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eldritchaccident · 13 days

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Timing: April 10th Location: Just outside of Vancouver, Canada Warnings: mentions of parental death Summary: Teddy does a B&E

Symmetry in Spirals.

This whole trip was a never ending sense of deja vu filtered over an endless hall of mirrors. Each reflection distorted and faded enough to be different from the last. The house, much like the shack, was abandoned. Dead weeping trees and vines crawling over the peeling paneling, like wasps flooding from a hive. Cracked windows leaked light into the haunt, and a haunt it was.

For some reason, 34 Sunflower Circle had never been bought up or sold, no one came to collect or demolish the suburban mausoleum of a home. Teddy didn’t exactly know how these things worked. They had about as much practical knowledge of real estate as a lobster knew about rocket science. Knew enough to see it as odd though.

Morning had just barely broken over the horizon when the bug had pulled up. No peering eyes were able to catch the caster as they went around back and slipped open a window, luckily unlocked already. Less lucky was the lack of agility necessary to slink inside.

Long gangly limbs limply lauded themselves over the threshold, a foot getting stuck on the frame, a knee slamming into the wall. Teddy tumbled forward gracelessly. Gravity, the gravid nemesis, forever plaguing the ex demon's life. With all the poise of a bowling ball ricocheting off bouncing bumpers, they clambered into a stack of antique tomes. Old now, and old then whenever they had been stacked so neatly.

Ass over head, shoulders squarely floorwise, a picture of elegance. Dark eyes scanned the upside down scene, only to find miles of piles more. Wherever open space sat, books littered. More infested than a library. Some of them looked to be hundreds of years old. Maybe more. Bound in leather. Embossed with gold. Even with the dust cloud lingering, and water damage from years of empty waiting, Teddy could see a virtual treasure trove. Someone’s greatest dream lived just beyond the broken windows. Waiting for someone to come, waiting for Teddy themself perhaps.

A spark of that same magic still lingered in the air. One that had mixed in with the Leviathan’s back at the shack. It felt familiar, in a way. And yet, so distant. Teddy righted themself, quickly dusting off their clothes and thanking the universe that they weren’t allergic to nature. Standing on their feet did little to quell the queasiness in their stomach though.

If anything, it only sharpened the senses to observe it.

Feet followed whims, even if caution bid them stay. Leading on, inward, around. Carefully treading over stacks and stacks and stacks of what had to be research. Teddy could spend a lifetime in here and still never find the answers they were looking for, but something led them further. Towards what must have been a dining room at some point, and a wall. Stacked up with pictures. The happy family.

Each photo was framed with care.

The man looked much like the form Leviathan took, so that must have been Chuck. Which meant the woman was Lydia. Strange, neither shared Teddy’s skin tone, neither had their dark eyes. It wasn’t as if Teddy looked nothing like them, certainly shared some features with her, but– Confusion swam high amongst the tide of foreign feelings that swamped Ted’s chest. Each photo told a story. Each happier than the next. They didn’t know what to make of it.

In one, Lydia held the toddler while Chuck sprayed them both with a hose. Smiles on every face. Sinking further with each display of wonder and charm, Teddy looked on in horror. Sick to their stomach and frantically searching for the cracks. Was this all just for show? Was the original Jones family… actually a family?

“Some humans are just plain bad.” Teddy remembered Leviathan’s words. “Trying to understand her reasons wouldn't make you feel any better, I guarantee it.” A fleeting thought barreled through, forcing them to wonder, however briefly, if their father had lied. If it had been summoned by or for something else, but on a whim decided to steal the child instead. A thought, imposed upon them despite the despair it carried. That in some other world, they might have had a home. Had a happy life, filled with smiles and silly jokes and play fights and books–

Teddy stumbled. One of the piles had caught them off guard in their troubled thinking. Maybe it was fate though, because as they looked down they saw the markings. Saw the interconnected thread through most of the tomes. Summoning magic. Demonic. Languages few people on Earth still understood. Ones that Ted knew only because of the ancient beast that raised them. Cared for them. Took them in when two assholes who wished to trade them for immortality lost everything in the process. Levi hadn’t lied. Not to them. Why would it have to? Humans… They were strange, and some were just plain bad.

Dark eyes lifted up from the books, once again glancing towards the wall of unfamiliar faces until– One stood out, different from the rest. Teddy walked up to get a closer look. Once again, Lydia held them close. Though the smile on her face was a practiced and cautious one. A different man stood next to her. Taller. Skinnier. Tan skin and charcoal eyes. The features reflected theirs, the cogs clicked into place. Ted’s breath escaped them.

Someone stared back at Teddy with their own eyes. Hardened with age far beyond the years this old photo captured. A stern gaze that seemed to follow them wherever they moved. They couldn’t get away from it. A step back and Ted bumped into the table, jostling a few papers and books to the ground.

“Fuck–Sorry–” Habit burst the words from their mouth. Shouting to no one. Filling the empty air with sound, breaking the tomb-like silence. Quickly, they turned. Moving from the room, telling themself it was in search of some kind of clarifying information and not just to escape that gaze.

In a drawer of an old desk, a file of importance sat undisturbed for years on end. Keys to the kingdom of Theodore Jones, though– Not a Jones originally. A copy of Teddy’s birth certificate declared them “Theodore Ravi Shah” and an incredulous part of them nearly laughed. Nearly sent a text to Emilio that he’d never win that bet about their middle name now. True Names and their power sifted through next, wondering momentarily if Leviathan knew. If there was a way to know, without this paper anyway. Written in the stars, whispered at the dawn of time, or hidden away in an old abandoned house, untouched for thirty years and waiting patiently for someone to unearth it.

The paper had other info too. For one, their birthday. Not anywhere near October and their favorite holiday. For another, Teddy had been quite a big baby. Just over eight pounds. Eyes and hair listed as black as they were today. There was Lydia, age at the time and her maiden name. Then what must have been the information of the man in that photo. Ishaan Shah. He was just about Teddy’s age now back then when they were born, give or take a few years.

There wasn’t anything else.

Who was this man? Why had she left him?

Teddy spent an hour or more, searching desperately to find anything at all that might quell the burning curiosity that threatened to eat them from the inside out. But nothing else in the desk held any more answers to the new mystery laid in front of them. Frustrated, dismayed, and heartbroken, the papers were airborne before Ted could get up from the chair. Fluttering around like birds descending on scattered feed.

They stomped around, the doubt and hopelessness turning to anger. How awful to come this far, to uncover something that could actually lead to real answers and then what? A dead end? Because Lydia left their biological father, and left the only evidence of his life in a single envelope and an old cracked frame.

But–

Wait.

In a flash of inspiration, Teddy crossed the room, finding themself under that watchful gaze once more. Only to tear down the picture and rend it from the wooden and glass confines. The back had three things. A note saying only ‘if you reconsider’, a phone number, and coordinates. Almost incredulously, their fingers found their phone, dialing the number faster than they could process what they were doing.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times then–

“Hello–?” A cold voice called out. Reverberating into the stillness of the room. “Who is this? How did you get this number?” A sudden panic rose in Teddy’s chest. Immediately succumbing to the shaking and hyperventilation of an anxiety attack. The phone slipped from their hand as the questions filtered through it rose in volume and anger. It smashed against the old wooden floor, shattering the screen and immediately severing the connection.

He was alive.

Teddy’s father was alive.

And maybe, just maybe, Teddy knew where to find him.

#wickedswriting

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schreeuwekster · 11 months

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Why are US toddlers so small???

I don't mean fat/skinny, I mean small. Small heads too.

Perun's turning 2 soon, and we just got him a batch of new clothes. He's inbetween size 92 and 98, so we got him all 98's now. To make em last.

Dutch children sizes go by length, so a 92 corresponds to a child of 92 cm tall, approximately.

Outside of continental Europe y'all size by age. So my 98 is a UK 2 to 3, but a Canadian 2-4, and a whopping US 3-4. This corresponds also to hat sizes.

Which leaves me with the notion that US toddlers are tiny and some how behind on the growthcurves? Even compared to Canada?

What are y'all feeding your kids?

#possibly poking a hornets nest

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conradscrime · 9 months

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The Crimes of Dr. Crippen

September 17, 2023

Dr. Hawley Harvey Crippen was born on September 11, 1862, in Coldwater, Michigan and was the only surviving child of his parents Andresse Skinner and Myron Augustus Crippen who was a merchant.

Crippen first studied at the University of Michigan Homeopathic Medical School, and graduated later at the Cleveland Homeopathic Medical College in 1884.

Crippen married his first wife, Charlotte Jane Bell, but when she died of a stroke in 1892, Crippen sent his son, Hawley Otto, who was only a toddler, to live with his parents in San Hose, California.

Dr. Crippen began practicing medicine in New York City, marrying his second wife, Corrine "Cora" Turner in 1894. Cora was actually a music hall singer who sang under the name, Belle Elmore. Also in 1894, Crippen began working for Dr. Munyon, who had a homeopathic pharmaceutical company.

In 1897, Dr. Crippen and Cora moved to England, even despite the fact that Crippen's medical qualifications were not met to practice in the UK. Crippen was working as a distributor of patent medicines around this time, while Cora was socializing.

Dr. Crippen was fired by Munyon's in 1899 for spendin too much time managing Cora's career. Dr. Crippen went on to work as a manager for Drouet's Institution for the Deaf, where a young woman named Ethel Le Neve was his typist in 1900.

By 1905, Crippen and Ethel were having an affair. That same year, Crippen and Cora moved to 39 Hilldrop Crescent, Camden Road, Holloway and took in lodgers to help with their income. Cora ended up having an affair with one of these lodgers, and due to this, Crippen officially made Ethel is mistress in 1908.

On January 31, 1910, the Crippen home hosted a party, and after said party, Cora had disappeared. Dr. Crippen's excuse for his wife's disappearance was that she had gone back to the US, later adding that she had died there. After this, Ethel moved in with Dr. Crippen and actually began to wear Cora's clothes and jewelry.

The first mention of Cora's disappearance came from her friend, Kate "Vulcana" Williams. The disappearance was taken more seriously when people associated with the Scotland Yard Superintendent, Frank Froest were pushing for the matter to be looked into.

Police searched Dr. Crippen's house but found nothing. Dr. Crippen under questioning did eventually admit he had made up the story of his wife dying, because he wanted to avoid the embarrassment over him leaving her, fleding to the US with one of her lovers. Authorities were satisfied with Crippen's story, however he did not know that and instead fled with Ethel to a hotel in Brussels.

The next day the two got on the SS Montrose, headed for Canada. This made them look suspicious, so police further searched Crippen's house, finding the torso of a human body buried under the brick floor of the basement. Traces of a calming drug called scopolamine was in the torso as well.

The torso was identified as being Cora, however her head, limbs and skeleton were never recovered.

Dr. Crippen and Ethel who was disguised as a boy were heading across the Atlantic ocean, and the captain noticed them. Notifying the Chief Inspector, Walter Dew, of this, he boarded a ship from Liverpool and beat Dr. Crippen to Canada, arriving in Quebec.

Dew himself actually boarded the next ship disguised as a pilot. When entering on board, Dr. Crippen was invited to meet the pilots to which Dew removed his cap and said, "Good mornin, Dr. Crippen. Do you know me? I'm Chief Inspector Dew from Scotland Yard."

Dr. Crippen's response was apparently, "Thank God it's over. The suspense has been too great. I couldn't stand it any longer." And then held out his wrists for the handcuffs. Both Crippen and Ethel were arrested on board on July 31, 1910.

Dr. Crippen was tried at the Old Bailey, on October 18, 1910. The trial lasted 4 days. Though they argued that the torso could not be totally proven to be Cora, there was a piece of skin that had a scar that was similar to Cora's medical history.

Other evidence was brought forth, such as a piece of a pyjama top that Cora had given Dr. Crippen the year before, in 1909, and hair that matched Cora's. During the trial, Dr. Crippen did not show any remorse for his wife. He was only concerned with Ethel's reputation.

Dr. Crippen was found guilty in just 27 minutes. Ethel was only charged for being an accessory after the fact and was eventually acquitted.

Crippen never actually gave a motive for why he killed his wife, however many theories have risen over the years. A late Victorian and Edwardian barrister, Edward Marshall Hall believed Dr. Crippen had been giving Cora hyoscine as a depressant but accidentally gave her too much, causing her to overdose.

In 1981, multiple British newspapers reported that a man claimed to have met Ethel in 1930 and she confessed to him that Dr. Crippen murdered Cora because she had syphilis.

Another theory is that Dr. Crippen was carrying out illegal abortions and the torso was actually that of a previous patient, not Cora. Others find it strange that Dr. Crippen would bury his wife's body under the floor, but managed to get rid of her head and limbs with no discovery.

Dr. Crippen was hanged at Pentonville Prison, London, on November 23, 1910. Ethel sailed to the US before moving to Canada and found work as a typist. She supposedly returned to Britain in 1915, and died in 1967. Crippen had requested that a photo of Ethel be placed in his coffin and buried with him which was approved.

Think the story's over? Think again.

In October 2007, a forensic scientist named David Foran claimed that mitochondrial DNA evidence showed the remains under Dr. Crippen's basement floor were not that of Cora. Using genealogy, they identified 3 of Cora's living relatives who gave their DNA to be compared.

The original remains were also tested using an assay of the Y chromosome, finding the flesh sample was male, not female. This research team also argued that a scar that was found on the torso and had been identified as a scar that Cora had was incorrect.

This new DNA evidence has been disputed, with a journalist commenting that this team used a special technique that is too new, and working on a century old slide isn't the best sample to use to compare DNA.

In December 2009, the UK's Criminal Cases Review Commission declared that the Court of Appeal would not hear the case to pardon Dr. Crippen posthumously, meaning he is still known forever in history as having murdered his wife.

#true crime #crime #unsolved mysteries #unsolved #murder #homicide #unsolved murder #unsolved case #solved #mystery

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hoperays-song · 1 year

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Chaos Style World Building PT. 3

Johnny’s bedroom ceiling is covered in really old glow in the dark stars that somehow still work.

Ash worked as a Starbucks barista for a bit before Sing 1 to support her and Lance.

Nooshy will deliberately wear the most clashing coloured and patterned clothing.

Clay and Rosita are the best chefs of the troupe and even have a cooking competition once.

Marcus will paint his nails teal as a show of support when Johnny’s performing.

Johnny and Nooshy basically act like smaller versions of Stan and Barry and the only person who cannot see it is Stan.

Ash designs her own merch.

Eddie was Pre-Law in college while Buster was Theatre Management. Eddie switched to Interdisciplinary Studies his junior year.

Nooshy technically is the second oldest of their three biological siblings. Her older brother is actually raising the younger two on his own in Canada.

Meena learned to bake from her mother and grandmother and has been baking with them since she was a toddler.

Mrs. Crawly really loves plants and has them all over her house and the theatre. Buster is not allowed to touch them as he is horrible with plants.

Johnny worked retail for a short while before Sing 1 but the gang made it too difficult.

Meena can drive and has her learner’s permit but utterly hates doing so and takes the bus or rides with her mom to school instead.

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koolkat9 · 1 year

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Royal Red Bros Week 2023: Day 7

@royalredbrosweek

Prompt: Happy Moments || Supernatural/Magic

Rating: T

Relationship: England + Canada (I plan on making this a long fic so it will eventually turn into FACE Fam)

Word Count: 851

Read on AO3

Count Your Blessings - Chapter 1

Arthur thought his days of crying toddlers were long past him. Peter was the last child he planned on raising, and he had only been actively involved with the lad for a few years before Berwald decided to take on the primary role of father.

But here Matthew stood, no older than four, tears crystallizing his eyes as he stared up at Arthur. Arthur fucked up spells before, but this had to be the worst one. Why did Matthew always have to be worrying about him and come at the wrong time?

Arthur rushed over to his spell book, scanning the page for where he went wrong. He was so engrossed in the intricate symbols that it took him a moment to process the soft cries of Matthew. “Shit…” he muttered.

Marking the page with the ribbon attached to the spine, Arthur turned back to Matthew. With a sigh, he scooped him into his arms, the boy clinging to him. “Shhhh,” Arthur hushed, rocking Matthew back and forth, “I know, I know. I messed up…massively. Shhh sh sh. I’ll fix it, I promise. But I need you to relax.”

Matthew sniffled loudly, but he took some deep breaths. Arthur rubbed up and down his back.

“That’s right. Just like that.”

Matthew buried himself into Arthur’s cardigan. “‘m hungry,” he mumbled.

“Okay. Lunch is in order then."

Matthew nodded, surely rubbing his snot onto Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur bit his lip and counted to ten. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “We do not rub our runny noses on clothes. Take this instead.”

Matthew hesitantly pulled away and accepted the handkerchief. He wiped all over his face, creating more of a mess.

Arthur chuckled, taking the handkerchief from the boy. He properly cleaned his face and wiped his nose.

As much as it was endearing, Arthur’s stomach was doing flips. It was clear that Matthew was both physically and internally a child now. And it was all Arthur’s fault.

“Daddy?” Matthew called, breaking Arthur from his guilt-ridden daze.

“Sorry. Lunch, right?”

Matthew nodded timidly.

“Okay.” Arthur exited his magic room, “Want to help me make sandwiches?”

Matthew nodded eagerly. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay.”

Arthur strode into the kitchen, sitting Matthew on one of the bar stools. “Careful now,” Arthur warned, getting the ingredients he needed out of the cupboard and fridge, “If you want to get down just ask me.”

“O-Okay!”

“Good lad.” He laid out the bread, lunch meat, cheese, veggies, and butter. “Take your pick.”

Matthew looked over his options, nibbling on his lip. Finally, he pointed to the ham, cheese, tomatoes, and butter.

Arthur may have not been a wizard in the kitchen, but he could at least make a pretty good sandwich. After all, his children wouldn’t always be tricked into thinking his burnt amalgamations were actually good.

He layered the ingredients in generous amounts, cut the crust off, and divided it into two triangles. Just as Matthew had liked his sandwiches as a child.

While Matthew began to dig in, Arthur began to prepare his own. As he watched Matthew happily eat away, Arthur couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps he missed having a child around more than he cared to admit.

He shook his head. He needed to get Matthew back to normal as soon as possible. Now wasn’t the time for nostalgia or what-ifs.

But…if Matthew was stuck like this for a while…

Arthur watched as Matthew’s cheeks got assaulted by crumbs, a small glob of butter streaked the corner of his mouth, and the light in his eyes every time he took a bite. Oh, to be a child again in awe of everything and not weighed down by the baggage of nationhood, even if it was just for a sliver of time. Perhaps this would be a blessing in disguise.

“Here love.” Arthur grabbed a napkin and wiped away the mess.

“Thank you,” Matthew whispered, before going back to his sandwich, eating it more slowly.

Arthur joined him at the counter with his own sandwich. It reminded him of afternoons back in the little cabin in the Canadian north. Those afternoons seemed to last forever. A moment with no responsibility beyond his sons.

And yet he had missed so many afternoons with them in their early lives.

Amid Arthur’s daydreaming, Matthew laid his head on the table next to his empty plate.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, collecting their now empty plates and placing them in the sink.

“Nothing…” Matthew rubbed his eyes, chin pressed against the counter, head swaying side to side.

“Tired?”

“Mhm…”

Arthur ruffled Matthew’s hair before picking him up once more. “Nap time then”

Matthew leaned his cheek against Arthur's shoulder, fighting to keep his eyes open. They climbed the stairs to Arthur’s bedroom, and Arthur laid him on the bed. The boy was already half asleep by then. Arthur grinned and tucked him in with a kiss on the head.

“Sleep well, love. I’ll be downstairs when you wake up.”

But Matthew was already fast asleep. Arthur gave an amused huff before tiptoeing out of the room.

#hetalia #royal red bros #royalredbrosweek2023 #fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #fluff #hurt/comfort #hws england #hws canada #count your blessings

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avantgardener · 1 year

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That novel reminded me sm of my nana, a big chunk is about the narrator’s mother having been displaced to BC by her husband and being a housewife in an unfamiliar country where you know no one and dealing w this extreme terror and existentialism through all of the hours spent alone in the house waiting for the children to come home. Thinking of my nana who left Ireland came to Canada for my papa’s work and travelled with a newborn and two toddlers by herself then wound up in Alberta with only Irish winter clothes freezing her butt off and not even knowing how to put gas in the car.

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welllpthisishappening · 2 years

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Suggesting that she hated a single piece of wholly ridiculous, vaguely ancient clothing was absolutely insane. Which was never an appropriate description for Regina Mills. Not once, not ever. Insanity suggested chaos and a distinct lack of plan and for as long as Regina could remember, she’d always had a plan.

One foot in front of the other, one project to the next. Only, well, that wasn’t a great way to skate. It was a good way to fall, actually. And Regina had never been a very big fan of falling.

Still, that sweater was a thorn and a prick and several other clichés Mrs. Vankald would be proud of. So, it shouldn’t have surprised her that the stupid thing showed up here: at Killian’s number retirement ceremony.

———

Word Count: 3.3k AN: This is almost solely for @eleveneitherway who, I cannot overstate, is the absolute sweetest. Truthfully, I adore her. It’s also part of the prompts I got from that list that I am almost finished filling. They’re retiring Killian’s number. People are feeling emotions. I felt emotions while writing this. It’s also the first time I’ve written Outlaw Queen as, like, the focus and the first-ever Regina POV for me. Which was actually surprisingly fun? Let’s all ignore the fact that Matt would still be wearing 20 while he continued playing. I don’t care. I wanted the feelings. Also, in case you forgot (because I also had to look it up) Killian wore the sweater to the Opening Night ritual in the first Blue Line season.

———

“In my defense, I wanted to do it.”

Biting the inside of her cheek was an antiquated and instinctual response that no longer resulted in any bit of movement on Regina’s face. Which was good, really. Less because she’d managed to turn self-control into a science over the last few decades, but more because there were too many cameras. Pointed at them and this, and it was genuinely incredible that the New York Rangers organization had not evolved at the same rate. To purchase semi-comfortable seats for a ceremony that was growing increasingly impossible to hear over the roar of several thousand jersey-sporting fans.

“I am sure you did.”

“I did.” “Not a doubt in my mind.”

Laughter in varying volumes and familiar, tell-tale tones came from several different angles in the immediate area. Shaking shoulders bumped Regina’s, a quick glance to her left confirming her equally antiquated and instinctual suspicions. Henry’s lips were barely visible. Tucked behind his teeth as they were. The toddler on Roland’s lap was not all that interested in staying there, clamoring for Lizzie and her hair, tiny hands tugging on strands that induced brand-new sounds of the vaguely pained variety.

Emma did not try to hide the movement of her hand. When she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Tugging his wife’s fingers down with practiced ease, Killian didn’t turn around to the Locksley-filled row behind him, mumbling, “Why would I lie to you? Right now? In this moment?” “You ask questions,” Regina said, “when you’re uncomfortable.” The overall volume of Will’s ensuing snicker was likely simulcast into homes and onto phones across the continental United States, its assorted territories, and most of southern Canada. “A three-peat, Cap.” “Does that make sense?” “No,” Emma replied while Will nearly shouted “Yes,” and Belle’s eyes had been closed for an indeterminate amount of time.

It was all that sweater’s fault. The sweater Regina’s husband was wearing. At the ceremony to retire Killian’s number. With all these cameras. And all these people, and she hadn’t missed the reaction from all those people when Robin stood up and unbuttoned his jacket.

Regina was going to burn that sweater.

Or, well, so she’d planned. She wanted to. Desperately. Years ago, really. What was starting to feel like a totally different life the longer she sat there, in these torture-adjacent chairs while her kids and her grandkids and the rest of a family that sort of snuck up on her did its abject best not to embarrass themselves too completely in front of local and national media. She’d wanted to tear that sweater to shreds and toss those shreds into the sort of blaze that would inspire dramatic documentaries on multiple streaming platforms and over-the-top disaster movies based on those same documentaries with some of the facts skewed solely for entertainment purposes.

Every one of the letters seemed to mock her whenever that sweater appeared, far more often than it should have, stretched across an NHL-ready chest and shoulders that made both her and Killian quite a lot of money.

Mostly because they were capable of twisting at an angle concurrent with his hips that, more often than not, led to the puck finding the back of the net.

All I Want for Christmas Is Locksley

It didn’t even make sense. No pithy rhyme. Not even a slant-rhyme. Too many syllables to truly be a call back to the original, and Regina hadn’t grown up in a home that was especially fond of pop culture or its assorted references, but that one felt famous enough that it shouldn’t have been tarnished with a sweater that made a negligible amount of sense.

And, really, that was it. The rub, as they say. Mrs. Vanklad, too. The sweater was a perfect cliché that did not make sense—was covered in letters that, upon further inspection, during a season-opener in a year her memory could no longer quite lockdown, were not perfectly straight, surrounded by candy canes that frayed with alarming regularity despite never seeming to run out of string, and she hated it. In the depths of her very being, even as it became more and more clear that the sweater was there to stay, another bullet point on a list of stupid jokes made by stupid people that she loved more than she thought possible.

Despising a sweater was impractical.

Only, well, Regina was possibly a little threatened by the sweater for reasons full of childhood disappointment and adolescent trauma, and far too much early-adult tragedy.

Life was a line, she had been taught. For as long as she could remember. Point A to the next, a trip through the alphabet that could only deviate upon completion. And then it just progressed to Greek letters, anyway. Carrying on was a lifestyle drilled into her by necessity and what was frequently described as motherly love instead of popular early 2010s trends, and Regina followed instruction. Followed the plans and the lists and ignored the bumps and the disappointment and all that undeniable loss, until—

She sat at a dining room table on Thanksgiving in a downtown Manhattan brownstone that made something in her chest ache as soon as she walked inside, and she recognized the precise look. Of cautious optimism and patented suspicion of anything good in Robin Locksley’s gaze.

When he looked at her.

Directly across the dining room table.

It didn’t make sense, either. Regina was already running out of letters for plans and projects, and she wouldn’t learn any Norwegian letters for another four years, when Liam thought it would be hysterical to teach Roland certain sayings on the ice, and she’d never wanted… this.

All that motherly love, proclaimed loudly and perpetually as it might have been, had also done a fairly effective job of souring her on the role. But there was this guy. With his eyes and his quiet certainty and equally painful backstory, and, she was only human, so the overall muscle tone of his upper thighs coupled with the precise way his ass looked in dress pants helped, too.

She liked him. She liked his kid. She liked the general concept of them.

Loved it, eventually.

Without reservation, mostly. Old habits and all that. Another Mrs. Vankald-approved cliché, Regina knew. Even if she was also perfectly aware of the exact way Mrs. Vankald would tut her tongue in exasperation over emotional hangups and lingering fears, and Mrs. Vankald was a questionably good mother.

To all of them, no matter what their last name was or their tendency to get on the ice.

She’d squeezed Regina’s hand exactly three times before kissing her on the cheek and telling her she looked beautiful on her wedding day. Answered the phone whenever Regina called with questions about whether or not kids noticed vegetables mixed into fruit smoothies and how often she wanted to kick the shins of various four-year-olds for daring to bump into Roland on the ice. She was frequently reminded that they were all four, and none of them could skate that well yet.

Her kid went pro.

Like her husband was a pro with all the requisite merch and ridiculous merch, and she’d hated the sweater because it was a reminder of poorly-stitched chaos and a distinct lack of control and it was incredibly, undeniably, ugly as sin.

A cliché hat trick.

She wished Mrs. Vankald was there, and she probably, definitely, absolutely should have expected the sweater to show up at some point tonight.

Old traditions died hard deaths that rarely lasted amongst this group.

Without reservation, mostly.

“So, then,” Belle said, pulling Regina back to the present, “you’re saying you knew this was going to happen, Cap.” One of Killian’s shoulders lifted. The kid standing on his thighs wobbled slightly, drawing quick, jerky movements from two sets of arms on his other side. “Deep breaths, the pair of you,” he told both Peggy and Jeremy, who did not look even remotely pacified as their daughter continued to balance, before glancing over that still lifted shoulder, “and I had a general idea.” “Liar, liar,” Emma muttered. Gasps that would fit almost perfectly into the context of Regina’s wholly imagined disaster movie seemed to echo between her ears for their most impressive dramatic effect.

“Swan.” She kissed his cheek. Several people aww’ed. Not all of them were sitting in the Rangers-provided folding chairs. “Taylor’s had it for years.” “No shi—,” Roland said, before cutting himself off. Wide eyes filled with the same sort of guilt that came after multiple instances of sneaking Matt onto ice he was too young to be on with skates that were too big for his feet met Regina’s.

She bit her cheek again. Twice. Once more for good measure.

“But,” Emma added, voice dropping as the cameras moved for yet another seat pan and reaction shot, “Rook said he said he forgot he had it, stuffed it into one of his closets—” “Rich jerk,” Chris grumbled.

Lizzie tugged on the back of his jacket. “Are you not getting ten percent of your brother’s contract?”

“Twelve,” he and Claire said simultaneously. Matt was sitting on the bench. There was a game after this, and Regina wouldn’t be able to think about that for at least the first fourteen minutes of the first period. Twelve percent was a coup.

“How many closets do you have, Toph?” Peggy pressed, trying and failing to pull Maddie away from her dad. He winked at her.

Coughing into a microphone was not particularly subtle.

But neither was the sweater, really. Or deciding who got to speak first at this seemingly endless ceremony by staging a mini skills competition in that same downtown brownstone. Only in the living room, this time. There wasn’t enough room around the table.

Regina’s current working theory was that it might have been a two-fold competition.

Lifting her eyebrows at Robin’s bemused expression while he watched them with what could only be described as perpetual fondness, the edges of Regina’s mouth proved too determined. To lift and curve, a smile stretching her mouth and lifting the muscles in her cheeks, and he didn’t wink at her. He didn’t blink, even. Just kept watching—her, specifically. Waiting, that’s what he was doing. What he’d been since the table and the dinner and the family recipe for broccoli casserole that was far better than the bread pudding.

Waiting for Regina to catch up. To him and this and them, the optimism and the belief, a quiet and steady sort of reassurance that altered the plan with an entirely new list of goals and objectives, winding and twisting, bouncing between up and down and high and low, contract negotiations to wins and parades and could-have-beens, and realizing when it all was enough.

To know when it was ok to want. Beyond your means or what you’d been told you could want. What she’d been told, specifically.

Regina was never going to let him give that sweater back.

To Killian or Emma or Rook’s kid with his admittedly impressive number of closets. Even if she was sort of curious how— “Did he suddenly remember where he stuffed the sweater, then? Save us all with fashion, such as it is, in the nick of ceremony time?” Regina asked, and it would be impossible to believe that Emma’s eyes actually got brighter. Only it was that sort of night. Life, maybe.

“A girl whose name Rook did not know or would not report found it. Was looking for something to wear after—” More gasps. Hands over mouths. Bugging eyes and arms twisting to grab phones out of pockets without any regard given to the entirely unacceptable timing of that specific reaction. “Well,” Emma shrugged, “you get what I mean. It is not all that serious, or so several sources claim both on and off the record, mostly because the nameless girl who I’m sure is real nice found it, Tay was not cute about her laughing at it—” Everyone within a 15-year age range of Taylor, who was on a business trip that weekend and couldn't sit in one of the boxes upstairs with his parents, mumbled idiot under their breath.

Emma nodded once. “He said it was an important memento in New York Rangers lore, presumably got even more weird about hockey than any of us normally are, and here we are.” “Here we are,” Regina echoed. “Does Aurora know it’s not serious or has the invitation designer on retainer already been contacted?

Will wasn’t particularly quiet, sing-songing his “Making jokes is a flashing neon sign of all that bottled up emotion, Your Majesty. You getting sentimental on us?”

Fluttering fingers appeared between the seats in front of her, and she didn’t look before she grabbed them. Chris squeezed. Tightly. Three times.

That was probably a coincidence.

Timing up perfectly with the undeniable buzz of his phone and one last pointed cough.

“You guys good?” Robin asked mid-speech, unable to keep the laughter out of the question or the smile off his face. Wide enough to rival whatever was somehow still stuck on Regina’s. “Put your phone on silent, Toph.”

Roland and Henry more or less collapsed.

“I wanted to wear it,” Killian repeated, “but—” “Mom wouldn’t let him,” Chris whispered, and it wasn’t a whisper when Peggy added, “and it didn’t really fit all that great, either.”

Killian finally handed off his granddaughter. To slump in his chair, just enough to serve as a laughter-inducing response while still avoiding total farce. It was touch and go, though. Will was going to fall on the floor, Belle burying her face in the neck of whichever kid she was now playing chair to because there were too many kids, and that was good and great and the sweater was starting to evolve into some sort of thing in Regina’s mind, a marker and a memory and Robin looked at her first.

Again.

When he said, “You’re not guaranteed anything in this game. It’s weird how that works, actually. Infuriating sometimes. You should get what you want, after all of it, right? You work your whole life for the moment to dig your skates into the ice, to hear all those sounds that have been the soundtrack of an entire career, and you hope it’ll work out ok. Plan for every possibility. With coaches and nutritionists, athletic trainers who—”

He lifted a hand toward the boxes, another flash of smile that left Regina wondering if it was, in fact, possible to float upward solely on the force of all her bottled-up emotion. Like bubbles out of a champagne bottle.

“Hey, A,” Robin continued, “I still do all those oblique stretches you were always harping about.” Regina could only imagine Ariel’s answering shout of liar was nearly identical to the cry that came from both Will and Killian. She shook her head. In response to Emma’s questioning stare.

“Could bounce quarters,” she added softly.

Will scoffed.

Robin’s eye roll could only be noticed by those especially in tune with eye rolls more generally borne from fatherly exasperation and their collective inability to behave in public. As much as carpet-covered ice in Madison Square Garden warranted that description.

“I’m the only one the sweater fit,” he announced, “and I soundly beat Scarlet at skills because my one-timer is still more impressive.” Definitely not acceptable for public consumption, then. Any of them. The next cough was an obvious attempt to get back on track that only marginally worked. No one in the crowd noticed. “Anyway, the point is, you come into this league with a plan. With objectives and desire and it’s great to try that approach, but it never works. Nothing ever goes according to plan. Sometimes it sucks, and you’re bruised and your oblique exercises feel kinda like torture—sorry, A. And you’re on the road, and you miss your kids, but—”

He still didn’t wink. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just kept leaning against that podium with those letters on that sweater stretching across a chest Regina was certain she could describe in minute detail and waited. For her. To lift a finger, rest it below her left collarbone and tap. Three times.

She scrunched her nose for good measure, too.

Because plan zeta was simple, straightforward, and a rather massive undertaking: Live happily ever after.

He grinned.

“Sometimes, the chaos is worth it. It’s impossible and unpredictable and it’s got the sweetest wrist shot I’ve ever seen. Finding the back of the net, and winning us games, and we kinda won, didn’t we, Cap? In that grand-scheme, lifetime sort of way.” Killian sat up straighter.

“Cap’s one of the best guy’s I’ve ever known. I’m not even upset my kid modeled his wrister after Cap’s. It’s ridiculous how good it is, that’s why. But I could stand up here in this sweater that,” he raised his voice, “seriously only fit me, and list off everything Cap’s accomplished because it’s also ridiculously good. But we all know the facts and the stats and the records, and the moments. Plus, it’d probably only embarrass him, and it’d scandalize Matt. Hi, Mattie.” Stick taps came from the bench, a quick salute, and ducked head of curls in desperate need of a cut. Emma was crying. Belle was crying. Regina was not. “So, forget Cap’s numbers for a second. Retired or otherwise. Think about what you were doing during those games. Watching on TV or listening to the broadcast, holding your breath just like we were because you can plan and you can hope, but you never really know, and you’re never promised, and that makes it better. To find your way into this. Into everything we’ve all gotten from this team, and these people, and sometimes the plan sucked anyway. So you take what you can, and you skate as fast as you can, and I’ve never seen anyone skate as fast as Cap. I think we both get credit for, like, at least, like, a third of Rol’s career goals, don’t you?”

Killian beamed.

Roland cursed. Several adults admonished him. For doing it in front of so many children.

And the tears still didn’t come. Not when Killian had to stand in front of that shaky podium with a voice that matched, ignoring the notecards Regina knew he had to tell Emma, specifically, that he’d never been able to dream this life or this career, or when he put his jersey over his button-up, or even when that same jersey in a monstrously large size lifted into the rafters.

Because Regina had. Planned for success and victories and far too many closets in a house all her own.

Except, well—

That house became a home, eventually.

With mess and mistakes and wonder that she welcomed with wide-open arms. Once she realized it was ok to want it. So, no, Regina didn’t cry. Not during the ceremony or immediately after. But then. There was a game to play and a box to sit in, champagne to drink, and she’d never been much of a runner.

Obvious exertion was undignified when the plan was steady and laid out at her feet, and she didn’t think. Shoving her bag into Henry’s somehow expectant hands, Regina dodged other kids and grandkids and phone calls to Taylor demanding the name of the girl and the longevity of the relationship, and Robin didn’t stumble. Didn’t even flinch.

Arms wrapped around her middle instead, barely a huff of an exhale against the crook of her shoulder and the side of her neck, feet just a few inches off the ground. They were older now, that’s why.

He kissed the tears off her cheeks.

Kissed her lips, too. The bridge of her nose. The jut of her chin. Back to her lips until Regina tilted her head and opened her mouth, traced her tongue along another decidedly familiar line as her eyes closed and her heart stuttered, not entirely sure if she imagined the happily ever after, baby pressed to her temple. It didn’t matter. It was true all the same.

She bought a frame a week and a half later. To put the sweater in, hanging it on the wall in her office.

At home.

#outlaw queen #outlaw queen ff #blue line one shots #i have no concept of what year this is #also did i give roland and lizzie another kid? you betcha!

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laresearchette · 2 years

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Thursday, November 17, 2022 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: GANGS OF LONDON (AMC +) A CHRISTMAS STORY CHRISTMAS (Crave TV) FLEISHMAN IS IN TROUBLE (Disney + Star) 23rd ANNUAL LATIN GRAMMY AWARDS (TLN) 8:00pm PICKLED (Global) 9:00pm THE SEX LIVES OF COLLEGE GIRLS (Crave) 9:00pm/9:30pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT DRAGONS: THE NINE REALMS (TBD - YTV)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

CRAVE TV A CHRISTMAS STORY CHRISTMAS THE SEX LIVES OF COLLEGE GIRLS (Season 2, Episode 1-2)

DISNEY + STAR FLEISHMAN IS IN TROUBLE

NETFLIX CANADA 1899 BANTÚ MAMA CHRISTMAS WITH YOU DEAD TO ME (Season 3) I AM VANESSA GUILLEN PEPSI, WHERE'S MY JET?

NHL HOCKEY (SNWest) 7:00pm: Flames vs. Lightning (SN1/SNEast/SNPacific) 7:00pm: Flyers vs. Bruins (SNOntario) 7:00pm: Devils vs. Leafs (TSN2) 7:00pm: Habs vs. Blue Jackets (TSN3) 8:00pm: Ducks vs. Jets (SN360) 10:00pm: Coyotes vs. Knights

NBA BASKETBALL (TSN4) 7:30pm: 76ers vs. Hawks (SN1) 10:30pm: Pistons vs. Clippers

DRAGONS' DEN (CBC) 8:00pm (SEASON FINALE): In the season finale, a mother-daughter team plow their way into the Den; a married couple makes a splash and looks to clean up; and a designer hopes her custom demonstration will sew up a Dragon deal. Plus, a decorated entrepreneur hopes her journey to success lights a fire under the Dragons.

AMERICAN REALITY TV AWARDS (Out TV) 8:00pm

NFL FOOTBALL (TSN) 8:15pm: Titans vs. Packers

VEGHEADZ (CTV Life) 8:30pm: Chef Pino Di Cerbo creates a vegetable-filled holiday feast.

THE FIFTH ESTATE (CBC) 9:00pm: The Fifth Estate investigates the murky world of human smuggling after a family of four from India, including a toddler, froze to death in January trying to cross from Manitoba into Minnesota. Host: Steven D'Souza

NATIONS AT WAR (APTN) 9:00pm: By the 1800s, the Ojibwe were scarred by years of disease and bitter wars against European and Indigenous rivals. For over a century, they faced an impossible choice as turmoil threatened to destroy their nations: land or peace?

THE LAZARUS PROJECT (Showcase) 9:00pm: As George tries desperately to cover his tracks, his actions force Archie to question her faith in the Lazarus Project.

BIG TIMBER (History Canada) 9:00pm (SEASON FINALE): Tempers flare as Kevin and his team finalize building the Pipe Dream and finally get the boat out on the water; with the snow finally gone, the crew heads back up the mountain to yard wood; Kevin has a special surprise for Jack and Rachel's wedding.

MAKEOVER BY MONDAY (Magnolia Canada) 9:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): Jenni Yolo remodels her friends' bedroom into an oasis that will provide a nice escape for the parents of four children. Jenni uses DIY-friendly techniques to transform the space including a custom wallpaper and a faux-denza. In Episode Two, Jenni Yolo sets out to transform her younger sister's dark, duplex kitchen into a design masterpiece in only three days. Stepping outside her comfort zone in some areas, Jenni makes some bold design choices in hopes her sister will be blown away.

GOING NATIVE (APTN) 9:30pm: Drew steps into the Badlands to visit the Hoodoos formations in Alberta. Later, he travels to Thunder Bay to meet a sleeping giant. Lastly, Drew heads to Lake Huron and the Manitou Islands to uncover incredible Indigenous legends.

RIVALRY SERIES (TSN5) 10:00pm: USA vs. Canada

PAMELA'S GARDEN OF EDEN (HGTV Canada) 10:00pm: Pamela's takes matters into her own hands when she worries her team isn't putting enough of a modern, sexy spin on the old roadhouse front room; things come to a head when the designs for the boathouse are far off from her grand vision.

CANADIAN REFLECTIONS (CBC) 11:30pm: Tibbits Hill/Clothing

#cdntv #cancon #canadian tv #canadian tv listings #dragons' den #vegheadz #the fifth estate #nations at war #the lazarus project #big timber #going native #pamela's garden of eden #canadian reflections #nhl hockey #nba basketball #nfl football

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customknitfactory · 20 days

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eviesessays · 23 days

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43. If you could thank anyone, who would you thank and why?

Possibly the first words we were taught as babies were, “please” and “thank you”. From the earliest age and for the simplest gift we gave thanks. It is a good lesson and a habit that is not forgotten and seldom abandoned with age.

We never can know what might have been but I am very thankful that my grandparents had the courage to leave their homelands and venture to unknown places in Canada. Stephan and Eva Kolody elected to go thousands of miles to where they had no home, no family, no friends and did not speak the language. That takes courage beyond description for which I am thankful. Both my maternal and paternal grandparents did just that. My paternal grandparents left Galacia to be potato farmers in Selkirk, Manitoba in 1909. Their homeland was divided and at war and they dreamed of being able to work in peace and earn a living in return. They came to Canada with no money, little education and a great hope for a new life free from political oppression. The Bolsheviks were running rampant through their motherland.

I know little of my maternal grandparents, Peter and Anna Schreyer. My mother was 7 when her father died and 9 years old when her mother died. My aunt Caroline Sitter, my mother’s oldest sister was married before my mother was born and had children older than my mother. My grandfather Schreyer was a successful wheat farmer and in very few years was growing enough wheat in Ladywood, Manitoba, to repay the Canadian government for his land grant. They were hard working people and I am grateful they had the courage that allowed me to be born a Canadian.

If it were possible to go back in time I would certainly thank all the neighbors we ever had from my earliest days. World War II was raging and some things were scarce. Neighbors shared their children’s outgrown clothing, shoes, and food ration stamps. Everyone seemed to care for their neighbor and we were no exception. Since I have had a family of my own my experience has been the same with the exception of one neighbor I had in Warner. He was unfortunately, home quite mentally ill and was moved to family in Maine. When we lived in Alaska and Heather and Jaylyn were toddlers, the teachers who lived in the apartment above us would bring home interesting things for them to see. They once brought a gerbil that got loose i the apartment and we spent several hours trying to trap it in one room. I was happy we succeeded before nightfall. My neighbors in Washington became lifelong friends. My dear friend, Rose is now gone but Jack is surprisingly spry at 90. I cannot even remember the names of the neighbors with whom I car pooled when Peter was in kindergarden. I had a Triumph Spitfire which had one passenger seat in front and a ledge just large enough for three small bottoms in the back. It was adequate except that I drove

on, “show and tell,” day and one little boy always had a new airplane to show. The planes usually had a wing span the width of my car. Somehow we managed. I thank all those Moms for their patience.

I have thanked my primary care physician who insisted that I get the nodes on my left clavicle biopsied as soon as possible. The surgeon opined that this was probably, “cat scratch fever” and he prescribed an oral antibiotic. After I finished the antibiotic with no change in the nodes, I insisted they be biopsied. I was diagnosed with Non Hodgkins Lymphoma. I chose to be treated at Dana Farber Cancer institute in Boston after three treatment failures here in Concord. I am very thankful for my primary care physician who insisted those nodes needed to be biopsied, I have been cancer free for fifteen years.

I am most thankful for my current neighbors. Since I am the current neighborhood octogenarian, they all seem to look out for me. They are all exceptionally kind and generous. During Covid confinement they shopped for me and drove me to appointments. They are wonderful people and I am thankful to be so blessed.

I am thankful for my Domino’s group. We meet every two weeks for a few hours of conversation, laughter and even a good Domino’s game or two.

I will end this story by recognizing how wonderful my grandchildren are. Without exception they are kind, generous and thoughtful human beings. I am grateful for them and thankful that I am so blessed. These days I am beyond thankful and delighted that I am blessed with my new wee, sweet darlings Joan Clementine, Everett Floyd, Laura Winter, Harriet Murphy and a coming February arrival. My life has had many blessings and for all that I am thankful.

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customsweaterproducer · 1 month

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miniaturetalecrown · 3 months

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Hetalia Character Profiles - New Zealand

Character's Name: New Zealand, Zee (by Alfred and Matthew), Kiwi (by Jake), Kiwi-Fruit (also by Jake), Rachel Victoria Kirkland (1840-1945), Rachel Victoria Mhairi Smith (1945-1990), and Rachel Victoria Mhairi Smith-Beilschmidt (1990-present), Rach (by Ludwig, Alfred, Matthew, and Jake), Darling (by Arthur).

Age: Human - Baby, toddler and child (1840-1880), Teenager (1880-1918), Appears 18 after 1919. Nation - 184.

Height: 5”11 (180cm).

Physical Description: Tall, joint tallest female nation with Laura (Belgium) and Natalya (Belarus), Rachel has a strong hourglass figure and has superhuman strength like her older brothers, Alfred (America) and Jake (Australia). Rachel takes after both her Aunt Shannon (Ireland) and Aunt Mhairi (Scotland) in appearance.

Eye Colour: Emerald green like Arthur (England), Uncle Dylan (Wales), Aunt Shannon, and Aunt Mhairi.

Hair Colour/Style: Long light brown curls, which is super thick and reaches down to the middle of her back. Rachel usually has her hair tied up into a ponytail when she’s working out with Ludwig (Germany) or doing business. Rachel leaves her hair down the rest of the time. Ludwig often complains about how much hair Rachel leaves everywhere.

Other Physical Traits: Freckles across her nose which she inherited from Arthur . Rachel also has her ears pierced, her septum pierced, a bird tattoo on her left shoulder, and a tattoo on her right leg. Like Shannon and Mhairi, Rachel didn’t inherit the infamous Kirkland eyebrows.

Personal Appearance/Style: Rachel wears mostly black, reds, blues, and purples. Rachel grew up wearing long dresses with corsets in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Rachel was relieved to stop wearing corsets in the 1910s/1920s. Now, Rachel’s wardrobe is full of comfy t-shirts, blue and black jeans, short dresses, and short skirts. Rachel also wears Ludwig’s clothes, especially his t-shirts.

Verbal Style: Rachel mostly speaks with her New Zealand accent; she can also speak in a posh English accent (which she used when she was in upper class company as she was growing up). Rachel also speaks fluent German, and her New Zealand accent is only slightly noticeable.

Education: Rachel was educated by Mhairi as a child/teenager along with Jake. Mhairi taught both the same despite the pressures to educate Rachel differently based on gender. Rachel also went to University, unlike Alfred and Jake and her cousin, Matthew (Canada). Rachel gained her degree in English Literature from Edinburgh University in 1925.

Occupation: Diplomat. Rachel also helps out at bird sanctuaries in her spare time.

Past Occupations: A military nurse during both world wars, a fighter pilot during the Second World War, and a nurse.

Skills, Abilities or Talents: Rachel is a talented artist and even painted Arthur’s portrait in the 1920s, Arthur still has the portrait over his fireplace. Rachel also has the ability to understand birds. Rachel has also written a romance novel, which she wrote in the 1950s. Rachel enjoys knitting and still knits sweaters for herself.

Positive Personality Treats: Friendly, compassionate, good sense of humour, and animal lover.

Negative Personality Traits: Stubborn like Arthur, can be judgemental and too sharp-tongued.

Sense of Humour: Sarcastic, sharp, and witty.

Physical/Mental Illnesses or Afflictions: The most mentally stable of her siblings/cousins. The world wars didn’t affect Rachel as much as other family members or Ludwig. Jake tries to avoid Rachel when she’s on her period, as she used to lose her temper with him when they were teenagers, Jake even warned Ludwig to not go near Rachel when she’s on her period without chocolates and flowers.

Hobbies/Interests: Playing Rugby with Jake, painting, drawing, yoga, bird watching, cooking, snowboarding, skiing, and swimming.

Favourite Foods: Fish and chips, Ludwig’s homemade chocolate cake, and pavlova.

Most Important Personal Items: Her diamond engagement ring, her silver fern necklace that Ludwig gave her, and her photo album.

Person/Friend Close to Character: Rachel is closest to her husband and best friend, Ludwig. They’ve been together since 1895 and have known each other since the 1850s when they met as toddlers. In 1987, after Rachel’s independence from the British Empire, Ludwig proposed to Rachel on a beach in New Zealand, and in 1990 the couple would get married with both their families and friends present. Ludwig is protective of Rachel and won’t let anything happen to her. Rachel worries about Ludwig when he works too much and his lack of sleep.

Background: Rachel was born on the 6th of February 1840 and was raised by Arthur. Rachel is Arthur’s youngest child and only daughter. Arthur spoiled Rachel as a young child and was/is protective of her. Rachel has two older brothers, Alfred was about 18 when she was born, and Jake was about three. There’s also Rachel’s older cousin Matthew who was about 14. Matthew also helped Mhairi and Shannon look after Rachel. Both Mhairi and Shannon acted as governesses to Jake and Rachel. Dylan also helped with Jake and Rachel. Rachel used to help Dylan with his sheep.

#hetalia #hws new zealand #hws nyo new zealand #character profile

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