#American of Chinese ancestry

[perfectmakerpirate]

Nowhere near as tough as she lead us all to believe...plus her otherwise insistence.

[reluctant-introvertedgunslinger]

Roberta vs. Revy.

[kirabasai]

greatest form of self sabotage is my immigrant mexican-chinese mom whose family was forced to start speaking english at home instead of spanish because when they were immigrating the school on st martins told them she had to speak american english (no island accent) or else she would be expelled. she experienced racism in 1970s america as a highschooler, she wasnt black but ppl still called her "blackie". her dad beat her. she worked through college. she entered the workforce and clawed her way up the ladder where all her colleagues were men. she's told me about a time where she had to beat off a guy with a bat. and in the end, she still voted for trump. a man who hates immigrants, mexicans, chinese, poc, victims of abuse, and women.

[larnax]

look i just think that everyone else should be as precise and deliberate with their language as possible so as not to hurt my feelings, while also extending infinite grace to me so as not to hurt my feelings even if i while speaking casually say something that is not technically true

[echidnana]

honestly the grip sinophonia has on america. embarrassing

[abwwia]

Emily Cheng, Double Green, 2014

Flashe on canvas

17 × 16 in | 43.2 × 40.6 cm

Emily Cheng (born 28 July 1953) is an American artist of Chinese ancestry. She is best known for large scale paintings with a center focus often employing expansive circular images... "radiantly colored, radially composed". Via Wikipedia

[calpalsworld]

what kind of sign languages do you guys think they would use on europa

[somehowmags]

i’ve seen a lot of posts talking about nimona’s queer messages which is great! but ive not seen as many posts talking analyzing how both ballister and ambrosius were changed to be asian, which is a shame because i genuinely think its one of the most important parts of the film! a huge part of it is a deconstruction of the model minority myth and respectability politics, both of which are big issues in the asian american community. both of them represent each side of the spectrum, with ambrosius expected to be superhuman with very little support and ballister being seen as less than human, no matter how hard he tries- a monster.

ambrosius (who is now east asian, like his voice actor eugene lee yang, who is korean with chinese and japanese ancestry), despite being in a seemingly powerful position as head of the knights and a descendant of gloreth, he isn’t really given the kind of support that this position needs- he’s constantly undermined and belittled by todd, the face of the other knights, and when asked about his emotional state by the director, represses his emotions rather than talk to her about his true feelings. this is very similar to how asian american students in schools aren’t given the support they need academically by teachers and administration, as the model minority myth leads to them being perceived as more intelligent and competent than their fellow students and therefore not needing support. he’s also held to a higher standard than any of the other knights, being immediately placed into a position of power despite just being knighted, again a reflection of the model minority myth, since asian americans are held to higher standards unfairly. despite being technically better off than ballister, he has no support, no friends, no way to seek help for his problems, and, just like ballister, is immediately thrown away the moment the director thinks he’s served his use.

ballister is now pakistani, like his voice actor riz ahmed (no, not like pedro pascal. where did this come from lol), and i’d go as far as to say that he is also, if not explicitly muslim, heavily muslim coded as well. he’s framed as a terrorist by the white, christian institution, and from then on, it doesn’t matter how good he tries to be- everyone else sees him as a monster. he’s also from a lower socioeconomic class than ambrosius and the rest of the knights- while this is initially used to frame him as a success story, after he’s framed, it’s used to cast suspicion on him. almost immediately he’s othered, with posters casting him as a foreign invader sent to destabilize the city, much in the same way that muslim immigrants are seen in real life. even when he tries to be peaceful and good, it’s always twisted so that he’s the monster of the story. while ambrosius is held to too high of a standard, ballister will never be enough for the institution to accept.

which is why both of their arcs culminate in them breaking out of the system, learning to accept what they’d been taught was monstrous, and leaving behind respectability. it’s a genuinely great commentary, and i can definitely see why riz ahmed and eugene lee yang were chosen for this, as they’ve both done activist work for their communities.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 9: Dionysus, God Of Ecstasy]

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: 5.9k

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

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The October surprise is a great American tradition. As the phases of the moon revolve towards Election Day, the candidates and their factions seek to ruin each other. Lies are told, truths are exposed, Tyche smiles and Achlys brews misery, poison, the fog of death that grows over men like ivy. The stars align. The wolves snap their jaws.

In 1844, an abolitionist newspaper falsely accused James K. Polk of branding his slaves like cattle. In 1880, a letter supposedly authored by James Garfield—in actuality, forged by a New York journalist—welcomed Chinese immigrants in an era when they were being lynched by xenophobic mobs in Los Angeles and San Francisco. In 1920, a rumor emerged that Warren Harding had Black ancestry, an allegation his campaign fervently denied to keep the support of the Southern states. In 1940, FDR’s press secretary assaulted a police officer outside of Madison Square Garden. In 1964, one of LBJ’s top aids was arrested for having gay sex at the Washington D.C. YMCA.

Now, in 1968, Senator Aemond Targaryen of New Jersey is realizing that he will not be the beneficiary of the October surprise he’s dreamed of: his wife’s redemptive pregnancy, a blossoming first family. There is a civil rights protest that turns into a riot in Milwaukee; this helps Nixon, the candidate of law and order. For every fire lit and window shattered, he sees a bump in the polls from businessowners and suburbanites who fear anarchy. Breaking news of the My Lai massacre—committed back in March but only now brought to light—airs on NBC, horrifying the American public and bolstering support for Aemond, the man who has vowed to begin ending the war as soon as he’s sworn into office. The two contestants are deadlocked. Election Day could be a photo finish.

Nixon is in Texas. Wallace is in Arkansas. In Florida, Aemond visits the Kennedy Space Center and pledges to fulfill JFK’s promise to put a man on the moon by 1970. He makes a speech at the Mary McLeod Bethune Home commending her work as an educator, philanthropist, and humanitarian. He greets soldiers at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola. He feeds chickens to the alligators at the Saint Augustine Alligator Farm Zoological Park.

But it is not the senator the crowds cheer loudest for. It is his wife, his future first lady, here in her home state where she staunched her husband’s hemorrhaging blood and appeared before his well-wishers still marked with crimson handprints. In Tarpon Springs, she and Aemond attend mass at the Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral and pray at an altar made of white marble from Athens. Then they stand on the docks as flashbulbs strobe all around them, watching sponge divers reappear from the depths, breaking through the bubbling sapphire water like Heracles ascending to Mount Olympus.

~~~~~~~~~~

You kick off your high heels, tear the pins and clips out of your hair, and flop down onto the king-sized bed in your suite at the Breakers Hotel. It’s the same place Aemond was almost assassinated five months ago. He has returned in triumph, in defiance. He cannot be killed. It is God’s will.

You are alone for these precious fleeting moments. Aemond is in Otto’s suite discussing the itinerary for tomorrow: confirmations, cancellations, reshufflings. You pick up the pink phone from the nightstand on Aemond’s side of the bed and dial the number for the main house at Asteria. It’s 9 p.m. here as well as there. Through the window you can see inky darkness and the kaleidoscopic glow of the lights of Palm Beach. The Zenith radio out in the kitchenette is playing Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones. No intercession from Eudoxia is necessary this time; Aegon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he says, slow and lazy like he’s been smoking something other than Lucky Strikes.

“Hey.” And then after a pause, twirling the phone cord around your fingers as you stare up at the ceiling: “It’s me.”

“Oh, I know. Should I take off my pants, or…?” He’s only half-joking.

You smile. “That was stupid. Someone could have bugged the phone.”

“You think Nixon’s guys are wiretapping us? Give me a break. They’re goddamn buffoons. They’re too busy telling cops to beat hippies to death.” You hear him taking a drag off his joint, envision him sprawled across his futon and enshrouded in smoke. “Everything okay down there in the swamp?”

You shrug, even though Aegon can’t see you. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“My parents were there when we stopped in Tarpon Springs. They kept telling everyone how proud they are of me, and I just felt so…dishonest.”

“Of course they’re proud. If Aemond wins, the war ends and more civil rights bills get passed and this hell we’ve all been living in since 1963 goes away.”

“I miss you,” you confess.

“You’ll be back soon to enjoy me in all my professional loser glory.” He’s right: Aemond’s entourage will spend Halloween at Asteria. You’ll take the children trick-or-treating around Long Beach Island—with journalists in tow, of course—and then host a party with plentiful champagne and Greek hors d’oeuvres, one last reprieve before the momentous slog towards Election Day on November 5th, a reward for the campaign staffers and reporters who have served Aemond so well. “What are you going to dress up as?”

“Someone happy,” you say, and Aegon chuckles, low and sardonic. “Actually, nothing. Aemond and Otto have decided that it would be undignified for the future president and first lady to be photographed in costumes, so I will be wearing something festive yet not at all fun.”

“Aemond has always been somewhat confused by the concept of fun.”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”

You can hear the grin in his voice as he exhales smoke. “A cowboy.”

“A cowboy,” you repeat, giggling. “You aren’t serious.”

“Extremely serious. I protect the cows, I comfort the cows, I breed the cows…”

“You are mentally ill. You belong in an asylum.”

“I ride the cows…”

“Cowboys do not ride cows.”

“Maybe this one does.”

“I thought you liked being ridden.”

Aegon groans with what sounds like genuine discomfort. “Don’t tease me. You know I’m celibate at the moment.”

“Miraculous. Astonishing. The Greek Orthodox Church should canonize you. What have you been doing with all of your newfound free time?”

“Taking the kids out sailing, hiding from Doxie, trying not to step on the Alopekis…and playing Battleship with Cosmo. He has a very loose understanding of the rules.”

“He does. I remember.”

“He keeps asking when you’ll be back.”

“Really?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah, it’s cute. And he calls you Io because he heard me do it.”

“Not an appropriate myth for children, I think.”

“Cosmo’s what, seven years old?”

“Five.”

“Close enough. I think I knew about death and torment and Zeus being a slut by then.”

“And you have no resulting defects whatsoever.” You roll over onto your belly and slide open the drawer of the nightstand. Instead of the card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai—you’ve forgotten that you’re on Aemond’s side of the bed—you find something bizarre, unexpected, just barely able to fit. “Oh my God, there’s a…there’s a Ouija board in the nightstand!”

Aegon laughs incredulously. “There’s a what?!”

“A Ouija board!” You sit upright and shimmy it out, holding the phone to your ear with one shoulder. The small wooden planchette slides off the board and clatters against the bottom of the drawer. “Why the hell would Aemond have this…?”

“He’s trying to summon the ghost of JFK to stab Nixon.”

“Oh wow, it’s heavy.” You skim your fingertips over the black numbers and letters etched into the wooden board. There’s something ominous about the Good Bye written across the bottom. You can’t beckon the dead into the land of the living without reminding them that they aren’t welcome to stay.

“Aemond is such a freak. Is it a Parker Brothers one, like for kids…?”

“No, I think it’s custom made. It feels substantial, expensive. Hold on, there’s something engraved on the back.” You flip over the Ouija board so you can see what your hands have already felt. The inscription reads in onyx cursive letters: No ghosts can harm you. The stars were never better than the day you were born. With love through all the ages, Alys.

“What’s it say?” Aegon asks from his basement at Asteria.

You’re staring down at the Ouija board, mystified. “Who’s Alys?”

Instead of an answer, Aegon gives you a deep sigh. “Oh. Yeah, she would give him something like that. Fucking creepy witch bullshit.”

“Aegon, who’s Alys?” She’s his mistress. She has to be. It fills your skull like flashbulbs, like lightning: Aemond climbing on top of another woman, conquering her, owning her, binding her up in his mythology like a spider building a web. And what you feel when the shock begins to dissolve isn’t envy or pain or betrayal but—strangely, paradoxically—hope. “She’s his girl, right?”

“Please don’t be mad at me for not telling you,” Aegon says. “There wasn’t a good time. When I hated you I didn’t care if he was fucking around, and then after what happened in New York I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t know how you’d take it. It’s not your fault, there’s nothing wrong with you. She was here first. He’d have kept Alys around if he married Aphrodite herself.”

“I’m not mad.” You’re distracted, that’s what you are; you’re plotting. “Where is she?”

“She lives in Washington state. I’m not sure exactly where, I think Aemond moves her a lot. He doesn’t want anyone to see him around and start noticing a pattern. Neighbors, shopkeepers, cops, whoever.”

“Washington.” Just like when Ari died. Just like when Aemond didn’t come back. “Who knows about her?”

“Just the family. Fosco and Mimi found out because when they married in, the fights were still happening. Otto and Viserys demanding he give Alys up, Aemond refusing. It’s the only thing he ever did wrong, the only line he drew. He said he needed her. She could never be his first lady, but she could be something else.”

“His mistress.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says reluctantly. “Are you…are you okay?”

“I’m okay. What’s wrong with Alys?”

“What?”

“Why couldn’t Aemond marry her?”

“I mean, she’s the type of psycho who gives people Ouija boards, first of all,” Aegon says. “And she’s…she’s not educated. Her family’s trash. She’s older than Aemond. Hell, she’s older than me. She would be an unmitigated disaster on the campaign trail. She unnerves people. But Aemond, he…”

“He loves her,” you whisper, reading the engraving on the back of the board again. “And she loves him.”

“I guess. Whatever love means to them.”

A thought occurs to you, the first one to bring you pain like a needle piercing flesh. “Does she have children?”

Again, Aegon sounds reticent to disclose this. “A boy. Aemond’s the father.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, I think he’s around ten now.”

And that’s Aemond’s true heir. Not Ari, not any others he would have with me. That place in his heart is taken. He couldn’t mourn the loss of our son because he already has one with the woman he loves.

Out in the living room of the suite, you hear the front door open. There are footsteps, Aemond’s polished black leather shoes.

Aegon is asking: “Are you sure you’re okay? Hello? Babe? Hello? Are you still there?”

“I’m fine. I gotta go.”

“Wait, no, not yet—!”

“Bye.” You hang up the phone and wait for Aemond to discover you. You’re still clutching the Ouija board. You’re perched on the edge of the bed like something ready to pounce, to kill.

Aemond opens the bedroom door, navy blue suit, blonde hair short and slicked back, his eyepatch covering his empty left socket. He’s begun wearing his eyepatch in public more often—not for every appearance, but for some of them—and whoever finally convinced him to concede this battle wasn’t you. His right eye goes to you and then to the Ouija board in your hands. He doesn’t speak or move to take the board, only studies you warily.

“I know about her,” you tell him.

Still, Aemond says nothing.

“Alys,” you press. “She’s your mistress. You’re in love with her.”

“I did not intend to hurt you.” His words are flat, steely.

“I’m not hurt, Aemond.”

“You shouldn’t have ever known about this. I apologize for not being more discrete. It was a lapse in judgment.” But what he regrets most, you think, is that his secret is less contained, more imperiled.

“What we have is a political arrangement,” you say. The desperation quivers in your voice. “You don’t love me, you never have, and now we can be open about it. You need me to win the White House, but that’s all. Your true companion is elsewhere. I want the same thing.”

He steps closer, eye narrowing, iris glinting coldly, puzzled like he couldn’t have understood you correctly. “What?”

“I want to be permitted to have my own happiness outside of this imitation of a marriage.”

“No,” Aemond says instantly.

Your stomach sinks, dark iron disappointment. “But…but…why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to not get caught. Because I need to be sure that I am the father of the children you’ll give birth to. And because as my wife you are mine, and mine alone.”

Tears brim in your eyes; embers burn in your throat. “You’re asking for my life. My whole life, all of it, everything I’ll ever experience, everything I’ll ever feel. I get one chance on this planet and you’re stealing it away from me.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees simply.

“So where’s my consolation?” you demand. “You get Alys, so where’s mine?”

“What do you want?”

You don’t reply, but you glare at your husband with eternal rage like Hera’s, with fatal vitriol like Medusa’s.

“You think I don’t know about that little card you keep in your nightstand?” Aemond is furious, betrayed. “You used to hate him.”

“I was wrong.”

“Because he was at Mount Sinai and I wasn’t? Three days undid everything we’ve ever been to each other? Our oaths, our ambitions?!”

“No,” you say, tears slipping down the contours of your cheeks. “Because he’s real. He doesn’t try to manipulate people into loving him, he doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not, when he’s cruel it’s because he means it and when he’s kind that’s genuine too. And he wants to know me, who I really am. Not the woman I have to act like to get you elected. Not who you’re trying to turn me into—”

Aemond has crossed the room, grabbed the front of your teal Chanel dress, and yanked you to your feet. The Ouija board jolts out of your hands and lands on the carpet unharmed. Your long hair is in disarray, your eyes wide and fearful. You try to push Aemond away, but he ignores you. You can’t sway him. You’ve never been able to. “Aegon has nothing to his name except what this family gives him,” Aemond snarls, hushed, hateful. His venom is not for his brother but for you. You have upended the natural order of things. You have dared to deny Zeus what he has been divinely granted dominion over. “You would jeopardize his wellbeing, his access to his children? You would ruin yourself? You would doom this nation? If you cost me the election, every drop of blood spilled is on your hands, every body bag flown home from Vietnam, every martyr killed by injustice here. What you ask for is worse than being a traitor and a whore. It is sacrilege.”

“Let go of me—”

“And there’s one more thing.” Aemond pulls you closer so he knows you’re paying attention. You’re sobbing now, trembling, choking on his cologne, shrinking away from his furnace-heat wrath. “Aegon isn’t capable of love. Not the kind you’re imagining. He gets infatuated, and he uses people, and then he moves on. You think he never charmed Mimi, never made her feel cherished by him? And look how she ended up. I’m trying to carve your name into legend beside mine. Aegon will take you to your grave.”

Your husband shoves you away, storms out of the bedroom, slams the door so hard the walls quake.

~~~~~~~~~~

Parading down streets like the victors of a fallen city, jack-o-lanterns keeping watch with their laceration grins of firelight. Hecate is the goddess of witchcraft, Hades rules the Underworld, Selene is the half-moon peeking through clouds in an overcast sky. The stars elude you.

The children—ghosts, pirates, princesses, witches—dash from doorstep to doorstep like soldiers in Vietnam search tunnels. They smile and pose in their outfits when the journalists prompt them, beaming and waving, showing off their Dots, Tootsie Pops, Sugar Daddies, Smarties, Razzles, and candy cigarettes before depositing them in the plastic orange pumpkins that swing from their wrists. Only Cosmo, dressed as Teddy Roosevelt with lensless glasses and a stuffed lion thrown over one shoulder, stays with the adults. He is the last one to each house, approaching the doorway reticently like it might swallow him up, inspiring fond chuckles and encouragement from the reporters. He clutches your hand and hides behind you when towering monsters lumber by: King Kong, Frankenstein, vampires with fake blood spilling from their mouths.

Aemond wears a black suit with orange accents: tie, pocket square, socks. You glimmer in a black dress dotted with white stars, clicking down the sidewalk in boots that run to your knees, silver eyeshadow, heavy liner. You almost look your own age. There are large star-shaped barrettes in your pinned-up hair, bent glinting metal. As the reporters snap photos of you and Cosmo walking together, they shout: “You’ll be such a great mother one day, Mrs. Targaryen!”

Fosco is Ettore Boiardi—better known as Chef Boyardee—an Italian immigrant who came through Ellis Island in 1914 with a dream of opening a spaghetti business. Helaena, Alicent, and Ludwika are, respectively, Alice, Wendy, and Cinderella; Ludwika clops along resentfully in her puffy sleeves and too-small clear stilettos. Criston is Peter Pan. Aegon wears a white button-up shirt, cow print vest, ripped jeans, brown leather boots, a cowboy hat that’s too big for him, and a green bandana knotted around his throat. He stays close to you and Cosmo because he can, here where the journalists expect to see him being a devoted father and active participant in the family business of mending a tattered America. Teenagers are fleeing their families to join hippie communes and draftees in Vietnam are getting their limbs blown off and junkies are shooting up on the streets of New York and Chicago and Los Angeles, but here we see a happy family, a perfect family, a holy trinity that thanks the devotees who offer them tribute. Otto, who neglected to don a disguise, glares at you murderously. You have failed to give Aemond a living child. You have dared to want things for yourself.

Back at Asteria in the main house, the children empty their plastic pumpkins on the living room floor and sort through their saccharine treasures, making trades and bargains: “I’ll do your math homework if you give me those Swedish Fish,” “I’ll let you ride my bike for a week if I can have your Mallo Cup.” While the other adults ply themselves with champagne and chain smoke away the stress of the campaign trail, Aegon gets his Caribbean blue Gibson guitar and sits on the couch playing I’m A Believer by The Monkees. The kids clap and sing along between intense confectionary negotiations. Cosmo wants to share his candy cigarettes with you; you pretend to smoke together as sugar melts on your tongue.

Now the children have been sent to bed—mollified with the promise of homemade apple pies tomorrow, another occasion to be documented by swarms of clamoring journalists—and the house becomes a haze of smoke and indistinct conversation and music from the record player. Platters of appetizers have appeared on the dining room table: pita, tzatziki, hummus, melitzanosalata, olives, horiatiki, mini spanakopitas, baklava. Women are chattering about the painstaking labor they put into costumes and men are scheming to deliver death blows to Nixon, setbacks in Vietnam, Klan meetings in Mississippi. Aemond is knocking back Old Fashioneds with Otto and Sargent Shriver. Fosco is dancing in the living room with drunk journalists. Eudoxia is muttering in Greek as she aggressively paws crumbs off of couches and tabletops. Thick red candles flicker until wax melts into a pool of blood at the base.

Through the veil of cigarette smoke and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch, Aegon finds you when no one is looking, and you know it’s him without having to turn around. His hand is the only one that doesn’t feel heavy when it skims around your waist. He whispers, soft grinning lips to your ear, rum and dire temptation like Orpheus looking back at Eurydice: “Let’s do some witchcraft.”

You know where Aemond keeps the Ouija board. You take it out of the top drawer of his nightstand in your bedroom with blue walls and portraits of myths in captive frames. Then you descend with Aegon into the basement, down like Persephone when summer ends, down like women crumbling under Zeus’s weight. You remember to lock the door behind you. You’re not high—you can’t smoke grass in a house full of guests who could smell it and take it upon themselves to investigate—but you feel like you are, that lightness that makes everything more bearable, the surreal tilt to the universe, awake but dreaming, truth cloaked in mirages.

Aegon has stolen three red candles from upstairs. He hands one to you, keeps a second for himself, and places the third on his end table beside a myriad of dirty cups. You glimpse at his ashtray and a folded corner of the receipt that’s still tucked beneath it, and you think: I have my card, Aegon has his receipt, Aemond has his Ouija board. I wonder what Alys likes to keep close when she sleeps. Then Aegon clicks off the lamp so the only light is from the flickering candles.

He tosses away his cowboy boots, hat, vest and is down on the green shag carpet with you, his hair messy, his white shirt half-unbuttoned. He’s taking sips of Captain Morgan straight from the glass bottle. He’s lighting a Lucky Strike with the wick of his candle and then giving it to you to puff on as he places the planchette on the board. “Wait, how do we start?”

You exhale smoke, setting your candle down on the carpet and then tugging off your own boots with some difficulty. “We have to say hello.”

“Okay.” Aegon places his fingertips on one side of the heart-shaped planchette and you rest yours lightly on the other. He begins doubtfully: “Hello…?”

“Is there anyone who would like to send us a message from the other side this evening?”

“You’ve done this before,” Aegon accuses.

“I have. In college.”

“With a guy?”

You chuckle, taking a drag as the cigarette smolders between your fingers. “No, with my friends. It’s not really a date activity.”

“I think it’s very romantic. Candles, darkness, danger, who’s gonna protect you when the ghosts start throwing things around…”

“You’d fight a ghost for me?”

“Depends on the ghost. FDR? You got it. I can take a guy in a wheelchair. Teddy? No ma’am. You’re on your own.”

“Which ghost should we summon?”

Aegon ponders this for a moment. “John F. Kennedy, are you in this basement with us right now?”

“That is wrong, that is so wrong.”

“Then why are you smiling?” Aegon says. “JFK, how do you feel about Johnson fucking up your legacy?”

“That is not the kind of question you’re supposed to ask. We’re not on 60 Minutes.”

“JFK, do you haunt the White House?” Aegon drags the planchette to the Yes on the board. “Oh no, I’m scared.”

“You are a cheater, this is a fraudulent Ouija board session.” You put your cigarette out in the ashtray and then take a swig from Aegon’s rum bottle. “JFK, are we gonna make it to the moon before 1970?”

Aegon pulls the planchette to the No. “Damn, Io, bad news. Guess the Russians win the Space Race and then eradicate capitalism across the globe. No more beach houses. No more Mr. Mistys.”

“Give me the planchette, you’re abusing your power.”

“No,” Aegon says, snickering as you try to wrestle it away from him. In his other hand he’s clutching his candle; scarlet beads of wax like blooddrops pepper your skin as you struggle, tiny infernos that burn exquisitely. Red like paint splatter appears on Aegon’s shirt. You grab the green bandana around his throat, but instead of holding him back you’re drawing him closer. The Ouija board and all the world’s ghosts are momentarily forgotten.

“You’re dripping wax on me—”

“Good, I want to get it all over you, then I want to peel it off and rip out your leg hair.”

You’re laughing hysterically as you pretend to try to shove him away. “I’m freshly shaved, you idiot.”

“Everywhere?” Aegon asks, intrigued.

You smirk playfully. “Almost.”

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” Aegon sets his candle down on the carpet and strips away tacky dots of red wax: one from your forearm down by your wrist, another from your neck just below one of your silver hoop earrings, wax from your ankles and your calves and right above your knees. His fingertips are calloused from his guitar, from the ropes of his sailboat. They scratch roughly over you, chipping away who you’re supposed to be.

Then Aegon stops. You follow his gaze down. There is a smudge of wax on the inside of your thigh, extending beneath the hem of your dress, glittering black and white fabric that hides what is forbidden to him. Aegon’s eyes are on you, that troubled opaque blue, drunk and desperate and wild and afraid. With your fingers still hooked beneath his bandana, you say to him like a dare: “Now you’re going to stop?”

His palm skates up the smoothness of your thigh, and as he unpeels that last stain of red wax his other hand cradles your jaw and his lips touch yours, gently at first and then with the ravenousness of someone who’s been dying of thirst for centuries, starving since birth. You’re opening your legs wider for him, and his fingers do not stop at your thigh but climb higher until they are whisking your black lace panties away, exploring your folds and your wetness as his tongue darts between your lips, tasting something he’s been craving forever but only now stumbled into after four decades of darkness, trapped in you like Narcissus at his pool.

You are unknotting his green bandana and letting it fall to the shag carpet. You are unbuttoning the rest of his shirt so you can feel his chest, soft and warm and yielding, safe, real. The candlelight is flickering, the thumping bass of a song you can’t decipher pulsing through the floor above. Now beneath your dress Aegon’s fingers are pressing a place that makes your breath catch in your throat, makes you dizzy with need for him. He looks at you and you nod, and he reads in your face what you wanted to say months ago in this same basement: Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon lifts your dress over your head, nips at your throat as he unclasps your bra, and you are suddenly aware of how the cool firelit air is touching every part of you, how you are bare for him in a way you’ve never been before. You catch Aegon’s face in your hand before he can see the scar that runs down the length of your belly and say, your voice quiet and fragile: “Don’t look at me.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, furrows across his brow. “Stop,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead as you cling to him. Then he begins moving lower and you fall back onto the carpet, no blood on Aegon’s hands this time, only your sweat and lust for him, only crystalline evidence of a betrayal you’ve long ago already committed in your mind.

You’re combing your fingers through his hair and gasping as Aegon’s lips ghost down your scar, not something ruinous or shameful but a part of you, the beginning of your story together, the origin of your mythology. Then his mouth is on you—yearning, aching wetness—and you thought you knew what this felt like but it’s more powerful now, more urgent, and Aegon is glancing up to watch your face, to study you, to change what he’s doing as he follows your clues. And then there is a pang you think is too sharp to be pleasure, too close to helplessness, something that leaves you panting and shaking.

You jolt upright. “Wait…”

Aegon props himself up on his elbows. His full lips glisten with you. “What? What’d I do wrong?”

“No, it’s not you, it’s just…it’s like…” You can’t describe it. “It’s too…um…too intense or something. It’s like I couldn’t breathe.”

Aegon stares at you, his eyebrows low. After a long pause he says: “Babe, you’ve come before, right?”

I’ve what? “Yeah, of course, obviously. I mean…I think so?”

He’s stunned. He’s in disbelief. Then a grin splits across his face. “Lie back down.”

You’re nervous, but you trust him. If this costs you your life, you’ll pay it. He pushes your thighs farther apart and his tongue stays in one spot—where you touched yourself in the bathtub in Seattle, where you wanted him when he slipped his fingers into you for the first time—and suddenly the uneasy feeling is something raging and irresistible like a riptide in the Atlantic, something better than anything you knew existed, and you keep thinking it’s happened but it hasn’t yet, as you cover your face with your hands to smother your moans, as your hips roll and Aegon’s arms curl under your thighs to keep you in place so he can make you finish. It’s a release that is otherworldly, celestial, terrifying, divine. It’s something that rips the curtain between mortals and paradise.

It’s always like this for men? That’s what Aemond has been getting from me, that’s what I’ve been denied?

As you lie gasping on the carpet Aegon returns, smiling, kissing you, running his fingers through locks of hair that have escaped from your pins. “Not bad, right little Io?” he purrs, smelling like rum and minerals, earth and poison. Now he’s taking off his jeans, but before he can position himself between your legs you have pushed him onto his back and straddled him, pinning his wrists to the floor, watching the amazement ripple across his flushed face, the desire, the need. You tease Aegon, leaning in to nibble at his ear and bite gingerly at his throat, never harming him, never claiming him, grinding your hips against his and listening as his breathing turns quick and rough. Then you slip him inside you, this man you once hated, this man who was a stranger and then a curse and now a spell.

Aegon wants to be closer to you. He sits up as you ride him, hands on your face, in your hair, kissing you, inhaling you, shuddering, trying not to cry out as footsteps and laughter and thunderous basslines bleed through the ceiling. You know he’s been high on so many things—things that corrupt, things that kill—and you hope you can compare, this brief clean magic.

He can’t last; he finishes with a moan like he’s in agony, and as the motion of your hips slows, you take his jaw in your grasp and gaze down at him. “Good boy,” you say with a grin. Aegon laughs, exhausted, drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He embraces you so tightly you can feel the pounding of his heart, racing muscle beneath bones and skin.

He’s murmuring through your disheveled hair: “I gotta see you again, when can I see you again?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t have an answer. You unravel yourself from Aegon and dress yourself in the red candlelight: panties, bra, dress, boots, all things that Aemond chose for you, all things he bought with his family’s money, all things he owns. Aegon has nothing to his name and neither do you. You are—like Fosco once said—pieces of the same machine.

“Where are you going?” Aegon asks, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“I have to go back upstairs to the party before someone realizes I’m missing.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” You kneel on the carpet to kiss him one last time, your palm on his cheek, his fingers clutching at your dress as he begs you not to leave. “I have to, I have to,” you whisper, and then you do.

You grab the Ouija board and planchette off the green shag carpet, hug them to your chest, and hurry up the steps. The first floor of the Asteria house is a maze of cigarette smoke and clinking glasses, guests who are dancing and cackling and drunk. From the record player strums Johnny Cash’s Ring Of Fire. You slip unnoticed to the staircase.

In the blue-walled bedroom you share with Aemond, you carefully place the Ouija board and planchette in the top drawer of his nightstand exactly as you found them. Then you go to your vanity to try to fix your hair. As you’re rearranging clips and pinning loose strands back into place, the door opens. Aemond is there, feeling beloved and invincible, looking for you. He crosses the room and closes his long fingers around your wrist. He wants you: under him, making children for him, possessed by him.

“Come to bed,” Aemond says.

“Not right now. I’m busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

“I told you no.”

He wrenches you from your chair. Instead of surrendering, you strike out, hitting him in the chest. You don’t harm him, you’re not strong enough, but genuine shock leaps into his scarred face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hiss. You can’t let Aemond undress you; he will find the evidence of your treason, he will see it, feel it, taste it. But that’s not the only reason you stop him. “Every goddamn night I give you what you want, and exactly how you want it. Tonight I’m saying no. You want to take me? You’ll have to do it properly. I’m not going to give you the illusion of consent. You remember what Zeus did to all those women, right? Go ahead. Act like the god you think you are. But I’m going to fight you. And if those people downstairs hear me screaming, you can explain to them why.”

Aemond stares at you in the silvery light of the half-moon. You glare boldly back. At last he leaves and descends the staircase into an underworld of churning smoke, returning to the party to sip his Old Fashioneds and decide what to do with you.

[finniestoncrane]

hiiiiii hi hello hi i'm going to start doing some doodling again soon for my western!au (it was so fun deciding on everyone's ancestry and making sure their names fit in!!)

i've been playing red dead redemption 2 for my beloved dork squad, and i've been filled with inspiration but lack the artistic talent so that'll come afterwards and very slowly lmao but for now, here's my ideas for the rogues that i'm hoping to flesh out, maybe into a long fic!! >:3c

hopefully i'll get some more plans for the long list of other characters i want to include, but they're just floating ideas for now kjkjhasd

bruce wayne (batman the dark knight) - scottish/english ancestry. the most boring addition because obviously he's working as an independently wealthy vigilante whose parents were murdered by a lesser known outlaw and he can't get the right help from corrupt government officials, so he's out here working (kind of off the books) as a bounty hunter to clear out the worst of humanity himself. he also doesn't trust the bounty hunters themselves, because he always brings his charges in alive

katherine kyle (catwoman the cat) - surname is of scottish ancestry, given to her father by his former owner. she's the child of a slave owner's daughter and a former slave. highwaywoman, stagecoach thief extraordinaire. somehow manages to get an invite to high end parties as an 'exotic' partner of disgusting, rich men in order to steal as much as she can. she enjoys stealing from rich white people to make up for the treatment her father, a former slave, went through, even after he became a freed man

edward nashton (riddler) - scottish ancestry. crazed inventor and mad scientist who keeps out of the way of society in his laboratory in the hills. his experiments seek to prove that he is far more intelligent than most of his prospective investors give him credit for, and those who mock his work or back out of investment meet a horrid end. he was pushed to madness after being embarrassed in front of the crowds at the 1876 world's fair

jonathan crane (scarecrow) - english ancestry. a former professor at a university in a city on the east coast, he was fired after an unfortunate educational ‘incident’ and moved back to his family farm, long abandoned after his grandmother finally died, to seek a meagre living and the means for revenge

hugh dent (two face) - scottish ancestry. the corrupt sheriff of a small town in the desert. former big city police chief, but was ousted due to his odd sense of law and order and his seemingly random decision-making when it comes to the noose

jervis tetch (mad hatter) - english immigrant with some chinese ancestry. a snake oil salesman who genuinely believes in his powers. some of his tonics have the power to alter minds. specialises in fungus and the use of medicinal herbs in teas, recipes passed down from his mother's side who were from china.

victor friess (mr freeze doctor friess) - german immigrant. town doctor who lost his own wife to consumption. out of nothing but jealousy, he takes the lives of other women to make up for his sense of loss and the unfair luck other men have in having their spouses still with them

poison ivy - native american. travelling herbalist and conservationist. her nation was all but destroyed by the government through war, land theft and false treaties, so she is seeking revenge slowly but surely on former generals, politicians and businessmen

oswald cobb (penguin) - english immigrant. oil tycoon, third generation born in the u.s. who came over with a lot of money and managed to sway government officials. he'll stop at nothing to succeed and continue his control over wealth and power. he still talks with an english accent despite being thoroughly american because he was sent to boarding school and university in england (and because he's a bit of a dick)

john johnson (the joker)  - no known origin. a circus ringmaster and confidence man who runs "the joker's travelling circus". he's a silent serial killer, america's first! he would describe himself as an outlaw for fun, a bandit for laughs, a travelling salesman of chaos

helen quinn (harley quinn harlequin) - french ancestry. she's a travelling sideshow act (contortionist) at the joker’s circus of oddities, and his sidekick and long-suffering romantic interest. she entertains crowds while he commits crimes and she is often charged with sneaking into buildings to rob them

senor dorrance (bane bandito) - mexican immigrant. he works as a strongman with the joker’s travelling circus. he is also often tasked with being joker’s hard man when the clown finds himself in a bit too much trouble. often runs a boxing side event, which is obviously rigged to make money when he throws the fight

basil karlo (clayface) - european ancestry, not entirely known but likely swedish or norwegian. a vaudeville actor who is a little too fond of gambling so has to find other means to claw back his money. very good at deception. now works at the joker's travelling circus after making a few too many enemies at the local theatres

daniel chapel (music meister) - prussian ancestry. in charge of the band at the joker’s travelling circus. he’s often the one sent into town in advance to scope it out and find the rubes. his charm and wit provide him with ample opportunity to part fools with their money

arnold wesker & scarface (ventriloquist) - a ventriloquist and performer with joker’s circus. his puppet often chooses one person from the crowd each night, the ones who don’t laugh, to suffer. hecklers beware

waylon jones (killer croc croc) - no known origin, but speaks with a cajun accent and dialect and is mixed race. his parents abandoned him a as a child in the swamps hoping that he would succumb to the elements or be eaten by animals. he is now a moonshiner in the swamps and prefers to keep away from people given his birth defects. previous associate of the joker's travelling circus, but left as he felt used for shock value more than his skills

roman sionis (black mask)  - italian immigrant. the sadistic owner of several big city factories. his employees suffer at his hands and often go missing, used to satisfy his cruel urges. the factories have been in his family for generations, and he's in the pocket of many officials. he wears a skull mask to separate his two identities during his crimes and has his associates refer to him as black mask during his crimes also

william fugate (clock king) - english ancestry. a simple clock maker on the surface, but he’s a devious loan shark who counts down your payback time to the second and seeks brutal revenge if he’s not paid back on time

deacon blackfire (joseph blackfire) - english ancestry. mad preacher who lives in the hills and has started his own religious cult by luring in the homeless and less fortunate. his goal is to convert the entire u.s. as he believes his word can save them from their sins

floyd lawton (deadshot) - welsh ancestry. notable gunslinger turned outlaw. he makes his money as a hired gun for nefarious and illegal activities and has killed and robbed his way onto the back of many cigarette cards

garfield lynns (firefly) - irish ancestry. explosives expert for hire. he tends to hide himself under a large hat, a bandana and goggles, providing himself with a veil of secrecy to hide the scars he got from the accident which saw him discharged from the army

lazlo valentin (professor pyg) - spanish ancestry. a very strange and isolated pig farmer who is prone to doing experiments on his animals and any unfortunate travellers who happen past his farm

[atlaculture]

sorry if this is a personal question that you don’t want to answer but: are you actually asian or indigenous or are just a big fan of all the cultures which is why u started this blog??

I'm Asian-American, born and raised in the United States. Both of my parents are from Cambodia and my ancestry is Khmer and Teochew Chinese. I grew up working class and around a lot of other Asian immigrant families.

Regarding the question of "Are you Asian or just a fan?" I guess both? There were definitely some details in ATLA that I recognized immediately from my cultural upbringing, but plenty of other aspects that I had to research pretty extensively. I definitely developed an interest in Himalayan, Siberian, and Indigenous cultures through running this blog.

I started this blog as a way of gushing about a show I liked, but I feel like it has taken on a life of its own over the years. I still love ATLA, but I realize I love archiving information even more. There's so much cultural knowledge on the internet, but it's all very decentralized. By gathering some of this information for my blog, I'm hoping that it helps people to develop a more nuanced understanding of other cultures.

[irish-agender-moss]

Riordanverse race/nationality headcanons (Main characters and background characters alike)

This may be a very long post, and I’m throwing in little tidbits about appearances, so with no regard to any particular order, strap in:

(Seriously, this is a huge post)

Edit: Changed Luke from just Korean American to mixed Argentinian/Korean American, inspired by @tagthescullion

The Seven (Including Nico and Reyna):

Percy Jackson: Biracial White/Latino, Cuban American (Sally was born in Havana, she had Percy shortly after moving to the US)

Annabeth Chase: Biracial Black/White, Irish/African American (with Swedish, Ghanaian and Polish descent)

Jason (And Thalia, by extension) Grace: White German American (Beryl moved from Germany to the US)

Piper McLean: Native American, Cherokee

Leo Valdez: Latino, Mexican, Born in Texas

Hazel Levesque: Black, African American, New Orleans (1940's French Creole)

Frank Zhang: Chinese Canadian, Vancouver

Nico Di Angelo: White, Italian with Russian descent, 1920’s Venice

Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano: Latina, Puerto Rican

Camp Half Blood:

Will Solace: Biracial White/Bangladeshi American, Texas

Luke Castellan: Mixed Argentinian/Korean American (Born in the US, May (or Mi-Hee) grew up in a Argentine Korean community in Buenos Aires before she moved to the US and met Hermes)

Malcolm Pace: White with albinism, Scottish, Glasgow

Travis and Connor Stoll: Mixed Scottish and Laotian, Edinburgh (Source: @freddie-77-ao3)(I think in the TV show, they cast two Asian boys as the Stolls, so I've made them Asian)

Alice Miyazawa: Japanese American, Los Angeles

Julia Feingold: White Luxembourger, Luxembourg City

Cecil Markowitz: White Austrian/Northern Irish (Born in Graz, grew up in Belfast since he was two, has dual citizenship)

Katie Gardener: White Scottish, Aberfoyle

Castor and Pollux Vintner: Black, Irish (Pollux is Albino, Castor wasn’t), Donegal

Michael Yew: Mixed Irish and Chinese, Limerick (Granny moved from China)

Lee Fletcher: White Irish, Donegal

Clarisse La Rue: Mixed French/Pakistani American, Arizona (Mother moved from France)

Chris Rodriguez: Afro-Latino, Nicaraguan (Moved to the states when he was seven, lived in the same neighbourhood as Clarisse)

Silena Beauregard: Blasian, African American and Filipino, Mississippi (French descent)

Charles Beckendorf: Black, African American

Jake Mason: White American, Wyoming

Harley Smythe-Davidson: Biracial White/Aboriginal Australian (Source: @freddie-77-ao3)

Nyssa Barrera: Latina, Panamanian, Panama City

Shane O’Doherty: White Irish, Laois

Christopher Chalkevas: White Greek/English (Born in Larissa, moved with his mother to Hackney, London at age five, has dual citizenship)

Clovis Karlsen: Wasian, Welsh (Welsh/Norwegian grandad, Indonesian granny, Source: @ashthenerdtheythem)

Chiara Benvenuti: White Italian, Florence

Alabaster C. Torrington: British Indian, English, Westminster

Lou Ellen Blackstone: Black with vitiligo, British Ghanaian, Birmingham

Drew Tanaka: Japanese American, New York City

Valentina Diaz: Latina, Colombia

Mitchell Singh-Donovan: Mixed Indian and Irish, Cork

Lacy Alfsen: White Danish, Copenhagen

Ethan Nakamura: Japanese, Tokyo

Damien White: White Irish, Northside Dublin

Miranda Gardiner: Vietnamese American, Massachusetts (Distant Irish ancestry)

Billie Ng: Wasian, Irish/Thai Canadian, Toronto (She grew up in Longford till she was seven, then she and her mortal dad moved to Canada)

Sherman Yang: Chinese American, Alaska

Marcus (Mark) Dooley-Wallace: White Irish American, Georgia

Ellis Wakefield: Black, Algerian

Holly and Laurel Victor: Sri Lankan American, Seattle

Meg McCaffery: Wasian, Irish/Vietnamese American

Camp Jupiter:

Dakota Cheshire: Black, Bermudian

Gwendolyn Nunez: Hispanic, Spanish American

Bobby Herrera: Latin American, New Mexico

Lavinia Asimov: White Russian, born in San Francisco

Larry Schumacher: White American, North Carolina

Leila Grunfeld: White American, Colorado

This has been a very exhausting post to make lmao. I gave some of the characters who don’t have canonical surnames my own Hcs for their surnames. Also, I am yet to read through trials of Apollo, so maybe I’ll come later back to add more Roman names to the list.

Tagging my moots that I like to see their opinions for this (as well as the ones I tagged within the list as well):

@aki-bara @ravingcoffeeaddict @ebony-reine-vibes @squiggle3worm @sleep-needer

[gunsandspaceships]

MCU Tony Stark's Ancestry

Tony's origin is a mystery, isn't it? In both the MCU and the comics, the writers don’t give us enough information about his ancestors and their ethnicity to draw any definitive conclusions on the matter. So fans fill in the blanks themselves, often making them up based on their own desires. Hispanic fans want him to be Hispanic, Jewish fans want him to be Jewish, Italian fans want him to be half-Italian, etc. Where is the truth? Can we even establish it?

Well, we can try. Based on 3 things: the origin and prevalence of the last names (Stark, Carbonell, and Collins), the ethnicity of the towns where his parents were born (Richford and Southampton, New York), and the ancestry of the actors (RDJ, Hope Davis, Dominic Cooper, and John Slattery), I will list possible ethnicities and their likelihood of being connected to Tony.

Note: Why does the origin of the actors matter? Our MCU characters have the faces, voices, and other physical characteristics of the actors who play them. These traits are hereditary. We can’t say, for example, that character A is 100% Chinese if he’s played by a 100% Danish actor, right? So we have to take that into account.

Let's start with the MCU actors:

Maria Stark is portrayed by Hope Davis, an American actress of Welsh descent. Unfortunately, I can't verify the claim that she is 100% Welsh, as there is no family tree of hers online.

Howard Stark is portrayed by three people (Dominic Cooper, John Slattery, and Gerard Sanders), but we'll only use Cooper and Slattery here since Sanders only appeared once in one film (IM1) in a photo and had no actual scenes.

Dominic Cooper is an English actor with English and Scottish roots. Checking his tree on Geni, I also found a long line of Welsh ancestors, so we'll add that.

John Slattery is an American actor of Irish descent. His family tree isn't deep, so I can't add anything to it.

Looks like we've collected the British Isles. Only one actor left.

Robert Downey Jr. is an American actor of mixed heritage: according to official sources such as Finding Your Roots and The Age of A.I., he is about 80% European (Swiss, German, Scottish, Irish, Welsh, possibly some Lithuanian and Russian, but this is likely inaccurate) and ~20% Middle Eastern (Lithuanian Jewish). According to his tree on Geni (if we can trust it; don't look at Marisa Tomei among his listed partners, that's probably someone's dream) he actually has a very long line of French ancestry on his mother's side, as well as long Belgian, Dutch and English lines. Some other admixtures, such as Italian, Austrian and Scandinavian, are also present in small amounts. We'll only include the longest lines here, as the contribution of other ethnic groups is small.

Note: Robert and Dominic actually share common ancestors on their mother's side (the English line).

Next we will look at the places where the characters come from:

According to the MCU and comics, Howard Stark was born and raised in Richford, NY. The most common ancestry of the residents of this place include: German (19.9%), English (16%), Irish (12%), Italian (4.1%), and Polish (3.7%). It is also the area with the highest number of residents with Slovak roots (a whopping 1%!). (Source)

It is unknown where Maria Stark (Collins-Carbonell) came from in the MCU. We know that in the comics (616), she is from Southampton, NY. Since Howard in the MCU and comics has the same place of origin (but the origin itself is different, so we will not apply his father and grandfather in the comics to the MCU), we can assume that Maria has too (at least it does not contradict anything).

Southampton, NY residents are of Irish (11.6%), English (10.7%), Italian (10.1%), German (7.1%), Polish (6.2%), Russian (4.5%), Scottish (3.6%), French (1.7%), Danish (1.1%), and Dutch (1%) ancestry, with <1% other ethnicities. (Source)

As we can see, Germany invaded our British Isles, as it is the only other option that also includes the actors and both birthplaces.

We've reached the last thing we can check, and the most obvious one - last names. In our case, there are three: Stark for Howard, Carbonell and Collins for Maria.

Stark : 1: Scottish (Lanarkshire) and English: nickname from Middle English stark ‘strong sturdy; harsh severe’ (Old English stearc). 2: German and Jewish (Ashkenazic): nickname for a strong bold person from Middle High German stark(e) German stark ‘strong brave’. 3: Czech and Slovak (Štark): of German origin (see 2 above). 4: Swedish: ornamental name or soldier's name a cognate of 2 above. (Source)

If we look at the records and map in the source (before 1900), we see the following:

Matches the description, doesn't it?

Note: I will not include countries that have only one record but no records from centuries before, as they are likely not places of birth or permanent residence.

So, here are the ethnic groups we can find there:

Most of the records: Scottish, English, Irish, Swedish, Finnish, German, Dutch, Swiss, Austrian, French, Romanian, Hungarian, Slovak, Czech, Ukrainian, Serbian, Polish.

Some of the records: Welsh, Danish, Belgian, Russian.

The records of Eastern and Central Europe may include Jews, but this cannot be determined with certainty.

Carbonell : 1: Catalan: from an old personal name Carbonellus in Latin derived from Latin carbo ‘coal charcoal’. This surname is also found in southern France (mainly Pyrénées-Orientales). 2: English (of Norman or Huguenot origin): nickname for a man with dark hair or a swarthy complexion from a diminutive of Anglo-Norman French carbon ‘charcoal’. The name was also reintroduced to Britain by Huguenot refugees in the 17th century. (Source)

Here is a map for this last name (again, before 1900):

Most represented ethnicities in the records: Spanish, French.

Some records are: English, Argentinian, Andorran, Algerian.

Collins : 1: English: variant of Colin with genitival or post-medieval excrescent -s. 2: Irish and Manx: shortened Anglicized from Ó Coileáin compare Cullen or in Man or west Ulster shortened from Mac Coileáin compare McQuillan and McCallion. The genitival -s is a local addition to Collin and variants after the surname was Anglicized. 3: Americanized form of French Colin or Collin and also Collette. 4: In some cases an Americanized form of Slovenian Kolenc. (Source)

Most people with the last name were: English, Scottish, Irish, Welsh, Manx, Belgian, French, Dutch.

Some were: Swedish, German, Canadian, South African, Australian, New Zealanders.

We can now collect all the options into one list (not including the options that were colonies) and categorize them by probability level.

More likely to apply to Tony (matches all three: actor, place, and name):

English (2 actors, both birthplaces and all 3 last names)

Irish (2 actors, both birthplaces and 2 last names)

Scottish (2 actors, 1 birthplace and 2 last names)

German (1 actor, both birthplaces and 2 last names)

French (1 actor, 1 birthplace and all 3 last names)

Dutch (1 actor, 1 birthplace, 2 last names)

Average chances that apply to Tony (matching two out of three indicators):

Polish (both birthplaces, 1 last name)

Slovak (1 birthplace, 1 last name)

Russian (1 birthplace, 1 last name)

Slovene (1 birthplace, 1 last name)

Czech (1 birthplace, 1 last name)

Danish (1 birthplace, 1 last name)

Hungarian (1 birthplace, 1 last name)

Welsh (3 actors, 2 last names)

Belgian (1 actor, 2 last names)

Swiss (1 actor, 1 last name)

Jewish (1 actor, 1 last name)

Low chances, but still exist (only matches one indicator):

Italian (both birthplaces)

Lithuanian (1 birthplace)

Swedish (2 last names)

Spanish (1 last name)

Andorran (1 last name)

Manx (1 last name)

Finnish (1 last name)

Austrian (1 last name)

Romanian (1 last name)

Ukrainian (1 last name)

Serbian (1 last name)

We got 6 ethnicities that have the highest chance of being related to Tony: English, Scottish, Irish, German, French and Dutch.

Now let's narrow it down a bit and do the same thing, but for each parent.

Maria has the following ethnicity options:

Highest chances:

French (one of two actors: Robert; birthplace: Southampton, NY; both last names: Carbonell and Collins)

English (one actor: Robert; birthplace; both last names)

Irish (one actor: Robert; birthplace; one name: Collins)

Scottish (one actor: Robert; birthplace; one name: Collins)

German (one actor: Robert; birthplace; one name: Collins)

Dutch (one actor: Robert; birthplace; one name: Collins)

Average chances:

Welsh (both actors: Hope and Robert; one name: Collins)

Belgian (one actor: Robert; one name: Collins)

Slovene (birthplace; one name: Collins)

Low chances:

Polish (only birthplace)

Russian (only birthplace)

Czech (only birthplace)

Danish (only birthplace)

Hungarian (only birthplace)

Italian (only birthplace)

Lithuanian (only birthplace)

Swedish (only one last name: Collins)

Spanish (only one last name: Carbonell)

Andorran (only one last name: Carbonell)

Manx (only one last name: Collins)

Swiss (only one actor: Robert)

Jewish (only one actor: Robert)

So while the highest odds are still with the same 6 ethnicities, we can assume that she has an even higher chance of being French and/or English due to both of her last names. This also correlates with the fact that Tony speaks French.

Howard has the following ethnicity options:

Highest chances:

English (two of three actors: Dominic and Robert; birthplace: Richford, NY; last name)

Irish (two actors: John and Robert; birthplace; last name)

German (one actor: Robert; birthplace; last name)

Average chances:

Scottish (two actors: Dominic and Robert; last name)

Welsh (two actors: Dominic and Robert; last name)

French (one actor: Robert; last name)

Dutch (one actor: Robert; last name)

Belgian (one actor: Robert; last name)

Swiss (one actor: Robert; last name)

Jewish (one actor: Robert; last name)

Polish (birthplace; last name)

Slovak (birthplace; last name)

Low chances:

Russian (only last name)

Czech (only last name)

Danish (only last name)

Hungarian (only last name)

Swedish (only last name)

Finnish (only last name)

Austrian (only last name)

Romanian (only last name)

Ukrainian (only last name)

Serbian (only last name)

Italian (only birthplace)

We have managed to narrow the possibilities down to three. But we can also add other names to get just one, most likely choice: Howard, Walter, Anthony, and even Almanzo are all names that are of Germanic origin or have been used in Germany for centuries. So we can safely conclude that Howard is mostly of German origin.

Conclusion

After this lengthy analysis, we came up with three most likely main ethnicities for Tony: German (on his father's side), French and/or English (on his mother's side).

Note: This does not mean that he cannot be 50% Finnish, 30% Russian and 20% Andorran with no English, French or German roots. BUT this is unlikely.

[neeahtao]

do you headcanon john a specific race or do you just draw him as a general darker skinned race? :3c if you hc a specific race im curious to know why you picked that specifically, if there are any reasons!!

oh anon, if only you knew of the since lost pages of ramblings about this topic I'd written. My homestuck notes folder was the library of Alexandria and I am the hubris of man. I'll try and summarise what I can remember Alpha kids races determine the races of the beta kids Jane - Chinese Jake - British, Portuguese Roxy - African-American (Nigerian ancestry), German, Scottish Dirk - Caucasian American So John would be Chinese, British, Portuguese and the others are self explanatory

[lifegoesonevenifeverybodyisgone]

THE Joe Character Analysis. Part 3: A Brief Socioeconomic Background of Haight Street (Prelude to Portrayals of Masculinity)

How does Bluepoch create its characters? What is possibly the process or the mindset behind J's creation? How does this show in his character and how he is viewed?

I briefly touched upon the Greaser subculture, Mexican heritage, and other aspects of culture in the earlier parts. Although it gives context to the different sides of J, it is only a slice of the bigger pie: the social, cultural, and historical background of the 90s in California.

These aspects like sociocultural influences, history, and societal conflicts are the basis for Bluepoch's characters. In an interview conducted by Automaton earlier this year, Bluepoch reveals how they created their first character (Druvis III) and their thought process:

Now that we know their process, good questions to ask regarding our characters are: "What time and place does the story take place?", "What kind of conflict was occurring during that time?", "What hopes do characters have during that time period?", and "What are the mystical influences that affect the arcanists?".

So if that is the case, what historical context is J part of?

From what we know, 2.0 takes place in San Francisco, California, United States during the 1990s (specifically in Haight Street). This period was characterized by the United States becoming more of a global power after the dissolution of the USSR, great economic prosperity and peace, vast improvements in technology, and a revival of 70s culture (because all fashion and trends have a 20-year interval before being revived).

The world became increasingly connected with the creation of the GPS, the proliferation of the internet, and increased immigration. Cultural icons that came from the 70s are found all over 2.0 whether it be Disco, the Age of Aquarius, iconic sitcoms, Greasers, arcades, and the queer clubbing scene.

This prosperity occurred after the 1980s, were a period of decreased volatility and positive growth began.

This period of prosperity and growth in America is what we economists call the Great Moderation.

US inflation was low and stable while recessions were mild. The former governor of the Federal Bank Reserve (Governor Barnanke) atttributed it to structural change in the economy, improved economic policies, and good ol' luck. The structural changes were most likely the increased openess to trade, advances in the financial system due to computers, and deregulation.

Another influence that can be seen in the 2.0 event is immigration. During the 20th century, immigration laws greatly changed the American demographic. Maybe it could be attributed to the Immigration Act of 1990 which further removed the barriers for entry in America but I have a hunch that the Mexican immigration where J's ancestors came a little earlier, likely coming to America during or after WWII.

During 1942, the US implemented the Mexican Farm Labor Program AKA the Bracero Program. To address the agricultural work shortage brought about by WWII, the US permitted millions of Mexican men to work under short-term labor contracts in America. Most of them ended up working in San Francisco's Bay Area (where Haight Street takes place).

The influx of Mexican workers provided America with cheap labor in order to feed its people but the influx of undocumented migrants in the 50s led to a mass deportation of 1.1 million workers back to Mexico via Operation Wetback. This happened at the same time while the Bracero Program was ongoing causing the Immigration Bureau and Border Patrol to do military round-ups to legal workers even to the point of deporting US citizens with Mexican ancestry.

Finally, around the 90s and where 2.0 event takes place, the Immigration Act of 1990 was passed bringing in a new wave of immigrants. The presence of immigrants have often been mentioned in the event like the sizable Chinese diaspora, Mr. Tang, J's doctor, and the crowd of immigrants that J sponsored.

Despite the increase of wealth in California due to being the home of the Silicon Valley, the hub of innovations, the expanded global trade, and the booming retail industry, a part of the population that contributed to making that wealth were unable to partake in it. The immigrants of San Francisco left their countries in search for a better life, the American Dream that promises that if you work hard enough you can achieve anything. But that is not often the case...

The setting of the 2.0 story is Haight Street, a part of the Haight-Ashbury district, a district adjacent to the Golden Gate Park. The street was particularly famous for the hippie counterculture in the 60s. Thousands of American youth flocked to Haight Street in the event called "Summer of Love".

The youthful idealism eventually turned sour and the hippies left for the rural areas. Pyschedelic drugs were replaced by harder and more dangerous drugs like heroin which caused medical issues to the population. By the late 60s and the early 70s, property values fell and violent crime rose. Haight Street quickly gained the reputation of being a dangerous and violent place.

Around the 70s, plans were made to restore Haight-Ashbury. A new wave of homeowners and residents restored Victorian/Edwardian houses and cleaned up the city. The crime rates eventually dropped. Due to the wave of new homeowners who renovated the old houses, the prices of housing went up which displaced a lot of the low-income folk like the black, senior citizen, and hippies.

There was a great concern regarding gentrification and displacement. Although the newcomers were also diverse (a local doctor estimating that 25% of them were gay), there was a fear that the previous inhabitants would be displaced. In the 80s, commercial establishments and higher priced housing began to emerge. The struggles on who gets to live in the ever evolving city was shown in J's character story.

J's character story deals with the displacement, inequality, and the gentrification of Haight Street that was occuring during the time. The main conflict was the creation of a commercial center that kicked many local businesses out through coercion. J busted the gang behind this and guaranteed the freedom of his homeless and immigrant friends. He ended up being their sponsor and helping the folks find jobs.

Since Haight Street was amongst one of those migrant communities where a lot of lower-class people lived, it is most likely that a good amount of people living there were either immigrants (especially Chinese or Mexican), Arcanists, downtrodden folks, or all of three. Looking back at the characters, Mercuria came from an orphanage while J was also an orphan who survived by working for a Chinese immigrant.

Since the character-making of Bluepoch involves looking at the cultural context and making a character out of it, I can infer that Pioneer represents the Great Moderation, especially since he is an Awakened and he sprung to life due to this economic movement.

Mercuria represents the ideals of the Age of Aquarius and the famous hippie counterculture, who is a freedom-loving disco dancer while also working as a diviner.

J, on the other hand, might have been inspired by the 90s kids who took inspiration in the 70s revival (since he loves arcades, knows a little bit of disco, and watches old sitcoms) but he can also be inspired by a revival of a revival: the 50s. During the 70s, there was also a revival of an era that occurred 20 years prior: the Greasers of the 50s.

He also represents the lower class men at the time who were most likely left out in the city's progress. The fact that he came from a formerly prominent Wayland family (who lost prominence after the war) but now has to work hard to survive is reminiscent of Haight Street itself (a magnificent and dignified neighborhood that lost its glamour and became a place of the lower class).

As stated in Part 1, Greasers were a subculture that formed in the 50s and were often composed of Italian-American and Latin-American (most commonly Mexican) lower-class youth who felt left out from the prosperity of the post-war economic boom. They shared an interest in riding motorcycles (since they often worked in mechanic jobs like J's friend Hollick), the affordable aesthetic of the working man, and the community of marginalized olive-skinned ethnic minorities (like those of the Mediterranean and Mexicans).

In the context of the 90s, J's identification with the Greaser subculture goes beyond the 70s revival or his fondness for old-fashioned stuff. It was a way to express himself regardless of his social class, a shared identity. It was an identification with the men who made the most with what they had, with men like him who felt hope for a better future but also felt frustated to be left out from it.

With aesthetics and historical context, the Greaser subculture elicited stereotypes like being urban, sexual, cool, rebellious, and exhibiting lower-class masculinity. Fittingly enough, I have seen many people think of him that way, both in the game and the fandom, so let's dissect that.

Link to the Ultimate Joe Directory:

https://www.tumblr.com/lifegoesonevenifeverybodyisgone/771822786973958144/the-ultimate-joe-directory?source=share

SOURCES:

https://www.investopedia.com/terms/g/great-moderation.asp

https://www.federalreserve.gov/boarddocs/speeches/2004/20040220/

https://guides.loc.gov/latinx-civil-rights/bracero-program

https://californialocal.com/localnews/statewide/ca/article/show/5992-california-immigration-history-immigrants/

https://immigrationhistory.org/item/operation-wetback/

https://www.foundsf.org/index.php?title=Naming_of_Haight_Street%2C_Part_4%3A_The_Last_Haight_Standing

https://www.britannica.com/place/Haight-Ashbury

https://www.jstor.org/stable/24040253

[spritecranverry]

(Spoilers for 'Babel' if u haven't read it yet and don't want those)

Hi I'm re-reading this book after my physical copy got delivered and I'm here to argue that Robin's fate is sealed the moment he chooses his name:

When Robin's mother dies, she says his name - his real name - one last time. It's only two syllables, but he'll never hear it again; Professor Lovell decides it's not worth keeping because the English tongue wouldn't be able to pronounce it. It's in this portion of the book that Kuang establishes one of the first instances of language as a means of wielding power: namely, the power to erase.

Even further, the scene where Robin chooses his 'English' name encapsulates his relationship to his identity for the rest of the book: he is simultaneously disconnected (or "un-anchored", as Kuang puts it on page 15) from his culture and 'othered' by it while living in English society, no matter how hard he tries to assimilate. Lovell makes Robin drop his own family's surname on page 12 (which we also never learn), effectively cutting him off from ever re-tracing his own ancestry and lineage. I think it's interesting to note that part of why Lovell doesn't value Robin's surname is because to the English, a name that isn't linked to status and capital is worthless.

What's even more interesting, though, is that Lovell doesn't let Robin take his last name, even after Robin realizes that he's his biological father. Instead, he forces Robin to choose a random English name. He tells him on page 10 that he has no family, and that his father is "unknown". Lovell wants Robin to remove all markers of his Asian identity from his name while simultaneously never claiming his son as his own despite his dependency on him.

This effectively places Robin in this odd liminal space where he is only allowed to participate in English society conditionally, but he also doesn't have the option to ever return to Canton because he no longer has the ability to fully reconnect there. His identity as a result morphs into this ambiguous thing that is constantly in flux relative to how white society perceives him. The choice to make him literally half white and half Asian as opposed to a fully Chinese man trying to assimilate makes this especially poignant; at no point does he have the ability to opt out of this constant state of limbo that the construct of racial identity puts him in. Robin - and perhaps Kuang did this intentionally - exists during a time when diasporic and mixed identities are still being formed and conceptualized, which means he wouldn't have much access to communities of people in similar situations. With the exception of Griffin, he's basically alone here.

It's during the scene where Robin first sets off on that ship to England that I'm reminded of what happened to the identity of enslaved Africans once they got through the Middle Passage: they and their descendants would never be able to fully re-integrate into their cultures of origin, but would also be permanently 'other' in the eyes of American society, relegating them to a constant state of place-lessness. An un-anchoring, if you will. (Obviously these are not the same, but a similar thing is happening in terms of cultural belonging and as an African American this is what came to mind. Please don't jump me 🤚🏾)

Let's circle back to the footnote on page 11 that quotes the book Robin took his name from: "I killed Cock Robin. Who saw him die?"

For the entirety of 'Babel', we see Robin struggle for the rest of his short life against the implications of his name and the circumstances that led to him choosing it, and none of it of his own volition. I think the most tragic part of Robin's story is that Lovell decided what he was supposed to be long before the book even begins. Robin's decision, then, to stray from that path renders him with (at least in his eyes) no other viable way to exist in this world in the state his father has left him in. Once he decides to stop participating in the imperialist machine, neither England nor Canton (which he has no way to return to after killing his father) has a place for him.

Long before he makes that final decision at the end of the book, Lovell subjects Robin to what I think can be interpreted as its own kind of death. He's become a ship permanently lost at sea with nothing left to anchor him and with no destination in sight. The other characters never really seem to fully understand the extent of the loss he has experienced because he is the only character other than Griffin who has been 'un-anchored' in such a specific way. Re-reading the book knowing what his fate will be, then, makes the rest of the story feel like a very slow, winding, and complicated march towards death.

TL; DR: Robin's been dead since the very beginning of 'Babel'. In fact, he's dead the very moment he becomes 'Robin', and Lovell killed him. But who saw him die?