#i grew up in the american southwest

[fennelwasp]

Clara + various burdas + my take on a western au because lordoftablecloths’ cowboylogic inspired me to slap the aesthetics of my hometown onto the healers

[nopeferatu]

i just think its really cool to headcanon ennis as having mexican ancestry. i just think its really neat.

[just-about-nothing]

like jesus okay i’m basically anti war & certainly anti iraq & afghanistan and so i’m like 100% biased but this sort of television just. doesn’t make the military come off in any sort of good light. when television can’t come up with halfway decent justification for this shit that even me, as someone’s whose just studied law at the undergraduate level, can pick apart, it’s pretty pathetic. there are not justifications for war crimes & given both invasions were big fat war crimes, any sort of justification on television comes across as weak willed & pathetic.

[honoura]

Shaaloani: The Land of Enchantment Part One

Hello again! It's another lore-adjacent post from me about a niche special interest of mine. This time it's Shaaloani, the American Southwest/Northern Mexico inspired zone in FFXIV's Dawntrail.

I want to disclose a few things right at the start just to temper people's expectations: I will not be definitively ID'ing any of the indigenous-inspired structures or visuals as inspired by any specific tribe. That's not my lane! I'm going to link to things that they remind me of, for sure. But otherwise my hyperfocus is going to be on the physical environment, some animals, and the ceruleum as petroleum industry. It's what I recognize best! And what I know best, truthfully.

"Hon why are you doing this?" A variety of reasons honestly. After DT dropped I saw a lot of folks who did at least one of the following:

Commented on the Old West theme park aspect

Called it "miqo'te Texas"

Generally just called the whole map "Texas"

And if I'm honest... it bugged me! Not because I thought anyone was being malicious about it (it's mostly pop culture saturation I'd suspect), but to me it stung a bit that this zone, which I grew up on the fringe of, was... kind of flattened by a lot of people?

I don't know, the response to me just felt like people assumed they knew everything about it because they'd seen it already in movies or TV or Red Dead Redemption rather than the same open-mindedness about what was presented in places like Urqopacha.

This zone isn't just Texas -- yes there are some bits and pieces here (because it's pulling from the Chihuahuan Desert and the Sonoran Desert), but so much of it reminds me of New Mexico, Mexico, and Arizona. There's some Colorado, Utah, and Nevada there too! And the background story going on there is something that still happens in a lot of those states, by both the government and corporations alike.

That variety deserves to be celebrated! So come learn with me about the inspiration for Shaaloani!

Shaaloani Geography

Shaaloani has three major regions in the zone -- Eshceyaani Wilds, Pyariyoanaan Plain, and Yawtanane Grasslands. To get this out of the way, I'm going to tell you the one that reminds me most of Texas.

Ready?

Lake Taori of the Pyariyoanaan Plain.

It's river-fed, with canyons on both ends of the Niikwerepi. The trees crowding around it are cypress trees, as you can tell by the little nubby off-shoots called knees. To compare, here is a photo of cypress trees along the Frio River:

This is also reminiscent of places along the Rio Grande and Pecos Rivers, two significant water sources in West Texas. I also would not call them bayous! Bayous typically have brackish water, are slow-moving, and are way too far east.

However, it could be partly considered a ciénega -- which according to its wikipedia article:

"Ciénagas are usually associated with seeps or springs, found in canyon headwaters or along margins of streams. Ciénagas often occur because the geomorphology forces water to the surface, over large areas, not merely through a single pool or channel."

As a caveat, ciénegas generally don't have trees around them, but I also know that you can't really drown a cypress and they love sunshine. Regardless -- if you see trees in the desert they are typically growing along a water source. Balmorhea State Park has some cottonwood trees native to the area that are going strong.

Yawtanane Grasslands reads as a mix of the Chihuahuan Desert and the Eastern Plains of Colorado. Both are rather arid and home to a variety of grasses that can thrive in such a climate -- which has historically made both areas home to large cattle industries (whether or not this was ever a good idea is debatable, since cattle are very thirsty animals).

Meanwhile the Eshceyaani Wilds looks similar to the Sonoran Desert -- the red-hued soil and rocks, the abundance of cacti with the scrub brush and some drought-tolerant grasses. Here's a shot of the Sonoran within Saguaro National Park in Arizona:

Saguaros also only grow in Arizona in the States! As well as the organ-pipe cactus, which you see in Tender Valley. And prickly pears grow just about anywhere they can get a chance -- as well as barrel cacti, both of which we see in Tender Valley (along with what could be agave!).

You could probably make a case for it being a piñon-juniper scrubland -- everything's very short compared to those cypress trees, including the juniper trees! Piñon-juniper scrubland's found throughout the Southwest. There are also piñon-juniper savannahs and persistent woodlands intermixed in the same places. The difference lay in what plants you find with the piñon pines and junipers.

Visually, aside from the Sonoran Desert, I can also see a lot of New Mexico, like the Ghost Ranch in Rio Arriba:

It matches up with the mountains you can see, and both Yowekwa Canyon and Tender Valley. And of course, Tender Valley is likely a Grand Canyon reference, going by the sheer height of the cliffs. But you could also make a case for Canyonlands National Park in Utah.

There's a shot from Grand View Point Overlook within the park -- the closeness of the canyon walls and the warm earth tones also evoke Tender Valley!

There's also a lot of these sandstone formations in Utah that better fit Shaaloani -- like here in the Valley of the Gods:

Shaaloani Structures

I also at this point want to call attention to one of the two sites with cliff dwellings & adobe structures. We just saw Tender Valley above, which is confirmed to be old Yok Huy structures. But check out these Tonawawta buildings below.

As I stated before, I don't want to state which tribe these two styles remind me of. But I do want to say this again strikes me as another New Mexico and Arizona callback; both the Gila Cliff Dwellings and the Puye Cliff Dwellings are found in two different areas of New Mexico. And the Gíusewa Pueblo, also in New Mexico! Montezuma Castle is found in Arizona, and is pictured below! Look at that rich reddish earth color.

I also want to call attention to the place of worship for the Tonawawta in Yowekwa Canyon:

When I saw it my kneejerk response was to call it an ofrenda. But that's ultimately an incomplete response -- that was just the vibe I felt after seeing them during my life! What it also reminds me of are pictographs and petroglyphs. You find these all over the Southwest (the climate helps preserve them!), but I'm going to link some really great examples. I won't provide images to all though!

Crow Canyon Petroglyphs:

Piedras Madras Canyon at Petroglyph National Monument (New Mexico) Petroglyph Point Trail at Mesa Verde National Park (Colorado) Petroglyph Panel at Canyon Reef National Park (Utah) Nampaweap at Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument (Arizona) Horseshoe Canyon at Canyonlands National Park (Utah) and the Hueco Tanks State Park (Texas)

In contrast, I don't want to spend a ton of time on the boom town structures in this zone; they are pretty straightforward references to mining towns during the different resource booms (gold, silver, copper, oil).

Similar blocky shapes, built out of wood. One thing I noticed as a neat addition are the decorative patterns painted on it -- again, I don't want to presume if there's a specific tribe tied to this. But I do think it's a neat touch and I want to think that's a design choice to convey the underlying theme that this is a zone at odds with advancing technology and wanting to keep hold of important traditions.

I WILL talk about the ceruleum wells and pumping though. Mostly because I'm impressed that they went with structures that so closely resemble early 20th century oil derricks. Those were also predominately made of wood (including the barrels, yikes!). The pump part of what's called a pumpjack were covered in the old days -- the ones we're most used to seeing now are made of metal and are thus left uncovered.

However, as you can see from this century old rig, even the wheel's made of wood:

I don't think ceruleum gushes the same way oil did -- it seems to behave more like natural gas. However, most natural gas pipelines do burn off excess, which can be seen as a little spout of flame atop.

Oil's occupied an awkward spot in the Southwest, and still does. Aside from the heinous crimes committed in Killers of the Flower Moon (where members of the Osage tribe were murdered for their oil shares in Oklahoma) and the Teapot Dome Scandal, oil is just... well.

Bear with me, I'm about to rag on Koana a moment.

The people who make the most money and have the most power over the average roughneck's life never live in the Southwest. They work in the c-suite and have more money than sense.

I find it very fascinating that DT chose to recreate this dynamic, this uncomfortable push-pull of a region rich in a resource, and it's being harvested at the suggestion and behest of a power that is physically removed from the area. And to some NPCs it's with a certain level of disregard to traditions and practices in place before, with the focus on the nebulous quantifier of 'progress'. Progress how? It depends!

But the folks at the highest seat of power never have to grapple with those questions, because to them it's a fairly cut and dry answer. This is the way to proceed, and if they want to take this nation into the "future", then this is the clear way to do it. It speaks to Koana's fixation on foreign technology to the point he de-values his own (partly due to his childhood trauma, which kind of prepped him to be susceptible to it).

Meanwhile the locals are the ones grappling the most with this change -- how it affects their plants and animals. Sometimes pits open up in the earth and ceruleum burns (which, Santa Rita New Mexico sank multiple times into the earth thanks to copper mining). On the map there's even discolored plants -- and they only occur in the vicinity OF the bulk of the ceruleum pumps.

This is at odds with core beliefs, keeping up with traditional practices. It puts people in the place of 'do I participate in this system, which promises work and the means to take care of my family, even as it pits me against my cultural heritage?'.

Growing up in West Texas, one of the weirdest things to me (to this day) is how many people will claim they love the land. They do! They love the outdoors, they worry over how certain species of animals have become scarcer. But they also work in the single most damaging industry because it pays the most money. It lets them cover bills and give their kids what they never had.

That same push-pull is in Shaaloani narratively; when progress has been thrust upon you, how do you survive it? How do you make sure what's dearest to you comes along with you?

In Conclusion

I want to call it here for Part One -- Part Two after this will cover more observations I had regarding flora and fauna in the Shaaloani zone, and how that also shows the attention to detail given this zone! It's a good time! There will be dinosaurs!

[stelly38]

‘Rivals’ Showrunner Talks “Bigger, Better, Bolder” Season 2, ‘Bridget Jones’ “Naughtiness” Appealing to the U.S.

"I've had messages from friends saying it spiced up their sex life — they reckon the British and American birthrate is going to go up as a result of this show," Dominic Treadwell-Collins tells THR.

Di5ney+'s beloved Jilly Cooper adaptation Rivals took the U.K. by storm this fall — but showrunner Dominic Treadwell-Collins always had his U.S. audience in mind, too.

“When we were thinking about the Americans — I grew up spending a lot of time in the States because my grandparents lived there — so I grew up in American television, and I understand the American obsession with how odd the British are,” Treadwell-Collins tells The Hollywood Reporter. “This show celebrates Britishness and class and peculiar sex and joyous sex. We talked a lot about it being Bridget Jones in tone.”

“That Daniel Cleaver naughtiness is very much Rupert,” the award-winning producer, known for work such as A Very English Scandal and EastEnders, continues. “I think that’s what is appealing to the U.S., and the word-of-mouth is growing that, ‘Oh my gosh, this show is dirty.’ It’s a more modern Downton [Abbey] that’s filthy and more cut-throat.”

Rivals – already confirmed for season two — landed on Hulu in the States in October. The story follows Cooper’s novel on the infamous scoundrel and old money MP Rupert Campbell-Black (Alex Hassell) and his rivalry with Tony Baddingham (David Tennant) that seeps into the 1980s-set world of Baddingham’s Corinium independent commercial television station, located in the fictional county of Rutshire, the Cotswolds in southwest England.

Baddingham hires a dynamic Irish newsman named Declan O’Hara (Aidan Turner), husband of actress Maud (Victoria Smurfit), away from the BBC. Declan is plunged into the outrageous lives of the Rutshire elite, featuring beloved characters such as Lizzie Vereker (Katharine Parkinson), Freddie Jones (Danny Dyer) and Cameron Cook (Nafessa Williams).

At the center is a love story, however, between a young and inexperienced Taggie (Bella Maclean), daughter of the O’Haras, and Campbell-Black, who are drawn to each other amidst the raucous landscape of sex, mischief and shoulder pads.

Cooper, whose bestselling Rutshire Chronicles made her a household name in the U.K., was integral to Treadwell-Collins’ process. “We were very key all the way through to make sure Jilly was happy,” he says. “Jilly signed off scripts. She gave notes. I remember we’d written that Rupert asked Declan for his cutlery back, and Jilly went, ‘He would never say the word cutlery! He would say silverware.’ That’s authenticity.”

The showrunner explains that he’s been desperate for a long time to adapt Cooper’s work. “Over the years, lots of people have laughed at me and ridiculed me a bit for [wanting to adapt them],” he says.

“Other television people said, ‘Oh, they’re a bit slap-my-thigh silly.’ And I said, ‘No, they they’re about Britishness and class and love and longing!’ I knew how great they could be.” It was only when he set up the production company Happy Prince, part of ITV Studios, Treadwell-Collins finally felt Rivals had found a home.

It is clearly a passion project, telling by the enthusiasm in the producer’s voice. “The reason I started with this book is because the Rupert-Taggie romance,” he says to THR. “That’s the main thrust of it, but [Declan O’Hara] as well. He’s an Irish immigrant who comes into this posh world. My father was also an Irishman of farming stock that came to England, sent me to [boys’ private boarding school in England] Harrow, which is the school that Rupert attended. I’ve seen these people. I know Ruperts. I was at school with Rupert, and I understand this class system as an outsider myself.”

Cooper’s fanbase is notoriously predominantly women, but Rivals the program has seemed to disrupt that. “It’s become a show that people are watching together,” he adds, “I’ve had messages from friends saying it spiced up their sex life — they reckon the British and American birthrate is going to go up as a result of this show.”

Treadwell-Collins is not at all coy when discussing season two, rather he is fervidly excited, as word of mouth travels farther and international audiences grow. “Our hope has always been the Jilly Cooper-verse,” he says. “And what I find fascinating is quite a young U.S. audience are reading ahead now, comparing Rupert and Taggie to Twilight! This is a universal story.”

“Of course, I’ve got the ghost of season one on my shoulders,” he admits. “I’m writing as someone who’s a type A overachiever. That’s a challenge to have. So looking ahead to season two, it’s bigger, better, bolder, stronger. We know we want to keep coming back with the show.”

“We’ve already started working on scripts. We’re laying down little Easter eggs for the viewers,” the Rivals boss teases. “We’re being really rigorous. But what’s great is the team are fans. We watch telly, we are the audience, so we’re going to be harder on ourselves than the audience ever will.”

By Lily Ford for the Hollywood Reporter, December 23, 2024. Here's the link if you want it with the ads and pop ups.

[1-800-internal-damnation]

Thinking about lance being cuban, specifically that one line about missing varadero beach. Does his family live there? Is he on an international scholarship to the garrison (like some other characters)? Does he live in america, but grew up there? Does he visit? Can he visit? I wonder if they live in florida. I wonder if he misses the weather, even though the southwest desert is warm, its not the same kind of warm. Is he still fluent in spanish or has he lost it over the years? What's behind him having an american last name like mcclain? I have so many questions

[cardiaccanesblog]

A Letter to Hockey

My love of hockey is one of the most surprising and unsurprising things about me. This love was not an affair that made sense, but one that came so naturally. Growing up in southwest Louisiana, conformity is key. You go to the same churches, you go to the same schools, and you all like the same sports.

Football in my hometown is a religion in itself. During football season, you go to your church and ask the pastor about the LSU game last night. You then follow it up asking if he can put in a word with God that the Saints win this afternoon. You pray at church, asking God’s forgiveness, and then you pray at your house, asking God for the kicker to make this extra point to tie the game.

My family followed the same routine. Weekends were filled with College Gameday every Saturday, church in the morning in our Sunday best, and finally my whole family putting on the black and gold to cheer on our Saints.

I followed the routine along with them, I cheered at the appropriate times when there was a touchdown, but the game rarely held interest for me. After the Saints’ Super Bowl win in 2009, I became a more engaged fan. I watched the TV intently, I learned the referee’s hand signals, and I wanted so badly to understand all of the jargon that I heard around me.

Starting college I turned away from professional sports and began focusing on my college team. I dragged friends to games in the hottest, muggiest weather you can imagine, and I cheered. In grad school, I stopped.

Grad school was some of the hardest years of my life. I had very little joy, very little energy to do anything besides class, clinic, study, and repeat.

But then I was brought to my first hockey game.

Hockey in Louisiana is a surprising concept, but it intrigued me. I went to my first North American Hockey League game and everything changed. The pace, the aggression, the energy all changed everything for me. I didn’t understand what was going on, but I loved it. I dragged my partner to another game a few weeks later and was relieved to see that the magic hadn’t left.

I forgot about hockey after that. Too wrapped up in finding a residency, passing comps, and generally being overwhelmed by life. In April 2023, I learned I was moving to North Carolina. Honestly, I couldn’t have told you if North Carolina had a hockey team much less what they were called. However, after moving we learned that we were 2 hours from Raleigh, North Carolina, home of the Carolina Hurricanes.

My move took place during the offseason and I had no prior knowledge of the team, the sport, or even the 2023 Stanley Cup champions.

I, somewhat naively, believed that the NHL was one of the more progressive leagues for professional sports. It’s ironic that I began to love a sport at the same time the sport was turning its back on me.

I’m obsessive by nature. My Harry Potter, One Direction, Sherlock, and Supernatural fandom during my childhood would tell anyone that. I’m also a sports fan by nature. I grew up with football, baseball, and golf statistics being thrown around me. I listened to the play-by-plays and no matter what time a year, there was always a game on. So, of course when I find a sport that I learned to love on my own, I’m going to go all in.

I learned the team and the players. I learned the lines, the numbers, the positions, and the penalties. I watched videos to learn backchecking and forechecking. I learned offsides and icing and goaltender interference.

I jumped online and joined discussions. I voiced my opinions and tried to take the criticisms with grace. I learned the Hurricanes. I began to understand their system and its strengths. I was never made to feel like I didn’t belong by the people I interacted with.

I ignored the tweets that weren’t about me, but about people like me. I muted accounts that used slurs and wanted to pretend that these people didn’t exist. I wished for any sort of acknowledgement from the team I loved.

It’s 6/28/2024 and we haven’t been given that. I don’t expect that we will. The league and the teams won’t change until the people inside them change.

Though I don’t agree with a lot of the people in top positions and I’m sure they wouldn’t agree with me, I hope they never experience the heartbreak of loving something so much, but that same thing being the source of their pain, the source of their tears, and it being the very thing screaming at them that they don’t belong and they never will.

With much love,

A queer hockey fan

[whaleofatjme1920]

My Version of Eyeless Jack

So, there's no cohesive narrative here I just wanted to infodump a bunch of stuff about how I write my EJ. I'll put it in headcanon form but know whenever you read my newer EJ fics (or whenever I get an inkling to talk about him), this is exactly how I envision him and want him to be seen as.

EJ grew up in a Polish somewhat American household. He's a second generation, with his parents both being from Poland and most of their extended family in the old country. His mother is from a smaller city in the southwest, and his father from Krakow. His mother instilled in him a deep love of the natural world, and a hunger for learning.

Jack's obsession for medicine and whatnot came up because his father was just a bit insane about keeping him healthy. Any cough or sneeze was instantly investigated. He was a bit sheltered in that sense, and was prone to sneaking out to experience a normal adolescence and whatnot as he grew up.

While Jack is not averse to getting his hands dirty and doing jobs no one else would even THINK of, he's still gotta go through a full cleansing and decontamination when he's done.

I like to think that, as a kid, he was deeply in love with Slavic mythology and he was, surprise surprise, really into Chernobog. That wasn't Chernobog whispering in his ear he was just always interested whether he realized it or not. This kinda faded out around 12 years old but as a guy that's literally possessed by him now, fused to make an entirely new being, he finds it just a hair ironic.

Yeah, he did have to go to Polish school on the weekends. Sometimes he loved it, other times not at all.

He was his parents only child so he was kind of under a magnifying glass from them both.

He was actually quite close with his grandmothers!

Jack has always had a biting, sarcastic wit. He can balance professionalism with clinical sarcasm fantastically. His humor is very deadpan and he'll dupe you multiple times if you're not careful.

Jack doesn't always understand why people insist on social politeness. He actually favors bluntness, but will be polite if the situation calls for it.

He has three tongues. Yes, he's choked on them before. This mostly happened in the beginning when he was first getting used to his new body.

He doesn't like sweet foods, but certain organs are sweeter to him than others. He can't quite explain that, but he favors certain parts of people over others.

He can eat human food, but it's like junk food for him. He will always need to feast on humans from time to time to keep himself well. Also this is NOT a constant thing with him. He has like a major feeding once or twice a month, and smaller feedings ever 7-10 days. He can get by just fine, he's not always starving.

Most of his work is him just preparing in case he's in a situation he can't hunt.

His body can heal at an accelerated rate!

Because he's possessed by/permanently fused with Chernobog, he has 'starfish' tendencies. Meaning, if he loses a finger, in about 6 months he'll have a new one. Anything bigger might take years but he's never been in a situation where that's needed to happen. This does not mean he's invincible.

Slender Man, who has been around for way longer than any of us can conceive, finds it funny that Chernobog is fused with a socially awkward young man who couldn't even ask a girl out normally and forewent his survival instinct just to hang out with her.

Slender Man, when just with Jack, will speak with him in Polish or older forms of Slavic languages when more directly addressing Chernobog.

Jack is physically HUGE. He's like 6'8, because his merging made him bigger. He was already tall at 5'10, but Chernobog required a bigger vessel. So, he painfully grew bigger. He's quite muscular, not overtly so but you know he has physical strength.

He's,,,,, human-like in appearance. Gives off uncanny valley at times.

He's actually quite funny and does take some joy in making people laugh.

He's not besties with Jeff but they are, more often than not, together doing things.

He actually prefers Jane's company!

It takes so, so long to gain his actual trust. He has varying levels of it, like anyone else, but it's difficult to even breach his first layer.

Has a deep fondness for birds, specifically vultures.

Doesn't like dogs. He has never liked dogs. Smile is his one and only exception. Does like cats.

His body has a stupid tattoo on his thigh he got when drunk one night at uni. He's still mildly embarrassed by it.

He occasionally smokes weed.

He won't admit it, but anyone that looks like Jenny brings back terrible, terrible memories. When he was younger, those types of women used to trigger panic attacks. He's much better now, but seeing women that look like her make him very uncomfortable.

He doesn't enjoy strong smelling perfumes or colognes. He thinks the scents themselves are nice, but they give him migraines. His sense of smell is very strong and well.

He can actually function quite well in normal society, he just doesn't physically fit the image. And even using his glamour-he sticks out from his height alone.

Jack wouldn't say this to anyone, but he sometimes hangs around in his glamour just to remember what he used to look like before. It's not a 100% match, but he sees himself as older. A bit more jaded and weathered. He wonders what would have happened if he listened to his roommate and didn't go.

[zet-sway]

Fanfic: Sonnenblume

Or, I finally wrote a desert vacation fic.

[Read on AO3] - Rated E for SPICYEEEEEEEE

Pairing: Thane/FShep | Rating: 18+ | Words: ~4600

There’s a kind of transcendental brilliance to this place. Some kind of inebriating mix of oxytocin and fresh air and sunshine that ignites his synapses and levitates his heart until he feels he can touch the radiant sky.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“I think I found a place,” she says one morning. “An old friend of my mom's, they have a vacation home back on Earth, out in the American Southwest.”

Thane raises a brow at her. They're cleaning out the cargo hold, offloading collector tech at the citadel tower dock for distribution to the council races, each of them making their requests for research and study.

“I've never been to Earth,” he muses. There are any number of arid planets to visit, it seems almost foolish he is just now considering that Earth has many climates, deserts included.

“I haven't been in a long time. Grew up in space, last time I was topside was before my Spectre appointment. But my mom's friend says it's the perfect time to visit. A month from now it'll be hotter than a Krogan’s quad.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Earth sounds lovely, Siha.”

Her smile could light up the deepest reaches of dark space.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Day 1

They're docking in Vancouver, slipping out the cargo hold and on to a taxi to whisk them away right under the noses of the Alliance's top brass.

The joy in her eyes is supernatural, he thinks. Unshackled from the military for seven scant days, Shepard practically glows with the energy of her newfound freedom. They leave an absolutely amateur trail of evidence as they flee south, along the west coast of the United States, through mountains and redwoods and oceans. The only stop they need to make is to pick up new clothes, snacks, and sunscreen.

They're on vacation.

He has to think to remember how to say it in his mother tongue. Ten years ago, he hadn't the funds to take time away from work after his marriage. Like many within the Compact, his life had always been driven by work, using the few pockets of silence in the spaces between each job to secure the next contract, research the next target, or hone his skills. Little time had ever been spared for himself. This… outing, this vacation, is something he's long thought belonged to the upper echelons of society and caste.

But he supposes he is wealthy, in some sense.

He's in love.

Wealth is watching Shepard parade almost girlishly in front of the shopping center’s changing rooms, all blushing cheeks and nervous laughter as she twirls the golden yellow sundress that she insists she's “unsure” about. Wealth is the way her face lights up when she spots a large, wavy brimmed hat across the aisle and races to try it on. Wealth is how she winks at him over her oversized sunglasses, and the levity in her voice when she says, with a devil's grin, “They'll never recognize me now.”

She might be right. The man at the checkout counter doesn't spare them a second glance as he checks out with their things.

Vacation suits her. And as they hail another transit to take them to the arid southwest, he thinks it's beginning to suit him too. He's rather looking forward to the breezy garments he’d chosen for himself.

Shepard's ruby red hair is swallowed by her massive sun hat, casting a broad shadow down her lean and muscled frame and the golden fabric of her dress. “Civvies,” she calls them. “You know, civilian clothes.”

He's quite certain there's nothing civilian about her. Her shoulders are too square, her calves and arms too hardened. She turns the eyes of the other passengers, oblivious to or simply ignoring their blatant stares. He feels like a shadow by comparison, clothed for now in the dark colors so typical of his profession. Still, her head falls against his shoulder and she slips her hand into his, laying claim to him all the same. Her silent affection makes his heart and body ache for her.

With practiced breaths, he slips beneath the waves of memory, willing himself through the minutes until the moment when they’re finally alone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Soon enough, they find themselves stepping off yet another transport not far from their rental.

Nearly one with the rocky desert, the low-roofed home is a dissertation in minimalist design, with flat, concrete lines gliding across deep-set windows, leading his eye to a modest entryway and through the glass beyond. Dimly, he wonders if he might have the funds to purchase the property; the volus bankers who minded his accounts probably thought him dead, having let his assets sit untouched for years. A minimalist by nature, this is precisely the place he had long dreamed of living.

Shepard tugs his hand, her skirt fluttering in the transport's downdraft, and his thoughts melt beneath her eyes, lit from within by a soft, cybernetic glow in the shadow of her sun hat.

She drops their things the moment both feet are over the threshold. Before he’s even figured out how to lock the door, her mouth is on his. She pulls him - grasps him by the shoulders and tugs him deeper into the house, kicking off her sandals as she goes, leading him towards whatever furniture lies beyond. True to her nature, his Siha is impatient. She is the fiery crown of Arashu, and he the rolling tide of Kalahira. He tempers her flames, grasping her wrists and flattening her hands against his chest as he kisses her, slow and deep.

The idyllic home they'll share for the week isn’t much more than background noise as she yields against him.

Her shoulders are already kissed by the sun, dusted with a delicate pink hue that warms beneath his touch. He slips a finger beneath one narrow strap of her dress, sliding it down her arm, trailing kisses in his wake. One luscious breast comes free, then the other, and her dress falls to the ground without ceremony.

Not long after, she's straddling him on the couch, grinding down on him with those soft little moans he's replayed over and over again in his mind.

Their first time was like this. He basks in the ethereal headspace between past and present, crisscrossing them in his mind as her hips roll against his, hot breath on his neck. And then she lets out the smallest whimper, a sound so vulnerable and soft that he cannot help but breathe her name in return, clutching her close. His dominant hand settles on her backside, aiding her motion; the other rests between her shoulder blades as he drives himself up into her heat, his mouth wandering in clumsy gasps along her chest. The way she lets her weight fall against him is an unspoken surrender, a precious gift she has chosen only him to receive.

He will never know why she chose him. But if it's him she wants, then she shall have him. Every night, again and again, until she screams his name in ecstasy and they lay in satiated exhaustion.

Tu-fira.

He belongs to her.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s difficult to articulate how natural this feels.

Night falls, a chill settling over the rocky desert. He’s been alone with her many times, but never quite like this. In the short time they’ve known one another, she’s never been more than a commlink away from her crew, her mission, her ship and her duty. Here, nestled under a sea of stars, they’re more alone than either of them have been in decades. He watches the light of the backyard firepit cast flickering shadows on her bare skin, their hands intertwined.

Long after driving one another to sweat-kissed exhaustion, they remain entangled, engrossed in conversation. It’s like meeting her for the first time all over again. The armored force of nature who had carved a willful path into his life now lay naked in a nest of blankets with him, firelight dancing in her eyes, deep into a long and meandering train of thought. She weaves tales of her life before the Alliance, of joyrides and hijinks that would have made even his younger, rambunctious self hesitate. Her excitement touches his soul with a kind of contentment that he’s not touched in what feels like a lifetime.

Inevitably, the chill of night becomes too much to bear, and their talks meander back to the physical; stories of life before one another and the various trysts that preceded.

He can hear the desire in the deep, red edge of her voice; the way her tone dips from casual to sensual as she stands, clothed only in the dancing hues of firelight, and leads him to the crisp, untouched sheets of their shared bed. He pulls her close, scaled hands sliding across bare human skin, pointedly savoring her, willing his want and his love to find their way into every corner of her soul.

He wants. Oh, how deeply he wants.

He whispers prayers into her palms, one by one, as she rides him into the break of dawn.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Day 2

Morning comes and goes in silence.

They lay heedless to the sun's motion, tangled soft sheets lit by the dreamy glow of day through the deep-set awnings and windows of their rental. Thane dozes in and out of sleep with her in his arms, heart swelling each time he wakes, awash in the scent of her hair and skin. They lie together for some time, and when she rises, he curls into the space where she had slept, unwilling to part with her residual heat.

Heat stirs in his limbs as he hears the shower kick on, his body calling for her as though he's woken up back in time, a younger, more virile man. Half in dreams, he can see her naked and robed in morning dew like a siren, and he cannot resist.

He finds her in the frameless shower, sunlight streaming through the window beside her. Water pours over her in rivulets of gleaming light, the sun illuminating the strong dunes of her back, gleaming off her shoulder blades and the curve of her spine.

Shepard, of all the people he had known, was made of sunshine. She was made of the fiery warmth and light of day, bathing him in her glory and simultaneously blinding him with effortless radiance.

And it's here, pressed up against the polished concrete wall beneath a lukewarm deluge of water, that he shows her all the ways he loves her. Shows her how, if he angles his hips just so, the last of her burdens melt away and he knows her as only he can; through the gentle, mewling gasps of an angel on the verge of tasting her own glory, manifesting the soft heat inside her as he drives himself against her deepest reaches.

He has to be mindful of his eyes. This has always been true, will always be true of all drell, but never more so than when she nears the peak of her pleasure. Shepard is possessive, perpetually communicating her need with unending motion, gripping him close as though the mere inches between them are a chasm too great to bear. He watches the way crystalline drops of water bead on her neck and shoulders, they way they catch the morning sun like diamonds, casting pinpricks of dappled light against his own scales and streak down the shape of her as she moves against him, contorted and desperate to take him deeper, to break herself upon the sanguine friction of their joining.

Her head knocks softly against the wall, her back arching, chest thrust toward him. And then she breaks. Sweet gods, how she breaks.

It's almost more than he can take. Words can never hope to say all the beautiful things she is when she comes.

He gathers each gasp, each heartbeat, every droplet of water on her parted lips and every clench of her heat around him. He drinks them all in, safely locked in the depths of his blessed memory for all his days. There is no greater gift in this life or the next.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Day 3

Much as he would like to spend the entirety of their ‘vacation’ finding a reason to make love to her on every unoccupied surface in their rental, Shepard has made sure to include other activities in their itinerary.

He wakes to find her half dressed, smiling at him as she pulls a swimsuit top over her head. It’s a deep, forest green, with wide, high straps that criss-cross over her collarbones in an attractive triangular shape. He blinks, anchoring himself to reality as though he can't be sure she's real. And if his drowsy eyes find purchase in the alluring curve of her breasts peeking through the small cutout at the top’s center, he's certain the gods will forgive him.

The mattress dips as she sits beside him. “Come for a ride with me,” she whispers by his ear.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thane has often heard that human skin is easily burned by their planet’s star. He’s never quite believed it until Shepard.

He finds himself on a beach, massaging the soft cream she calls ‘sunblock’ into her back and shoulders, wondering how he could have ever gotten so lucky. His Siha, his warrior angel, so vulnerable without her armor that she wants - needs - his hands to protect her soft human skin, heals his soul with this one simple act; the intimate joy of being her protector and lover as he takes care to make sure she is thoroughly covered. The ocean breeze blows strands of her carmine hair across her forehead as she turns her head to him, smile lines deepening with delight as their eyes meet.

They pass the time in golden luxuriation, prostrating themselves beneath the radiant heat of Sol for hours, never more than an arm’s length apart, until the sun dips below the horizon and paints the sky in a myriad of hues somewhere between floral and fire.

And as the sun bows out for the evening, he bows her into the sand, lips locked and knees knocking against her own as they collapse together on soft, weatherworn sand that clings to the warmth of the sun as it bids them goodnight.

He never wants to leave this place.

Goddess above, Earth is the very image of serenity. Freer than free, his breath unburdened, his elation pours from him into her waiting mouth as they taste the salt air together. Her beach towel is a poor shield from the sand, but it hardly matters as he uncovers her skin, inch by precious inch, until she quivers beneath his touch, the sound of his name carried away by the rolling swell of the ocean.

He can taste the sea between her legs, the irresistible twang of life and salt and need that rises from her like water from a stone.

“Don't stop,” she breathes.

He couldn't - not if he wanted to. He wants this memory exponentially more than his own pleasure. A moment finer than all the collected treasures of the galaxy, etched into his mind for the rest of his days: his Siha writhing beneath his hot mouth, gripping his scalp, crying out as she tumbles again and again through ecstasy of his making.

He could die here, he thinks. Perhaps he's already dead. He nuzzles her thighs, warm and soft, as she floats down from on high. Yes, if the gods wish this to be his grave, he would gladly bow his head in thanks.

It's an hour’s trek back to their rental, but they will stay here until the ocean wind becomes too cold to endure, dunes yielding beneath them just as flesh yields to flesh and they become one.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Day 4

It’s the honeymoon phase, he thinks to himself, running his fingers through her hair as she lies sleeping on his chest.

Thane has been here before, in another life, waxing and waning in the warmth of his wife’s bed. Deep in a distant rational corner of his mind tries to tell him: it won’t be this way forever. But does that matter? Does it really, actually matter? Months ago he would have said that he was but a tooth on a cogwheel, destined to spin around in repeating cycles of loss, memory, and despair. But this fierce woman pursues him with all the endurance that humans are known for. Bit by bit, she chips away at the rigid crust the last ten years have borne upon him, and he is alive. Alive in ways he hasn’t known in what feels like a lifetime.

They will spend this day treating themselves to all the beauty that earth’s arid lands have to offer. From the bleached, rolling dunes of sand, to the baked and rocky landscapes dotted with life in its most hardy forms, to the golden time-carved radiance of the painted desert - Goddess preserve him. His past has never felt further away. With her by his side, his world is filled with sunlight in much the same way as Earth’s gleaming sky, now so familiar and perfect to him that he would just as easily call it home.

And when the sun’s heat is too much for her human skin to bear, he trades the scenic vistas of the American southwest for a landscape of another kind.

Her skin glows, its color deepening with each passing day in dappled patterns that betray her state of undress throughout their travels. He finds it endearing, the way her cheeks and shoulders are dusted with more freckles than he'd seen when they arrived, the way her chest and thighs remain lighter in color than the rest of her, drawing his eyes, his hands, his mouth to worship at the temple at is her body. She kneels between his knees and blesses him with the sweet heat of her mouth, stealing his breath as she tastes him, crimson hair the perfect anchor for his hands as she takes him higher and higher.

He had underestimated her appetite for him. Perhaps he'd underestimated his own appetite in turn. They haven't even made it back to their rental and he can already smell the need on her, the cramped taxi insulating and perfuming the air so thickly he can almost taste her, slick and soaking with arousal, maddeningly just out of reach but with nothing but her panties between her need and the rest of him. Powerless to the heat of her mouth, he spirals through his lust as she pleasures him, soft hands and pink lips around his shaft. Her artificial eyes gleam up at him through her mussed hair, and goddess preserve him, he’ll hack the engine himself if it’ll make this taxi go any faster.

She's fumbling at the lock as he pushes her against the wall beside their front door, covering her mouth with his. Lips locked, they stumble inside. His hand drops down to her thigh, palming at the warm skin just beneath her skirt. Shepard, in turn, tugs him in the direction of the bedroom.

He considers this, allowing himself to be led as he considers all they’ve had the pleasure of seeing today - of her radiant smile beneath her oversized sunglasses, unable to conceal the joy of her eyes from his perfect recollection. Of her freckle-dusted shoulders beneath the shadow of her sun hat. And he decides in that moment that no - as much as he adores their soft bed and its sex-scented sheets, he loves her in the daylight more.

The back patio opens with a wave of his omni-tool, and he presses her into the opulent cushions around the fire pit. She chuckles against his mouth - perhaps he's become too predictable, but it no longer matters.

There’s a kind of transcendental brilliance to this place. Some kind of inebriating mix of oxytocin and fresh air and sunshine that ignites his synapses and levitates his heart until he feels he can touch the radiant sky. He ruches up her dress, fabric sheeting off her body until she's all warm, decadent skin against a backdrop of their shed clothing. He groans inwardly at the sight of her, the shadow of her clavicles arching nearly above her soft breasts, tipped with that same aphrodisiac shade of desire that awaits between her lush thighs.

She smiles so sweetly at him, but her eyes are shaded with mischief as she opens her legs for him, teasing her folds beneath his heated gaze. He falls to his knees before her, palming her silken thighs, kissing the wet, sanguine warmth between her legs as though it were her mouth.

Her hips rise to meet him, rolling against his tongue as she brings one ankle gently against his back to guide them together, and Thane breathes out a low, pleasured groan. He loves this - the way her body talks for her, knowing full well he needs no encouragement but asking all the same, driven by biological instinct to share the most intimate parts of her humanity with him - a man from another world. Her body calls for him, beckons him, and he is both her servant and sire.

“Please, please Thane,” she whispers, hands reaching blindly for whatever parts of him she can reach.

He lifts from his place of worship with a breathy inhale, curling his arms around her thighs and hauling her bodily until she rests on the very edge of the cushion and the tip of his cock falls against her wet heat. And then he pushes forward, savoring the way her soft flesh yields to him, how her silken walls conform to every inch of his thick, ridged length, swallowing him to the hilt.

She breathes his name as he bottoms out. Takes a moment to catch her breath and then pushes up on her elbows and then her palms until she’s close enough to wrap one arm around his neck and pull him close. Thane folds an arm around her in turn, pumping in and out of her blessed heat. Thank the gods for her brilliant human flexibility.

The sun beats down on his back, his body shielding her vulnerable human skin from the worst of its rays, as he makes love to her with long, deep thrusts. He could never hope to articulate this specific kind of ecstasy - the ruddy heat of Sol crowning him with the same deep heat he seeks deep inside her.

It’s not what he would call fucking, but it’s not what he would call tender, either. It’s somewhere in between. It’s the heavy, sweet push and pull of two lovers, their minds blank of all thoughts beyond the tension, friction, heat, and pleasure that flows between them; tongues sliding together, hands clutching at skin and scales, at once desperate for release but determined not to reach it, to stay in this moment forever, unwilling to part with the sybaritic heaven they share. She locks one thigh around his hips, bracing herself with one hand so she can touch his face with the other, fingertips trailing almost too roughly against his sensitive ruby cheek as she grinds her cunt onto his heavy girth.

He needs her closer, needs her harder, consumed by the need to become one with her in that sanguine way only two lovers can. Parting from her for just a moment, he slides both knees on the cushions with her, hauling her up onto his thighs, watching for a moment as she grinds her flushed, creamy slit against his length before sinking himself back into her depths. They rock together until he’s sure beyond doubt that she’s out of her mind, blissed out and debauched before the combined heat of her sun and his desire. Until the satin sheen of sweat pooling in the hollow of her throat is too laden to cling to her skin, and she moans his name into the wide open sky. Only then does he drop his hand between them, drawing wide, steady circles around that incandescent neural bullet between her thighs.

Her voice is lost as she comes, words and sounds dying in her throat as, at last, the pleasure is too much for her body to bear. He watches beneath heavy-lidded eyes as she tenses, cries out, and breaks, as her body sings like a plucked harpstring; knowing that for those precious few seconds, she is well and truly his, and his alone.

When her mind is wiped of all thoughts but him, his embrace, his kiss, and the pleasure at his hands, he can finally let go.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Day 5

He wakes to the sound of music playing softly from another corner of the house. Decades old, by the sound of it, plucked notes singing on a guitar string beneath the melodic voice of a human weaving a tale of a dark desert highway. He’s heard this one before, playing over a crackling stationary radio in the cargo bay where she’d often done routine maintenance on Normandy’s ground vehicle.

Rising with a contented breath, he pads over to the common area to greet the day.

She’s wearing one of his robes, and nothing else. A breezy, cream-colored cotton garment that’s too wide in the shoulders for her more feminine frame. She lets it drop down one arm, the fabric collecting in the crook of her elbow just beneath where her hand rests on the door frame. The rest of it hangs open, gauzy fabric illuminated by the glowing sun streaming in from behind her, framing her in ethereal light. Though her face is in shadow, her artificial eyes are just bright enough to search his soul as she peers back at him.

In that moment, his Siha is more angel than warrior. She's posing for him, framing herself in a mental postcard to commemorate the effortless beauty of this place, this life, this love.

She pauses in the doorway for a good long while, as though she knows precisely what she's doing. Cocking her hip, idly running her long, calloused fingers through her hair, waiting for him to sear this image into his blessed eidetic mind for the rest of his days.

It’s so easy, wrapping her in his arms, kissing her again and again, bitter coffee on his tongue and warm sun on his face.

“I got a message from Hackett this morning,” she says softly.

The tone of her voice makes his stomach clench with unease, and he takes a moment to suppress the tremor in his throat.

“How long do we have?”

“Until tomorrow morning.”

He pulls her tight against his chest, as though by some miracle he could keep her from ever leaving the safety of his arms again. Shepard tucks her head into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Thane.”

“Do not apologize, Siha.” Her hair is soft on his cheek, and he breathes deep as his eyes settle without focus on the rocky landscape outside her lovely picture-frame window. “This sojourn has already brought me more joy than you could ever know.”

When she kisses him, there’s a desperation in her that he’s not felt before, as though she shares his worry. That she’s been called away is unsurprising, in and of itself. But the tension in her shoulders makes his heart quake with an obdurate fear that will linger throughout what remains of their holiday.

He resolves to suppress it. If Shepard has taught him anything, it’s how work and purpose can stave off one’s demons, if only for a little while.

“What would you like for breakfast, Siha?”

She lifts her head then, and her smile is worth whatever heartache lies beyond the indefectible threshold of their abode.

He will take what he can from this moment. Reality can wait just a little longer.

[1ore]

went through the art on your site and I absolutely love motu's mask . I fully was under the impression he was a guy with a animal head at first, out of curiosity what was your inspiration for its design ?

THANK YOU!! I love that he gives the impression of having a real critter head. He would be so indignant about this, which is great, because we have to keep him humble.

so Motu came about after I replayed Morrowind for the first time as an adult, and I wanted to port my player character, Roan, into Moribund. I had put a lot of time into her story, and I guess by that point it had drifted from the source material enough that it was time to wiggle out onto dry land.

Back then, Moribund was distinctly lacking in war and sociopolitical beef, so I needed a real guy-of-all-time to fill the shoes of Dagoth Ur and the Sixth House... which is to say that yeah, the fact that Motu wears a mask, the burnished gold/bronze color, the engraved rays in his sideburns, those are all nods to the og

The earliest iterations of Motu's mask were modeled after baboons and macaques.

couldn't tell you why I gravitated to them. I think part of it was because I had written off primates for most of my life. I grew up a wolf girl and I thought that any animal without prominent fuzzy ears looked weird. (oh how the turn tables.)

Then he pivoted to a chimeric, set beast-type critter. I was younger and I didn't have the language for what I was observing at the time, but I was drawn to cynocephaly as a cross-cultural phenomenon. I also liked the idea of him being a visual wordplay on "dog-headed" and "god-headed"

I don't remember if I designed boondogs concurrently with him or after him, but that's the in-world justification for why he looks Like That. his mask is modeled after them.

I also had Roan and Koda's masks to reference. they were early examples of the mask-wearing practice in high Asthaom, and I knew I wanted Motu's mask to mirror theirs.

honestly, I feel like his mask is still a work-in-progress. I have a hard time wrapping my head around the planes of his cheeks and eyes. I think they can be done better.

(i swear i've drawn it more recently i just don't have access to my sketchbooks right now)

this also isn't unique to Motu, but his colors/geometry/asthaom's identity/my art in general draw heavily from settler and indigenous folk art in the Southwest, folk art in general, and also the cultural exchange happening in east asia during the time of the maritime silk road. people were making cheap crafts for mass export to satisfy the tastes of a wide variety of people who had never seen this part of the world, but this was also before the colonial powers that be, so It's a bunch of cultural and material knockoffs of knockoffs of knockoffs in a way that's not... like... always benign, but Different, sometimes less asymmetrical, and endearing to me as a knockoff myself LOL. it's an excuse to learn more and make clumsy efforts to reconnect with whatever tha hell it means to be japanese american.

now that I think of it, this comes full circle with Morrowind taking heavily from Indian history and Hindu cosmology. really playing a game of telephone with another guy's orientalism all the way back to the silk road. motu would hate this regardless. totally ruining his illusion of a pure and static cultural heritage.

but what can i say. i love when we pass around the Creature

[shishi] [shachihoko] [inugami]

:)

[gettingfrilly]

Where is Peach Creek?

People have been theory crafting this for decades and the canon answer is somewhere in America and that's about it. BUT if you have my flavor of autism and require accuracy and details then here's my own personal headcanon.

Here's all the canon information we have:

According to the series bible, Peach Creek is an American suburb.

Peach Creek experiences all four seasons. We've seen a hot summer, fall foliage, and a snowy winter, so it can be assumed there's a spring time as well. This combined with the broad leaf forest between the cul de sac and the trailer park places Peach Creek in a temperate deciduous forest biome.

Peach Creek has a peach orchard that was there since settlers first arrived in the area. The peaches native to North America grew solely in the southwest.

Peach Creek was founded over 300 years ago by pilgrims. We don't have an exact canon time period for when Ed Edd n' Eddy takes place, but its safe to say it's somewhere towards the end of the 20th century, which would mean Peach Creek was founded some time in the 17th century (the 1600s.) This would place Peach Creek east of the Mississippi, as the west was being colonized by Spain at this point.

In BPS, we learn that Peach Creak is a day's walk away from what APPEARS to be the ocean (more on that later.)

Between Peach Creek and the possible Ocean exists rural farmland, a desert, and a swamp. There is also a snowy capped mountain range visible from Peach Creek Junior High.

This is all a lot of conflicting information! There's no place in America that checks all these boxes. I commonly see people place the Eds somewhere on the north or central Atlantic Coast, because of the possible ocean seen in BPS and the fact that Peach Creek was founded by pilgrims in the 1600s. This checks the most important boxes for me, too, and I would agree, however...

Pop. The kids call carbonated beverages pop. NO ONE on the north or central east coast calls it pop. We call it soda. This is a minor detail for sure and considering all the conflicting information about Peach Creek's location, one that can very much be ignored. But as someone who grew up in New England, I can't ignore it (refer to beginning of post, my flavor of autism.)

"But HOW could they be so close to what looks like the ocean, live in a town founded by pilgrims, and NOT live on the east coast?" I hear you ask. Well, here's my answer: The body of water in BPS isn't the ocean. It's one of the great lakes.

Picture id: Hamburg Beach, Hamburg New York, on the shore of lake Erie.

Sure, Mondo A-Go Go is very ocean themed (the whale trailer, the shark head, the wild prawn) but it could be just that; a theme.

Another reason I like this theory is that THIS GUY:

Picture id: Danny Antonucci, creator of Ed Edd n' Eddy

Also grew up in The Great Lakes region.

And to cinch the deal:

Picture id: Color coded map displaying which U.S.A. regions predominately say pop, soda, or coke.

They say pop!

The further east the Eds are, the more their location makes sense, so I place them in western New York, near lake Erie. It's a rural area with a large city sky line nearby (Buffalo, NY) and there are also Appalachian ski resorts, which would explain the mountain range. There's some swamp land as well, which ticks off all the landmarks seen in the show other than the desert and native peach orchard (though peaches can certainly be cultivated in this biome!)

Also, when looking into travel times in the area, I came across this:

Pictue id: Google map screen shot with a town called Cherry Creek in the center.

Picture id: Incredibles meme. Top text: Coincidence? Bottom text: I think not!

SO that's my theory. The Eds grew up in rural western New York, close enough to the shore of Lake Erie that they could get there in a day's walk. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, etc. etc.

[tsunflowers]

reading this book that’s fun but I think would work better as a comic, about an old lady and a 13 year old boy who set up an aikido dojo in the retro-future American southwest. but I just got to a scene I found bizarre. the kid is telling the old lady about a girl he met who was raped and the lady says “you hate to hear about assaults like that” and the kid gets really mad and says “it was rape! call it what it is!” and she’s like oh of course. but doesn’t that seem totally backwards? the vibe between them is that she’s a newcomer and he grew up on the rough streets but it’s not like she’s particularly sheltered. she’s your typical old lady mentor with hidden depths. so it comes off as the author using this character as a mouthpiece to demonstrate how feminist and socially aware he is. maybe if the street kid said that to an old man cop it would work for me but this tough as nails aikido sensei probably knows about the word rape

[novapark]

So I have some small thoughts about the "not Mexican enough" discourse. I know I shouldn't be surprised by my fellow Americans making assumptions about Mexican culture but like guys we have the internet. You can google image search Mexico City.

I mean look at this city. Straight up gorgeous.

As I've mentioned I grew up in the Southwest so maybe I'm just closer to the culture being from the borderlands but I always thought Mexico City had a similar vibe to a lot of Southwest towns heavily influenced by Spanish and Native culture. Like that last picture you could probably trick people into thinking it was Phoenix if they didn't know better.

Look at this? Isn't it brilliant? Touch of their past in that modern shape. The mural is done in tiny glass tiles. Just magnificent.

Or this here, it's called Calakmul, after the Mayan city but I read some locals call it the "washing machine."

Or this spectacular Art Nuevo building: The Palace of the Arts.

Like it doesn't take more than a couple minutes to do some minor research ya know? I do it even for American builds and I'm from here. I've traveled throughout my country extensively but I still wanna make sure I get things right and don't trust my assumptions. Cause sometimes my assumptions are fucking wrong. Or worse harmful.

Like I was homeschooled by religious fanatics and never went to college so I kinda don't feel like there's an excuse to be lazy about this? If you have sims, you got a computer that can google search.

[morganpdf]

i grew up calling them horny toads and only realized not everyone calls them that lmaooo

(btw if you rb, add where yr from or w/e idk if horny toad is a regional thing or what. i grew up in norcal/the american southwest and called them horny toads etc)

[rederiswrites]

I really wish I knew how to access the scholarship on this, but I genuinely do not hear an appreciable accent not only when I speak, but even when most of the people around me, including local families, speak. And no, I didn't grow up around here.

I grew up in southwest Virginia, Upper Peninsula Michigan, and Idaho, often moving between those points. Which is not abnormal for a US American, and pretty obviously makes it so you don't develop all that much regional accent. I tend to notice accents mostly in places with strong local culture that goes back a long way. Boston, to a lesser extent Philadelphia, Cajun, deep south--you can often identify country vs. city, but even then the country isn't necessarily strongly regional?!

Generally speaking, I think I have a Standard American accent. There are some exceptions, half of which are affectations, because of my tendency to absorb and play with language. I think a LOT of Americans have Standard American accents. We pretty much sound like the people on TV. Easily recognized regional accents just aren't the standard here, I don't think. It always surprises me in other parts of the world.

[anachrosims]

Stories about explorers going it in small groups or alone and actually showing back up literal years later after living among native peoples are fascinating to me.

One example is the journey of Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca through the (US-) American southwest in the 16th century. By the end of his 8 year trek through what is today the southwest of the United States, he had become deeply sympathetic to the nations and tribes he had encountered during his long wanderings.

His account is far from the only one of this kind--notable for not being recounted as a series of experiences from a place of imperial privilege, or 'academic' observation. In my opinion, de Vaca's story is very much an example of a man of his own time whose perspective grew beyond the prejudices of his own culture. (I highly recommend the Explorer's Podcast episodes on de Vaca if you're not up to doing a bit of reading.)

Obviously these two images aren't from the 16th century--I'm on a bender taking screenshots for photograph portraits--I'm lazy, so I'm still using Arthur as a model. These were likely taken at the very tail end of the Victorian era.