#1973 Birth Year

[delohill]

[johnnydany]

I'm Not 50 I Am 18 With 32 Years Of Experience Vintage 50th Birthday Gift T-Shirt

Get yours now: https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/47286678-im-not-50-i-am-18-with-32-years-of-experience-vint

[wallartdesignergift]

(via T-shirt classique « T-shirt Vintage 1973 rétro 50 ans cadeau 50e anniversaire » par Digital-for-you)

[scorchedcandy]

Every year my parents put up a nativity scene on the wood stove and someone made the unfortunate error of getting me an ornament of the Fonz years ago and so he has been attending the birth of Jesus Christ ever since

[fabledenigma]

In the Source Link, you will find a gif pack of Eddie Cibrian in The Playboy Club. This gif pack will contain all three released episodes.

He plays the role of Nick Dalton. Nick is an attorney with plans to runs for the state's attorney, who has a secret involvement with organised crime and is a club key holder.

Source - FabledEnigma

[liberaljane]

Women's Not So Distant History

This #WomensHistoryMonth, let's not forget how many of our rights were only won in recent decades, and weren’t acquired by asking nicely and waiting. We need to fight for our rights. Here's are a few examples:

📍 Before 1974's Fair Credit Opportunity Act made it illegal for financial institutions to discriminate against applicants' gender, banks could refuse women a credit card. Women won the right to open a bank account in the 1960s, but many banks still refused without a husband’s signature. This allowed men to continue to have control over women’s bank accounts. Unmarried women were often refused service by financial institutions entirely.

📍 Before 1977, sexual harassment was not considered a legal offense. That changed when a woman brought her boss to court after she refused his sexual advances and was fired. The court stated that her termination violated the 1974 Civil Rights Act, which made employment discrimination illegal.⚖️

📍 In 1969, California became the first state to pass legislation to allow no-fault divorce. Before then, divorce could only be obtained if a woman could prove that her husband had committed serious faults such as adultery. 💍By 1977, nine states had adopted no-fault divorce laws, and by late 1983, every state had but two. The last, New York, adopted a law in 2010.

📍In 1967, Kathrine Switzer, entered the Boston Marathon under the name "K.V. Switzer." At the time, the Amateur Athletics Union didn't allow women. Once discovered, staff tried to remove Switzer from the race, but she finished. AAU did not formally accept women until fall 1971.

📍 In 1972, Lillian Garland, a receptionist at a California bank, went on unpaid leave to have a baby and when she returned, her position was filled. Her lawsuit led to 1978's Pregnancy Discrimination Act, which found that discriminating against pregnant people is unlawful

📍 It wasn’t until 2016 that gay marriage was legal in all 50 states. Previously, laws varied by state, and while many states allowed for civil unions for same-sex couples, it created a separate but equal standard. In 2008, California was the first state to achieve marriage equality, only to reverse that right following a ballot initiative later that year. 

📍In 2018, Utah and Idaho were the last two states that lacked clear legislation protecting chest or breast feeding parents from obscenity laws. At the time, an Idaho congressman complained women would, "whip it out and do it anywhere,"

📍 In 1973, the Supreme Court affirmed the right to safe legal abortion in Roe v. Wade. At the time of the decision, nearly all states outlawed abortion with few exceptions. In 1965, illegal abortions made up one-sixth of all pregnancy- and childbirth-related deaths. Unfortunately after years of abortion restrictions and bans, the Supreme Court overturned Roe in 2022. Since then, 14 states have fully banned care, and another 7 severely restrict it – leaving most of the south and midwest without access. 

📍 Before 1973, women were not able to serve on a jury in all 50 states. However, this varied by state: Utah was the first state to allow women to serve jury duty in 1898. Though, by 1927, only 19 states allowed women to serve jury duty. The Civil Rights Act of 1957 gave women the right to serve on federal juries, though it wasn't until 1973 that all 50 states passed similar legislation

📍 Before 1988, women were unable to get a business loan on their own. The Women's Business Ownership Act of 1988 allowed women to get loans without a male co-signer and removed other barriers to women in business. The number of women-owned businesses increased by 31 times in the last four decades. 

Free download

📍 Before 1965, married women had no right to birth control. In Griswold v. Connecticut (1965), the Supreme Court ruled that banning the use of contraceptives violated the right to marital privacy.

📍 Before 1967, interracial couples didn’t have the right to marry. In Loving v. Virginia, the Supreme Court found that anti-miscegenation laws were unconstitutional. In 2000, Alabama was the last State to remove its anti-miscegenation laws from the books.

📍 Before 1972, unmarried women didn’t have the right to birth control. While married couples gained the right in 1967, it wasn’t until Eisenstadt v. Baird seven years later, that the Supreme Court affirmed the right to contraception for unmarried people.

📍 In 1974, the last “Ugly Laws” were repealed in Chicago. “Ugly Laws” allowed the police to arrest and jail people with visible disabilities for being seen in public. People charged with ugly laws were either charged a fine or held in jail. ‘Ugly Laws’ were a part of the late 19th century Victorian Era poor laws. 

📍 In 1976, Hawaii was the last state to lift requirements that a woman take her husband’s last name.  If a woman didn’t take her husband’s last name, employers could refuse to issue her payroll and she could be barred from voting. 

📍 It wasn’t until 1993 that marital assault became a crime in all 50 states. Historically, intercourse within marriage was regarded as a “right” of spouses. Before 1974, in all fifty U.S. states, men had legal immunity for assaults their wives. Oklahoma and North Carolina were the last to change the law in 1993.

📍  In 1990, the Americans with Disability Act (ADA) – most comprehensive disability rights legislation in U.S. history – was passed. The ADA protected disabled people from employment discrimination. Previously, an employer could refuse to hire someone just because of their disability.

📍 Before 1993, women weren’t allowed to wear pants on the Senate floor. That changed when Sen. Moseley Braun (D-IL), & Sen. Barbara Mikulski (D-MD) wore trousers - shocking the male-dominated Senate. Their fashion statement ultimately led to the dress code being clarified to allow women to wear pants. 

📍 Emergency contraception (Plan B) wasn't approved by the FDA until 1998. While many can get emergency contraception at their local drugstore, back then it required a prescription. In 2013, the FDA removed age limits & allowed retailers to stock it directly on the shelf (although many don’t).

📍  In Lawrence v. Texas (2003), the Supreme Court ruled that anti-cohabitation laws were unconstitutional. Sometimes referred to as the ‘'Living in Sin' statute, anti-cohabitation laws criminalize living with a partner if the couple is unmarried. Today, Mississippi still has laws on its books against cohabitation. 

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week

1. Arizona governor Ok's over the counter birth control

Arizona Gov. Katie Hobbs (D) has expanded access to over-the-counter birth control that will “soon be available to Arizonans,” according to a press release.

Arizonans 18 and older will soon be able to go to their local pharmacy and purchase oral contraceptives without a doctor’s prescription.

2. ‘Great news’: EU hails discovery of massive phosphate rock deposit in Norway

A massive underground deposit of high-grade phosphate rock in Norway, pitched as the world’s largest, is big enough to satisfy world demand for fertilisers, solar panels and electric car batteries over the next 50 years, according to the company exploiting the resource. About 90% of the world’s mined phosphate rock is used in agriculture for the production of phosphorous for the fertiliser industry, for which there is currently no substitute.

3. U.S. Is Destroying the Last of Its Once-Vast Chemical Weapons Arsenal

Decades behind its initial schedule, the dangerous job of eliminating the world’s only remaining declared stockpile of lethal chemical munitions will be completed as soon as Friday.

4. Chinese scientists create edible food packaging to replace plastic

By incorporating certain soy proteins into the structure, Chinese University of Hong Kong scientists successfully created edible food packaging.

5. World's 1st 'tooth regrowth' medicine moves toward clinical trials in Japan

A Japanese research team is making progress on the development of a groundbreaking medication that may allow people to grow new teeth, with clinical trials set to begin in July 2024. The tooth regrowth medicine is intended for people who lack a full set of adult teeth due to congenital factors.

6. No Longer Endangered: The Bald Eagle is an Icon of the ESA

When the Endangered Species Act (ESA) was enacted in 1973, bald eagle population numbers across the country showed that the species was close to disappearing. Before the ESA, in the 1950s and ‘60s, eagles were shot routinely despite the protection. The ESA listing helped bring public attention to the issue.

Through the early 1970s and into the early ‘80s, numbers increased gradually. Then, as you got into the ‘90s, there was still gradual growth. From the late ‘90s into the 2000s, the population really exploded. There was a doubling rate of every several years or so for a while.

7. Deforestation in Brazil's Amazon drops 34% in first half 2023

Deforestation in Brazil's Amazon fell 34% in the first half of 2023, preliminary government data showed on Thursday, hitting its lowest level in four years as President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva institutes tougher environmental policies.

Data produced by Brazil's national space research agency Inpe indicated that 2,649 square km (1,023 square miles) of rainforest were cleared in the region in the half year, the lowest for the period since 2019.

----

That's it for this week :)

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[project-sekai-facts]

Only one date is ever mentioned in-game, that being 2021. Considering that the Virtual Singer Fan Festa seems to be a stand-in for Magical Mirai 2021, we can assume that the Scramble Fan FESTA! event takes place in September 2021 (the real-life MM2021 was delayed to November due to covid-19, but the pandemic doesn't exist in-universe and MM Tokyo usually takes place at the beginning of September). There are Leo/need Daily Life social media posts that show them attending Magical Mirai, and do state the year of the event, but these can be considered promotional material for the event itself rather than canon material, especially since the characters address in-game that only one year has passed since the start of the story (despite the fact they have celebrated new year's day 4 times now. Timeloop things).

Based on this date, we can actually place exactly when every main character was born. The cutoff date for Japanese schools is April 1st, making Ena the oldest main character, being a 3rd year with a birthday of April 30th, followed by Tsukasa on May 17th, so on so forth all the way down to Kohane, a 2nd year with a birthday of March 2nd.

Considering when Scramble Fan FESTA is set, Ena, who was a 2nd year at the time, would be 17 years old. That would place her date of birth as April 30th, 2004. Additionally, while Kohane, a first year at the time, should be 15 during the event, the game considers her to be 16 due to using a set age for every grade bracket. Regardless, the event setting places her date of birth as March 2nd, 2006.

Based on this, we can conclude that:

Ena, Tsukasa, Rui, and Shizuku were born in 2004

Mafuyu, Kanade, Airi, Minori, Saki, Toya, Nene, An, Ichika, Mizuki, Emu, Haruka, Honami, and Akito were born in 2005

Shiho and Kohane were born in 2006

This also means that Ena, Tsukasa and Rui are all older than the MEIKO software (released November 5th 2004), and everyone except Kohane is older than the KAITO software (released February 17th 2006). Every main character is older than Miku, the Kagamines, and Luka based on this information.

Using the information around set ages*, we can also work out rough estimates for when the side characters were born. For example, Arata, who was 19 during the first 3 years of the game, is 3 years older than the members of VBS who were all considered to be 16. Since the members of VBS were born in the April 2005 - April 2006 school year range, Arata was likely born in the 2002-2003 school year range.

* based on how characters like Youta and Miu, who are said to be the same age as Leo/need, were both confirmed to be 16 years old before the 3rd anniversary age-up. Also Haruka's age is confirmed as 16 at a point in time when she shouldn't be 16. Timeloop things.

Based on this, the oldest living side character, Kounosuke, who was 55 pre-3rd anniversary and 39 years older than Emu, was probably born between April 1966 and April 1st 1967. On the younger side of things, Hanano, who was 14 pre-3rd anni, was likely born between April of 2007 and 2008. I've put the rest of the estimated side character DOBs under the cut.

assumed age as of 3rd anniversary in brackets (literally just pre-age-up age + 1)

Rakunosuke Otori - April 2nd 1922 ~ April 1st 1923 (98 (at time of death. would be 100 if still alive))

Kounosuke Otori - April 2nd 1966 ~ April 1st 1967 (56)

Jean Riley - 1967~1968 (55)

Harumichi Aoyagi - 1968~1969 (54)

Shin'ei Shinonome - 1973~1974 (49)

Mr Yoisaki - 1975~1976 (47)

Ken Shiraishi - 1978~1979 (44)

Taiga Kotaki - 1978~1979 (44)

Mrs Asahina - 1980~1981 (42)

Yoshiki Shindou - 1982~1983 (40)

Yuuka Kazamatsuri - 1990~1991 (32)

Keisuke Otori - 1991~1992 (31)

Shousuke Otori - 1994~1995 (28)

Daigo Kijima - 1994~1995 (28)

Tatsuya Okazaki - 1999~2000 (23)

Yuuki Akiyama - 1999~2000 (23)

Ayaka Saito - 2001~2002 (21)

Hinata Otori - 2001~2002 (21)

Iori - 2002~2003 (20)

Mio - 2002~2003 (20)

Arata Tono - 2002~2003 (20)

Souma Miyata - 2002~2003 (20)

Asahi Genbu - 2003~2004 (19)

Kotaro Mita - 2004~2005 (18)

Sakurako Seiryuin - 2004~2005 (18)

Nanami "Nanamin" Hayakawa - 2004~2005 (18)

Futaba Natsuno - 2004~2005 (18)

Arisa Higure - 2004~2005 (18)

Ayumi Tabata - 2004~2005 (18)

Hibiki Miyake - 2004~2005 (18)

Shuuta Hayashi - 2004~2005 (18)

Ibuki Taniyama - 2004~2005 (18)

Yuina Uchiyama - 2005~2006 (17)

Shouta Hayashi - 2005~2006 (17)

Miu Takagi - 2005~2006 (17)

Youta Yoshizaki - 2005~2006 (17)

Riho Hasegawa - 2005~2006 (17)

Saku Kousaka - 2005~2006 (17)

Mai - 2006~2007 (16)

Hanano Yoshizaki - 2007~2008 (15)

Additional notes (mod is rambling atp):

Rakunosuke died when he was 98 years old. In the WxS main story, Emu says that he died a year ago. Assuming Emu was 15 at the time, they have an age gap of around 83 years. The year of birth listed here was based on that assumption.

We know that Kanade's mother died aged 30, but we do not know when she died. She is still alive in flashbacks set roughly 10 years prior to the events of game.

In the third fanbook, ages were given for Mrs Asahina, Shindou, Yuuki, Asahi, and Arisa as one year less than they are given in this post. The reason for me adding a year on is because of the confirmation in a livestream of Daigo's age being 27. Daigo is meant to be the same age as Shousuke, whose age was given as 27 prior to the 3rd anniversary. When his age was provided on stream, he was grouped with the 5 I mentioned earlier. Based on this we can assume that all their ages are taken from the same time frame, i.e, pre-3rd anni (and this also confirms that NPCs inexplicably don't age but we'll ignore that for continuity reasons).

We do not have confirmed ages for Nagi, Reki, Sakaki, Ohara, MMJ's landlady, Mafuyu's father, Hiiragi, or the members of ReLight yet

Rui suggests that Reki is the same age as him in A Story Where You Are The Star while talking about both him and Asahi in the same sentence. Asahi was since confirmed as 18/19, so it is likely that Reki is also around that age.

Nagi's age is left blank in the fanbook due to it not being revealed that she was dead at the time of publication. She is younger than Taiga, but we don't know by how much, but nonetheless she was likely born in the early 1980s. It is unlikely we will ever know her exact age.

Ohara is stated to be in his mid-30s, placing his birth year as somewhere in the 1980s, likely around 1986-1989. Sakaki is an old college friend of Ohara's, so he is likely a similar age.

No NPCs are given exact birthdays

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 11: Hephaestus, God Of Fire]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here is our final interlude. Do you have the patience?

President Lyndon Baines Johnson has halted all U.S. attacks on North Vietnam: no bombs from the air, no infantry on the ground, no artillery shells launched by destroyers cruising in the South China Sea. The election will determine what happens next. If Nixon wins, military operations will resume until the South Vietnamese are in a sufficiently advantageous position to defend themselves from the communists. If Aemond is the victor, troop withdrawals will begin shortly after he is inaugurated on January 20th.

Regardless, it will not be until almost a full year from now, in October of 1969, that it becomes illegal for employers to reserve positions for men; the common practice of refusing to hire women with preschool-aged children will not be outlawed until 1971. Unmarried people will not be guaranteed access to contraception until 1972. Abortion will not be legalized across all fifty states until 1973. Women will not have a right to their own bank accounts or credit cards until 1974. It will not be illegal to exclude women from juries until 1975. The first female Supreme Court justice, Sandra Day O’Connor, will be appointed in 1981. There will be no female president of the United States, not for at least half a century after our story ends.

Each night on CBS Evening News, Walter Cronkite recaps the latest poll numbers. Nixon appears to have a slight advantage, due in large part to pulling ahead in Florida, Illinois, Ohio, and his home state of California. Aemond has comfortable leads in Texas, Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey. George Wallace will likely sweep the Deep South: Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Arkansas. From their hovels, the racists rejoice. From her grave, Lurleen Wallace rests uneasily, scratching at the lid of her coffin with the bones of her fingers, entombed in dark oblivion like all the rest of the world’s discarded wives.

~~~~~~~~~~

You go for the door, but Aemond is faster; he catches you just as your hand is twisting the handle and the hinges creak. He throws you against the wall so hard the paintings rattle: replicas of Monets and Warhols, Almond Blossoms, The Birth of Venus. You fight, clawing at him, ripping off the eyepatch that Alys must have at last convinced him was no defeat to wear. The hollow, gore-colored abyss of his left eye socket beckons you to fall in and be burned: Hestia’s eternal hearth, the volcanic forge of Hephaestus. He’s fire all the way down, hunger and fury, bones charred black and brittle. You think of the uninhabitable furnace of Jupiter’s moon Io, lethal radiation, poisoned air, lava bubbling up like blood through a bullet wound.

“You can’t hit me,” you gasp. “You need me for photos—”

His knuckles are in your belly, crosshairs made of scar tissue. The air collapses out of your lungs; your vision dims like twilight, like an eclipse. You’re on the floor and trying to crawl away from him. Aemond’s fingers hook into the fabric of your robe; it matches the silk nightgown you wear beneath, a pale anemic pink, something soft and young and desireless, something eternally at others’ mercy, something to be guarded or gutted. He’s dragging you towards him.

He’s going to hit me again, he might even kill me.

“Stop, stop,” you plead, still struggling to breathe. “What if I’m pregnant?!”

You almost certainly can’t be, but Aemond doesn’t know that. Yet his lone eye glints like metal, like coins, no weak mortal compassion. “I would have no way of being sure it was mine.” And then he tries to cover your mouth as you scream for help. You bite at his fingers; your bare feet kick the wall. Your hair, long and loose and wild, flows around you like a bride’s veil.

Too late, Aemond realizes that the door is still open a crack from when you grabbed the handle. There are footsteps and a voice that crescendos as it approaches: “What on earth is going on in here…?” Fosco appears in the threshold, yellow tweed jacket, tight olive green trousers. He stares thunderstruck down at where you and Aemond are entangled on the floor.

You beg: “Fosco, help me.”

“No, no, no,” Fosco says, jolting from his paralysis and holding a hand out towards Aemond. “No, you cannot do this, whatever has happened, you cannot touch her like—”

“She’s not your wife,” Aemond says. She’s not your property. Fosco hesitates; his large dark eyes shifting between the two of you from behind his glasses.

“Aemond, brother, listen to—”

“Get out.” Aemond’s voice is low, searing, malignant.

“Fosco, please don’t leave me,” you whimper. You try to pry Aemond’s fingers off your robe; they dig in deeper, bruising the flesh underneath. “Don’t leave me, don’t let him hurt me.”

Abruptly, Fosco turns and sprints out of the room.

“No!” you shout after him before Aemond grabs your face, his hand like a claw, fingernails leaving half-moon indents in your cheeks, crushing pressure on your jaw.

“You’re trying to sabotage this campaign.”

“I didn’t see the reporters, I swear to God.”

He knocks the back of your skull against the wall so hard that you see momentary flashes like stars, that all the words vanish from your throat, that words cease to exist at all. “You’re a traitor. Do you know the penalty for treason? The U.S. Army would have you executed by firing squad. Zeus would chain you to a rock so your liver could be carved out.”

“You betrayed me first,” you hiss through clenched teeth, your head pounding hot and maroon.

“I have been working for this since before you were born. You can’t take it away from me. I won’t let you.”

“I did everything right and you still couldn’t love me.” You swing at Aemond and he catches your wounded hand, squeezes it, digs his thumb into the spot where the doctors stitched you closed. The pain is excruciating, incapacitating. You wail as scarlet flowers bloom through the white of your bandaged palm.

Now the door flies open again and Aegon collides with Aemond, sends him sprawling, crouches over you. He’s screaming something at Aemond, gripping your shoulder to keep you under him, his too-long hair hanging in his face, black turtleneck sweater, one of Daeron’s frayed army jackets thrown over it, ripped jeans, bare feet. Aemond grabs his brother by the lapel of his army jacket and draws back his fist. His golden wedding ring flashes in the grey November sunlight that streams in through the windows. Aegon doesn’t flinch. He’s taken knuckles to the face before; you remember cleaning blood off his skin under a streetlight in Biloxi, you remember not wanting to wash him away.

“Don’t you see what it will look like?!” Fosco is saying, trying to coax Aemond to relent. “If he is photographed with a busted face after that story comes out? If she has bruises or a black eye? By harming them you are confirming what your enemies have printed, and the voters will believe it is the truth.”

“They already know it’s true!” Aemond snatches the Wall Street Journal off the table and hurls it at Fosco. Then he paces back and forth through the room, glaring at where you are still crumpled on the floor, sobbing, cradling your bleeding hand to your chest. “It’s right there, three goddamn photographs, and that’s all it will take to bring down a lifetime of work!”

Fosco studies the pictures again, shaking his head, one hand covering his mouth. At last he offers weakly: “It could be worse, Aemond.”

“How could it be worse?!”

Aegon scrambles to Fosco to rip the newspaper out of his hands, then returns to you. He hasn’t seen the front-page story yet. He skims it frantically. “This? This is what you’re losing your mind over? It’s dark, it’s blurry, they can’t even see what’s going on!”

“I have one fucking eye and I can see it!”

“So come up with another explanation, this doesn’t prove anything.”

“If she costs me the election—”

“If you lose, it won’t be because of her!” Aegon roars back. “It will be because the Democrats have held the White House for eight years and the world has gone to hell on our watch, it will be because of Kennedy, and Johnson, and Vietnam and the riots and the hippies and the drugs and the assassinations, it will be because Nixon is promising law and order in a time when nobody is safe, it will be because you just weren’t good enough. But she has given more to your cause than anyone. You hit her and you’ll lose your other eye.”

“They were in conversation,” Fosco says, meaning the photos. The four of you know that’s not true; it is a lie for the rest of the world, it is hope for Aemond’s campaign. “On the beach. They were whispering, comforting each other. Because of Mimi. That is all.”

Aemond scoffs, his remaining eye fierce and wrathful as it lands on you again. Aegon grips your shoulder, still crouching over you, still shielding you. “You bitch. I should have left you at that party in Manhattan to be the dope-smoking whore you were when I found you.”

“I shouldn’t have helped save your life in Palm Beach.”

And Aemond blinks at you, not hurt but bewildered, like he doesn’t understand your words, like what you said is impossible. He doesn’t believe you saved him. He believes it was God’s will.

Otto storms into the hotel room and takes in the scene: you and Aegon on the floor, Aemond pacing furiously, Fosco attempting to mediate. “Nobody says anything,” Otto commands, deep booming voice, black suit like he’s going to a funeral. “The Wall Street Journal hates Aemond. Everyone knows that, they’re probably the only national publication that would run the story. Our newspapers are already pushing the counternarrative, that this was a shameful, deceitful, desperate attempt to discredit Aemond right before the election. Our supporters will insist upon an innocent explanation. Nixon’s will use the photos as evidence of our degeneracy, our amorality, us immigrants with our strange faith and our progressive politics. Everyone else in the country will be warring over this headline. We will say nothing. We will conduct business as usual. The best thing we can do now is go out there and keep our schedule as planned.” He looks meaningfully at Aemond. “And your wife must be at your side. Smiling, unscathed, devoted.”

“I lost my composure,” Aemond says to you, more collected now, businesslike. He is smoothing any wrinkles out of his suit jacket. “I was wrong to put my hands on you. I apologize for that. It was beneath me.”

You reply: “Very little is beneath you, I’ve learned.”

“You have been.” A trace of a grin, crooked and cruel. “Plenty of times. And you will be again.”

Aegon is watching is brother, seething but terrified, sheltering you with power that is only illusory, never real. It is a mirage that Aemond or Otto could punch through at any moment. It is glass that would shatter into crystalline dust.

“If I win, you will beg on your knees for forgiveness,” Aemond tells you. “You will beg in private, you will be perfection in public, and I will magnanimously overlook this indiscretion in which you were taken advantage of by my notoriously dissolute brother. There was no affair. There was a fleeting moment of weakness on your part and depravity on Aegon’s. We will put it in the past. I will be the president of the United States and you will be my first lady. You will spend every second of your existence in service of my career, my country, and my legacy. You will give me children. You will obey me entirely. And you and Aegon will never be in a room alone together for the rest of your lives.”

“You can’t keep me away from her,” Aegon says.

“I just did. I make the rules here, I am the heir to this empire. If you wanted that responsibility, you should have seized it. You squandered it, you cursed it. It’s mine now.”

A whisper: “Aemond, it’ll kill me.”

“Then have the dignity to die quietly. It will be the most useful thing you’ve ever done.”

“Aegon must be seen in public too,” Fosco says, trying to sound like he isn’t defending him. “If you appear to be punishing or excluding him, it will be used as evidence of his guilt.”

Aemond nods, then turns to his brother. “As soon as the election is called, whichever way it goes, I want you gone. I don’t care where you go. I don’t care what happens to you once you’re there. You will disappear. We will say it was your choice, and if you comply you can keep your children and receive a modest amount of severance pay to get you started. And as long as you abide by my terms, my wife will not be harmed.”

Aegon doesn’t reply. His large Atlantic-blue eyes glisten, his lips tremble, his hand is still on your shoulder. You think through the throbbing pain of your bleeding palm: Is this the last time he’ll ever touch me?

Otto grabs Aegon, wrenches him away from you, drags him yowling and clawing at the carpet through the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your hand is freshly bandaged, pristine white gauze that people in the crowd jostle to touch like the relic of a saint, to pray over, to kiss. Men tell you how brave you are to bear the pain without weeping. Women give you komboskini, stained not with their husband’s blood but with only the clean, colorless ether of hope, faith, reverence, love.

Fosco and Helaena have been dispatched to accompany the children on a tour of the Franklin Institute, one of the oldest centers of science education in the nation. Aemond is giving a speech in front of the Liberty Bell at Independence Hall. You and the others are arranged around him like a starving crescent moon. You are standing immediately on Aemond’s left side, Aegon placed at his right. He looks drunk, he looks drugged; you aren’t sure if anyone else can tell, but you can. His cheeks are flushed. His eyes are pools of murky, desolate indigo like the night sky between stars. A few attendees give the two of you curious glances, but no mention is made of the accusations in the Wall Street Journal. You get the sense that if someone took it upon themselves to ask a question on the subject, they would be jeered, reviled, banished like President Johnson, who is currently besieged in the White House by the ghosts of Vietnam.

When you look to Aemond, you see his scar, his prosthetic eye, fierce and stoic determination in the lines of his face. He is quoting the inscription on the bell: “Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof…” The bronze metal has a crack in it like one of Zeus’s lightning bolts. The smile on your face is frozen, demure, humble. Aegon’s eyes accidentally catch on yours—a childlike vulnerability, a deep raw woundedness—and then swiftly dart away.

“America is the Land of Opportunity, but some have forgotten that,” Aemond says into the microphone, and vengeance creeps into his voice like a spider up a wall. “Unfortunately, for as long as new communities have arrived at our shores, vile and prejudiced lies have been used to demonize them. Greek immigrants have been crossing the Atlantic for over a century. In 1909, rioters violently expelled them from Omaha, Nebraska. In 1922, an anti-Greek initiative was launched by the Ku Klux Klan. In 1924, Congress drastically restricted my people’s entry in favor of migrants from Northwestern European nations like Britain and Germany. Greeks have been condemned as unintelligent, immoral, and unworthy of the glorious opportunities of this country. We have been barred from jobs and universities, we have been used as cannon fodder in the World Wars. Discrimination against any group is antithetical to the American Dream. I have given an eye for this nation, my wife has bled for it, my brother has—even in the midst of personal tragedy—uprooted his life and the lives of his children to fight alongside me for a better America, and I will not stand by silently as the Targaryen name is tarnished by bigoted falsehoods…”

Now you can no longer hear him over the thunder of the applause, and you remember all the other faces in all those other cities, their eyes illuminated as if by fire, as if by the sun. You imagine devotees of the Greek gods bowing low in temples of white marble and flickering torches, bringing offerings of gold and livestock, grain and blood, murmuring prayers, bargaining for miracles. Did the gods hear them? Do the gods love anyone but themselves?

Alicent and Criston are watching you and Aegon with the same eyes: large, dark, shimmering, a curious combination of horror and profound sympathy. You can feel yourself becoming a ghost, a legend, a myth. One day people will read about you in textbooks and academic journals, in plaques erected at Aemond’s alma mater, Columbia University, and your own, Manhattanville College; and they will know only the fabled version of you. Who you really were will fade into nothingness like Echo, like Icarus into the waves, like Eurydice when her lover Orpheus dared to glimpse back at her.

That night in your penthouse suite at the Ritz-Carlton, you get out of the bathtub—dewy with steam, donning your pink robe—and then go to your side of the king-sized bed and slide open the top drawer of the nightstand. The card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai isn’t there. Your heartbeat quickens; your stomach lurches.

“What…?”

You get down on your knees to reach into the back of the drawer, to see if the card has snagged somewhere. You hear footsteps and whirl to see Aemond standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room. He is holding the card. The cartoon cow beams jubilantly at you. You recall what Aegon wrote inside after crossing out the manufacturer’s message: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! As your eyes widen, Aemond rips the card down the middle.

“Don’t!” you scream, rushing for him. “Please don’t, it’s all I have from—!”

Aemond shoves you back and then, with a grin more like a wolf baring its teeth, tears through the remnants again and again until the card is nothing but shreds. He opens the sliding glass door that leads out onto the balcony and throws them into the cold night wind, where they scatter in a flurry like snowflakes, like bones turned to splinters by cluster bombs in the swamps of Vietnam.

The paper fragments spiral down thirty stories towards the zooming headlights on South Broad Street, and you think about following them. Then Aemond pulls you into his arms as frigid air blows through you and whispers: “You don’t need Aegon anymore. You just need me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, November 4th, and you are walking alongside Ludwika on Broadway in Astoria, Queens, the part of New York City known as Greektown. She chats about the modelling jobs she did here before meeting Otto, her Louis Vuitton stilettos clicking on the sidewalk, her Camel cigarettes smudged with red Yardley lipstick. It is an act of kindness; she is trying to distract you. A few yards away, Fosco is telling Aegon about how he just won $500 by betting on the NASCAR Peach State 200, held at Jefco Speedway in Georgia. Aegon nods along, preoccupied, miserable. He has dark shadows around his eyes and is smoking one of his Lucky Strikes. He is wearing a green knit cap, windblown curls of his blonde hair escaping from underneath. You’re not supposed to stare at Aegon, but sometimes you can’t help it. You miss him. You’re worried about him.

The Targaryens have suites reserved at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan, where the family will stay through Election Day to witness the results as they are tallied on the evening news. The children are there now, enjoying pizza from Little Italy with Helaena and the nannies. But you and the other adults are being photographed by flocks of journalists as you head for lunch at one of the oldest Greek diners in the United States, paying homage to Aemond’s ancestry. The candidate himself is locked in a fraught conversation with Otto and Criston: polls gaining here, polls slipping there, Nixon inching further ahead in Florida, the state you were supposed to help Aemond win.

“What should I order?” Ludwika asks you. “Not spinach pie, oh, horrible, worse than Hitler. Something else. Why can’t we go to a Polish restaurant for once? I will take you sometime. You will see. You will try a pierogi and never look back. We invented bagels, you know.”

“Beagles?” Fosco says. “What an accomplishment! They are so cute!”

“Bagels, stupido.”

“Do not bully me. I am suffering too. I should be back at the hotel eating a prosciutto pizza.”

As you pass an electronics shop with stacks of televisions in the windows, all turned to NBC news, the journalists begin to gasp and chatter excitedly amongst themselves. The flashbulbs strobe madly, shutters clicking and reporters shouting for Aemond to give them a comment. The youngest Targaryen brother has appeared on the screens, bruised and gaunt and missing teeth. He looks twenty years older than he is. His once-golden hair is turning white.

Otto sputters: “What…what the hell is that?!”

“Oh my God, Daeron!” Alicent howls, and then bursts into the shop so she can hear what her lost son is saying. The rest of you hurry after her, locking the front door behind you so the journalists can’t follow. Through the windows, they take photographs until Fosco and Ludwika lower the blinds.

Inside the maze of electronics, three adolescent employees gawk at the presidential candidate and his retinue. “Out,” Otto instructs them, and then, when they are too stunned to immediately vacate the premises: “I said, get out!” The teenagers scurry into the backroom and slam the door.

“Daeron,” Alicent moans in front of a Zenith color television. Tears flow torrentially from her huge, horrified eyes. Criston holds her, arms circling, his cheek pressed to hers, and you are reminded of how Aegon touched you in your hotel room in Houston, in his basement at Asteria, on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean.

Daeron is saying: “The United States has committed war crimes in Vietnam. I am ashamed of the actions my country has taken here. We have burned children with napalm, executed innocent civilians, and interfered in matters that we have no legitimate jurisdiction over…”

“He is reading from a script,” Fosco says. “You can see his eyes following the words.”

“Shh,” Otto snaps.

Daeron continues: “The only honorable course of action now is to immediately withdrawal all American soldiers from Vietnam…”

“I think this will help us, actually,” Otto says. “People will know he’s being forced to make propaganda for the communists, and they will have sympathy for him and the family. They’ll want to rescue him and all the other servicemen too. He’s obviously…under duress.”

Aegon drops to his knees and puts his palm against the screen over Daeron’s face, just like the shadows of your fingers once fell over Ari as he fought for his life in an incubator in Mount Sinai Hospital. “Do you see what they’re doing to him?” He turns to Aemond with tears in his eyes. “What you did to him? You left him there, you abandoned him, and now he’s being tortured.”

Alicent looks to Aemond, puzzled, petrified. “You tried to get him out, didn’t you?” Aemond doesn’t answer. Otto averts his gaze, counting the tiles on the floor.

“Dear lord,” Ludwika mutters, lighting a fresh Camel cigarette and puffing on it anxiously.

“Was it worth it?” Aegon demands. “Selling your soul?”

Aemond is steely, resolved. “It’s almost over.”

“You were all right.” Aegon stands, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his green-striped sweater. “I don’t have what it takes to win the presidency. I couldn’t do something like this. Me, the perennial fuckup. Me, the godless degenerate.”

“Aegon,” Alicent whispers. “Please…please don’t…”

He turns to his mother, insurmountably sad. “Mom, I tried to stop him.” Alicent sobs and covers her face with both hands as Criston embraces her. She can’t even look at Aemond. She can’t believe what he’s become. Her long coppery hair flows like blood.

You reach for Aegon, your fingertips brushing his ruddy cheek, and immediately he folds into you, burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing in your warmth as you inhale his smoke and rum and pain and terror. “Daeron will be home soon,” you say, not knowing if it’s true. Your bandaged hand aches; your throat burns.

“I should have gone instead. It should have been me.”

“No, Aegon. Your children need you, I need you. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Then Aemond yanks you away, his grip on your wrist like an anchor, like chains.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dad, play us something,” Orion says; and it is the first time you can remember him calling Aegon that. Aegon smiles. He’s sitting on one of the couches in the penthouse suite you share with Aemond, the Gibson guitar he bought back in July lying across his lap as he strums it absentmindedly. The television is on and turned to CBS News. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, November 5th, Election Day. The children are thrilled. It’s the one night they’re allowed to stay up as late as they’re physically able to. This allowance is not purely altruistic; Aemond wants them awake and ready for photographs as soon as the winner is announced.

“What should I play?”

“Frank Sinatra,” Fosco says. He is beside Aegon on the couch, smoking a cigar and flipping through the Sports section of the New York Times, which he’s not really reading.

“Marvin Gaye,” Ludwika suggests. They are both on your side of the room. Aemond, Otto, Sargent Shriver, and a number of campaign staffers are huddled around the television, transfixed by the ever-updating vote totals. Alicent and Criston are between your factions, murmuring back and forth to each other, flutes of golden champagne in their hands. Helaena is on the floor entertaining Violeta, Daphne, and Neaera with Crayolas and coloring books full of scenes from gardens. You recall how eerily calm Helaena had been the night Aemond was shot in Palm Beach, like she somehow already knew he’d survive. Now she is nervous, looking fretfully around the room, wringing her hands, filling outlines of butterflies with ten different shades of blue.

“The Beatles,” Orion tells Aegon, casting Fosco and Ludwika a judgmental teenage glance.

“Any particular song?”

“You can pick.”

Aegon sips at his rum, ice cubes clinking in the glass. He looks over to the coffee table, where you are embroiled in a game of Battleship with Cosmo. He’s getting better; he’s genuinely sunk your destroyer and submarine so far. Then Aegon’s eyes drop to his guitar strings and he plucks the opening notes of In My Life. His voice is soft and low, almost secretive.

“There are places I’ll remember

All my life, though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain…”

Cosmo turns to watch his father. Orion, Spiro, Thaddeus, and Evangelos are gathered around Aegon’s feet, gazing up at him with admiration, with love.

“All these places had their moments

With lovers and friends, I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life, I’ve loved them all...”

Cheers erupt over by the television; Aemond has just won Michigan. But then tense, indistinct deliberations follow. Florida is still too close to call, a bad omen. You wonder where Alys is as she watches the results come in. There must be some part of her—however small, however smothered—that fears Aemond will win. If he captures the presidency, she could be separated from the man she loves for the better part of a decade. You drink your Pink Squirrel, wishing it was stronger. You think of sea sponge divers down in the depths and imagine what that first gulp of air tastes like when they resurface, when they shed their rubber suits and brass helmets and step back into sunlight, warmth, freedom like Persephone returning from the Underworld each spring.

“But of all these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

And these memories lose their meaning

When I think of love as something new…”

You wear a sapphire-colored gown that Aemond chose for you, strings of silver around your wrist and throat, diamond teardrops hanging from your ears. Your hair is up, your fingernails painted a tasteful opalescent shade, the aching of your bandaged hand dulled by booze and Vicodin.

“Though I know I’ll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I’ll often stop and think about them

In my life, I love you more.”

More triumphant shouts and applause across the room by the television: Aemond has won Washington state. From his own suite at the St. Regis Hotel a few blocks south on 5th Avenue, Nixon’s people must be celebrating that he just secured Ohio’s 26 electoral votes. He needs 270 to be the next president of the United States.

Florida, you think. If Nixon can take Florida, I think he’ll win the whole thing.

As Aemond and Otto are distracted, as Fosco and Ludwika watch with pitying, knowing eyes, Aegon sets his guitar aside and walks by you with his rum in hand, taps your shoulder, disappears onto the balcony. You wait a few minutes—Cosmo wins Battleship and goes to color on the floor with Helaena—and then follow Aegon.

Outside the night sky is moonless, starless, thick with clouds. Rain is beginning to fall, soft hushed pattering. Far below taxis and limousines are still rushing and blowing their horns on West 59th Street. You can see the vast forested shadow of Central Park and streetlights like constellations. In apartments and office buildings, windows are illuminated as Americans sit numbing their fears with beer, wine, shots of liquor, smoldering hand-rolled joints.

Aegon is cross-legged at the ledge, one hand on the iron bars of the railing, staring out at the nightscape of Manhattan. His hair lashes in the cold November wind. His nose is pink, his eyes wet and faraway. He passes his Lucky Strike cigarette to you as you join him and says: “I don’t think Aemond can win without Florida.”

“No,” you agree, taking a drag.

Aegon snatches a rattling orange bottle from the pocket of his olive green army jacket, pops it open, and swallows three pills with a swig of straight rum, dark amber poison.

“Don’t do that,” you say, you plead.

“I need it, babe.”

“I want you to still be alive in ten years.”

Aegon smiles and reaches over to pat your cheek twice. “I think that ship might have sailed, little Io.” Can decades of self-destruction be undone, uninflicted, nullified like Heracles becoming immortal? Can the Underworld be escaped? “Come with me. No matter what happens tonight.”

“Aegon, I can’t.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“If I leave, he’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt me worse.”

“It’s not fair,” Aegon says, his voice breaking.

“Nothing is.”

There is an uproar inside the hotel room, screams that could be horror or triumph, realized dreams, breaking bones, bullets through flesh. You and Aegon are on your feet, hauling the balcony door open, stepping through the threshold into the rest of your lives.

Glasses are being toasted until champagne rains down onto the carpet. The telephone is ringing so Nixon can concede. On CBS News, Walter Cronkite is reporting that Aemond has won Florida and thereby accumulated 270 electoral votes. The blue text on the screen reads: Senator Targaryen will be the 37th president of the United States.

[cenorii]

A little theory about birthdays

I'm bored, so it's time to share my silly thoughts about when Chris, Jill and Wesker's birthdays are. The exact date of birth of Resident Evil characters has never been officially stated, but thanks to information from the games, assumptions can be made.

Be careful, there are a lot of numbers here that you can get confused about. So take your time reading this article.

So, what do we know? Officially, in re1 (1998), Chris is 25 years old, and Wesker is 38. And Jill, btw, is 23 years old. Officially, their birth years are: 1973, 1960 and 1974 (date from her grave). Let's remember these dates, they will be very useful to us ahead.

I won't use Jill's age confusion from re5 because she has the wrong dates there.

And also I won't take Chris' age info from re1, because it was already changed in re5, and now the old info contradicts the new info. Example: he is 32 years old in August-September 2006 instead of 33 because his birthday is not yet due, but he WAS 25 years old in July 1998. This is a contradiction that I will ignore. Therefore, I will calculate Jill's birthday by re1-re3, Chris's by re5, and Wesker's by re1 and re5.

Let's start with Jill.

Jill has 1974 listed, although based on her age (23) in re1-re3, it should be 1975. I tend to assume that she just hasn't had a birthday yet, so she hasn't had time to turn 24 yet. The events of re1-re3 take place between July and October, so her birthday must be after. Probably from October to December.

Now Chris.

Chris's age in re5 (2009) is 35 years old. However, 1973-35=1974, not 1973. This means that in re5 he is a year younger than he should be. It also means that it is his birthday this year, and that he has yet to turn 36. The events of re5 take place in March, so his birthday could be anytime between March 8 and December 31. However… let's remember Lost in Nightmares, the events of that DLC take place (presumably) in late August or early September 2006. It states that Chris is 32 years old, which again doesn't ring true, he should be 33. This means that even at the time of August-September, Chris still didn't have a birthday, meaning that the interval has shortened, and that his birthday could actually be from September to December.

Wesker.

He is officially 48 years old in re5 (2009). But Wesker was born in 1960, which means… 2009-1960=49. His birthday hasn't had time to come yet either. However, in July 1998, he had already managed to turn 38, so that means his birthday is between March and July.

Result: Chris's official birthday is from September to December, Jill's is from October to December, and Wesker's is from March to July.

[siriusblack-the-third]

Lets talk about Walburga

Specifically, lets talk about her thoughts on blood purity, her sons, the Blood War, and Voldemort.

A few canon points to keep in mind before we go forward with this little thing:

Walburga is a year older than Tom Riddle

The only Black sister in school when Sirius attended Hogwarts was Narcissa, who is four years older than him.

Nymphadora Tonks is 13 or 14 years younger than Sirius. We're not given her exact date of birth but she was born in 1973 while Sirius was born on 3rd November, 1959.

(everything underneath is a mix of canon and headcanon)

Walburga was a member of the House of Black, a House that was akin to magical Royalty, almost. Their magical lineage could be traced back several centuries, and their money was older still. She was born into wealth, and she married into wealth.

Blood purity, for her, was absolute. You were either a pureblood, or you were not. It did not matter to her if all your grandparents or great grandparents had magic; if you had non-magical ancestors, you were not pureblood. The Blacks were as pure of blood as it could get. She would live with the fact that they had to rub elbows with people of blood that was not pure, of course, because that was how the world worked, and she knew nothing could be done about it. It something existed, then it was most probably meant to exist, she thought, and that was it for her. She thought those of "dirty" blood to be beneath her, but she did not begrudge them their existence. Let them live their pathetic lives, she thought, and I will live my life.

She was for the most part, a live and let live sort of person.

That is, until the appearance of the new upstart fancying himself as the new Dark Lord, who promised to make the magical world pure and unsullied by muggle influence once again. He promised supremacy to those of ancient heritage, promised them wealth and riches and importance.

Walburga was not an idiot. Far from it. She was a Black, in everything that she did. Blacks had wealth, and riches, and importance. Besides, she recognised an old school mate no matter how many changes their face had gone through, and when she saw his face for the first time, she only thought one thing: dirty blood.

Thomas Marvolo bloody Riddle.

She knew him, of course. He had been two years her junior in Hogwarts— scrawny eleven year old Tom who surprised everyone when he sorted Slytherin, because nobody knew his ancestry and he definitely did not look like a pureblood. Back then, Walburga had been sure to mention in earshot of a few gossipy housemates that even the Weasleys did not look pure of blood, and yet they had one of the cleanest pedigrees of Britain.

That had protected Thomas for a while— exactly long enough for Walburga to do a little digging, and she had scoffed at what had been found.

Slytherin. Thomas was a direct descendant of Slytherin.

That did not mean much, sadly.

His mother had been a squib, his uncle a murderer, and his father a filthy muggle. Thomas was from an old family, yes, but he was not pureblood.

And so, when Thomas Riddle came knocking in 1971, calling himself Voldemort, asking her to join his foolish cause of exterminating mudbloods, demanding that she bow down to him... she laughed in his face.

She bowed to no one. She was Walburga Black, wife of Orion Black, of the purest line in all of Europe. How dare this upstart demand anything of her, let alone demand that she bow to him? Ridiculous. She laughed in his face, and told him to take his illogical, irrational war somewhere else.

"You, Thomas? You will wage a war on Mudbloods?" She asked him, a small smile curving over her dark red lips and amusement dripping from every pronounced syllable, and Voldemort bristled with rage. "Will it end with you committing suicide, then, seeing as your blood is as dirty as it can possibly get?"

That night ended in a legendary duel— Voldemort escaped Grimmauld Place with several injuries and the threat of annihilation if he ever set foot in Walburga's house again.

And then Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor.

It was a shock to her heart— her boy, her firstborn, the scion of the House of Black. He was fraternizing with mudbloods and inferior beings, and Walburga did not like it one bit. At least that Potter boy was a fine choice for a friend; his parents were pure of blood and upheld traditions, coming from the Peverell line. A fine choice, if not the first that Walburga would have made.

And then he started toeing the line. Sirius lashed out, yelled at her, ignored her, scowled at her and Orion. And yet, she loved him. She also hated him. He was so much like her and Orion— headstrong, stubborn, brilliant, arrogant, intelligent. Powerful, as a Black should be. He was the perfect Black. The perfect heir.

What a shame, thta he did not listen to her, that he did not take her advice. No matter, she would ensure his obedience.

As for Regulus, well... He was enamoured with this Lord Voldemort.

Walburga did not approve. She did not approve at all. The man was insane, he did not have pure blood, and he certainly was idiotic if he though the world would be a utopia if the lesser people did not exist. Extermination was a foolish quest, even stupider when undertaken by someone of such inferior blood, and she loathed that Regulus would willingly bow to anyone.

Regulus was her son. A son of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. How dare he bow to someone? How dare he forsake his family name in favour of kneeling at someone's feet and kissing the hem of some mudblood monster's robes? How dare he disgrace the name of the House of Black so, submitting to inferior beings?

Walburga did not care that Bellatrix had done the same. Bellatrix was married. She was a member of the Lestrange family now, she could do whatever the bloody hell she wanted. She disapproved of Bella's choice, of course. She disapproved greatly. This.. this Death Eater business was as foul as that idiot Andromeda running off with that mudblood and bearing his child. Narcissa, despite her good sense to not bow to Voldemort, was still hopelessly in love with that peacock Lucius who was most definitely a Death Eater. Walburga disapproved. And yet, she was not either of their's mother, and she did not give a hippogriff's tit what any of those silly girls did.

Regulus, however, was a son of the main line. He should not be dreaming of bowing to anyone. Weak, foolish child, fantasising about kissing the hem of the robes of Thomas bloody Riddle. How dare he dishonour the dignity of the House of Black? How dare he insult their Noble name? Foolish, idiot, weak child.

She was sure the Mudblood upstart was laughing at her, wherever he was. He took her child.

And then Sirius ran away.

She did not like admitting that it was her fault, in part. She knew better than anyone how difficult it was to change a Black's mind once an opinion had been solidified. She was a Black, she knew how stubborn they could be. And yet, she pushed and pushed and pushed, and Sirius snapped. She should have taken a more delicate approach. But she had been foolish, and then she dealt with the consequences by blasting her darling son's name off the Tree, screams falling from her lips and tears from her eyes.

Regulus took the Dark Mark.

Walburga stopped speaking with him.

She did not speak to him until his death, which she was informed about by Kreacher. Kreacher, who was forbidden from giving her, or anyone else, the full details.

Two months later, Death came to collect Orion as well.

It was not long after that Walburga succumbed to madness. There was only so much loss one could take, and she had taken more than anyone. Her sons, her husband, everything... gone.

Was it any surprise, that she went mad in the last years of her life?

.

Tags (I hope you don't mind): @plecotusauritus @in-flvx @strwbi-laces @roalinda @mycupofrum

[johnnydany]

Vintage 1973 Limited Edition Original Parts 50th Birthday Gift T-Shirt

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[user2772636]

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

××《☆》××

Looking back at the day you first met, you realise how far you've gone. You appreciate the little things in life and some little people, too.

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warnings: This is literally just plain fluff, LAST CHAPTER OF DOUZIÈME FILLE!!!

===

===

Chapter ten: I love you

===

You had six best days of your life.

Paris, France. 1973.

The wedding was one of the best days of your life. You had a beautiful gown, a beautiful cathedral, a beautiful ceremony, and a beautiful husband.

Everything was perdect from the venue, to the food, to the gifts, and to the guests.

You saw old friends. Callum, of course, came and was pronounced man of honour by Joseph. Simone and Jean Pierre had gotten locked in about two years ago, right after they finished college. Michèle and Laubrac came back after profuse apologies of leaving. They haven't married each other yet, but you have a feeling it's soon. Also because Joseph told you that Laubrac told him that he'll propose soon.

Europe Trip, 1973

The second best day of your life was your honeymoon. You and your now husband went around Europe. Going to places you've already been and places you haven't gone to.

A side note, you left that celebrity profile ages ago. It was too toxic anyway, with all the drama you didn't want to get into. Callum did the opposite of this. You're happy for him. And his fiancé, or as he likes to call him, his husband.

Bordeux, 1974

Moving was hard, but it was the third best day of your life. And carrying Briseis was a part of it.

Briseis, your first born. She was named after a character from the Iliad, the same Iliad you had presented in that project with Joseph back in high school.

She was as bright as her father, always laughing and wanting to have fun. Joseph loves her so much to the point that he will always be the one to put her back to sleep when she wakes in the early morning. He does that because he loves you, too.

Bordeux, 1976

The fourth best day of your life was when you gave birth to George.

George was named after your late cat you had in high school. He was taken care of both you and Joseph, which held a special place in your heart. Truly, George, your cat was your first child. But, let's not forget Briseis.

Briseis was two now, gaining the ability to speak, walk, run, whatever drained her unsifting energy. You were most proud, as well as your loving husband.

One of these nights, you'd catch him talking to both of them, talking about whatever they wanted to talk about, telling them stories, showing them fun. They fall sound asleep after, and you, for one, are grateful for him.

Also, you adopted two cats. One Achilles, one Patroclus. What? You couldn't help it.

Bordeux, 1980

Only a few months ago, your beautiful Callum was born. He was obviously named after your best friend. Callum cried when he found out. That was the fifth best day of your life.

He flew all the way to where you lived, seeing as now he lived with his lover in Sicily. He gave him countless amounts of gifts, even the ones month old babies couldn't use.

The house was fully packed. Your three children, two pets, and a mother and a father. Their very beautiful father.

You were in your 30s now, and you're so glad you're in this age with him by your side.

You sit in your husbands office, reading a book in the corner of the room. He was finishing up some papers, cigarettes between his lips, and sometime later blowing out the smoke.

You were halfway through a stanza when you heard a record break. Music started playing, the volume going up slowly. You look up from your hardcover to Joseph standing there, hands in his pockets and an eye on you. You raise your eyebrows. He does so, too.

"Dance with me, honey." He says, walking towards you slowly after he butted his cigarette out. You roll your eyes, putting your book down.

"You'll wake the kids up with that music." Even after saying that, you get up anyways, grabbing the hands he offered you a while ago.

He shrugs simply, sliding a hand on your hip and raising his other. "We'll take them back to sleep then. Dance with me." He presses his forehead to yours, kissing the tip of your nose.

You can't help but close your eyes, relaxation hitting your body like a truck. It's been a while since you felt like this. You both had been so busy with work or with the kids. You needed this. He did, too.

He starts to hum along the song. "I can see it in your eyes that you despise the same old lies you heard the night before."

Your mind flashes back to your high school days. The weeks of ignoring each other was wasting time that could've been used for loving instead.

"And though it's just a line to you, for me, it's true and never seemed so right before."

You look back at the first day of school. You thought you hated him. You thought he hated you. But in trutg it was the opposite, he confessed. He loved you the second he laid eyes on you, and you had been too blind to see, trying to distract yourself from the fact you did actually love him, too.

"I practice every day to find some clever lines to say to make the meaning come true. But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late and I'm alone with you."

Seven years you were away from each other. He told you how much he missed you that night after the gala. He told you he prepared, he practised, because he didn't want to mess anything up. You told him nothing could because even after convincing yourself in high school that you didn't love him, you still did.

"The time is right. Your perfume fills my head. The stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue." He turns you to spin, and you get back to your place in front of him, swaying with a hand on his chest.

"And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like, "I love you. "" He looks deep into your eyes, now staying still. He takes your lifted hand to his lips, pressing his pretty pink lips on it.

"I love you." He says, the instruments in the background adding to the moment. You smile, and he mirrors you. You place a kiss on those lips, tilting your head a bit. You part away.

"I love you." You say, caressing his cheeks. You're so glad you ended up here. With him. This was your sixth favourite day of your life.

"Mommy? Daddy?" A tiny voice asks. You both turn your head to Briseis, eyes droopy and hair a mess. She walks closer to the two of you, and Joseph does the task of lifting her up to your level.

"Yes, sweetheart? Why aren't you asleep?" Joseph said gently, and you can't help but show a smile.

"I can't. I wanna hear a story." You two nod at each other before carrying on to turn the record player off and heading to Briseis' room.

Once you tuck her in well, leaving the bedside lamp on, you question. "Alright, which story do you want for tonight." Joseph sits on the other side, brushing your daughter's hair with his fingers.

"How did you two meet?" She asks, fluffing her blanket up. You and Joseph look at each other, smiling knowingly, before you continue.

"Well, this is where it started. It was 1963. They mixed boys and girls in the same school. I was the twelfth girl."

××《☆》××

End - Chapter ten: I love you/Douzième Fille Series

××《☆》××

The series has officially ended. I'm so sad and so happy at the same time. I can't believe it. It's been so long with this series, and it's over. Our babies have grown up and have their own babies.

To all the people who read this, thank you so much for keeping up with it. This was my first ever series, and its amazing how many people have come and followed the journey.

This is a memory that'll be embedded in me for the rest of my fuckign life, no matter how cringe that sounds, but it's true. I made a lot of memories with an online fanfic series. it's crazy

I love you all so much and want to thank you guys for the support. I will continue writing for joseph it just depends on my mood. I will now start to write for other ppl, like u guys saw me post abt hamzah.

ANWWW, it's been a journey. Thank you again, and I hope you all enjoyed it.

[tooteadoo]

I will make a greater post about this another time but i just want us all to think about why Armand turned daniel. I believe that the turning 1. didn't happen out of spite and 2. didn't happen in the dubai penthouse. I believe Armand turned Daniel as an act of self sabotage and to create distance between them. The turning happened at Daniels house, maybe the share a few drinks like Eric loves to say, but Daniels starts asking questions and Armand, with no where else to go and nothing else to do, answers them, with hesitation and without full honesty. Daniel will pick up on it and pry probably harder than he did with Louis. Armand would be on edge not just because Daniel's being invasive, but because Daniel's 1. genuinely curious about him and 2. getting to understand him in a way that no one else has tried before and That would send Armand in to a panic. And because Armand has an inability to react in a proportional manner he turns him.

Armand believes that Fledgling-Maker relationships could never work out (in Episode 6 he says so to Louis). He wanted to take away the opportunity for himself to ever have a deeper relationship with Daniel whose maybe not the only but the first person in hundreds of years to see him for who he is and wants to stick around.

And this probably isn't the first time he's considered turning him "The idea repulsed me, Repulses me" (Episode 6).

Maybe there was a small element of revenge to it, especially since he doesn't particularly like Daniel at this moment, he did just ruin his 80 year relationship and took a sadistic pleasure out of it, Maybe Armand justifies it to himself as revenge but i do believe Armand is fond of Daniel because of whatever history they had in after 1973.

so even if when we see it and it seems like revenger or spite there is a level of love that Armand has for Daniel And im running on the belief that they do infact have history so just imagine with me for a second; Armand's fangs deep in Daniel's neck as he holds him and he sees the happiest times of his life, publishing, marriage, birth, and the worst of times, addiction, divorce, rejection. and inbetween it all we get glimpses of how Daniel truely sees Armand. Through the resentment and fear, there's deep fascination and a twisted sort of love that he really has for him. It would affirm Armand's reason for doing it but also overwhelm him, like he's naked on the street, so he'd run. He'd feel entirely too vulnerable around Daniel so he'd run.

[saintsenara]

In Marauder era (or 1st Wizarding World era) fics, all the characters that we know from the actual books/movies (i.e., The Marauders + Lily, the Malfoys, Bellatrix, etc.), or just characters that are more known, are all put in Hogwarts together at the same time, and it confuses me.

They couldn’t have all been at school together, could they? And even if they were, most of them would have to be years ahead, no? It especially confuses me when Bellatrix is the one in school with them, but her and Narcissa are the only ones that are ever mentioned. Andromeda is literally not that much younger than Bella and older than Narcissa, so you would think that she would appear, yet she doesn’t. Why exactly are they always all bunched together? And what are their actual ages?

this is a bit of worldbuilding which i'm not fond of either, anon.

i get why it happens - hogwarts is a school and, therefore, requires a large cast of characters as fellow students, and since marauders-era writers don't have the advantage that lightning gen writers do of being able to lift these characters directly from the text, the few names we do know from canon of people who lived and died during the first war get used to fill in the gaps.

there are also - obviously - some inconsistencies in the text itself caused by jkr's functional innumeracy. if we take the date of birth given for bellatrix on the black family tree she drew in 2006 - 1951 - then she would graduate hogwarts in either 1969 or 1970, depending on when in the year her birthday is. but sirius says in goblet of fire that she was friends with snape at school.

i ignore sirius and go with the given date of birth because it works better for my worldbuilding - and i have andromeda born in 1953 [leaving hogwarts in 1971 or 1972] and narcissa born in 1955, as per the family tree, but in the autumn [therefore leaving hogwarts in 1974 - and married in 1975, allowing narcissa's wedding to be the last time sirius sees bellatrix, since, as he tells us in order of the phoenix, this took place when he was fifteen] - but i think authors can shift the sisters' birthdays later if they do want to have them overlap more with the marauders generation without it being too much of a problem.

lucius malfoy's date of birth can be worked out fairly easily from canon. in the autumn of 1995, he's forty-one - as we're told in order of the phoenix - which means he was born in 1954 [or - if he has a winter birthday - late 1953] and was at hogwarts between either 1965-1972 or 1966-1973 depending on when in the year his exact birthday is - if it's october 1953-august 1954, he's in the former cohort; if it's september 1954 [which is when the article in which his age is mentioned is published] then he's in the latter. we know he overlaps with the marauders cohort very briefly - since he's shown meeting snape in the prince's tale - but, since he's either a sixth- or seventh-year at the time, i find it unlikely that he paid james and sirius much attention, or that they paid him much attention in turn.

[lucius must - let's be real - go rather under the radar, since he's clearly able to recruit death eaters while at school - and immediately after leaving it - without being noticed.]

what i'm much less inclined to be flexible on is the fanon which has characters like dorcas meadowes, marlene mckinnon, emmeline vance, and so on all be at hogwarts with the marauders - which doesn't work for me for the very basic reason that the order of the phoenix is not an army of child soldiers.

the implication of canon is definitely that the four marauders and lily are an exception to the make-up of the rest of the order - likely for the sensible tactical reason that dumbledore had all the ministry infiltrators he needed, but didn't have people who would be able to provide information about voldemort's recruitment of younger death eaters, which the marauders were clearly able to do by virtue of having been at school with them all [and - in sirius' case - being related to two of them].

it's also clear in the text that dorcas meadowes [who is the only person in the first war other than james and lily we know was killed by voldemort himself] must have been an important political figure - otherwise the dark lord would have left her for one of his minions - and that james and lily don't know marlene mckinnon well enough for her to have been a school friend.

[if she was - as is the common fanon - sirius' teenage girlfriend, i would like to hope that lily's letter to him mentioning her death would devote a little more space to the event than it canonically does...]

what i love to see is the rest of the order - hardened aurors and civil servants who've been locked into the war with voldemort since the marauders started school - being a combination of faintly amused and supremely irritated by the group of cocky young bastards who've just turned up at their meetings, and who seem to think the whole "being a paramilitary" thing is a big laugh.

[especially because it's then so much easier to explain why everyone involved could believe that sirius was guilty...]