Chapter 1 - All Excerpts

Who in their right mind would choose to ‘live’ in a graveyard of a town in Rhode Island over one of the sunniest places in the world, Flagstaff, Arizona?

Well, I did.

Lila must think I’m crazy. She definitely did.

My mother (that’s Lila) had always been a traveller, a hare-brained traveller who had once left half of her possessions in the States on an immigration to India for the winter. What happened to that half, you may imagine? Only the unknown force that made Lila my mother knows. Don’t get me wrong, Lila’s the best, but we were less mother and son and more the adventurous traveller and her wary follower.

Why would I choose to travel then, since another option was given to me? Well, I’ll get to that.

My life story was simple. I wasn’t a miracle, but I wasn’t a mistake either. I just happened, and I happened at the wrong time. My father’s name is – or was, I don’t really know – David Garamond and that was pretty much all I knew about him. Lila was efficient in cleaning up mistakes from her past. But she wasn’t the secretive type either; she didn’t mind talking about her past, and would tell me stories about her time with David. She would talk like they were fairy tales, which many real-life love stories are before they burn out into ashes of leftover feelings where the fire of love and hope used to be.

Lila Teigen and David Garamond were high school sweethearts, and were still going on strong well into college. They were a stable couple, which was saying something, considering how young they were. Young love tended to go wrong. But nothing went wrong for them, at least not then.

After completing college, David asked for her hand in marriage, even though he never got the blessing. Both Lila’s and David’s families were against it, and they promised to turn their backs on the pair if they did get married. But that didn’t matter; they were deeply in love, intent on forever happiness, and expecting a child, which was why David had proposed in the first place. Nothing had gone wrong around this part either. David was the guy fantasy talked about, the hero of the story. Lila had really thought that that would be her happily ever after.

But real life doesn’t have a happily ever after. It never did.

And we have now arrived at the part where things went wrong.

David was nowhere to be found on the day before the marriage. He’d gone out on a stormy night, saying he had some last-minute things to take care of and just... vanished.

And that was where the story ended. Lila would tell me nothing about what happened after that, about any of her struggles with being a single mother, if she ever found David again, or even why she took up the habit of travelling around when it was obviously much easier and cheaper to settle down in one place.

No. Fast-forward 16 years as a nomad named Kenneth Teigen on this planet, and I am currently scowling at the million dollar question of where our next voyage will take us while still recovering from the shock of having to answer said question. ‘Most difficult decision of my life’ hadn’t exactly been on my birthday wish list.

And it wasn’t as though we could go just anywhere, either, which actually made things a little easier. Lila’s job as a digital marketing strategist paid well and steadily enough, but I couldn’t exactly suggest we hop on the next plane to Greenland, now could I? Not that I ever would.

No, Lila had narrowed down my choices to two places that contrasted each other so much and were so far apart that I was fairly certain Lila had just dropped the question on my head as an elaborate prank.

"Flagstaff, Arizona, or Knightville, Rhode Island?" Lila had asked me when my school year in DC was over.

"What?" I looked up from my book, The Picture of Dorian Grey.

Lila unceremoniously flopped down onto the red bean-bag chair and regarded me seriously, which would have been comical, had she not said the things she was about to say. "What would you pick," she began again, slower, "Knightville in Rhode Island, or Flagstaff in Arizona?"

I replied, surprised, "And you're asking me this because...?"

"Because this decision is officially yours," Lila said, a smile tugging on her lips as though she were giving me some good news. "You are going to decide where we stay for the next year." There was a glint in her eyes that could only be described as defiance as she pronounced her last statement.

"No," I immediately told her.

The glint died away. "Why not?" she asked, like a child asking her parent why she couldn't get candy even though she'd done her homework.

"Because I have no idea what to choose," I said bluntly.

"But I gave you only two options," she protested. "It can't be that hard!"

"Hard?" I asked incredulously. "You're asking me to choose where we're going to live for the whole of next year!"

"Between just 2 places!"

"Doesn't make it much easier, Lila!"

She looked bewildered, and a little hurt too, for which I felt a poorly disguised twinge of guilt.

Seeing me soften, perhaps, Lila went full-on puppy-dog mode, and while I had seen it coming and should've been able to resist it, I couldn't.

So, cursing the next several generations of Lila's bloodline (which wasn't smart, since I was one of them), I conceded to her wishes with a grumble.

Now, I don’t know why I chose Knightville. It wasn’t as though it was a good travel destination or a hot tourist spot; it was cold, constantly raining and foggy, and the only colors it ever saw were white, black and different shades of grey.

I just felt, I don't know, compelled to choose Knightville, like there was something the remote town whose name I had never heard of before had that much less remote Flagstaff didn't.

I wasn't fond of it.

Nevertheless, the choice was befitting. Apparently my great-aunt Charlotte (late) had once lived in an old, slightly rickety house at the edge of town. Apartments were non-existent in small communities such as this, and it wouldn’t cost Lila a penny (except for maintenance).

Plus, the house was kind of homely.

It was a one-storey dwelling, painted a pale blue, with a brown, slanted roof. The inside was all cream-yellow walls and creaky wooden floors and the smell of good old 1950s vintage.

I didn’t dislike it, so that must have meant something.

Dinner that night consisted of Chinese take-out and ice cream for desert. I hadn’t spoken much till now, sitting in mindless silence, thinking about nothing, and staring at a small, perfectly circular hole (or was it just ink?) in the wooden floor.

“This flavour of ice cream is amazing”, commented Lila. I’d been, after all, silent for an unknown period of time, and a brooding silence of any sort from my end rang alarm-bells in Lila’s mind.

The truth was, I’d had this strange feeling ever since Lila’s car careened into Knightville. I felt... out of my own body, like I was breathing something entirely other than oxygen, that I was eating foreign food, having this foreign food with another person, that I was in another world, with alien roots that ran in alien soil. Like I was someone else. It was a creepy feeling, and it made my skin crawl.

But none of this was real. It was probably my brain’s way of punishing me because I’d intentionally forced myself to survive in a place that I didn’t like when I had total opportunity to live somewhere else.

“It’s pistachio flavoured”, I said, coming back to reality, “one of the worst ice cream flavours invented in the history of bad ice cream flavours”. I scrunched my nose with distaste.

“It is not”, insisted Lila, “you just don’t like it ‘cause it’s weird. I happen to like weird. Quite a few people do. Weird is good. Weird is different.”

But I would not indulge myself in the weirder aspects of life. While Lila was fawning over her God-awful ice cream, I was silently enjoying classic chocolate.

***********

School was due in a week, a week which was spent placing our furniture in the house, a difficult thing for a family of two to accomplish. Still, this was not our first rodeo – we’d done this exactly 14 times now – but regardless, we never got any better at arranging furniture in an apartment, let alone a house. Or faster.

“Well, the bed’s done”, Lila huffed, a hanky tied to her head, rivulets of sweat rolling down the sides of her face.

“Yeah, your bed,” I said, wiping my forehead, mentally accepting my fate. “I’ll have to sleep on the couch, won’t I?”

“For now,” she said sheepishly, off my glare.

I got up from my seat at the floor and declared, “I am officially done with today. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta get out of this house and pray to all the heavens above that it is raining.”

So saying, I saluted in her direction and stalked resolutely down the stairs.

Fortunately, my prayers (which were not yet made) were answered. I stepped out the front doorstep to find rain falling in gentle sheets, letting it progressively wet my clothes as the cool droplets shifted through my hot, sweaty hair. I combed the strands back with my fingers and faced the clouds above, feeling the cold water sting my face like surprises.

I was not, in general a fan of the rain, but I'll admit, it could be beneficial at times.

It was then I noticed a house, a small way across the road, and a girl walking out of it, a black umbrella plopped on her shoulder.

From what I could tell, she had long, straight black hair and wore dark clothing that spanned her entire body. She was walking briskly, like she was on a clock, and kept looking around, her eyes darting everywhere at once before stopping, and lingering on me.

I froze, and felt my heart stop beating for a second. I didn't think about how beautiful she looked, not at that moment at least. I didn't think about how strange it was that she herself froze and stopped to stare at me. I didn't think about how she then abruptly turned around and practically ran down the street, away from her house and my line of sight.

I could only think about her eyes, which were not one, but two colors, for two irises. One was the black of tar and midnight and the other was the blue of clear skies and forget-me-nots. There was no other way to put it; her eyes were beautiful.

Heterochromia was not an unknown concept to me, and for all its uniqueness, it could also look rather plain on some people. But something about the girl's eyes struck me in the strangest way. And it was that strangeness that froze me; I wasn't easily bedazzled.

It felt wrong and right both at the same time, like a sharp needle poking at your skin, but not hard enough for it to bleed.

Her eyes may have been beautiful, but they were hard, reflective, blank, and cold and sharp as shards of ice, like her soul was hidden in walls and walls of titanium, that the blue and black of her eyes were the only walls we saw.

Eyes that I would lay awake at night thinking about.

***********

The few mornings after that were as grey and lifeless as the last one. I wondered as I woke, not for the first time, how the people here could wake up to this almost every morning and still have the energy to start their day and do whatever a regular life demands of them. For even after a good night’s sleep I felt tired, the kind of tired that I wasn’t sure would be easily remedied by a cup of coffee. Maybe half a dozen could work.

I shook my head. I was being pathetic.

I forced myself out of bed and got ready for school.

In the bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. Fair skin was part of my genetics, and so was my gangly height of six feet, which did no favours to my breadth. My facial features were too-sharp and my body was lean (the gym and I have a difficult relationship). My hair was an ordinary brown with a coppery tint to it that refused to stay neat, and my eyes, deep-set, were leaf-green.

There was nothing much remarkable about me. I sighed and spit the minty toothpaste out.

Lila, on the other hand, was pretty. She had hair redder than mine, a Madonna-like face with high, sloping cheekbones, and green eyes that were always lively.

When I was done criticizing myself in the bathroom, I took a shower and wore an ordinary faded red sweatshirt and loose jeans.

I went downstairs.

Lila was, naturally, awake, and bustling about the kitchen, performing multiple tasks at once, as was her way, such as juggling her steaming hot cup of coffee in one hand, while trying to explain to her new-found friend, Catherine, who seemed to keep surprisingly military hours, all the reasons why she could go down to the book-store with her after she came back home at eight ‘o’ clock in the evening over the phone, that was, by the way, sandwiched between her ear and her corresponding shoulder. At the same time, she was trying to pack our food (she’d always insisted on home-made for first days at school). It might all end in disaster. No, it probably would end in disaster. It’s Lila we’re talking about, after all.

“Lila, don’t keep your coffee cup so close to the edge of the counter!” I grumbled as she accidentally pushed it off in order to turn to me as I came down the stairs.

The cup made crash-landing, but it was plastic, so it didn’t break. Burning-hot black coffee infiltrated the floor of the kitchen and splashed against the previously pristine white cupboards, curved layers of coffee-brown partially covering them. On the ground, the liquid pooled like water.

Lila, on the other hand, had jumped back five miles, dropped her phone onto a fuzzy carpet, and was looking at me reproachfully.

With a mental curse I said, “oh, god.” And, shaking my head, I came the rest of the way down the stairs, walked past Lila, and opened a cabinet with cleaning towels in it.

I picked a white one with bright red stripes, and handed it to Lila, who gratefully took it.

I picked one out for myself, an orange one with black boats patterned on, and sighed, “come on, Lila.” And after selecting other cleaning weapons of our choice, we dived into the mess.

So obviously, it was with easy conversation and synchronised working that we went our separate ways.

Lila would lock herself up in her office with her laptop and an assortment of files, documents and fidget-toys, whereas I would shimmy on my bike and make my way to Knightville High School.

***********

At the gates of Knightville High School, I stopped.

I looked at my bike, which was parked (squeezed) between two cars, then I gazed back at my new school once more.

The building was greyer and duller than any other building I’d ever seen. It wasn’t too tall, four storeys high, maybe, with Knightville High written in huge red letters at the entrance.

I gulped. Who was I kidding? I was nervous as hell, which was totally idiotic; I’d done this a million times now.

Maybe it was just the fear of being in the spotlight, the downright spooky atmosphere of Knightville, or I was probably just way in over my head, and I suddenly had the totally irrational desire to get on my bike and ride back to DC.

Or, I told myself sternly, I’m overthinking the entire thing, and I should stop dawdling at the front of the school gates and just get it over with already.

So, thinking this, I took a deep breath, and went in.

***********

I’d hoped for a few minutes, at the very least, of peace.

Instead, I was immediately ambushed at the entrance of the main hall of my new school by a girl just a few inches shorter than me, with a bright expression that I would soon come to know was her being cheerful.

At first I’d thought her hair was on fire, and she had galloped to me expecting a waterfall to sprout out of my backpack. A fraction of a second later, though, I realised that that was just the color of the girl’s hair, burning orange, not red, orange, like fire.

Her hair was bright orange. She had hazel eyes with flecks of green and gold in them, sweet pink lips that looked naturally dyed, and freckles that covered the apex of her nose and cheekbones like dust. She wore a white tank top that should be illegal to wear, a brown leather jacket to cover it up, fashionably tattered and faded jeans, and a bright smile that could give the sun and the stars a run for their money.

“Hi,” she said, in a naturally crisp and friendly voice, “I’m Jolene Frost, head of Knightville High’s welcoming committee. Welcome to Knightville High!”

I jumped. “Hello,” I managed to stammer, “I’m Kenneth Teigen.”

Jolene’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly at ‘Teigen.’

“What?” I asked.

“What ‘what’?” Jolene looked a little bemused.

“Never mind,” I muttered.

She regarded me for a long moment, not like I was acting strangely, but more as though she’d just discovered something about me that told her there was more to discover.

Then she peered over my shoulder as though she’d just spotted someone, and called, “Rowan, Rowan!” I turned around, but I couldn’t be sure who she was calling. A beat passed. No one came, and no one looked at her weirdly for shouting that name, possibly because she was popular and wouldn’t have cared about it anyway. With an exasperated sigh, she flipped out her phone and dialled a number. She held up a finger that told me I should wait a minute and heard the phone ring twice before the person on the other end picked up.

Jolene did not pause to say ‘hello’ to make sure the person on the other end was there, instead immediately speaking into her phone, “Rowan Frost, if you do not emerge from whatever hidey-hole you’ve found for yourself, I will whisper your middle name to the new kid.” She said the last two words as though it would be a treacherous fate for Rowan, who I now realised was Jolene’s brother.

A reply came from the other end. Jolene retorted, “oh, I will, and I will do it seductively for good measure.” She seemed to have either not noticed my slight discomfort at that, or she was ignoring it entirely.

“Relax, I’m here,” came a child-like voice. A boy an inch or so shorter than me approached us, detaching his phone from his ear as he did.

Jolene smiled a winning smile, and leaned in to loudly whisper, “It’s Duncan, by the way.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell,” reproached Rowan while looking affronted, before abruptly grinning slyly, “Mildred.”

Jolene shrugged, clearly not the reaction Rowan had been hoping for. “I have no insecurities about my middle names. No one will ever call me Mildred, unless, of course, they have a death wish.”

“You just said you had no insecurities.”

“Mildred is a disgusting enough name to hate without being insecure about having it.”

“So is Duncan.”

“No, it’s only you who hates it because it’s old-fashioned.”

“I don’t understand why that isn’t a good enough reason on its own.”

While they went on with their incessant banter, I studied Rowan a little more closely. He had ash-blond hair that was more ash than anything really, and big grey eyes that at first seemed to be comparable to the grey of Knightville’s sky, but soon, it would look more like silver, gleaming and refracting in the light.

He had a long, thin face that had a fine sort of bone structure to it, all angles in some places, all softness in others. His body looked wiry and his shoulders were slim, similar to a girl’s. It was then I drew to the conclusion that ‘handsome’ was not a word that could be used to describe him – he looked more... pretty, yes, that’s the word. He was rather pretty.

“Shouldn’t we be showing the new kid around instead of wasting time arguing?” said Rowan a little grumpily, after Jolene had thrown a cutting remark at him.

“Perhaps,” Jolene allowed, “but maybe we could just skip the tour.” She turned to me, “don’t worry, the school layout is really simple. You’ll get it as we go along.”

The Frost siblings then took me along the halls, to my locker, through various classrooms and labs, the library, the canteen, the infirmary, other staffrooms, all while accompanying it with more banter, assurances that I could ask questions if I had any, and other interesting details, like a long crack that spread across the floor in front of the chemistry lab that had always been there. It was thin, but not so much that it wasn’t noticeable – in fact, I’d noticed it before Jolene had told me about it – and pitch black, as though it had been drawn on the ground with a marker of the darkest black, and shaped like real-life lightning, starting and ending abruptly. It was strangely unsettling to look at.

“Following so far?” Jolene asked, when I spent too long looking at the scar on the floor. “Any questions?”

I looked up, and spotted someone, walking briskly down the hallway. “Actually,” I said, nodding my head in that direction, “yes. Who is she?”

***********

It was that girl, the girl I’d seen a few days ago, with the black-and-blue eyes. My neighbour, I thought. Strange to see her here.

It wasn’t as though I was particularly surprised to have spotted her; Knightville High was the only high school in this town.

I just hadn’t expected to see her again so soon.

Even as I asked her the question, I could see Jolene’s expression change ever so slightly when she found who I was referring to, into something that was hard to coin. It was the kind of expression someone would put on to hide what they were truly feeling.

“Scarlett Raynott, I think that’s her name,” Jolene said, her voice a little away from her person. She turned to me.” Why do you want to know?”

“I saw her a couple days ago,” I said, still looking at Scarlett as she disappeared around the corner. “She lives in the house opposite to mine, at the edge of town.”

“You actually live in that rickety old house?” Jolene asked incredulously, though with the thin air of someone trying to change the subject.

“It’s not that old,” I said, frowning a little.

“It’s not the fact that it’s old,” perked up Rowan faintly, who, up until then, had been silently daydreaming, “which it isn’t, really, compared to other houses, it’s just the way it looks old. And not very pleasant. We all call it Bleak House – not a very creative name, sure, but it stuck.”

“And now people actually live in Bleak House,” Jolene mused.

“I think that’s an overstatement,” I said. “It’s not that bleak.”

“Some people died in there, didn’t they?” Rowan asked Jolene.

“What?” My head snapped up.

“Fourteen people, I think, back in ‘95,” Jolene said.

“Fourteen people?” I echoed, horrified.

“All murdered, weren’t they?” Rowan went on, unfazed.

“Police never found out who it was,” Jolene confirmed, shaking her head mournfully.

“Wow, you guys talk about murder with such ease,” I said.

Jolene grinned. “I would be more worried about living in a haunted house, really.”

“My house is not haunted,” I said, trying for a withering look but grinning instead.

“They say that there are fourteen small dots on the floor, the places where those fourteen people had stood when they were killed,” mused Rowan. “They were drawn on by the murderer.”

I shuddered minutely. “They never found him or her?”

“No, and that’s what’s really troubling.” Rowan stopped short, as though that last part was something he hadn’t meant to say.

Jolene, on the other hand, was now staring at the space where Scarlett had last been, before vanishing from view, and I felt I had to ask, “do you know her?”

Jolene’s eyes flashed in understanding. She smiled softly, like she held a secret, close enough to her that no one else could see it, hard as they tried, and answered, “nobody knows her.”

And it was precisely then that the bell rang.

***********

Nobody knows her.

Dear God, why had I said that? Not that it wasn’t true, in a sense. Saying that Scarlett Raynott didn’t trust easily was the understatement of a lifetime. Scarlett had been my best friend and loyal companion ever since we were kids, and even still, I constantly felt as though I didn’t really know all of her secrets; most of them, maybe, but not all.

I pushed that thought away. We, Rowan and I, had bigger things to think about.

Like how Lila and Kenneth Teigen had taken one look at freaking Bleak House and thought, this seems homely, why don’t we move in? Like how they now lived as close to Scarlett and endless danger as they possibly can get. Like how Kenneth had actually seen Scarlett, and recognized her.

Like how the Teigens knew that Knightville existed at all.

If I were normal, I would turn to Rowan, talk about what to do next, maybe even seek assurance that everything would not, in fact, go to hell.

But I was not normal, and you knew you weren’t normal when there was something fundamentally wrong with you and there was no term in psychology or any other science in existence that could describe it.

There had been a time when Rowan could bring me comfort and reassurance, with his simple, meaningful words and the thoughtful arch to his brow. But now, it was all I could do to smile and be playful and take up the role sisters should, to keep the pretence, to maintain what we had as siblings. No, Rowan was no longer my sanctuary, the sanctuary he had been when I was young and normal; he was someone who injured me everyday without even realising it, someone around whom I could never be myself, someone who would turn away with disgust if he knew the truth about me.

The second the bell had rung, Kenneth had taken one look at his time-table, muttered a swift “sorry,” smiled apologetically as he did, and bolted. Rowan had looked thoughtfully at Kenneth’s back then, and I could not help but do the same. Kenneth was never meant to be so... human. He was never meant to have a kind undertone to his deep, forest-green eyes, he was never meant to have such a steady set to his face, the kind that would remain the same even if flames of the tallest heights danced on the water of oceans and turned the earth and everyone on it into ash.

I was never meant to like him in the ten minutes that I knew him.

And as he went, I could not help but notice that he had disappeared around the same corner, where the classrooms began and the main hall ended, as Scarlett had, just moments ago.

I turned to Rowan with a fake smile plastered on my face. “Well, that went well.”

“Spectacularly,” Rowan said seriously, “your acting skills were truly flawless.”

I smiled winningly. I knew he was being sarcastic, but I also knew that going along with his sarcasm threw him. “Why, thank you, kind brother mine,” I said, adding a gallon of sugar to my smile and trying to ignore the sting of the word, ‘brother’.

Sure enough, Rowan narrowed his eyes, and I grinned triumphantly.

But of course, he just had to ask the million-dollar question. “What should we do about Kenneth?”

“No idea whatsoever,” I said cheerfully, as though I wasn’t losing my mind either. On a more serious note, I added, “maybe, for now, we should just keep tabs on Kenneth, what his classes are, where he comes and goes, and try and keep him away from Scarlett in general.”

“So basically stalk him,” Rowan said.

“Got any better ideas?” I asked.

Rowan’s brow suddenly cleared, and I knew what he was about to suggest. “I could always-”

“No,” I said immediately. “You could never go on for that long. It would drain you.”

And I don’t want to see you like that, I almost said, but held my tongue. It might reveal too much.

Unable to look at him any longer, I turned my gaze back to where Scarlett had disappeared, turning my attention to the issue at hand, and the reasons why the situation was this pressing.

Because everyone in this town knew the name 'Teigen.'

And we knew that name because of two people, because of the two people, because of the people who managed to get away.

***********

I was probably the only person ever to get lost in Knightville High School.

It was the middle of the school day, and I’d just spent what Jolene would surely call a productive lunch chattering away about several topics, murder included (I guess the Frost siblings like talking about this stuff). It was also when I discovered that Rowan could paint like Picasso, and Jolene wasn’t a terrible hand at volleyball either.

I look at the Frost siblings – Irish twins, I was told they were – and cannot help but think that they seemed in no way siblings at all. Very good friends, maybe, but not siblings or any blood relation at all. Siblings tend to have an invisible bond to them, something that marked them as a unit, but there was no such tether to Rowan and Jolene.

Even their overall closeness was questionable; Jolene had not caught Rowan’s eye even once throughout our conversations, the way that siblings did when they shared secret opinions. And if Rowan had noticed, then it was something that had been going on a long time, since he hadn’t seemed bemused or bewildered by it in any way.

There was also the matter of how they didn’t look alike at all.

But I could not think about that now. If I did, I was going to be late for English.

I soon realised, rather stupidly, that I’d been close to the classroom all this time. Cursing my idiocy, I made my way to the open door of the classroom as though it led to heaven.

And that was when I bumped straight into a girl.

Our shoulders collided messily, I almost tripped over my clumsy feet, and my copy of King Lear fell spine-first onto the other person’s foot, making them flinch in surprise.

“I am so sorry,” I immediately said, and bent to retrieve my book.

The girl didn’t say anything – just did the same for one of her own things, a leather-bound sketchpad with the silhouette of a crow on it as the cover design.

And it was then, kneeling on the ground and apologizing faintly, that we finally looked at each other.

Scarlett Raynott was staring right at me, her blue-black eyes fixated on mine. Her skin was deathly pale, as though it’d been first drained of all blood and then white-washed for good measure, contrasting starkly with her dark hair. Her blue eye glittered like a gemstone, but her black eye remained stubborn of light, completely dark. Her expression was totally neutral.

And something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

But before I could name or place what that something was, Scarlett was getting back on her feet, not even sparing me a look as I did the same, and she was stalking away, her shadow clinging to her feet.

It barely registered into my mind that this was the first time we’d actually met, because something more disturbing caught my attention; two identical narrow, white slits at the apex of Scarlett’s shadow, where her head was.

I squinted.

Were those eyes?

I just thought a compilation of all the excerpts of each chapter would be easier to follow, hence this.

Taglist: @jeahreading, @mayaheronthorn, @damn-this-transgirl-hella-gay

Intro:

Name: Romina Munoz Faceclaim: Salma Hayek Gender & Pronouns: Cisfemale, She/her Age: 48 Birthday: October 22 Sexuality: Lesbian Status: Single Occupation: Attorney at Chapman & Sons Neighborhood: University Heights Wanted connections: Found here.

Quick notes:

Romina always had political aspirations. It would be fun for her to navigate some of the early stages of a campaign (although ultimately not going through with it)

Along with that, any sort of legal plot would be a ton of fun. She does take on some PD work on occasion and is very talented at contract law for personal business or employees. 

Romina is very much an activist for LGBTQI community, taking on work to help the cause. But, this might be the only charitable thing about her. 

Romina was married when she turned 18, thanks to pressure from her parents. There was no real connection there, and it made her despise her parents. They divorced only 3 years later.

Biography

TW: Arranged marriage, TW: Divorce, TW: LGBTQIA issues

Romina was born to two powerful parents in El Paso, Texas. Her father was a police officer and her mother was a Principal at a private school. She was their only child and thus received most of their attention for either good or bad. Romina never minded it as she grew up, she wasn’t motivated or driven by their high standards but rather her own. She pushed herself in whatever activity she was involved in, including sports, clubs and of course, grades. The combination of success in all three eventually led to her receiving a scholarship to her dream school, Stanford in California. Instead, thanks to her parents pressuring her, she agreed to marry a man who her parents thought were “perfect” for her. His family had political connections in the city, and believed he would be someone to help propel their family to an even higher social status. There was no arguing with them, and she didn’t feel comfortable telling them about her sexuality. Instead, she went along with it. He however didn’t get accepted to Stanford, which meant she had to attend Arizona State University. 

The marriage lasted only briefly, not even making it out of college while still together. She never recalled ever explaining it to her parents, instead choosing to go on without communicating with them. This change allowed her to attend Stanford Law School after achieving her Bachelors at ASU. Romina made the most of this, enjoying her new life, unfettered by a spouse and family to prevent her from being the type of person she desired to be. While in college she became known as a bit of an activist on campus, being named the Vice President of the Mexican Heritage Student Association on campus. Romina was outgoing and very well spoken, making her an asset for those in the community, and someone who could be trusted.

 She was able to make connections in the law community across the globe while there, which eventually opened up a job at a small law firm in Providence Peak shortly after completing Law School. She had options around the United States and Mexico, but eventually Providence Peak won out, thanks to its mix of metropolitan and rural living. Once there she started off simply by keeping her head down, being assigned to as many cases as she could, questioning both everyone and everything. She is a firm believer that no one is ever done learning. 

She quickly worked her way up, taking a job at a more prestigious firm in town at Chapman & Sons. It became obvious to her that although she loved her profession, she had aspirations to eventually go into politics. It wasn’t clear to what degree, anywhere from a senator, to a member of city council would have been something she’d have been interested in. Although from the onset she might not seem like a good fit for that type of cut-throat world like politics has, many who know Romina would beg to differ. She is tough, occasionally referred to as ruthless. She is able to think logically nearly all the time, which may make her a good lawyer, but perhaps not a great friend. 

Event Catering In Clayton, Nc

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After High School

As senior year comes to an end, most people have an idea of what they want to do or where they want to go for college. For me, that is not the case. All my life, I have never had a subject in school that has interested me enough to make a career out of it. The feeling of not knowing, or even having a hunch, about what I want to do with my life is very stressful. There are so many options, but there is not a single one that has caught my attention. 

Although I do not have a career path in mind, I have three possibilities on things to do after high school. One option is to go to MCC for my first two years of college, then transfer to a university. Hopefully during those two years, I could learn to love something or get an idea about what I would like to do for a career path. I feel like this route could be beneficial for me because MCC is cheap and there is no need for me to go to a university when I do not have a path in mind. It would stink if I went to a four year college, then found out what I want to do, but then realize that the college does not have the right classes for it. 

My second option would be to go to MCC for a year. After that year, I would move to Arizona. I would go to a community college there while I get my residency, then transfer to ASU. This option is stressful because it is so far away from my family. It will also be a pretty expensive idea between the cost of college, apartments, furniture and everything else. On the other hand, I hate the cold and I feel like going to college in this area would give me a good idea about what the weather does. This way I can figure out if I like the state before permanently moving there and finding a job. 

My third option is a crazy idea, but it could be an amazing experience. This option is to move to Switzerland and stay with my aunt and uncle for at least a year, maybe even more depending on how I like it. It is scary to think about being so far from my family, in a different country with nobody I know, a different culture, and a language I am not fluent in. Although this is a huge opportunity and it could change my life forever. The only issue with this is that I would not be able to go to college in Germany. People who grow up in this country have to take tests at a very young age to determine what they will study in the future. If they do not pass this test, they can not continue through high school, unless they go to a private school, and they can not continue through college. Because I would be moving there right after high school, I obviously could not take the test which means no college unless I move back to America. 

Overall, there are so many options to choose from. It is not an easy choice either. There are so many choices and many pros and cons to every decision. It makes it feel almost impossible. All I know is I want to live a happy and stable life with lots of fun experiences. 

Slower Than Words Ch. 26

First  -  Previous  -  Next

Me, writing this chapter: I am going to create a situation that is so awkward,

cw: food

~

~SHARON~

welcomes you

Remus eyed the sign suspiciously as he drove past. It was set low in the ground, as if it had sunk a bit over time. It didn’t look familiar at all—none of this did. Did he have the wrong place?

Patton shifted a bit in the seat beside him, looking around with interest. They’d reached their destination, after all. Remus couldn’t help but doubt himself. There were other Sharons in the country, after all. Maybe they’d just gone to the wrong one.

Something about this city called to him, sure. But that didn’t mean anything—the cult had called to him too. Remus’s instincts weren’t the best.

He was roused from his thoughts when Patton softly tapped his shoulder. They were passing a grocery store—Save A Lot. It was time for lunch, wasn’t it?

Remus pulled left into the parking lot of the store, which was fairly empty for midday Friday. Only three cars, and a fourth pulling in at the same time as them. Remus parked in between two of the other cars there (mostly because he could) and hopped out, taking a moment to stretch before entering the store. Patton got out too, walking around to the driver’s side while Remus continued to reach toward the sky.

Patton led the way, holding the door open for Remus, who looked up as the bell jingled. An older man waved from behind the counter. A shopper milled about in the nearest aisle. Classic rock played quietly in the background. It was nice, in a weird way. Very peaceful. Very easy.

Pat headed for the bathroom and Remus watched him for a second, before turning down one of the aisles at random. They probably needed some fruit or something. He followed the aisle through to the small produce section on the other side of the store. Another employee leaned against the meat counter on the other side of the section, eyes glued to his phone. Remus froze and stared at him, waiting to be told that he wasn’t allowed back here. Nothing happened.

Remus fully exited the aisle and checked out the fruit. Oranges, apples, different apples, a handful of pineapples. The oranges were the cheapest, and Patton needed citrus too. There was a vitamin in citrus, right? Vitamin D? C?

Whatever it was, he was pretty sure that Patty needed it. He needed every vitamin, actually. Remus picked up an orange, about to pull a plastic bag from the roll.

“Oh my gosh. No way!”

Remus dropped the orange, spinning on his heel and straightening up. His heartrate spiked, breathing quickened, and he stood at attention, keeping his eyes on the linoleum floor.

“Remus?”

He chanced a quick look up, forcing his eyes almost immediately back down. He saw . . . a woman. Young, probably about his age. Tall. A shopping basket over her arm (probably why he hadn’t heard her coming. No squeaky wheels). Smiling. She was completely unfamiliar, but by now the watery reflection of the lights on the floor had gotten into his head where he was. In a grocery store. In his hometown. Not back there.

With effort, Remus wrenched his head up, meeting the woman’s eyes. “H-hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “What’s up?”

“So it is you!” The woman laughed a little. “I haven’t seen you in years. How’re your parents?”

This woman knew him. So he had definitely lived here. But this wasn’t a very big city, and if she knew him, then she had to have known his family, right? Why would she have to ask him how they were? Had they moved away? Cold clutched at his heart as he considered that option. They can’t have. He can’t have lost them before he even found them.

“I-I dunno, just got in town. Haven’t even dropped by yet.”

The woman nodded. “Where do you live now?”

“Other side of the country,” Remus hedged, “Desert-y place.”

“Oh, I grew up in Arizona,” the woman said, almost commiseratingly. “So hot. There were days that I’d just go stick my head in the freezer.”

Remus laughed nervously. “Yep, wish—wish I coulda done that.”

“Mhm. Really, I haven’t seen you since—gosh, since we graduated! You didn’t even come to the graduation itself, I heard that you skipped town practically the day after school got out.”

Okay, someone he’d gone to high school with. Remus remembered being sorta close with the other kids on the soccer teams, but he mostly hung out with the stoner kids to annoy his parents. He couldn’t see how he would know this chick. Maybe they’d been lab partners? Or maybe she’d been someone he hung out with?

The woman seemed to be casting around for something to say, her eyes eventually falling on his face. “Wow, that mustache has really filled out, huh?”

Remus’s hand flew up to smooth it unconsciously. “Yep, this is a couple years’ hard work,” he boasted. The woman chuckled.

“No offense, but it used to be this terrible shrimpy little thing,” she said. “I remember prom night when you picked me up you were all grumpy because your mom made you shave it off. You didn’t even talk to me until we got there!”

Oh shoot.

Oh no.

This was an old girlfriend.

Remus hadn’t dated anyone in years. He’d tried for a while, those first months in the cult. But the gals weren’t interested and the guys were too scared, so he’d given up. He hadn’t really minded it, honestly—he had dated all through high school, but looking back he only did it to make his parents mad. They didn’t want him steady dating until he was an adult, and definitely didn’t want him dating dudes and stoners, so he had done both over and over again between the ages of thirteen and eighteen.

Now, though?

Maybe it was just the cult stuff talking, but Remus wasn’t interested in a partner. The romance part sounded cute (he’d never admit it, but part of him really wanted to curl up with his partner and watch a romcom, teasing each other lightly), but the rest of it sounded like way too much of a hassle. He didn’t have the time, not when he was carrying the load of three different people’s trauma. And while he had a feeling that the commitment might help ground him, he just wasn’t interested in the rest of it. If that made sense. Heck, this was his own head and it didn’t really make sense.

Anyways, he remembered this woman, just a little. Not much about her, or how well they worked together, or if they had truly been in love. He mostly remembered that he had left without breaking up with her, without even telling her goodbye.

“Yeah, I was a terrible kid,” he said, secretly waiting for her to agree with him. Instead she shrugged.

“Sure, you were always hanging out with weird people,” she replied, “but you were very kind. I definitely don’t think we were meant for each other, but I had fun with you.” She winked and Remus almost physically recoiled. He didn’t like when people winked.

A hand tapped his elbow and Remus jolted, turning his head. Patton was there, smirking a little bit.

The woman’s eyes traveled between them, clearly trying to figure out their relationship. “Boyfriends . . . ?”

“Kidnapper and victim,” Remus said, turning back to her fully and smiling toothily. He felt a little bit more in control now. She barely seemed uncomfortable, instead sharing her own smile.

“Right. Well, tell your parents I said hi,” she said, waving slightly. Remus noticed the ring on her wedding finger, but before he could ask, she answered.

“D’you remember Claire, from the swim team?”

Remus opened his mouth to lie, but she continued to talk.

“Well, after you left, she comforted me and helped me decide what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, and the answer turned out to be her!” the woman laughed at her own joke, and Remus laughed along, not quite sure why. It was obviously a practiced line, and he didn’t really find it funny either.

The woman reached out and patted him on the shoulder, a warm look in her eyes. “Seriously, it was great to see you. Everyone was really worried about you, we thought you’d died in some ditch. Take care!” And with that, she was turning down another aisle, quickly out of sight.

“Who was that?” Patton asked as soon as Remus turned to him. The smirk was gone, his eyes now wary.

“A friend from when I was a kid,” Remus signed distractedly, looking at the oranges again. He grabbed two, then a third one just in case and led the way back to the cash registers. On the way he snagged a package of beef jerky, grimacing at the price.

That was the weirdest encounter he’d had, probably ever. At least it was proof that they were in the right place.

-

“No clue where we are,” Remus sang under his breath, checking the street signs as they passed a church. The area looked vaguely familiar, so that had to mean something, right? Apparently not, because after the grocery store experience, everything looked familiar. He pulled to stop in front of a stop sign, patting Logan’s car as it groaned. For a moment, he let his eyes close and his head rest on the steering wheel.

Patton tapped his arm, waiting for him to look. “Trust your instincts,” he signed, finger-spelling the last word. He smiled softly at Remus, then turned back to the window, pulling the patched hoodie closer around his shoulders. Remus took a deep breath. He could do this. He’d survived a cult. He’d saved a whole kid from the same cult. He was awesome.

Remus took his foot off the brake, letting the car carry him from street to street, waiting for something to happen. If this didn’t work, then he’d go street by street, knocking on every door until he found his parents and brother.

Then, as he turned right in a somewhat busy intersection, his hands spasmed. Muscle memory took over, and he turned right again onto a smaller street. Memories of driving this road far too fast in the darkness of late nights and early morning flooded his mind, overlapping and playing simultaneously. In the memories, he followed this street through, then turned left at the end of it.

So he did, his arms turning the wheel almost without conscious input. Another two turns, and he was Euclid Ave, a street name that made his heart jump into his throat. Just two houses down, there it was.

150 Euclid Ave.

Suddenly, the home phone number was on the tip of his tongue—he’d memorized them together. He recalled his parents, sitting on the sofa, clapping for a miniature version of him reciting the full address and phone number.

He stared at the house so hard stars appeared in his vision, surprised to feel almost nothing. It was familiar of course, just like everything else, but it was also . . . normal. It almost felt like he’d never left. Or like he’d gone back in time, back to when this was right. Back to when this was who he was.

“Home?” Patton asked out loud, the middle of the word slurring a little. Remus’s eyes misted a little bit.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Home.”

-

Knock-knock-knock.

Remus rocked back onto his heels, shooting a reassuring smile to Patton. He could do this. No sounds came from inside the house, but there were two cars in the driveway, so someone had to be home. Hopefully both were his parents, then he could see everyone together.

But his brother could drive now, right?

They were five years apart. When he’d left, his brother had been in middle school. Now he was probably in college. If he was away at school, he wouldn’t be home right now, would he?

Remus knocked again.

Now there was sound from inside, the creaking of footsteps on floorboards, the running water. Adrenaline suddenly pumped through his veins, and the wild thought of running back to the car crossed his mind. He could get out before they ever knew he was here, just leave and nothing would change.

Did he want it to change?

Click-click. The door unlocked.

Swung open.

Remus composed his face the best he could, trying to smile and look as normal as possible. He could do this. He could do this.

He looked up.

A face, lined, clean-shaven, framed with close-cut dark hair that was greying at the ends. A face that Remus saw from the stage of a talent show, sitting in the audience, smiling and clapping along with his clarinet rendition of Jingle Bells.

The shoulders were broader than Remus ever thought his own would be, proved otherwise by time. Remus saw the shoulders from the closet of his parents’ room, where occasionally on Sunday afternoons the boy was allowed to try on suit coats that swallowed him completely.

The left hand had a simple silver band, one that Remus could see resting on the aluminum foil ring holder he’d made in class as a Father’s Day present. He’d always been afraid that it would catch his fingers when they played the hand stacking game.

Remus’s eyes traveled back up the arm, the shoulder, the neck, the face, back to the eyes. Blue, almost grey, a color that neither he nor his brother had inherited.

“Hey dad,” he croaked. “I'm home.”

The eyes widened.

~

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How about 14 + 21, dealer's choice pairing?

On This Thanksgiving Day

Prompt: Stuck together for a long period of time/“They’re wrong about you.”

Summary: Sloan’s first time meeting Don’s family doesn’t go particularly well. (The dialogue came to me in Thomas Sadoski’s voice, so I guess the dealer wanted Don/Sloan for you, Sarah.)

“Apparently we don’t have very good luck on trips together,” Sloan says, although not precisely to him. She’s facing out the window, as if she can see anything other than pitch blackness - as if there would be anything to see, even in the daylight. They hadn’t made it much past Derby-Shelton when the train had broken down; he’d guess that if they could see more than darkness and their own reflections, they’d mostly be staring out at Naugatuck State Forest.

Which might offer a distraction to make things a bit less awkward, but not by much.

“I’m not exactly in a hurry to get anywhere this time,” he says, trying for humor. “Luckily there isn’t much urgent news to report on Thanksgiving.”

“There isn’t always much urgent news to report on May 1 of any given year.”

“Well, sometimes we just get lucky.”

She turns toward him then. Her hair, which she had taken down from whatever fancy style it had been pinned up in earlier, swings forward, briefly obscuring her face. “Is that how you feel? Lucky?”

“I feel lucky with you every day,” he says truthfully. He can’t tell if she believes him. Either way, she does not smile, although after the day they’ve had, he wouldn’t really expect her to.

It had been an easy decision to ask Sloan to come home with him. Her parents retired to Arizona the previous January, and if it already didn’t make much sense for her to fly across the country for barely a weekend, they had told her months ago that her brothers would be at their in-laws, they had no plans on cooking, and they were booked for mixed doubles with the Drummers on Friday.

Don’s family, by contrast, would all be gathering back at his childhood home, a quick couple of hours on the Metro-North. He and Sloan had been dating for over a year now. It would have made sense to ask her even if she wasn’t facing down a holiday weekend of takeout and economics journals alone in her apartment (regardless of the fact that she had set aside a few of the “best issues” to enjoy).

He knew it was a mistake from the moment they walked in the door.

Despite his mother’s thanks, it was clear that she thought the bottle of wine Sloan had picked out was pretentious, and she eyed the sheath dress Sloan wore, with its gray, black, and white geometric design, as if deciding precisely how excessively formal it was for a small family gathering. Don, having seen Sloan’s closet, could have told her that this was one of the more informal options, at least not counting workout clothes or lingerie, but started in on small talk instead before offering Sloan a tour of the house.

Those few moments of watching her smile at the pictures of him hanging along the hallway - round in a Christmas sweater at age three, a gawky, grinning advertisement for the necessity of orthodontia at twelve, only slightly less gawky and slightly more grinning in his high school graduation photo - and hearing her tease about what embarrassing poster had once been taped in the large, discolored place above his bed...it still wasn’t quite enough to get him through the rest of the day.

Sloan didn’t watch whatever show his mom and sister and sister-in-law were going back and forth about, and she had little interest in entertaining the brigade of Keefer kids roaming around. She furrowed her brow as she sat next to Don in the family room and tried to get him to explain all the minutiae of football even as the others were trying to watch the Eagles. She was perfectly polite, asking questions of everyone and telling them about her family, her work, her interests when asked, but it was obvious from the glances traded around the table that the others noticed the slight hitch to her cadence and the way she didn’t always laugh at the jokes being told, and that it mattered to them.

As they dug into turkey and Mom’s excellent stuffing and terrible sweet potato pie, his dad (who clearly didn’t think the wine pretentious, or at least not enough to be a problem) started talking about how all he saw on the news these days was these protests, and of course it was a shame when things went wrong, but cops were just trying to protect themselves and didn’t need to be lectured by those who didn’t know what it was like on the ground day to day - he had friends who were cops, and they were just trying to do right and get home to their families, and was it any wonder they had to react like they did, considering the damage being done out in the streets? Don, who had tried and eventually learned to bite his tongue when it came to this conversation, placed a hand on Sloan’s knee, but she went ahead anyway, citing statistics and studies and historical precedent, all while the others looked at her as if she was exactly the kind of person by whom they didn’t want to be lectured.

Still, they might have been able to push through, except that Don’s brother cornered him on the way back from the bathroom and asked...well, Don’s blocked out the exact wording, but the implication was that he wondered if the pictures he’d seen of Sloan online did her justice.

After Don had punched Rich, sticking around for Black Friday brunch and leftovers didn’t seem to be in the cards.

“I can be a little bit of an acquired taste,” Sloan says, leaning forward and resting her forearms on her thighs. “I know that might be shocking, considering how charming I am—”

“Exactly the word I’d use.”

She throws him a glare for the dry tone, but he’s glad for it; it makes her look a bit more like herself. “So, I’m used to not always being liked. But they...I was really not liked back there.”

“They’re wrong about you.” The carriage is empty except for them - luckily for those who don’t want to be trapped on a broken down train, the middle of the evening on Thanksgiving doesn’t seem an especially popular time to travel into the city - and they had been able to take seats facing each other. He leans toward her, but does not take her hand. “Hey. They’re wrong about you. You know that, right? Sure, you’re single-minded, a little bit weird, a frequent pain in my ass—”

“I have yet to hear the part about them being wrong.”

“—but you’re also kind and loyal and wildly ethical and the smartest person I know and pretty solidly better than I deserve. And I just happen to be related to a bunch of assholes who can’t recognize that.”

Her knee bumps against his. “I imagine Christmas is going to be a pain when you have to spend time with a bunch of assholes.”

“Christmas was already a pain for that and many other reasons,” he says. “And honestly, maybe I won’t go back for it. Maybe I won’t go back next Thanksgiving either.”

She doesn’t look at him like he’s crazy. Instead, her face folds into concentration, as if she is trying to figure out a puzzle. Slowly she says, “I don’t know that you can just give up on your family because of the one time that they weren’t nice to your girlfriend.”

“They’ve never been nice to my girlfriends because, again, they’re assholes.” He settles against his seatback and makes sure she is looking at him before he says, “I’ll probably end up seeing them again because I’m not quite lucky enough in life to avoid it. But when I have the choice, I want to spend as much time as I can with the family that taught me to be better than them. So maybe next year we’ll rope Mac and Will into eating dry turkey with us - or hey, he can probably swing for some that actually tastes good.”

“You know that Mac will make us say things that we’re thankful for, and she and Will are going to get into an argument about the legacy of Thanksgiving even though they essentially agree with each other.”

“Well, maybe we’ll cook—” Her eyebrow raise is sharp and perfect as always. “Okay, we’ll get takeout together. Because I swear to God, Sloan, sitting around having popcorn shrimp with you sounds like a much better time than anything involving my mother’s pecan pie.”

“I was actually looking forward to the pie,” she says a little longingly, but she moves to sit in the seat beside him and lean her head on his shoulder, not even startling as the PA system crackles to overly loud life.

“Sorry, folks, we’re going to have to go dark here for a sec as we try to get things back online, but we hope to have you on your way shortly.”

“Hey,” Don says in the moment before the lights go out. “You know that I’m thankful for this, don’t you? Just getting to be here with you.”

“No one’s thankful for a train breakdown, Don,” she says, voice sounding as if she’s shaking her head at him. And he can feel the stupid smile coming over his face anyway as the overheads power off, leaving them with only the eerie emergency lighting. Who knows how long they’ll have to sit here like this considering the amount of faith he has in the MTA? He rests his head on top of Sloan’s. He can wait. They’ll get home together eventually.

And life goes on (though not always in the right direction)

Spencer Reid AU

Description: Spencer Reid has lived a horrible life, and every time he thinks it’s getting better, it somehow gets worse. 

Warnings: Bullying, Self harm, Suicide, Kidnapping/blood, Rape/Sexual assault, Depression, Death, Cussing, Drug use (if there are any others please message me and I will gladly add them. There is no warning too small.)

Word Count: 5.4k

The first time Spencer gets beat up it is his eight birthday. He doesn’t celebrate. His dad gets “stuck at work” (in reality he is out cheating on his wife with his assistant) and his mom forgets. He goes to the park with a book knowing that would be the best way to spend his birthday. A group of neighborhood kids walks up to him and asks him if he wants to hang out. He, of course, says yes.

Oh stupid and naive little boy.

They guide him to the bleachers and push him to the ground. Spencer looks up at them through teary eyes and they laugh. The first punch breaks his glasses and the second breaks his nose. The kicks against his abdomen bruise his ribs and cause him to throw up his breakfast. They all keep laughing. It isn’t until an hour later when they finally get tired and leave. Spencer curls himself into a fetal position and tries not to swallow the blood gushing from his nose. 

He walks alone to the hospital. His mother doesn’t notice he’s gone until the doctor calls her and asks her to pick up her son. His dad shows up with her. Spencer thinks he looks embarrassed. He refuses to meet his eyes. At first he thinks it’s because of his now crooked nose that will certainly need surgery but he later realizes that he is embarrassed of him. He is ashamed of who his son is. That is the first time that he cries himself to sleep. He gets beat up regularly after that. 

. . .

Spencer is ten when his father leaves. He tries to convince him to stay. He keeps reciting statistics about how a divorce could affect a child but all his father does is look at him with disgust and walk out the door. His mother has one of her episodes later that same night. Spencer can’t bring himself to calm her down so he locks his door and picks up his physics text book. Half way through the chapter he feels tears falling down his cheeks. He does his best to wipe them away but it’s no use. He allows himself to cry as he thinks about what his father leaving will inevitably cause. His mother is in no condition to hold down a job and he has no way of making money to pay for food and electricity. He’s glad that their medical insurance takes care of all of his mother’s medication. He eventually settles down and brings his blankets over his body, the distant sounds of his mother practicing for a lecture that will never come lulling him to sleep. 

The next day he goes straight to the local newspaper station and asks if he could have a job delivering the papers to the local neighborhoods. The owner is apprehensive at first until Spencer explains his situation. The man sighs and hands him a bag filled to the brim with the day’s news. Spencer rushes out of the building and jumps on his bike. He delivers newspapers everyday at six in the morning for the next two years.

He becomes used to hunger. He can’t buy books anymore as he is barely scraping together enough money to have a decent meal everyday. He never complains though. He forces the tears away and keeps moving forward. Things will get better. 

. . .

When he’s thirteen when he leaves for university. Cal-Tech. It’s the start of a new life. He enjoys his classes and regularly converses with his professors. Every time he gets the chance he takes the trip down to Las Vegas to check on his mom. She always assures him that she is perfectly fine (even though she isn’t) and he needs to stop worrying so much. 

He gets a job at the library. He puts the books back in their respective shelves and his eidetic memory certainly makes it easier. It isn’t fun, not in the slightest, but it pays better than selling newspapers and he’s in desperate need of money. He stays at the library between shifts and works on his homework. He uses the library’s computer since he can’t afford his own. 

He excels in all of his classes and makes extra money out of tutoring. The older students don’t take offense to a fourteen year old correcting them on their mistakes, for that he is extremely thankful. Still, it doesn’t mean he has friends. Most twenty-year-olds don’t want to spend their free time hanging it out with a know it all pre-teen. 

. . .

He slides a razor blade against his arm for the first time when he is fourteen. He doesn’t know exactly what makes him do it. The stress of college at such a young age or maybe the fact that he is completely alone in California. He considers the fact that it may be from the bruise forming on his lower abdomen, courtesy of a group of Frat guys. Maybe it’s all of the above. 

The only thing he knows for sure is that he relishes in the pain it gives him. It isn’t the same type of pain he feels whenever he gets beat up, no this feels better. He gives himself two cuts before hiding the blade and cleaning himself off. He wraps a bandage over his forearm and goes to class. 

The next day he sits in the bathroom and debates whether he should do it again. He knows he shouldn’t. He is aware that this is not good for him. He thinks about going to the campus therapist but quickly shuts down the idea. He can’t talk about what he is going through. He has no right to feel the way he does. He is going to a prestigious college on a full ride scholarship. He is passing all of his classes, he finds them easy. But he can’t help the way he feels. He looks at himself in the mirror and feels disgusted with what he sees. 

He has no one. No one to take care of him. No one to talk to. No one to ask him how his day went. He understands why his father left. He wouldn’t want to have himself as a son either. 

He slides the blade three times. 

Two weeks later he is up to six cuts per day. The scars are ugly but Spencer can’t bring himself to care. He avoids looking in the mirror, it only makes the desire to feel the cold blade on his skin worse. No, he isn’t suicidal, at least he doesn’t think so, but he can’t help but throw his head back as blood gushes down his arm. 

. . .

He is sixteen when his mother dies. He has just finished his first PhD and comes home to visit and celebrate. At one point he goes out to the store and comes back to find his mother on the floor. 

She isn’t breathing. 

He eyes the bottle of pills on the floor and then looks to the counter to see another one. 

They’re both empty.

He cries. He cries for over an hour before he gets up and starts packing his stuff. He takes all of his money as well as some clothes and other necessities. He calls the paramedics on his way out the door. He takes the first bus out of Las Vegas and never looks back. 

He doesn’t return to Cal-Tech. Social Services finding him will be too easy if he does. He’s a minor and his guardian is dead. He has two options. He can either find a way to contact his dad (which social services probably does) and go live with him. He doesn’t dwell on the thought long. Option two is to allow himself to be turned over to the state and be inevitably placed in an overcrowded foster home that only takes children in for money. He dismisses the thought quickly. He ends up choosing option number three. 

He runs away. He ends up in Arizona. He doesn’t remember how many buses it takes him to get there. He stays at a cheap motel and has to resist the urge to walk to the bathroom and open old scars. It’s been months, he tells himself, you have to be strong. He makes a call to the University of Oxford. They had offered him a scholarship when he had originally applied when he was thirteen. He declined their offer, obviously, and decided to stay closer to home. Closer to his mom. Who is dead now. He shakes his head and forces himself to stop thinking about it. He requests to talk to the Dean. He gives his name and he is quickly transferred to his office. 

Yes, they do have a place for him in school. Of course, they would be honored to have him complete his studies there. 

Spencer hangs up the phone and calls the airline. One way ticket to England please. The next day he lugs his belongings all the way to the airport, not having enough money for a cab. He boards the plane and stares out the window officially saying goodbye to his life in the states. 

. . .

Maeve is dead. He is twenty years old and he is tied to a chair staring at his dead fiancée. He sees the blood pooling around her body and his throat feels raw from all the screaming. This isn’t supposed to happen. His life was finally good, stable. The first real glimpse of happiness he’s had since he was ten. Life can’t have gotten this bad. 

They have both been held captive for four days. Spencer being forced to watch as the man who took them repeatedly raped the woman he is in love with. Forced to endure having the shit beat out of him. Having to endure the feeling of the needle piercing his skin and ultimately enjoying the high that came afterward. 

The man smirks at him, the gun still in his hand. 

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” His voice comes out hoarse, not even he can recognize it. The man simply laughs and walks over to him. He holds the gun to his head and Spencer closes his eyes. He’s going to die. He wants to die. He craves the feeling of vast emptiness that came with death. He doesn’t think that he can deal with any more pain. 

The pressure of the gun leaves his head. He looks up and the man smiles at him, but there is no sincerity in his eyes. He hears the man saying something along the lines of “death is too easy” before plunging another needle in his vain. Spencer’s eyes roll back as a feeling of ecstasy overcomes his body. He hears the man walk away before he passes out. He wakes up to see officers untying him. He sees paramedics close the black bag over Maeve’s face. He feels tears fall down his face. 

“No,” he repeats over and over. He hears paramedics ask him his name. Does he remember how he got here? Can he tell them where he lives? Their questions fall on deaf ears. All Spencer can think about is how when he eventually gets out of the hospital he will have to go back to an empty apartment. He will have to pack up Maeve’s stuff. He will have to face her parents and tell them what happened. He will have to tell her dad that he will never get to walk his little girl down the aisle and her mom that she would never take her dress shopping. Spencer would never meet the eyes of the woman he loves as she reaches the altar. He will never get to say ‘I do’ and call her Mrs. Reid. 

He finds a dealer as soon as he gets home. 

. . .

He’s twenty two when he gets his fifth PhD. He has been clean for a little under a year and it is all thanks to his boss. He’s been living with him since he moved out of his apartment. He works at the local police station. He gives profiles on serial criminals. No one is ever going to have to go through what he went through. Not if he can help it. 

He based the past two years of his schooling solely on his new career choice. He gets an internship two months after the incident. 

He’s high most of the time. 

He still passes all of his classes with flying colors but his new boss knows that something is up with him, even if he has only known the kid for a month. The police chief approaches him one day when Spencer is sitting on his desk going over a cold case file. He invites him to dinner at his house and Spencer is both relieved and worried. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to go back to his god forsaken apartment for a few more hours and worried because he doesn’t know how bad his craving will get. He has developed a routine. Shoot up, go to school, go to work, come home at five, shoot up again. 

An hour into dinner and his boss asks him the question. Are you okay? It’s a loaded question, they’re both aware but Spencer notes that the man is genuinely concerned for his well being. He breaks down. He tells him everything. He doesn’t know why he is sobbing in front of a man who he has only known for a short while. Why he is telling him all of his problems. Why he rolls up both of his sleeves and shows him the scars that graze his inner elbow, and the ones that have healed over his forearm. 

From a psychological perspective he knows why he is doing it, why he allows himself to be so vulnerable in front of the man. He longs for a father figure. For a man to comfort him and care for him. He wants what his father never gave him as a child, what he never gave him as a teenager, what he never gave him as an adult. 

“I’m sorry sir,” Spencer sniffles. He is being unprofessional.

“You don’t have to call me sir, you know? You can call me Roger.” Spencer nods, not having the strength to speak up again. “You’re staying the night and then tomorrow we’ll go to your apartment to pack up your stuff and you’re moving in. I’m going to help you get clean.” 

Spencer is shocked but can’t bring himself to argue. He is exhausted. The next day they do just what Roger said they would do. It is a long journey. He will stay clean for about three weeks before something happens that makes him fall back to his disgusting habit. Roger will sometimes come home to see Spencer sobbing in the bathroom, a syringe lying next to him. He immediately pulls him close and assures him that it’s okay.  

He beats it though. It will be a year next month since the last time he had any drug in his system. He’s proud of himself. 

Roger walks over to him as he closes his phone. They are in one of their co-worker’s backyard. They all insisted that they needed to celebrate his new achievement. Spencer had rolled his eyes but accepted their kind gesture and is now sipping his drink and making conversation when Roger calls his name. 

Roger takes a second to mull over the progress Spencer made. He’s proud of him. He loves the kid like his own but the future of their father-son relationship will be determined what he is about to say. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Spencer asks casually, pushing a hand through his long hair. 

“I just got a call from Interpol,” he pauses, Spencer freezes. “They have offered me a position.” He waits for Spencer’s reaction. 

“You’re leaving.” Spencer can’t believe this is happening. Not again. He starts to wonder if life will ever allow him to have even a sliver of happiness. 

“I am.” Spencer avoids looking at him. “But I want you to come with me.” That catches his attention. 

“What?”

“I told them that if they want me then they will also have to offer a position to the smartest and most hard working man I know. I made it clear that I am not going to take the position unless they put you on my team. So what do you say? Want to work at Interpol with me?” 

Spencer is shocked to say the least. It’s a great opportunity. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks at the man who cares for him like a son. The man who encouraged him to beat his addiction, who makes him feel like he is worth something. He nods his head and hugs him. He hears their co-workers cheering behind them and he lets out a laugh. Maybe life will allow him to be happy. 

. . .

Wrong. Life always likes to give Spencer a nice kick in the ass. He has been working at Interpol with Roger for about a year and a half and at the ripe age of twenty-four he is one of their most valued members. He is seated quietly at his desk, nursing a horrible migraine when a file is dropped in front of him. He looks up at Roger and sees the sympathy in his eyes. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion before picking up the file. 

His breath hitches in his throat. 

Couple kidnapped and held for four days. Woman shot execution style with evidence of repeated sexual assault. Male beaten brutally with traces of narcotics in his system. 

He can’t breath. He tries but he can’t seem to make his lungs work. He starts to hyperventilate. He can hear Roger saying his name but he can’t focus enough to respond. He’s back. It’s been four years and there has been no cases with even a similar M.O. He is aware that he is having a panic attack but he can’t bring himself to even try and match Roger’s breathing. His inner elbow itches. 

No.

It would make things easier. No dealing with the pain. 

No. No. No. I won’t do it. Not again.

It’s only once. You want to. You’re weak. 

No. I’ve come so far, I will not give it up. 

Then how about the blade? Just like when you were fourteen. Weak little Spencer Reid. You’re pathetic.  

NO!

He doesn’t remember passing out. 

He wakes up with Roger standing over him. He apologizes and Spencer reassures him that he is fine. He wants to work the case. No, not wants, needs to work the case.  Roger refuses. But he knows the case better than anyone. They argue for a while. In the end Spencer wins (he always wins). 

Roger informs him that a team of profilers from the FBI is coming to help solve the case. The killer wasn’t dormant, he went to the United States and continued killing there. Same M.O. Only last week did he return to the U.K. 

“The FBI has worked this case and they want to continue working it,” Roger explains. 

Spencer nods and walks back to his desk. He starts going over the file and victims. He realizes that his name isn’t listed. The victims start with his first kill in the U.S. He feels relief at the fact. He studies the file for a few more hours before Roger tells him to call it a night. They walk to the car together and head home. 

The next day the FBI team arrives. The Behavioral Analysis Unit. Spencer has heard of them, he even studied some of their cases when he first started profiling. They walk in and go straight to Roger, completely ignoring Spencer. He’s not surprised. Strangers never seem to realize that he actually works here. He doesn’t exactly have a sign over his head that reads “I have an IQ of 187 and have five PhDs. I also have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute.” 

Roger greets them and introduces them to Spencer. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid, he’s my lead on the case and my second in command. If I’m not available, anything he says goes.” The team all wears various expressions of shock. 

A white male with dark hair, who Spencer assumes is the leader, breaks first and introduces himself and the rest of them. “I’m Agent Hotchner, these are SSAs Rossi, Morgan, Jareau, Greenaway, and Prentiss and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” He holds out his hand and Spencer hesitates. 

“Oh uh I don’t shake hands.” Roger snorts fondly while the team all assumes the Dr. to be a pretentious asshole (he isn’t) (most of the time). They were all led to the conference room which Spencer has already set up. There are two maps on the walls, one of England and the other of the U.S. There are tacks placed at the places where all the victims were held. 

The FBI has been here for three weeks and are no closer to catching the killer. Two other couples have been taken. Spencer never goes to the crime scene. He is barely holding it together, the itch on his arm getting stronger as he clutches his sobriety coin, he can’t bear to look at the scene that is almost identical to the one he found himself in four years ago. Of course the team doesn’t know this. They all think that he doesn’t have the guts to do the job. They often find themselves discussing the young man’s incompetence and how if he can’t handle the case then he shouldn’t work it. They always stop the conversation when he walks in though. One day however, they don’t hear his approaching footsteps as they make fun of him. 

“How old is he? 15? The kid is too damn young to be working a job like this.” Morgan pops a peanut in his mouth after speaking. 

“He probably fucked his way into his position,” JJ says. 

“I mean the way he handles the files. He can’t even look at the pictures. He looks like a baby watching a horror movie,” Prentiss laughs. 

“I still don’t understand. Who let him in here? This isn’t a daycare or a kindergarten.” All three agents laugh at JJ’s comment before a voice shuts them up. 

“You don’t know me.” Their heads snap up to see the man in question standing in the doorway. “You have no right to judge me.” The glare he is giving them is scarier than Hotch’s. 

“Kid we-” That draws the line. 

“I’m not a kid Agent Morgan. The only people acting like children in this building are you three. You have no idea what I have been through. I’m sure you wouldn’t even be able to handle a fraction of the shit show that is my life.” His breathing is heavy and his voice is rising along with his temper. 

“We’re sorry it’s just that you’re so young. We didn’t think-” Spencer cuts Prentiss off. 

“Exactly. You didn’t think did you? Well let me enlighten you. I was brutally bullied since I was eight. My father left me and my paranoid schizophrenic mother when I was ten. I had to work to pay the bills and to be able to have a meal at least once a day. Then I went to college and things got better right? Not really since I still had no friends so I decided self harm was the way to go. Oh and my mother died when I was sixteen. The only person who ever gave a shit about me, killed herself. I came home one day and she was lying on the ground with an empty bottle of pills next to her. I packed up and left because I refused to go with my father or go into foster care. Do you think my life got better after that?” He waits to see if they will answer. They don’t. 

“Well for a while it did. I met the love of my life and we were going to get married. And then we were kidnapped. I was tied to a chair and drugged regularly as I watched my fiancée get raped. Then the psychopath put a gun to her head and shot her in front of me. I watched as the blood pooled around her body and I kept wishing that he had killed me as well. I kept doing drugs. Believe it or not, four days of getting shot up with dilaudid made me an addict. It took me a year to be able to get clean. And when I finally thought it was over a file got dropped on my desk. He was back. The reason for my nightmares, the man my therapist keeps trying to make me forget, was back,” he paused and took a deep breath. “So I’m sorry agents if I can’t go and examine the scene. I’m sorry that I get a little jittery when looking at the case files. But don’t you ever accuse me of not being able to do my job. I’m damn well good at what I do, despite my age. Yes I am only twenty-four but you three have made it quite clear that I am much more mature and capable of doing this job than you are.” With that he turns around, only to come face to face with Roger. He nods at him, a sign that he can leave. Spencer walks out of the conference room and toward the elevator. He gets in, waits for the doors to close and bursts into tears. 

Back in the conference room Morgan, Jareau, and Prentiss are faced with an angry Unit Chief and a fuming Director. 

“I want you out of here,” Roger looks at the three agents before turning back to Hotch. “I will not allow you to continue working this case with us unless they leave right now. They should get suspended for the trouble they have caused. Dr. Reid is one of Interpol’s greatest assets and I will not tolerate three strangers who got here three weeks ago to stand here and insult him. So Agent Hotchner unless they are sent home, your team is no longer welcomed here. And I will make sure to report this to your Section Chief and the FBI Director.” Roger walks out of the room and goes after his son. 

Hotch turns back to his team and none of them think they have ever seen him look as angry as he does that very moment. “Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, pack your bags, you're leaving. You’re suspended two weeks without pay, effective immediately. After your suspension is over you’ll have a meeting with the director to discuss your future at the Bureau. If it were up to me the three of you would be fired, but sadly it isn’t. You have shamed and dishonored the reputation of the Bureau and frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if Interpol severed ties with us. Now I am going to apologize to Dr. Reid and Roger and I hope to see you gone by the time I come back. I do not want to hear another word out of you unless it is an apology.” Hotch leaves the room but not before sending them one last glare. Rossi, Elle, and Garcia all look at them and follow after Hotch. To say they are disgusted by their teammates’ behavior is an understatement. 

Spencer is inside his car, sniffling and trying to get himself together. He doesn’t know what came over him inside the conference room but all the stress from the past three weeks took a toll on him and he found the perfect outlet to release it. A knock on his window startles him. Roger smiles before opening the door and sitting in the passenger seat. They sit in silence for a while, neither of them sure how to approach the conversation. 

“You’re not in any trouble,” Roger starts. “If you hadn’t yelled at them son, I was going to and we both know how that would have ended up.” They both chuckle and fall into a comfortable silence. 

“Do you think we’ll catch him?” Spencer speaks up. 

“With you working the case? There is no doubt in my mind.” 

They do catch him. Two weeks later Spencer is standing in an abandoned warehouse in front of the unsub with his revolver raised. The man, Tommy Montgomery, had his gun at the woman’s head, a sick smile on his lips. 

“I remember you,” Montgomery exclaimed. “I killed your fiancée four years ago, didn’t I?” 

Spencer could kill him right now. “Put the gun down. You don’t have to do this. We can help you if you just put the gun down.” Spencer recites the speech that he has said dozens of times to dozens of criminals. 

“Help me?” the man laughed. “You don’t want to help me. You want me to rot in a cell for the rest of my life. We both know there is only one way this can end.” Montgomery raises his gun at Spencer but he isn’t fast enough. 

Spencer unloads three rounds straight to his heart. He lowers his weapon and rushes over to him. He places two fingers above his collarbone--he will never admit that nothing brought him greater joy than realizing that he had no pulse. He goes to untie the male victim as paramedics rush inside. Roger walks over to Spencer once they are outside and pulls him into a hug. 

“It’s over son.” 

Spencer cries and clings onto him as sobs rack his body. He separates himself and takes a few calming breaths. He walks over to the BAU team, which now only consists of three members and their tech analyst. He thanks them profusely and the three of them reassure him that he has nothing to thank them for. Hotch looks at the young genius for a second before making an offer. 

“You know we have three spots open on our team now. If you want to, you are always welcomed at the FBI.” 

“Oh,” he doesn’t know what to think. He hasn’t gone back since he was sixteen. Was he ready? “Thank you really. I’m not sure I’m ready to go back to the states at this moment but maybe in a few months or years, if you’ll still have me, I’ll gladly join you.” Spencer holds out his hand and Hotch laughs before taking it and giving it a firm shake. 

“Good luck Dr. Reid.” 

“You too.” 

. . .

Five months later Spencer goes back to Oxford. He’s doing better. His cravings don't come as often and when he looks in the mirror, he isn’t ashamed or disgusted at what he sees. His therapist only requests to see him once a week now and Roger doesn’t hover over him at work.

He stands in the cemetery next to the church he was going to be wed at. He walks across the wet grass, scrunching his face at the squishing noises his shoes make. He faces Maeve’s grave and a shaky breath leaves his lips. He sits down next to the tombstone and starts talking. He tells her about everything that happened in the past months and how he finally avenged her death. He tells her about his progress and how his mental health has improved so much since he last talked to her. He sits there for hours during the day and well into the night until he runs out of things to say. 

“You would be so proud of me sweetheart. But now to what I actually came here to say. I came to say goodbye.” He takes a deep breath as a few tears roll down his cheeks. “I will love you forever and I will keep missing you every single day. But it is time that I move on. I need to find happiness and maybe that happiness isn’t here. I ran away when I was sixteen and I don’t want to run away anymore. So this may be the last time in a while that I come and talk to you. I love you Maeve Reid, to the moon and back.” Spencer stands up and places the ring he was going to wear for the rest of his life on top of the tombstone. He walks away as he takes out his phone and dials a number he never thought he would actually call. It rings for a few seconds before a familiar voice comes through the receiver.

“Hotchner.” 

“Does the offer still stand?”

Western Illinois, Year 40, 2046-2047

The final season of our sim dynasty with Western Illinois in College Hoops 2K8 is here.

Welcome back to our simulated dynasty with the Western Illinois Leathernecks in College Hoops 2K8. You can find a full explanation of this project + spoiler-free links to previous seasons here. Check out the introduction to this series from early April 2020 for full context. As a reminder, we simulate every game in this series and only control the recruiting and coaching strategies. Dynasty mode runs for 40 years.

Before we pick up with the Leathernecks at the start of Year 40, here’s a recap of everything that happened last season:

Western Illinois entered Year 39 trying to three-peat as national champions for the first time in program history. We lost two starters early to the NBA coming into the season, but still had enough talent to be ranked No. 10 overall in the preseason polls.

We ran through the regular season schedule, losing only one game to UCLA during the non-conference season and sweeping Summit League opponents once again. We entered the NCAA tournament at 29-1 on the year and earned a No. 4 seed to the big dance.

We beat Brown in round one, knocked off Georgia Tech in the round of 32, beat Indiana in the Sweet 16, and lost to Florida in the Elite Eight. We know enter the final season of my career tied with John Wooden with 10 national championships.

We added three players in our last ever recruiting class: five-star JUCO SF Jerald Obasohan, four-star SG Erwin Walls, and four-star PF Kenny Butler.

Here’s a first look at our roster for Year 40:

It feels like only yesterday that a fresh-faced, 25-year-old came to the small town of Macomb, Illinois with big dreams. Coach Rick was hired by Western Illinois to do the impossible: win a national championship with arguably the worst team in college basketball. After 39 seasons at the helm, our tiny program has accomplished that and so much more. Now it’s time to hang it up.

Our journey at Western Illinois is finally coming to an end. In literal terms, College Hoops 2K8 forces mandatory retirement upon coaches in dynasty mode after 40 seasons. All good stories need closure either way. As we start our final season, we have some big stakes attached to our swan song.

Western Illinois has won 10 national championships in the Ricky Charisma era. That ties us with UCLA legend John Wooden for the most in history. What started as a mission to win a single national championship has now left us with a different goal: to become the undisputed greatest program in the history of the sport.

While we failed in our bid to three-peat last season — falling to Florida in the Elite Eight — we did bring back all four breakout juniors for this season. We only lost starting center DJ Foster to graduation. Yeah, it’s been a while since we last published Year 39 (thanks for your patience), so let’s go over the roster:

PG Christano Ngounou, junior, 89 overall: Ngounou made major strides after being forced into the starting lineup last season, and now looks like a rock solid contributor going into our final year. An international recruit out of Cameroon, Ngounou is a fast 6’3 guard with lockdown defensive ability and a slightly above average three-point shot. We have bigger names on this squad who will be expected to carry the scoring load, but Ngounou is going to play a huge role because he’s way better than every other point guard on the roster. We need quality minutes from him in the tournament. Former five-star international recruit with B potential.

SG Bernie Doyle, redshirt senior, 92 overall: Doyle is an incredible talent who enters his senior year looking to fully blossom into a superstar. The 6’9 shooting guard uses his immense size on both ends of the floor. He’s elite at getting into the passing lanes and forcing steals (a team-high 1.8 per game as a junior) on the defensive end, and has a sweet three-point stroke offensively. Doyle is such a smooth scorer and dominant defender that it feels like he has the natural talent to develop into an all-great in his senior year. Let’s hope he’s up to the challenge. Former No. 36 overall recruit from Detroit with C potential. Projected lottery pick.

SF Floyd Keller, redshirt senior, 92 overall: Keller checks every box for a small forward. He has good size at 6’7. He has a three-point rating in the mid-80s. He’s the best dunker on the team. He’s an elite offensive rebounder for a wing with a rating in the low 90s, which helps equip him to play minutes at the four. After a tough shooting night in our Elite Eight loss last season — he went 1-for-7 from three — we’ll need Keller to be consistently great if we want one more run through the bracket. Former No. 101 overall recruit out of Dallas with C+ potential. Projected second round pick.

PF Oscar Fray, redshirt senior, 88 overall: Fray enters his third year as a starter with a fascinating combination of size and skill that could set him up for a breakout senior year. The 7-foot power forward is a great three-point shooter for his position with a rating just below 80. Defensively, he’s the top-rated shot blocker on the team, and also does a pretty good job on the glass. Former No. 118 overall recruit out of Lynn, MA with C potential. Projected second round pick.

C Brody Munoz, redshirt senior, 92 overall: Munoz finally gets the spotlight as a senior after backing up DJ Foster — a one-time NCAA tournament Most Outstanding Player — for his entire career up to this point. We’re expected big things, and not just because he’s tied for the highest rated player on the roster going into the regular season. What Munoz lacks in elite size at 6’11 he can make up for with strength, agility, and rebounding. We expect him to be really good at forcing turnovers, grabbing putbacks, and helping fortify the paint. Former No. 169 overall recruit (No. 6 center) out of Nashville with B potential. Projected lottery pick.

We have an incredibly deep bench for our final season. Center Logan Polk (85 overall) will be our sixth man, and should be able to form a three-man front court rotation with the two starters in the tournament. After that, we have a lot of options but not a lot of good options.

Here’s the rest of the bench: wing Jaycee Queen (80 overall), wing Jerald Obasohan (79 overall), guard Archie Howell (78 overall), wing/guard James Haranga (74 overall), guard Edwin Walls (74 overall), and power forward Kenny Butler (74 overall).

This is really it. Year 40. The last dance. What a ride it has been. We start the season at No. 4 in the polls.

How did the regular season go?

For our final regular season, we tried to schedule a good mix of local schools and historic big conference rivals with a couple in-season tournaments thrown in for good measure.

Here’s how the regular season went:

Win over Bradley

Win over Nebraska

Win over UTEP

Loss to Southern Illinois

Win over Florida

Loss to Northwestern

Win over New Mexico

Win over DePaul

That sets up a rivalry game against Illinois. We’ve played the Illini in almost every season, and we don’t want to end this dynasty without one more dub. The losses to Southern Illinois and Northwestern were a real bummer, and we need a palate cleanser. Let’s go!

Big win, 102-68. Look at Cristano Ngounou hanging 17 points and six assists on the Illini. Love seeing both starters in the front court — seniors Oscar Fray (13 points, 10 rebounds) and Brody Munoz (18 points, 11 rebounds) — each dropping a double-double, too. And how about our new five-star JUCO addition Obasohan chipping in 12 points off the bench? Really promising performance from the boys.

We get a big win over Kansas in our next game. That sets up another marquee game with a program we don’t like very much out of the state of North Carolina: Duke. We’ve battling with Duke on the court and on the recruiting trail for 40 freaking years. Can we end this rivalry with a dub?

Ugh, loss, 88-83. Nice games from Bernie Doyle (19 points, four assists) and Oscar Fray (14 points, 12 rebounds), but it isn’t enough. That’s our third loss of the season. Get bent, Duke.

We end the year with three more non-conference games.

Win over Illinois-Chicago

Win over American

Win over Arizona State

While we may have lost the final battle to Duke, I won the war over Coach K with a significantly better career by any measure (more on that in a minute). Now it’s time to jump into conference play in the Summit League.

Did we go undefeated in conference season?

Yes we did, another perfect 18-0 stretch.

Now we enter the conference tournament. Can we punch one more automatic bid to the NCAA tournament?

Win over UMKC

Win over Southern Utah

Win over UL-Calcutta

We’re going to the NCAA tournament for the last time, but that isn’t even the headliner after winning the Summit League. Im taking home the conference tournament championship, I won game No. 1,171 of my career. That currently puts me ahead of Coach K for the most wins all-time.

We have built a great legacy at Western Illinois. Before we enter the NCAA tournament, let’s take a look at our statistical leaders:

What a year for Munoz. Dude sat on the bench for four seasons before finally getting a starting spot, and all he did was lead our team in scoring at 17.2 points per game. Fray was awesome, too, averaging a hair under 15 points per game while chipping in nearly two blocks and six rebounds per game. It’s good to see Keller and Doyle both hit double-figures in scoring. I’m a bit surprised Cristano couldn’t even put up seven points a night after his big game against Illinois, but the assist and steals numbers are solid. We’re going to need him in March.

The Leathernecks are heading into the NCAA tournament at 32-3 on the year. I can’t wait to see what seed we get.

2047 NCAA tournament

Well, we couldn’t end this dynasty without getting swindled by the Selection Committee one more time. We’re a No. 6 seed in the NCAA tournament. I thought we should have been a top-four seed without question.

We’ll open the tournament with a game against No. 11 seed Syracuse. Sheesh. Before we get to the game, let’s check in on our roster one more time:

I’m loving the way this group progressed through the year. We have two awesome wing scorers with an elite combination of size and shooting in Keller and Doyle. We have plenty of beef up front with Munoz, Fray, and Polk. Ngounou entered the program as a 77 overall and shot up to a 92 in three years without a redshirt. The bench also really improved during the season and should give us plenty of different lineup options in March.

This is going to be a tough run, starting with Syracuse. The Orange have knocked us out of the big dance before, and consistently put together really strong teams.

Our last dance starts now. As always, we’re simulating every game, I’m not controlling the ‘Necks.

Let’s go!

Win, 105-73! What an absolute beatdown. We’ve moving on to the round of 32.

Long-time followers of the series will know that our Leathernecks have always been known as a second half team. It happened in a big way in this game. Syracuse ended the first half strong to cut our lead to nine points, but we quickly turned it into a blowout out of the break.

I thought this was a tremendous all-around team effort. Six players hit double-figures in scoring with no one putting up more than Floyd Keller’s 15 points. Everyone who played recorded an assist. I loved this play from the first half when we set two screens for our five-star JUCO Obasohan that helped get him an easy layup.

Our bench is a big question mark coming into this tournament, mostly because it’s filled with a lot of fresh faces who haven’t played big minutes in clutch spots before. I have to say, the performance of our reserves in our tournament opener was super encouraging. Obasohan in particular looks like a keeper after scoring 10 points on 4-of-5 shooting and knocking down a three. We always need wing depth, and he should be able to provide that on this run.

The clear highlight of Obasohan’s night: this sick two-handed dunk in transition for an and-one.

We love to turn defense into offense, and Ngounou and Doyle’s ability to get into the passing lanes really helps us out there.

Speaking of Ngounou in transition: he had a beautiful finish on the break to put the game fully out of reach. That’s what you want out of your point guard.

The win sets up a second round game against Colorado State

The Rams have been a solid program throughout this sim dynasty, regularly making NCAA tournament appearances. We have a decisive edge in talent heading into this game.

We are one win away from going to the Sweet 16 and extended our run in the big dance. One time, ‘Necks. Let’s go!

Win, 109-79! We’re going to the Sweet 16!

We didn’t need to be a second half team in this one. Our ‘Necks blew the doors off Colorado State from the opening tip-off. I thought we played a great game offensively thanks to our inside-out ball movement.

We had five scorers in double-figures in this one, but it was senior starters Bernie Doyle and Oscar Fray leading the charge. We know Doyle is capable of taking over a game at his best, and he was awesome in this one: 20 points on 7-of-13 shooting from the field and 4-of-6 shooting from three. The real story was Fray, though.

Fray was probably the least appealing long-term prospect of our recruiting class when he entered the program alongside Doyle, Keller, and Munoz. That was mostly because of his 74 rating and C potential grade. While he’s always been rated a few points lower than his classmates, Fray’s skill set on the court is so important to us. He’s a massive 7-foot power forward who can protect the rim and shoot threes. What more do you want?

Fray went off in this game: 22 points, eight rebounds, two assists, two steals on 9-of-11 shooting. I love watching the big man shoot from deep. This was from NBA range.

Here’s one more catch-and-shoot three for good measure.

Fray might get slept on a little on this team, but he’s absolutely critical to our success if we want to win it all.

I also want to shout-out the bench for another solid performance. I liked what I saw out of Obasohan (11 points) and Howell (10 points). Since we already have two Obasohan clips in this post, why not make it three? Love him hitting this triple in the first half to help us open up the lead.

We’re rollin’.

The win sets up a Sweet 16 game vs. Alabama

We’re now four wins away from ending this dynasty with a national championship. A Sweet 16 game against Bama is going to be an absolute battle.

In our simulated future, the Tide have become a basketball school. This program seems to make the tournament every year, and they’ve given us plenty of trouble in the past.

A trip to the Elite Eight is on the line. Let’s go!

Win, 112-69! We’re onto the Elite Eight!

Say it with me: SECOND. HALF. TEAM. After a tight first half left us with a six-point lead coming into the break, our ‘Necks absolutely torched the nets in the second half to come away with the blowout win. Seriously: we scored 66 points in the final 20 minutes. That was an offensive clinic at its best.

I had a good feeling about the second half when Cristano got this three hit the rim like 50 times before falling. Sometimes you need some good luck on your side.

A couple possessions later, Floyd Keller came down a ripped another three. We finally had a double-digit lead, and we’d never look back.

It was great to see Keller (15 points) get going from deep. He hit all three of his attempts from beyond the arc.

While we don’t have any clips of the front court from this game, they absolutely deserve credit for the win.

Fray turned in another incredible performance, this one somehow even better than his last. He ended the game with 25 points, 14 rebounds, four assists, three steals, and three blocks on 10-of015 shooting. He didn’t attempt a three (booooo) but he dominated the game on both ends. His front court mate Munoz was almost as good. The senior center finished with 20 points and 16 rebounds. We kept going inside — Munoz and Fray combined for 35 (!) field goal attempts — and they were making the Bama defense pay.

Not the best Bernie Buckets game (9 points on 3-of-10 shooting), but I clipped this shot from the first half, so I might as well embed it here.

Elite Eight, here we come.

The win sets up an Elite Eight matchup against No. 1 seed Indiana

Our run in the NCAA tournament has been a breeze up to this point, but I fear things about to get a lot more difficult. Our plucky No. 6 seed is about to run into one of college basketball’s blue bloods: the top-seeded Indiana Hoosiers.

The Elite Eight has been something of a bugaboo for us. We lost in this round last year. We’ve lost in this round many times before. I don’t want it to happen again.

A Final Four trip is on the line. As always, we’re watching a simulated version of this game; I am not controlling the Leathernecks. Let’s go!

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Loss, 96-86. Oh my gosh. And just like that, our dream of ending this dynasty with a national title is over.

I am devastated. I really thought this team was good enough to send me out on top, but it wasn’t meant to be. The Hoosiers’ outside shooters did us in. Indiana’s guard-heavy lineup caught fire from deep (10-of-21 for 47.6 percent), and our perimeter attack couldn’t keep up. We only hit 6-of-22 (27.3 percent) attempts from three.

What happened to our second half team this time? We were only down two going into halftime, but we were outscored by eight over the final 20 minutes. Tough scene.

There were some solid individual performances. Munoz went out strong with 23 points and 10 rebounds. Bernie Doyle dropped 21 points and hit this three-pointer to keep us in it early.

Floyd Keller just didn’t give us enough on the wing. He shot 1-of-8 from three in the loss. He did give us a little juice in transition, at least.

Cristano played all 40 minutes, and had eight points and nine assists. I really wish I got another year with him as a senior next season.

Unfortunately there is no next season. After 40 years at Western Illinois, our sim dynasty is over. Here are some final numbers on the series:

Final record: 1,177-213

10 national championships (tied with John Wooden for the most in men’s college basketball history)

15 Final Four appearances

25 Sweet 16 appearances

Final NCAA tournament record: 113-27

38 Summit League regular season championships

35 Summit League tournament championships

38 seasons with 20+ wins

61 players drafted

The thing I’m most proud of? After we made the NCAA tournament for the first time in Year 3, we didn’t miss it again the rest of this dynasty.

Is Ricky Charisma the greatest men’s college basketball coach ever?

I think so. Here’s how we stack up to other top coaches in NCAA history in important categories.

Total wins

Ricky Charisma: 1,179

Mike Krzyzewski: 1,170

Jim Boeheim: 1,083

Roy Williams: 903

Bob Knight: 899

Dean Smith: 879

Jim Calhoun: 877

Adolph Rupp: 876

Bob Huggins: 828

Eddie Sutton: 806

Tournament wins

Ricky Charisma: 110

Mike Krzyzewski: 94

Roy Williams: 77

Dean Smith: 65

Jim Boeheim: 57

Tom Izzo: 52

Jim Calhoun: 49

John Wooden: 47

Final Four appearances

Ricky Charisma: 15

Mike Krzyzewski: 12

John Wooden: 12

Dean Smith: 11

Roy Williams: 9

Tom Izzo: 8

Rick Pitino: 7

Denny Crum, Adolph Rupp, John Calipari: 6

Consecutive tournament appearances

Western Illinois: 36

Kansas: 31

North Carolina: 27

Arizona: 25

Duke: 24

Michigan State: 23

Gonzaga: 22

Winning percentage

Ricky Charisma: 84.7

Mark Few: 83.44

Sam Burton: 83.33

Clair Bee: 82.444

Adolph Rupp: 82.1

John Wooden: 80.3

National championships

Ricky Charisma: 10

John Wooden: 10

Mike Krzyzewski: 5

Adolph Rupp: 4

Roy Williams: 3

Jim Calhoun: 3

Bobby Knight: 3

Who is the best player in Western Illinois history?

That’s the big question within the fanbase right now. Before we get to it, let’s look back at our greatest recruiting wins.

We landed five five-star recruits out of the domestic high school ranks during my time at Western Illinois. We also signed nine five-star JUCO recruits, and six five-star international recruits from places like New Zealand (shout-out Dave French), Montenegro (anti shout-out Vitor Andrisevic), France (what up, Kim Kone!), and Cameroon.

The highest-rated recruit in program history was Sammy Yan at No. 10 overall in 2032. He was pretty much a disappointment. The program’s all-time leading scorer was center Vinnie Harmon with 2,452 career points during his career. He was the No. 122 overall recruit and the No. 8 center (those that followed the series or played the game know that centers are always weirded underrated on the recruiting trail).

Here are some more numbers during tournament games only (aka, the games we streamed), from the amazing Leathernecks Database maintained by our fans:

The highest rated player in program history is a tie between small forward Nic Cummings and point guard Duncan Martinez, who are the only players to reach 97 overall. Cummings in particular is a great choice for the GOAT. He ended his career with three national titles, though only one as a starter. He’s top-10 for me, but not No. 1.

The people’s choice for the GOAT is Deke Van, the legendary center who helped carry us to our first national title in Year 8. Deke’s turn from from Year 7 goat to Year 8 GOAT is the most memorable we’ve ever had. We couldn’t have done any of this without you, Deke.

When Coach tell you youre guarding @deke_van https://t.co/RDhmDAPRA8 pic.twitter.com/fm2udgvMZT

— Ryan Thomas (@RTtheSID) May 10, 2020

As the series went on, other great players emerged who finished with gaudier stats and better resumes.

My personal favorite might be Bert Draughan, Mr. Basketball out of Chicago (No. 29 overall recruit), who went on to win a title with us in Year 13 and also starred for our Year 11 team that began the season 35-0 before losing to Michigan State in the Final Four. Harmon is another fine choice. Skip Clemmons helped us win three national titles in Year 23, Year 24, and Year 26. Albert Jagla, Clemmons’ former teammate, played a big role in our first back-to-back championship squad, and is arguably the greatest perimeter bucket-getter in program history.

All-time favorite moment? Impossible to say. The first one that comes to mind is Kim Kone’s go-ahead corner three in the 2024 tournament. Najeeb Goode’s steal vs. UCLA in the Final Four to help us win our second title in Year 13 also stands out. There was also the time superstar power forward Allen Cunningham took off his pants mid-game.

Thank you to everyone who read, watched, and interacted

I started this series on April 11, 2020, a few weeks after the pandemic had shut down all ‘real’ sports. At the time, I was gearing up to cover the 2020 NCAA tournament. That never happened. I had college basketball on my mind, and I always wanted to write something on ‘College Hoops 2K8’, probably my favorite video game ever. This project is what came of it.

I had no idea if anyone was going to read this. I definitely did not think I’d finish out all 40 years like a complete lunatic. I didn’t think I’d write the equivalent of multiple books in terms of total word count.

Just before I dropped the first post in the series, I tweeted this:

Got a real dumb blog post coming

— Ricky O'Donnell (@SBN_Ricky) April 11, 2020

I wrote around 70 posts in the series, counting the inaugural Hall of Fame induction (read a big Deke Van retrospective at that link) and two posts of my Deke Van x Seattle Supersonics spin-off. I’m estimating I wrote 200,000 words in this series. That’s about the length of “The Fellowship of the Ring.”

I still can’t believe everything that came from this series. The Washington Post wrote a profile on it. I went on WGN TV and did a few radio spots promoting it. We sold a Deke Van t-shirt with Homefield Apparel. Our series inspired a new friend in Japan named Thanh Nguyen to write a pair of e-books adding greater depth to our story. Friend of the program Mike Rutherford did an amazing hype video for our first championship run. When I moved the series to Substack for a few months, more than 7,000 people signed up for email updates and still remain. Our first Twitch stream for the Year 8 Final Four drew more than 7,000 total viewers, and had 2,500 concurrent viewers on it at as we were closing out the win. On SB Nation, the series has been viewed more than 500K times.

What really made the project special was always the community around it. Some quick shout-outs:

The Leathernecks Database is an amazing companion to this series. You can lost in there. Thank you to the diehards to helped maintain it, and reader Evan for starting it.

Thanks to my guy who started the Leathernecks Nation instagram fan page and whoever is behind the wondrous fake Deke Van twitter account.

Thanks to everyone in the Discord who maintained ‘Necks discussion always and forever.

Thank the diehards that came out for every Twitch stream. I don’t want to name names because I’ll forget someone, but you know who you are. I love you all. I also want to thank the readers for keeping up with the recaps, and everyone who emailed me feedback throughout the series. I also want to thank my buddy Scott for introducing me to the game and running through multiple 40-year dynasties with me way before I ever considered blogging through it like this. This series would not exist without him.

What a ride it’s been. As I sim through to the end of the calendar, I’m greeted with this message.

Thank you, everyone. Go ‘Necks.

GAS STATION REVIEW: THE THREE GAS STATIONS I VISITED LAST NIGHT IN SEARCH OF ONE THAT WOULD LET ME BUY GAS

I work a four hour shift on Thursdays so I usually like to stop on the way home and buy gas. Normally, this is not something worth recounting, but last night I had an Adventure wherein I ended up visiting three different gas stations in search of one with a functioning gas pump. It was truly an Epic on par with Gilgamesh.

GAS STATION 1: ARCO

This is the gas station I usually go to because I don't have to make a left turn to get to it. It's a perfectly fine gas station and the AMPM has those cheapass Danishes people loved the shit out of in my high school and I haven't really seen since.

these ones

There's an newer gas station right across the street that's a penny cheaper per gallon, but it's owned by the local tribe so even though I know it's perfectly fine, I still feel like an interloper going there and also I have to make a left turn.

Anyway, usually the only problem I have is every pump being hogged by douchebags with boats, but they only spawn in the morning, which is why I go at night. Unfortunately, last night the pump I stopped at had a message on the screen that said, "This pump is stopped." I checked the other pumps, and they all said the same thing.

I could've gone inside and asked an employee about it, but my mommy told me not to talk to strangers and I didn't feel like it anyway so I left in search of another one.

RATING: 5/10 WHEN THERE ARE NO DOUCHEBAGS WITH BOATS. .5/10 WHEN THERE ARE DOUCHEBAGS WITH BOATS.

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GAS STATION 2: I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT THIS ONE IS CALLED BUT IT’S GOT A CAR WASH

I don’t usually go to this one for gas because it’s more expensive than the Arco and I have to turn left to get to it, but my options were to wake up early the next day and get gas before work, or turn back the way I came and get gas at the Walmart next to my hospital and there was no way in hell I was going to do either of those.

Unfortunately, half the pumps were covered and out of order, and the one I happened to stop at had a broken screen so I couldn’t actually do anything. I would have looked around for another one, but there was a guy screaming loudly at someone either on the phone or in his head and I’m not about to deal with that shit without a plastic divider and the ability to call security so I just left.

RATING: 3/10 IT’S GOT A DRIVE-THRU MEXICAN PLACE I GO TO SOMETIMES BUT THE FOOD IS ONLY OKAY

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GAS STATION 3: VALERO

This is the last gas station I stopped at and the one I most wanted to avoid, because it’s in California and comparatively cheap gas is the one thing Arizona is good for.

I had some trouble with the nozzle since California is more concerned with smog and shit than Arizona so they make you solve a 5-dimensional puzzle to pump gas, but other than that I was able to successfully fill up my poor beleaguered gas tank.

For $45.

RATING 1/10 THEY CHARGE AN EXTRA 10¢ PER GALLON IF YOU PAY BY CARD AND THE PRICE IS ALREADY $2/GAL MORE THAN IN ARIZONA BUT AT LEAST I WAS ABLE TO GET GAS

BARBARA EDEN

August 23, 1931

Barbara Eden was born Barbara Jean Morehead in Phoenix Arizona in 1931, although for years her birth year was thought to be 1934. It was fairly common for young actresses to lie about their age in Hollywood. After her parents divorced, her mother married a telephone lineman, the same profession as Lucille Ball’s father. Eden's first public performance was singing in the church choir. As a teenager, she sang in local bands in night clubs. At age 16, she studied singing and acting. She graduated from High School in San Francisco in the Spring Class of 1949. As Barbara Huffman, she was elected Miss San Francisco in 1951 and she also entered the Miss California pageant. Her name was changed to Eden by her first agent.

“If gentlemen prefer blondes then I'm a blonde that prefers gentlemen.” ~ Barbara Eden

Eden began her television career as a semi-regular on “The Johnny Carson Show” (not to be confused with “The Tonight Show”) in 1955.

Contrary to popular belief, "I Love Lucy” was not Eden’s first small screen  appearance. She had been seen in a November 1956 episode of “West Point.” 

She had also made the RKO film Back from Eternity, a remake of a Lucille Ball film called Five Came Back, which would not be released until later in 1957. It was directed by John Farrow (Mia’s father) and co-starred Keith Andes, who would play Lucy Carmichael’s boyfriend on “The Lucy Show” and co-star with Ball in Wildcat on Broadway in 1960. Eden played a college reporter and was uncredited. Coincidentally, the film also featured Tristram Coffin, who played Diana Jordan’s cousin Harry Munson in “Country Club Dance.” 

In “Country Club Dance” (ILL S6;E25), the male population of Westport is all agog when sexy Diana Jordan (Barbara Eden) visits. Lucy, Ethel and Betty Ramsey decide that getting glamorous is the best revenge. The now-classic episode was filmed on March 21, 1957 and first aired on April 22, 1957.  

Needless to say, that night at the Westport Country Club shapely young Diana’s ‘dance card’ is full!  Pat Boone (not in attendance, but mentioned) was Diana’s favorite singer!

William Asher, the director of this episode, would later direct Barbara Eden in the short-lived sitcom "Harper Valley PTA” (1981-82) and "I Dream of Jeannie… Fifteen Years Later,” a reunion special aired in 1985.

After filming was completed, Desilu gave some of its guest stars small gifts. This 10K gold-filled Zippo lighter was a present for Eden. 

That same year, Eden appeared in an episode of the Desilu sitcom “December Bride” starring Harry Morgan. 

In early 1962, Eden was on the Desilu backlot to play “The Manicurist” on “The Andy Griffith Show.”  At the same time, “The Lucy Show” was filming its first season. 

The next time Lucy and Eden appeared on screen together was at the 1968 Primetime Emmy Awards.  Ball was nominated (and won) for Best Actress in a Comedy for “The Lucy Show”.  “Jeannie” and Eden were then in their third season, but failed to break the top 30 and were not nominated, although Eden, as a recognizable TV figure, was present at the awards. Throughout its long run, the popular sitcom only garnered one Emmy nomination, for Sidney Sheldon’s writing. Barbara and Ball were also presenters (not together) at the 1986 Prime Time Emmy Awards. 

In 1982, Lucy and Eden were among the many women (and one man in drag) assembled for “Bob Hope’s Women I Love: Beautiful and Funny.”  Coincidentally, this special also featured Mary Martin, who was Larry Hagman’s (Major Nelson on “I Dream of Jeannie”) real-life mother. Eden was a favorite of Hope’s, appearing on a dozen Bob Hope specials.   

Eden was present (though she did not speak or get credited) at 1984′s “All-Star Party for Lucille Ball.” Two years later they returned for “All-Star Party for Clint Eastwood.” As a former honoree, Lucy hosted, but Eden was still only an attendee. 

In 1987, Lucy and Barbara joined a myriad of luminaries for “Happy 100th Birthday Hollywood” although they performed in different segments. A year later, Lucy, in one of her final TV appearances, was with Eden in “The Princess Grace Foundation’s Special Gala Tribute to Cary Grant.”  Grant never acted opposite either star. 

OUT OF THE BOTTLE!

In 1965, producer Sidney Sheldon signed Eden to star in his upcoming fantasy sitcom “I Dream of Jeannie” that would air on NBC. It was aimed at wooing audiences away from ABC’s fantasy sitcom “Bewitched.” Eden played Jeannie, a beautiful genie from ancient Persia set free from her bottle by astronaut and Air Force Captain (later Major) Anthony "Tony" Nelson, played by Larry Hagman.

Also in the “Jeannie” cast of regulars was Hayden Rorke (as psychiatrist Dr. Alfred Bellows), who first appeared with Lucille Ball on stage in Dream Girl (1947).

Like Eden, Rorke also did a one-off appearance on “I Love Lucy” as new neighbor Mr. O’Brien who Lucy thinks is a spy, but turns out to be just an actor.   

He would later be seen on “Here’s Lucy” as a judge deciding if Lucy Carter has held an illegal raffle or not.  

Lurene Tuttle, who played the President of The Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League in “The Club Election” (ILL S2;E19) in 1953, played Jeannie’s mother in a 1965 episode. 

Phil Ober, Vivian Vance’s ex-husband and the actor who played Dore Schary in “Don Juan is Shelved” (ILL S4;E21) in 1955, played General Stone in two season one episodes of “Jeannie.” 

Vinton Hayworth, who played General Schaeffer on “Jeannie” did two films with Lucille Ball: That Girl From Paris (1936) and That’s Right - You’re Wrong (1939). 

Like Vance, Eden also was married to one of her co-stars and later divorced him. In 1958, Eden married Michael Ansara, who played many roles on “Jeannie” including the Blue Djinn (above).  

On “Jeannie,” Major Nelson was an astronaut. On “The Lucy Show” Lucy Carmichael was an astronaut (for a day) in a season one episode. Like “Jeannie” this episode was written to capitalize on America’s space race. 

In 1971, “Here’s Lucy” also did an astronaut-themed episode. By that time, American astronauts had landed on the moon!  Coincidentally, actor Robert Hogan (center in both photos) also played an astronaut on “Jeannie” in 1970.

“Jeannie” was produced by Sheldon Leonard, who played himself on a 1967 episode of “The Lucy Show”. 

Like “The Lucy Show”, “Jeannie” premiered in black and white before switching to color for the remainder of its run. 

Other actors who appeared on both “Jeannie” and “Lucy”: George DeNormand, Benny Rubin, Jackie Coogan, J. Pat O’Malley, Reta Shaw, Richard Reeves, Romo Vincent, Jonathan Hole, Kathleen Freeman, Bill Quinn, Herbie Faye, Milton Berle, Jack Carter, Jamie Farr, John McGiver, Richard Deacon, Don Ho, Alan Hewitt, Don Rickles, Alan Oppenheimer, Jack Collins, Parley Baer, Herb Vigran, Ruth McDevitt, Sandra Gould, Foster Brooks, James Hong, William Fawcett, Stafford Repp, and Sid Melton.

Eden played this role for five years and 139 episodes. In eight episodes, Eden donned a brunette wig to portray Jeannie's evil sister (also named Jeannie) who lusts after Tony Nelson, and in two episodes played Jeannie's hapless mother.  

AFTER THE BALL & THE BOTTLE....

Barbara Eden later said in interviews that Lucy was a generous performer and caring person, contrasting to another (unnamed) female star she had worked with. Lucille Ball thought that Eden’s costume was not attractive enough, so Lucy and Irma Kusely (Lucy’s hairstylist) spent rehearsal time ‘bedazzling’ the dress. Ball offered to put Eden under contract at her Desilu Workshop, but Eden found out later that day that 20th Century Fox had picked up her option, so Eden graciously declined Lucy’s offer.  

"It was the third job I had in Los Angeles and she was so good to me. I can’t tell you how sweet she was. I had a dress on that she didn’t think was outstanding enough. She asked me to take it off and the next thing I knew, she was sitting there putting sparkling things all over it, just to make it look better.” ~ Barbara Eden, October 2017

In 2005, Barbara Eden traveled to Jamestown to participate in Lucy-Desi Days. 

Eden was married three times and had one child who died in 2001 at the age of 35.  

“I've never stopped working. If you're active, you can appreciate what you did in the past, you don't feel like it's gone.” ~ Barbara Eden

AS OF TODAY!

AUGUST 23, 2020 - As of this writing, Barbara Eden is one of the oldest known surviving ADULT cast members of “I Love Lucy.”  She is not, however, the oldest. Mary Ellen Kaye (Mrs. Taylor in “Lucy Hates To Leave”) is a year older than Eden, and Cher’s mother Georgia Holt (Model in “Lucy Gets A Paris Gown”) is 94.   

There is no birth or death information for: Maggie Magennis (Starlet in “Don Juan and the Starlets”), Helen Silvers (Dancer Rosemary in “Lucy is Jealous of Girl Singer"), Barbara Logan (Stewardess in “The Ricardos Visit Cuba"), Milldred Law (Stewardess in “Return Home from Europe”), and Jody Drew (Miss Ballantine, Mr. Reilly’s Secretary in "Don Juan is Shelved").

Chapter 1 - Excerpt 1

Who in their right mind would choose to ‘live’ in a graveyard of a town in Rhode Island over one of the sunniest places in the world, Flagstaff, Arizona?

Well, I did.

Lila must think I'm crazy. She definitely did.

My mother (that’s Lila) had always been a traveler, a hare-brained traveler who had once left half of her possessions in the States on an immigration to India for the winter. What happened to that half, you may imagine? Only the unknown force that made Lila my mother knows. Don’t get me wrong, Lila’s the best, but we were less mother and son and more the adventurous traveler and her wary follower.

Why would I choose to travel then, since another option was given to me? Well, I’ll get to that.

My life story was simple. I wasn’t a miracle, but I wasn’t a mistake either. I just happened, and I happened at the wrong time. My father’s name is – or was, I don’t really know – David Garamond and that was pretty much all I knew about him. Lila was efficient in cleaning up mistakes from her past. But she wasn’t the secretive type either; she didn’t mind talking about her past, and would tell me stories about her time with David. She would talk like they were fairy tales, which many real-life love stories are before they burn out into ashes of leftover feelings where the fire of love and hope used to be.

Lila Teigen and David Garamond were high school sweethearts, and were still going on strong well into college. They were a stable couple, which was saying something, considering how young they were. Young love tended to go wrong. But nothing went wrong for them, at least not then.

After completing college, David asked for her hand in marriage, even though he never got the blessing. Both Lila’s and David’s families were against it, and they promised to turn their backs on the pair if they did get married. But that didn’t matter; they were deeply in love, intent on forever happiness, and expecting a child, which was why David had proposed in the first place. Nothing had gone wrong around this part either. David was the guy fantasy talked about, the hero of the story. Lila had really thought that that would be her happily ever after.

But real life doesn’t have a happily ever after. It never did.

And we have now arrived at the part where things went wrong.

David was nowhere to be found on the day before the marriage. He’d gone out on a stormy night, saying he had some last-minute things to take care of and just... vanished.

And that was where the story ended. Lila would tell me nothing about what happened after that, about any of her struggles with being a single mother, if she ever found David again, or even why she took up the habit of travelling around when it was obviously much easier and cheaper to settle down in one place.

No. Fast-forward 16 years as a nomad named Kenneth Teigen on this planet, and I am currently scowling at the million dollar question of where our next voyage will take us while still recovering from the shock of having to answer said question. ‘Most difficult decision of my life’ hadn’t exactly been on my birthday wishlist.

And it wasn’t as though we could go just anywhere, either, which actually made things a little easier. Lila’s job as a digital marketing strategist paid well and steadily enough, but I couldn’t exactly suggest we hop on the next plane to Greenland, now could I? Not that I ever would.

No, Lila had narrowed down my choices to two places that contrasted each other so much and were so far apart that I was fairly certain Lila had just dropped the question on my head as an elaborate prank.

"Flagstaff, Arizona, or Knightville, Rhode Island?" Lila had asked me when my school year in DC was over.

"What?" I looked up from my book, The Picture of Dorian Grey.

Lila unceremoniously flopped down onto the red bean-bag chair and regarded me seriously, which would have been comical, had she not said the things she was about to say. "What would you pick," she began again, slower, "Knightville in Rhode Island, or Flagstaff in Arizona?"

I replied, surprised, "And you're asking me this because...?"

"Because this decision is officially yours," Lila said, a smile tugging on her lips as though she were giving me some good news. "You are going to decide where we stay for the next year." There was a glint in her eyes that could only be described as defiance as she pronounced her last statement.

"No," I immediately told her.

The glint died away. "Why not?" she asked, like a child asking her parent why she couldn't get candy even though she'd done her homework.

"Because I have no idea what to choose," I said bluntly.

"But I gave you only two options," she protested. "It can't be that hard!"

"Hard?" I asked incredulously. "You're asking me to choose where we're going to live for the whole of next year!"

"Between just 2 places!"

"Doesn't make it much easier, Lila!"

She looked bewildered, and a little hurt too, for which I felt a twinge of guilt.

Seeing me soften, perhaps, Lila went full-on puppy-dog mode, and while I had seen it coming and should've been able to resist it, I couldn't.

So, cursing the next several generations of Lila's bloodline (which wasn't smart, since I was one of them), I conceded to her wishes with a grumble.

Now, I don’t know why I chose Knightville. It wasn’t as though it was a good travel destination or a hot tourist spot; it was cold, constantly raining and foggy, and the only colours it ever saw were white, black and different shades of grey.

I just felt, I don't know, compelled to choose Knightville, like there was something the remote town whose name I had never heard of before had that much less remote Flagstaff didn't.

I wasn't fond of the feeling.

Nevertheless, the choice was befitting. Apparently my great-aunt Charlotte (late) had once lived in an old, slightly rickety house at the edge of town. Apartments were non-existent in small communities such as this, and it wouldn’t cost Lila a penny (except for maintenance).

Plus, the house was kind of homely.

It was a one-storey dwelling, painted a pale blue, with a brown, slanted roof. The inside was all cream-yellow walls and creaky wooden floors and the smell of good old 1950s vintage.

I didn’t dislike it, so that must have meant something.

Dinner that night consisted of Chinese take-out and ice cream for desert. I hadn’t spoken much till now, sitting in mindless silence, thinking about nothing, and staring at a small, perfectly circular hole (or was it just ink?) in the wooden floor.

“This flavour of ice cream is amazing”, commented Lila. I’d been, after all, silent for an unknown period of time, and a brooding silence of any sort from my end rang alarm-bells in Lila’s mind.

The truth was, I’d had this strange feeling ever since Lila’s car careened into Knightville. I felt... out of my own body, like I was breathing something entirely other than oxygen, that I was eating foreign food, having this foreign food with another person, that I was in another world, with alien roots that ran in alien soil. Like I was someone else. It was a creepy feeling, and it made my skin crawl.

But none of this was real. This was probably my brain’s way of punishing me because I’d intentionally forced myself to survive in a place that I didn’t like when I had total opportunity to live somewhere else.

“It’s pistachio flavoured”, I said, coming back to reality, “one of the worst ice cream flavours invented in the history of bad ice cream flavours”. I scrunched my nose with distaste.

“It is not”, insisted Lila, “you just don’t like it ‘cause it’s weird. I happen to like weird. Quite a few people do. Weird is good.”

But I would not indulge myself in the weirder aspects of life. While Lila was fawning over her god-awful ice cream, I was silently enjoying classic chocolate.

Meet my first OC to have a specific fandom they’re attached to!

So I’ve never created an OC specifically for the universe of a show before, they’ve always been fandomless, but I was excited to create one for Wynonna Earp. I’m going to give him a proper page on the muse list as well as give everyone more detailed biographies eventually, but for now, this should work.

DISCLAIMER: to anyone who may have concerns, please know that I myself am Native American (Blackfoot and Cherokee), and did a lot of research while creating this character to make sure I do them justice and create an actual Native character that isn’t just a stereotype. Some parts that might seem stereotypical - such as the name this character chooses to go by - just comes with the modern era the universe is set in and the character’s own reasons. Several of the struggles he faces as well are specifically chosen because I hope to raise awareness in some small ways to the struggles that IPOC face even today. None of it is meant to be fetishising or stereotypical - some of it just exists in that space as an unfortunate reality.

Alright! Here we go.

                                                       [    i.    STATS   ]

NAME.  meecha wo’i  " crow "  redwolf .   

AGE.  23 as of 1x01 .

DOB.  nov 29th ,  1993 .

GENDER. gender-indifferent cis male  :   prefers he/him or they/them pronouns .

PREF. pansexual but has a preference for men and nonbinary individuals 

SPECIES.  human ,  witch  ,   skinwalker .

RESIDENCE.  the  ghost  river  triangle  .

OCCUPATION. former cashier ; former lead guitar in an up and coming rock band ; current bartender . 

ETHNICITY. in simple terms: native american. specifically: hopi and creek. some scottish but not by much. 

 [    ii.    INTROSPECTION    ]

POSITIVE TRAITS.   curious ,   adaptable ,  perceptive ,   creative ,   passionate ,   loyal ,   perseverant , open-minded , compassionate .

NEUTRAL TRAITS.  persuasive ,   withdrawn (at first; nervous about other’s intentions) ,   secretive , free-wheeling .

NEGATIVE TRAITS.  temperamental ,   unrestrained ,  spiteful ,   reckless ,   capricious ,   hedonistic .

DISLIKES.  sounds of traffic or loud machinery in general &  the sound of metal on metal &  the smell of cheap perfume/cologne &  hot weather &  dust  &  houseflies &  being told (instead of asked) what to do &  rap music &  wool scarves &  fluorescent lights &  lack of hygiene &  orange flavoured candies/sodas/anything that’s not an actual orange &  deep dark waters he can’t see the contents of &  mistreatment of animals &  having assumptions made about him  &  mathematics &  onions &  football  .

LIKES.  the scent and sound of rain &  physical touch &  candles , lighters , and controlled flames in general &  the smell of cedar , pine , and the forest &  music and playing musical instruments &  italian food &  raving about attractive people with others; intoxication is a bonus &  leather; wearing it and the smell of it &  glasses clinking together &  late night talks &  stargazing &  drawing / sketching &  records and record players &  animals &  'stealing’ and wearing the clothes of people he’s close with &  running &  card games &  dancing and singing & creating something out of nothing &  getting the last word .

HOBBIES. drawing &  singing and playing instruments &  exploring / learning as many places as they can like the back of their hand & people watching  &  drinking and bar hopping &  seeking pleasure and adventure wherever he can find it & collecting random things he enjoys / likes .

WEAKNESSES. he’s standoffish until he knows he can trust a person and can come off rude or aloof  & the inability to let go of most grudges &  his tendency to follow his desires and his heart before logic or his mind  &  impulsivity when emotional .

STRENGTHS. independence and ability to function and thrive alone (even if he would prefer to have company it is not mandatory) &  ability to be resourceful and adapt to new situations quickly &  handles time-sensitive situations well due to his tendency to act quick and think later &  stubbornness to stick to a task and see it through &  quick thinking &  agility and speed of inhuman proportions (thanks to his less than human side) .

HABITS. clicking his teeth together repeatedly when annoyed &  flexing  fingers & playing with his hair in absentminded / lazy moments &  silently staring at someone when he’s done with a conversation until they catch the hint and stop talking  &  if there’s music playing within earshot he always ends up swaying to the beat  &  will often make less than human sounds (growls, etc.) when angry if he doesn’t catch himself .

EDUCATION. average  student  throughout  elementary ,  middle &  high  school .  graduated with an equally average gpa of 3.0 , &  decided against college, choosing to seek education in less typical places .  fed up with his family and much of the treatment of his peers, he began to learn magic from a witch he met on one of his regular trips to wander the ghost river triangle and explore & learnt magic and about the more mystical parts of purgatory - ultimately becoming a skinwalker via the witch’s guidance and training .

[  iii. APPEARANCE  ]

FACECLAIM.  booboo stewart . 

HEIGHT.  5 ' 8 " ,  though when able to he wears combat boots that add a few inches to his height . 

EYES.  a very keen and observant hazel when he’s in human form .   when shifting , eye colour can range from yellow to red to green to blue depending on many factors - location , how far he shifts , etc .  always alert and bright unless intoxicated or in very rough shape emotion-wise . often wishes they were green or grey and has considered wearing contacts to change his eyes (human-wise) to those colours.

EYEBROWS.   defined  arch  but not so much so that it’s dramatic .  not too thin and not too bushy , and naturally neat - he rarely has to tend to them and usually only does so to shave a tiny slit or two through them as a stylistic choice .

HAIR.  long and dark ;  sleek with an ever so slight wave to it .  typically worn either down or in a loose ponytail , occasionally sections are braided .  falls just a few inches above his ribcage .  every so often he’ll dye streaks into his hair but has never dyed his whole head .

SCARS.  many . he has a variety of smaller scars from a rowdy childhood; a few faint ones on his hands and arms from scratches borne of cats and dogs . the typical scars that come from falling off bicycles or off swings ; scraped knees and cuts on chins . his forearms especially are covered in scars he prefers not to speak of .  there’s a scar on his forehead from a fight with his cousin as well as a few long scars on his back .

DRESSING STYLE.  it varies depending upon mood and whatever job he has at the time . especially fond of punk / alternative styles , likes leather , and enjoys the comfort of loose and flowing garments. whatever style he happens to choose at any given time , he wears well and somehow always manages to draw attention - whether from the jewelry he accessorises with (varieties of bracelets and cuffs , rings , pendants with gems , etc.)

LIPS.  naturally  full ,  scar at the right corner of his lip , occasionally  sore or split when he goes through anxious phases and tends to chew at his lips .

SKIN.   smooth , tanned . he doesn’t have much body hair , a fact that doesn’t tend to bother him much. he rarely engages in a skincare routine and much like his eyebrows generally stays neat and well-kempt without much effort . does not wear much makeup but enjoys eyeliner from time to time . if not for his skin tone, the dark circles beneath his eyes would be much more visible .

CHEEKS.  defined cheekbones ,   not easily flushed .  sports the occasional scars due to nervous picking when he was younger.

[  iv. ABILITIES  ]

LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english  [ fluent ] ,  hopi  [ conversational &  spellwork language ] , spanish  [ conversational ] .

THREAT LEVEL.  mediocre  to  high .

WEAPONS.  fairly efficient in his understanding of magic and can easily hold his own with either combative or defensive magic ,  but prefers when possible to rely on his own physical skills ; is proficient in hand to hand combat thanks to the speed , agility , and strength bequeathed upon him by his skinwalker nature . very skilled in knifeplay , whether throwing or up close . has little to no practise with firearms as of 1x01 . 

MAGIC. magic learnt by his mentor was primarily elemental based and neutral in that it could easily be manipulated for defensive or offensive ; he was never extremely proficient and left before he could complete his training so he is still learning his limits and the heights he can reach , and wants to branch out . as for the magical abilities granted by his status as skinwalker - he is able to shapeshift , which saps him of certain levels of energy that depend upon what creature he takes the shape of . he is also granted higher than average speed, agility, and strength because of this which he keeps with him even when not shifting.

 [  v. DETAILS  ]

➣➣ he was born in georgia originally to a loving but struggling mother and father - his mother was hopi and his father was creek, and while both parents had originally lived on their own respective reservations, they had met one another by chance during a trip and fallen in love, eventually deciding to seek out their own home outside of the reservations. his parents loved him but struggled financially; eventually his mother’s sister offered to take him in. as that was the better option rather than the three of them becoming homeless, crow’s parents sent him to live with his aunt in arizona on the rez. while they stayed in touch, his parents needed to stay in georgia, and as such he only would see them on the occasional holiday.

➣➣ while his aunt meant well, his cousins were another story. living with his aunt and uncle would have been fine had it not been for their two children; a son and daughter who constantly bullied him behind their backs for not being pure hopi as they were, often harassing him about being a ‘halfbreed’. a quiet boy at heart to boot, he faced bullying in school as well all the way through high school. his cousins, in tenth grade, snooped in his room and found his journal - which they used to out him as pansexual to the school.

➣➣ the moment he graduated, he spent as much time off the rez as possible, avoiding his cousins. on one of his frequent trips to simply explore nearby cities and towns, he found himself in purgatory. one drunken night led to following a mysterious woman into the woods. as it turned out, she was a witch. intrigued and excited at the idea of learning magic and having a way to defend himself, he quickly took her up on her offer to teach him. after a few months, she let him in on her secret - she was a skinwalker.

➣➣ she talked up how powerful she was because of it, and how no one would ever hurt her again. the more he heard about it, the more he wanted it. still unhealed from the way he was treated growing up and too caught up in the concept of never having to be beneath someone ever again, he agreed to let her hold the ceremony that would make him one as well without thinking of the consequences. when she told him that the final task he needed was to kill a family member... he almost faltered but agreed and went back to the rez. 

➣➣ he almost didn’t do it. it was night when he returned, and he could see his male cousin drinking on the porch. the concept of killing someone - even someone like his cousin who had treated him so poorly - was daunting. he might have changed his mind had his cousin not seen him arriving and was immediately being malicious; using homophobic slurs and accusing crow of having run off with a lover, talking about how disgraceful it was. and it all was a blur from there.

➣➣ bringing back a lock of his cousin’s hair to the witch, she finished the rituals and he became the creature she had promised - powerful but at what cost? still wrought with guilt despite having made the ultimate choice, crow left the forests on the outskirts of purgatory where he had been training and into the ghost river triangle itself, unable to go home after what he did and unable to stomach facing the witch. living out of his truck, he went from odd job to odd job, eventually landing a stable job as a cashier at a grocery store. around this time he chose to begin going by the name crow - both to distance himself from his past, and because if someone were to want to control or destroy him now as a skinwalker, they could do so if they knew his true, personal name. as such, a nickname seemed the safest bet. 

➣➣ fastforward to present day (1x01). after a few years of cashiering and attempting to rent rooms and apartments without success, as well as a stint playing guitar for an up and coming rock band, crow landed a job as a bartender at one of the local bars and instead of attempting to rent rooms or apartments, ended up moving into the trailer park. it was sketchy to say the least, but he couldn’t afford anything fancy and clearly didn’t handle having roommates well. a trailer seemed like the next best thing, outside of living in the woods or in his truck. his tendency to mind his own business and expect that of others meant that he mingled with normal purgatory residents and the revenants equally, pursuing his hedonistic nature as he pleased. which was all well and good, until things began to get... a lot more chaotic due to a curse and an heir he had originally had no knowledge of. 

               [ MORE TO COME THROUGHOUT                                               CHARACTERIZATION DEVELOPMENT ]

Food Insecurity-We may not live by bread alone, but neither do we live without it.

The test of our progress is not whether we add more to the abundance of those who have much; it is whether we provide enough to those who have little.  Franklin D. Roosevelt

It has been my good fortune to have been able to support myself (barely at times) doing the work that I love, being a naturopathic doctor, for most of my adult life. I remember a sign in my tax preparers office that read: “The joys of owning your own business, not unlike the joys of natural childbirth, have been greatly exaggerated.” Or something like that. There are certainly those in my profession that have been financially successful along with the intrinsic rewards of helping people, but I was not one of them.

And then I got cancer. And not dying became my full-time job. On the side I also worked as a home health aide and I made little money but also had little in the way of responsibility. I also relied on programs like Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), also known as food stamps to survive.

I am doing well now. I have relocated from Alaska (my home of 30 years) to Washington state where I grew up, so that I could be closer to family. I was fortunate in that I had family to take me in while I figured out my next moves. Some are not so lucky.

I started volunteering at the Sky Valley Food Bank in my new community as a way to build my social network. I was blessed with the instant camaraderie of many fellow and sister volunteers, and paid staff, who were joined in a single purpose: support the mission of eliminating hunger. Every week we provided food for an average of 261 families, enough for 10 meals per person. This amounts to more than 75,000 pounds of food distributed every month—almost one million pounds per year.

And Then Came COVID-19

According to data from the US Department of Agriculture (USDA), some 13.7 million households (10.5% of all households), experienced food insecurity at some point in 2019. That is 35 million Americans who were either unable to acquire enough food to meet their needs, or uncertain of where their next meal might come from.

In one study that came out in June 2020, researchers asked: “In the last seven days, which of these statements best describes the food eaten in your household?”

 Enough of the food we wanted to eat

 Enough, but not always the kind of food we wanted to eat

 Sometimes not enough to eat

 Often not enough to eat.

According to these researchers, since 2019, food insecurity has doubled overall and tripled in households with children.*

The Ripple Effects of Hunger

Not having access to healthy food has ripple effects of chronic ill health, disability, stress, and worsening poverty. These problems did not start with COVID-19, but the pandemic has made even more glaring the differences in the quality of life between “those who have much [and] those who have little.” This kind of safety net, that supplies sustenance to those in need, makes good economic sense. Adults who have a disability, in particular a disability and are not in the workforce, also experience more than twice the rate of food insecurity as adults who do not have a disability.

At our local food bank, we were unable to have our customers shop in-doors like we had in the past safely. We were shut down but found a way to deliver boxes of food to the porches of 125 families in the area. We also drastically cut down on the number of volunteers that could be in our warehouse per day which translates to fewer people doing more physically demanding work. The good news is that people from the community, from gardeners, to private businesses, to social service organizations, and individuals found ways to help Sky Valley Food Bank carry out the mission.**

School Closures and Vulnerable Students

With schools being shut down, students were no longer able to receive meals at their schools at a reduced price or free as they had in the past. This was not just a local problem, across the country nutrition directors reported that they were serving fewer meals than when school was in session. Last spring, the School Nutrition Association surveyed 2000 districts that reported 80% were serving fewer meals. Of those, the majority said the number of meals had dropped by 50% or more.

Most areas relied on the food pick up model that they usually did in the summer months where families could drop by their local school each day, often between 11-1, and pick up a bag lunch and maybe breakfast. But as parents started returning to work, the pickup model did not always work if parents were not always able to take children to the drop off site at the right time.

In Fulton County Georgia and Tucson Arizona, nutrition programs started packing food including frozen hamburgers and pizza, enough for a week’s worth of meals, and sending them out on school buses to be distributed at bus stops where the lowest income families typically resided.***

Food Deserts

In the best of times getting adequate nutrition is especially challenging for people who live in a “food desert.” The definition of a food desert can change depending on where you live. In urban areas, you need to live more than a mile away from a grocery store. For rural areas, you live more then 10 miles away. According to Feeding America, rural areas make up 63% of counties in the US and 87% of counties with high rates of food insecurity. In 2015, 19 million people lived in a food desert and 2.1 million households both lived in a food desert and lacked access to a vehicle according to the USDA.

The Shifting Model of Getting Food to the Food Insecure

In the summertime at Sky Valley Food Bank, we were able to greet our long-time customers, and many new ones, that were able to shop in our outdoor market. I loved being able to chat with our customers and find out how they were getting along. From my own experience, I can say that accepting help for something as necessary as feeding myself was a blow to my ego. Thank goodness I got over that. Being able to help my fellow and sister humans, regardless of why they were our customers is something I treasure.

Like many school districts around the country, our schools were not able to open in September. We partnered with our public schools to set up food pantries in five of our schools. We also had the return of rainy weather and the outdoor market was not an option. We began having a drive through service where our staff would build boxes of food for distribution in people’s cars. We were now serving 325 families and had special “Holiday” boxes in November and December, along with the usual boxes of meat, dairy, dry goods, canned goods, grains, produce, and food for their four-legged household members. Getting two boxes is better than one box, especially during the holidays.

In December we also had a toy drive that garnered an incredible assortment of toys from community members. It is remarkable how much our community does to provide for people having a tough time—food, toys, money—all gratefully accepted. The parents were able to pick out toys for their kids. 

We are looking forward to having our customers back in our service area to carefully select the foods they want for themselves and their loved ones. We are looking forward to giving them the kind of respectful service we always have and continue to provide. COVID or no COVID.

LONE WOLF

I am a lone wolf.

I have lost my pack.

My sire was the first to go. The alfa.

His job to protect the pack, especially from each other, fell to no one.

I grew up with the bitch who was two years my elder.

Always the more adventurous one. She was gone

Before her pups were fully grown.

And they are lost to me.

 The she-wolf who bore me tried desperately to keep the pack together.

“Come home. Why don’t you move back home?”

She grew old, frail, a little crazy

A kind of crazy that was always there but kept in check by the alpha.

 The older bitch is gone too.

When did the word bitch become derogatory?

I reclaim that title. It suits me.

It suits those of us who live in a world where self sufficiency is prized above all

And sentimentality is a luxury.

 Another sire gone. Was it really eight years ago?

He left to be with Jesus.

I think he’s food for flora and fauna.

Who’s to say?

 My brother looks up from the hard work of dying

All traces of silliness and the infectious laughter that is his calling card are gone

And the world is just a bit more lonely.

 The rest of the pack is dispersed.

Do they prowl in search of the familiar?

Of course they do. (howl)

*IPR.northwester.edu/documents/reports/ipr-rapid-research-reports-pulse-hh-data-10-june-2020.pdf

**Helpful Hint: when  thinking of donating food to the food bank, treat the task of going through your pantry the same way you go through your closet—three piles; keep, donate, throw away. You don’t donate clothes that are ripped or stained. You throw them away. The food bank volunteers spend a lot of time sorting through donations. We cannot serve food that is spoiled or way, way, way past the pull date, or that has been opened. Thanks.

***NPR.org/2020/09/08/908442609/children-are-going-hungry-why-schools-are-struggling-to-feed-students

Seth Clearwater x reader

 okay just putting it out there I prefer Booboo with long hair but you know Seth has short hair so here we go, as I progress with the story I will post Booboo with longer hair. 

For those of you that have been her from the start i appreciate you but also my writing has charged over the year so here i am having edited my writing. I’m reposting everything in this series and hopefully its less cringe than when i first posted it.

Since Bella had moved to Forks to be with our father she and I spoke once a week to catch up on life and other small things. I continued living with our mother and Phil. Mom had given me the option to move with Bella but I decided that because I had only just started high school I would stay with mom. Bella had started to become more distant with me over the past few months, I get that I am four years younger than her, but we've always been close. She had told me that her boyfriend and his family had to leave town and that had set her off on a reckless streak. Dad had called to ask if I could talk some sense into her. He told me that she had been spending more time with Jake but when she tried cliff diving that was the end for dad, he had to ground her. When summer rolled around, I booked a one-way ticket to Forks, Washington. My life had become messy, and I just needed my older sister. I had left Jake a voice message to call me if he had the time, but he never did. I had really wanted him to be the one to pick me up. Instead, Charlie was going to come get me from the airport. When I spotted him. I dropped my bag and ran to him, tackling him in a hug. "I've missed you too Skye, so much." He returned the hug before helping me with my bag and leading me to his police cruiser. "You didn’t tell her I was coming?" I asked Charlie as I jumped into his police cruiser throwing my overnight bag on the floor. "No, I haven't said anything to her about it. She's barely home nowadays anyway." He shook his head, muttering under his breath, before driving off. "There's someone I want you to meet though. When we get you home, you'll meet her, I've been helping her with some stuff since her husband died two months ago. Her name is Sue Clearwater." He kept his eyes on the road as I thought this over, he seemed to be trying to hide a smile from me. It would be good for Charlie to have someone in his life, even if that someone just needed to be healed first. I looked out the window as Charlie drove from Seattle to Forks. The weather was dreary but finally I felt happy. Rain and storms always put me at ease. I loved to watch the rain as I sipped in a large cup of steaming hot coffee with the fire crackling beside me. The only time I've ever been able to do that was the times I spent here in Forks. Other than that, I've always lived in either Florida or Arizona. For most of the ride I watched as raindrops raced each other down the window before coming together and landing on the windowsill of the cruiser. Charlie pulled up to the house and opened the door for me before taking my luggage from my hands and guided me into the house where I was instantly hit with the scent of freshly baked cookies and a home cooked meal. I felt my body relax and noticed a woman with russet brown skin, long dark brown hair and deep chocolate brown eyes in her mid-40's wipe her hands on a towel before she approached me. "Hi sweetie, I'm Sue Clearwater, your dad has told me so much about you, I was wondering when I would finally get to meet you." She pulled me in tightly for a hug and I felt myself melt into it, she felt like a mother, and I already missed my own, it was good to know there would be someone around for me if I get home sick. "Thank you, Sue, it is lovely to meet you." I smelt the air again, "You cook?" I asked turning to her as she walked back over to the oven and pulled out the cookies. She nodded at me and I moved closer to her. "Can I help with anything?" she nodded and pointed over to the stove where she had some sauce simmering. Bella walked into the house shortly after I started helping Sue with dinner. She clumsily and quickly made her way over to me and wrapped me in a tight hug. “I didn’t know you were coming, Skye! But I'm so glad you’re here I need some normal in this town.” She pulled to her again as Sue plucked the towel from my hand and shooed the both of us away as she continued cooking dinner. “Yeah I’m a really late 18th present, I missed you so much these past couple of months and I just needed my sister, especially after,” I looked around to see if Sue or Charlie were paying attention, they weren’t so I continued my sentence, “you know, Zach.” She nodded her head at me and grabbed my hand, she knew I needed her, but she didn’t know how much I needed her. “Dinner!” Sue called from the kitchen, we followed her through to the table where she had the whole table full of food that I wasn’t sure if we would even finish let alone make a dent in it. Throughout dinner Sue spoke highly of her children; Leah and Seth. She told me that Seth was my age and that while I was here, I would have to meet him. It almost seemed like Charlie and Sue had planned to try and get me to stay in Forks, with how much they spoke about the schools and the people, specifically Leah and Seth. Sue told me that Leah had already finished school and had started spending her free time with her cousin Emily. The way she spoke of her children though made me feel happy, this woman had a whole lot of love to give, given the circumstances. After dinner Bella and I helped Sue clean up and while we washed and dried the dishes, we spoke more about what had been happening in our lives. She filled me in on the mysterious boyfriend of hers; Edward and I spoke briefly about my ex-boyfriend Zach; I didn’t really want to touch on the subject much after everything that I had gone through with him. It was a bit of a sore subject, he was relentless in messaging me and wanting me back but my mind and bod where nowhere near even considering the option of ever going back to him given the circumstances of our breakup. “I want to go see Jake and Billy tomorrow if you’re not too busy to drive me?” I asked her as we both made our way into the lounge room. Bella turned to look at Charlie, asking silently if that was okay. “Just know that everything you used to know about La Push and the rez is gone, it’s completely changed and that goes for Jake as well, he’s not the same guy you used to have a crush on back when you were 10.” She told me as we made our way up to my room. “I’m sure everything is still fine, and I never had a crush on Jake, he’s like a brother always has been.” I blushed as I followed her up the stairs. “Just remember what I told you then, I will take you tomorrow so make sure you’re ready, we won’t go till about lunch time, gives you enough time to get some sleep.” I nodded my head as she stood up and left my room closing my door on her way out. Charlie opened my door shortly after I heard Bella’s door close for the night. “I know it’s nothing much, but you can decorate it however you want to, I’d like you to come visit as often as you can, I've missed you Skye.” He came up to me and pulled me in for a hug. This was so unlike Charlie, but I guess it may have had something to do with Bella and the way she had been in the last couple of months. So I hugged him back, I mean he was still my father even if we hadn’t seen each other for a few years. The next morning Bella drove me onto the reservation, she had tried most of the morning to make me reconsider going to see Jake saying that I didn’t know what I was getting myself into and that Jake may not even want to see me, but I was headstrong, I wanted to go see Jake and I wanted my big happy family once again. We pulled up in front of Jacob’s family home and got out. “Now remember Skye, he has changed a lot since you last saw him, sure you’re not nervous?” Bella asked me when we heard laughter coming from the garage, I shook my head at her as we made our way to the garage around the side of the house. “How much could he have changed?” I asked her before I stopped short as I was surprised to find a group of shirtless men standing in Jake’s garage, today was freezing and a slight drizzle rained from above, yet these guys were standing here in only cut off jean shorts and nothing else. They all towered over Bella and I and looked to be about mid to late 20’s. One of the men turned around and upon seeing who it was I took off running towards him. Jake picked me up and spun me around before placing me gently onto the ground. He felt really warm almost hot, and I noticed that he had a lot more muscle than the last time I saw him, even from the last picture Bella sent to me of him and her, back when he still had long hair. Now he had it cropped short and he had a tribal tattoo on his right deltoid. Bella was right; he wasn’t the same Jake I had grown up with. This look suited him nicely and I felt myself blush when he put me back down on the ground. The other men standing behind Jake all seemed slightly intimidating. They were all so much bigger than Bella and me. I looked at each one slowly and shyly, my eyes meeting theirs for a split second. One of the men in particular caught my eye and we held each others gaze for a longer period of time before Jake grabbed my attention again and the other guys in the group dragged the smaller of the group that had held my gaze, off towards the woods. “Sorry about them Skye, you’ll meet them all properly soon I promise,” he grabbed my hand and lead me away from the garage, waving off Bella as she got into her truck and drove away. “I've missed you so much Skye, why did you stop coming back here?” His eyes held sadness, sadness I don’t think I've ever seen in his eyes before. Everyone was telling me how much they had missed me and thinking about it I had missed everyone just as much. Things had just been complicated and coming back here felt like the wrong decision with Zach breathing down my neck. Jake and I walked along first beach as I told him about school and about my life in Arizona. I felt so at ease with him that I even spilt about Zach and what he had done to me. “He was very controlling, he dictated who I saw, when I saw them, what I wore, what I ate, and how much I ate. If I didn’t fall within his parameters of the perfect girlfriend, he would, umm,” I took a large shaky breath as I wrung my hands in front of me trying to become smaller, I had never told anyone this part. “He would sexually and physically abuse me, I had tried to keep him off, tell him ‘no’ but it always made things worse, and by the 6 month mark of our relationship I became numb to my feelings and everything around me. I would do everything he asked of me just to keep him happy, even that wasn’t enough though and I still ended up with bruises, my hips my arms and eventually he started to bruise my face. It had been a horrible two years of my life,” I took a shaky breath again and looked up to see fury in Jake’s eyes. “I lost all of my friends back home, but more importantly I lost myself. And as much as it hurt I look back now and I am thankful that I’m free from his grasp.” Jake put his arm around my shoulders, I flinched slightly at the contact, and he retracted his arm. I didn’t mean to flinch I knew Jake wouldn’t hurt me, I shouldn’t be afraid of him. I took a deep breath before I buried my head in Jake’s chest. He held me close as I felt my body shake violently with silent sobs. I heard a growl from behind us followed shortly after by a howl making my head whip in the direction that it came from before I felt the howl penetrate my bones. I just moved closer to Jake. “Let’s get you home, Sue and Charlie are probably going out of their minds without you.” I nodded and let him lead me back to his two-tone brown pickup truck where he helped me into the passenger side before bringing the engine to life. He drove me home in complete silence and he stopped me with an arm across my chest before getting out when we pulled up at Charlie’s place. “Seth and Leah are here.” I gave him a questioning look before I got out of his truck and he walked me up to the front door.

Your Name, Age (18+), Pronouns & Timezone: Tash, 26, she/her, AEDT 

Minami Aoki Lovett turned twenty-two years old on December 6th. She’s an IT specialist and programmer in Greensville. Her faceclaim is Karen Fukuhara.

Bio (10+ sentences, include brief history, personality, potential plots):

The first thing that Minnie hopes to do in Greensville is find a good milkshake spot. Born with an insatiable sweet tooth, the young woman has only one hesitation when it comes to moving to the small town, and that is leaving behind her favourite diner with her favourite banana drink. It would be tough, but she’s sure she can do it … she thinks. She’s been an optimist for as long as anyone around her can recall, but this quest threatens to test her limits.

It wouldn’t be the first move of her life, but the first was one that she struggled to remember every detail of, and was also one that she didn’t want to recall to its fullest. It came when Minnie was young, when her parents passed and she came to live with her aunt and uncle in Greensville, North Carolina. She doesn’t think of them by those titles anymore, and hasn’t in many years, not since the two became “Mom” and “Dad”, her cousins her siblings, her home and her family. They are the family that Minnie knows, and holds dear to her heart - though she does still make the occasional trip to see her mother’s side of her family, the aunts who still reside in Japan, and still feels the weight of the loss of her “first” parents. 

When the split occurred, and Kimiko decided to make the move to Phoenix, the children went with her, marking the second major move of Minnie’s young life. She’s a sentimental person, growing attached to people and places with ease, and although she enjoyed the new experiences of their life in Arizona, Minnie missed their dad. Holidays never felt long enough, visiting back and forth was difficult, but … she was grateful for the time, no matter what. And there were always distractions, for when the divide was a little harder to navigate. 

One of those distractions came in the form of video games. Minnie has always been a fan, from a childhood of hiding under the covers with a light, trading Pokémon and seeking help with any particularly challenging bosses, the passion had followed Minnie well into her teenage years, and then into her early adulthood. She can’t recall who first floated the idea of making her own, but she remembers the first attempt - a terrible one, really, but a stepping stone nonetheless. Coding, designing, all of it, Minnie stuck into it, with many breaks to test out the most appealing new releases from “the competition”, of course.

She knew that experience would get her so far, and networking further, but wanted to learn all that she could to help her on her way, and it was this determination that saw her pursue studies in the areas of game design and computer science at the University of Arizona. Graduating from high school early, with top credits to her name, Minnie had had a few options when considering “the next big step”, but only one had been a real contender. Arizona was home, after all. It had meant, however, that when Stef had decided to return to Greensville with their dad, she hadn’t been able to entertain so much as the thought of accompanying her. She’d told herself, time and time again, that the time would fly anyway, and that she’d be too busy to really dwell on it. 

She’d been wrong - the time had dragged on, and even the mad rush to finish and perfect her final projects hadn’t been enough to keep from missing her sister, her dad, a whole half of her family. With graduation behind her, Minnie had decided it was time to see them. She wasn’t calling it a permanent move, more of an “extended visit”, until her mother and brother had reached the same conclusion - Greensville was where their family was, and should be.

So now, with graduation behind her and a lifetime of new experiences ahead of her, a whole host of new projects lined up, and an interview at Greensville’s computer repair store, Minnie is ready to be with her family, and … most of all, perhaps, to find that all important “welcome home” milkshake. 

Have you read the rules?: removed

In the event that you leave, can we keep your biography for future use? Probably not, sorry! 

Potential/wanted connections:

Childhood friend: Minnie lived in Greensville in her younger years, and she is absolutely the type who would have kept in touch even after leaving - something with pen pals who caught up during her visits back on school breaks could be fun! Whether than continued to present day, or dwindled off to pick up again now, is entirely open, of course. 

Co-workers: Minnie will be working at Greensville’s computer repair store, so she would definitely have tried to strike up good relationships with anyone else who frequents there - co-workers or employees, she’s a people pleaser either way. She’s also always working on something in her own time, too, so if anyone has skill that they’d like to put into a game development project, it would be cool to have them work on something! She’s also very good with coding and the like, if anyone needs a snazzy website for their business (looking at you, Greensville’s small businesses).