got sick.” Jacob turned and looked at me, not with disgust, as I had dreaded, but with pity in his eyes. I knew the look. Pity was the kind of thing you felt for others when you couldn't relate to those people, but you did feel sad for them. I came to hate seeing from strangers when they saw me walking down the streets with my obvious disfigurement. But in Jacob's eyes I could read he actually cared. Now, with a running nose and tears that appeared in the corners of his eyes, Jacob asked: “What kind of sick?” I paused and thought about it for a bit. Then I explained, or tried to, my voice shaking: “A lot of stuff. She bleed a lot through her nose and mouth, so places you shouldn't bleed from and couldn't move much. I cared for her. Made her food, made her fire extra large when she felt cold under the amounts of blankets she was under. She also had bruises everywhere, especially on her... well, buttocks and cheeks. I never said anything, even as I came to understand what they meant. The people still came though. But then... she died.” Anyone else might have started crying after having to face such horrible memories again, especially a memory as sad as the death of a loved one. But I only felt a familiar coldness spread in my chest. Jacob now had tears rolling. “The officials came and took me to live with my aunt. Life was okay with her, but I'm still very glad we met. I'd be fine with a better life, with you”, I finally said and hugged Jacob tightly. After silent moments of us gazing out of the kitchen window, Jacob simply said: “Yeah”

It was raining when I woke up. I could feel and hear Jacob's heart as it was pounding against my ear. We both were still nuzzled together in a very uncomfortable looking, but very comfortable feeling position on the couch next to the window. Outside gray clouds had taken over the early morning sun and the wind was soaring through the treetops, bending the branches and loosening the leaves. It looked like winter was tightening its grip. I lay my head down on Jacob's strong chest for just a few moments longer. “This moment seems like a dream”, I whispered, mostly to myself, but also to see if Jacob was awake. And sure enough he was, as he whispered back: “Then it is a good dream. Let the nightmare pass”. In that very moment, I felt my whole being fill with love, as strange as that sounded. His hand started caressing my hair and so did my hands with his beard. He leaned down and kissed me on the forehead and said: “Good morning, my love” I closed my eyes again and relished the moment. The noise of the rain drumming against the window, Jacob's heartbeat and warmth and my sleepiness made this moment perfect. A good dream indeed.

[cj-rogers]

locked,

[The cafe remained, in part, very desolate that time of night. The quiet overhanging lights created a gentle, and warm atmosphere, and though Charlie Jo was never one for simply allowing time to pass, there she was, in the corner of the coffee shop. A book was placed in her hand and a set of invisible ear buds set in her ears as she read to herself blocking out any surrounding white noise.

And it was odd, having all the time in the world to herself, but great at the same time, and she thanked the brain in her head for calming the storm of the many thoughts that had intruded upon her mind, because, yes, the thoughts were rampant and she feared, were slowly taking over.

So without a trace of Liz--by god, she was the world's worst waitress-- Charlie Jo sunk in her corner booth, with her book eye level, and her mind stuck on nothing but the words on the pages;

"I had stopped to look at the house as I passed; and its seared red brick walls, blocked windows, and strong green ivy clasping even the stacks of chimneys with its twigs and tendons, as if with sinewy old arms, had made up a rich attractive mystery, of which I was the hero. Estella was the inspiration of it, and the heart of it, of course---"

And though she thought she was alone, she couldn't help but feel a slight change in the air.  A slight icy coldness brought a chill in the air, which pricked at a couple of strands of hair on her arm, and made them stand up. And in thinking it was nothing she continued on to read:

"But, though she had taken such strong possession of me, though my fancy and my hope were so set upon her, though her influence on my boyish life and character had been all-powerful, I did not, even that romantic morning, invest her with any attributes save those she possessed. I mention this in this place, of a fixed purpose, because it is the clue by which I am to be followed into my poor labyrinth.  According to my experience, the conventional notion of a lover cannot be always true--"

And there it went again, but it was real this time, as the boy passed her. And as he slid into the seat in front of her, she could feel her purse involuntarily quicken. Something was not right. And did she ask to be so rudely interrupted?

So without showing any fear-- because she was certain that was the vibe that her brain was telling her to feel-- she pulled her face away from her book, and met a pair of pale green eyes.]

You're barking up the wrong tree, pal. And I'm  busy so either leave or give me your best case.

[And the boy, all but smirked, as his hand reached across the table to pull her cup of coffee to his lips. ]

I don't have a case, but I'm about 92% certain I have the right girl.

And I'm about 99% certain you're fucking wrong.

Fine, would you please be so kind as to point me to the other Roger's girl in this coffee shop.

[And to that Charlie clicked her teeth and set her book down because there seemed to be no one else in the coffee shop. soooo.]

Listen, man, if you're here about some book my Dad wrote or some life lecture he gave at some fucking college a couple of years ago...

I'm not here about your father. [There's a shake of his head.] I never had the privelege of meeting him.

Well, you still can if you're that fucking fond of the guy.

[A head shake.] We have a complicated relationship.

Here, here. [And she slides that coffee mug back over to herself, and cheer's bud. A toast and she takes a sip.]

[And what's that? A scowl?] Don't be so silly. Your relationship with your father is next to perfect. He loves you. You know he loves you. You could tell him anything in the world and he wouldn't judge you. Yet you don't. The fact that you push him aside sometimes probably puts a damper on his efforts, but you don't ignore each other, and you communicate which is good. Something not a lot of people have. Don't take it for granted. [And the sternness in his voice raised some rage inside Charlie Jo, but she understood the advice, and well, accepted it.]  But I'm not here to talk to you about Little Steve. Or to tell you to stop lying to your poor parents.

Do... I even know you well enough for you to make any sort of impact?

I'm just here to get inside that head of yours. And no, we've never officially met either. And before you go asking my name, let me tell you that I don't really use it anymore. [And so he's digressed, and his eyes have landed on the book next to Charlie Jo's hand. And he's reached across the table once more to place a hand on the paperback only to slide it towards him.] Great Expectations. [And he's rereading Charlie's dog eared page before thumbing through a couple of chapters.] Your namesake, huh? [And a chuckle.] You have to have a special set of parents to name their daughter after Charles Dickens.

Nah, they're just nerds. But you do know my Dad?

[There's a shake of his head as he's run out of pages to skip.  He doesn't like answering questions he's already answered, so a verbal response escapes him. Finally reaching the end of the book, out falls a spare leaf of notebook paper. And Charlie Jo shouldn't have been surprised, because maybe, just maybe she had been holding on to that certain piece of paper for awhile. And though she had always seemed to have been able to keep in in the perfect hiding spot, you know, away from her girlfriend Tiffany, and nOT on her person---now the tiny rectangle was placed perfectly in front of the boy in front of her.

And though Charles Dickens had previously only sparked a little interest in the guy, the attention was now fully on the item in front of him. Setting the book aside, the boy's hand was faster than Charlie Jo, as he resumed to pick it up.

The page looked worn as if it'd been folded back and forth from reading. It was half laminated-- with scotch tape. A crinkled up mess, it was, really.

And as the boy began unfolding he was sure to be extra careful as Charlie Jo was eyeing him a little too intensely. He began to read as Charlie Jo diverted her attention everywhere else.]

I recognize this handwriting.

How?

It's familiar to you. It's not your handwriting but I'm assuming a girlfriend, someone special. And judging by the creases in the page, the page is either old or has been read over a million times.

[And so Charlie's mind's way past explaining herself. She hadn't looked at the boy to offer any kind of non-verbal cues that he was right.  

Instead, she kept her mind-- or tried to keep what was left of it on Tiffany.

Because even if she had found an escape in the green eyed monster, she realized that there was always a sense of walking on eggshells with her. And that, a part of Charlie Jo wasn't entirely free to be herself. Free to feel whatever she felt.

And even if she was extremely and justifiably pissed off at Merry until the end of her time, she'd still managed to keep a piece of Blue Eyes with her at all times-- her shredded up notebook wriTINgs. Or rather writing as after a certain family/children gathering she forced herself to trash just about every trace of Merry. Every trace except one excerpt she really couldn't let go of.

And though time was showing that he would not be repairing any semblance of the remaining relationship they once had. Charlie Jo, was still stupid enough to hope otherwise. That's what carrying that taped up page meant.  

She couldn't un-hear Merry's words of complete rejection, or the anger in her voice or the looming threat of another MiguEl instance. Even if she had no right or say so in what Merry did, the thought still rattled her. Because, surprise, she still cared. And if she had needed any proof it was that feeling she felt that quickened her heartbeat from just being in the same room as her. And the boiling feeling of her blood as they argued in front of everyone.

And so her mind had been playing this trick on her. Ever since then. And honestly it had been playing that same trick ever since she'd gotten her hands on the pages-- Ever since Ronnie did what he did--And even more so after Tiffany found them.

Because she had plans of which she had never followed through with.

And as if to brutally remind herself of that decision she was supposed to make.  Her mind kept traveling back to plenty of nights ago--that a bittersweet memory. She could still feel the muscle memory in her heart as her heart beat mimicked the rhythm it pulsed when she had laid there with Merry in her own bed.  And it had to have been her fucking bed--just to serve her a screwed up reminder of what could have been, and what she still, despite everything wanted.

Because when they'd promised to never hurt each other again... she had fucking believed it.

And yet, time proved otherwise.

But she still believed it, despite how Merry's actions were disproving herself. And she still had it stuck in her mind that she forgave her for everything. And she would if it meant Merry would forgive her back. But that would be a long shot.

And the written cues on paper served as a validation in her mind that they were just making it harder on each other.

So she's trying to pull away from her thoughts, and the boy is staring at her face. She's transparent again? Fuck.]

What were you thinking about?

Nothing.

Let's not pretend you don't have emotions, Charlie Jo. That's what's got me in this mess to begin with

What mess??? [So with a snap of her head, she's finally giving that boy a glare, and she looks like she's going to come right across that table and strike him in his stupid head.]

[And he's raising his eyebrow.] Your mess.

[And to make his point as quick as possible, he's sliding the piece of paper in trade for her Charles Dickens book, and he's opening it back to the page she had dog-eared. With a lick of his finger, he spots the page, and begins to read.]

"The unqualified truth is, that when I loved Estella with the love of a man, I loved her simply because I found her irresistible. Once for all; I knew to my sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. Once for all; I loved her none the less because I knew it, and it had no more influence in restraining me, than if I had devoutly believed her to be human perfection."

[She has her eyes shut now, and he's closed the book with a sigh.]

Fuck that. [There's a shake of her head, as she can hear a small trace of a chuckle from him, but the moment she'd opened her eyes, the last image she saw was a flash of a smirk, and a set of green eyes.]