She can form “clones” from the earth (sand, pebbles,dirt). They
are not strong fighting wise, but the “clones” can speak in the voice of
the gem she copied and looks 100% like the gem when fully
formed. The “clones” only knows what she knows. They normally fall apart
after a couple hits, and turn back into earth. She mostly uses them to
trick you, into thinking they are the real gem, and a way to tell is to
ask it something personal that only the real gem would know, because the
“clone” will stay silent and not reply. Moldavite as an extremely
accurate memory and everything she sees and hears is almost “recorded”
in her mind, to be “played back” through her “clones”. Her clones also have been known to talk for her, since Moldavite is mute.
You are allowed to feel everything you are feeling. Repeat that.
You. are allowed. to feel everything you are feeling.
No one has ever told you this before.
You are a wild ocean, you are the child unable to reach the ground. You are the moss and sand and dirt and seaweed and broken shells and a riptide pulling you farther from a screaming mother. You are the screaming mother.
You are a leaky faucet in a garage full of gasoline.
You are allowed to cry in public. Cry in public. Cry on the subway. Show them. Cry in public.
Cry in your car, when you bite your nails too short, when everything stops. Cry when everything is beautiful, when the sun is too bright, when there are no clouds to keep you safe today. Cry in a coffee shop, when the sandwich you’re eating reminds you. Cry to your mother, cry in the shower, in the supermarket when you pass the produce or his favorite food. Cry at the sour taste of honey mustard. Cry when your fridge spills of the rotting blueberries he left. Cry when your bed feels too cold to fingerpaint in. Cry when he calls, cry when he doesn’t. Cry because you’ve been watching the phone like a window. Cry when you’re almost a bottle of merlot in, when you realize, again, how it could have been. Cry when you see happy photos, cry when someone is wearing sweatpants that remind you of your face between his thighs.
Your poetry is a city. Cry in every park, on someone else’s stoop, in someone else’s bed. You are a siren.
Your poetry is as warm as the home you built with him, burning down.
A/N: So @dealingdreams gives me prompts which I cry over so I have to share this cuteness with you. Have fun.
Jyn, utterly ruined and feeling like she was a walking shell, sat down in the cargo bay of Rogue One. Everyone had emptied, so now it was just Jyn, her chest aching and her feet unable to take her any further. Sand and dirt were scattered in her hair, blistering all over her face - in reality, she was a mess.
It looks like Lightning Flight’s Shifting Expanse suffers from the same misconceptions as many Earth deserts do: namely, that people think this desert is filled with sand. This is a myth in reality and, according to the worldbuilding Flight Rising has done, a myth in Sornieth as well! But not an uncommon myth it seems. Even staff have described it as “rolling dunes”, and then designed a map that has no sand on it. Let’s look at the illustrations they’ve given us and see why there’s no sand in this supposedly shifting expanse:
That desert on the world map is clay and dirt and stone. The life they depict in the Highland Scrub- cacti, bushes, etc., wouldn’t grow in sand. They require dirt to live, and would die in a rolling dune landscape. The Carrion Canyon looks like hard clay and stone, created by layers of dirt being compressed, carved through erosion. Think the desert gorge scenes in the Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron movie, or The Grand Canyon without any river in it anymore. The Lightning Farm and Tempest Spire are stony and hard, made of the same stuff at Carrion Canyon possibly with hints of sand around those areas on the coast, carried there by the wind but probably not originating from the desert itself.
The sandiest area of the Shifting Expanse is definitely going to be the coast. And even the coast has been drawn like a cliffside, not beaches. Probably there are still some beaches here and there, pockets of sand and dirt combined amongst the cliffs and rocks. But the way they drew these cliffs, there doesn’t seem like any one area large enough to have even a really decently sized beach. I’d wager a guess the sandiest, beachiest area is on the border with Light Flight, where it smooths out. That’s probably where we would find “rolling dunes.”
Dust is prevalent however, and lots of dirt made from eroding clay. This is probably an incredibly dusty desert due to Stormdad’s ministrations. The dust would be kicked up by the storms and it’s probably terrible closer to the Spire, where it might rain less and is just plagued by staticy, windy, dry lightning storms. The decision to give his Flight an area of dust and static to build machines, which work best without dust and static, is a decision based on my theory that the deities want to directly challenge their worshipper’s greatest abilities. But I’ll write a post on that later.
Conclusion theories: the expanse is shifting because Lightning Flight’s denizens are ever changing and ever moving. It is both symbolic and literal, of the cycle of construction and demolition, moving communities of dragons, and constant invention and innovation. Worldbuilding around the Shifting Expanse, if it’s based on Sornieth of course (like those “characteristics of each flight” posts), wouldn’t involve any significant amount of sand. You would have hard clay for dirt, buildings constructed of mudbricks or very light wood, huge dust storms before rain, and lots of monsoons, though.
There’s a constant soft buzzing noise in the background of the footage, which only showed a battered, mahogany table with a few knife nicks in it, from somebody digging the sharp object into the wood. There’s a soft scuffle and husky voice calls out, into the chilled room.
“Jesse McCree, please sit down.”
There was a soft jingling of spurs, a soft tongue click and the bounty hunter steps into the scene, dragging the chair out and slumping into it, resting his elbows on the worn table.
Seemingly fresh from an arid wasteland, there’s still speckles of dirt and sand on the gunslinger’s clothes as well as small splashes of blood, that will probably stain the fabric forever, until the shirt is burned. His mechanical arm gleamed dully in the harsh light, a lit cigarillo resting between his rusted fingers, the pinprick of fiery red gazing into the camera. His tangled beard hasn’t been clipped for months, his knotted hair in need of a brush.
Despite the rest of his figure looking worn and patchy, like his serape that hangs snugly around his frame, his eyes still burn with the gleam of a young man, ready to take on the world and still be home in time for Papa’s cooking.
“Mr. McCree, would you kindly take off your hat for this process.” The soft voice asks, a slightly miffed tone interlacing with their voice.
“Not sure I’d like that, ma'am. Scarier men have tried to separate us and I sure as hell ain’t gonna give ya’ll the satisfaction of being the second people to forcibly remove this hat.” Jesse drawls, looking out from underneath the brim of his hat, smirking.
“Take off the damn hat, ingrate.” A hoarser voice comes on, soothingly familiar yet so alien to the cowboy’s ears.
A husky chuckle bubbled up Jesse’s throat, obediently lifting the battered cowboy hat from his head, and setting it down on to the table.
“Anything for you, Jefe.” He hummed, leaning backwards in the chair, boyishly tilting the metal legs so they balanced precariously.
“Mr.McCree, please tell us why you left Overwatch.”
“Gonna simply skip the niceties, then? A'ight.”
Jesse lazily gazed into the camera, lifting his cigarillo to his mouth to lightly chew on the end, before inhaling the fumes in.
“Well, let’s see…
“The easiest way to start… Is with Blackwatch. Was sorta adopted into the cozy, murderous family, y'know, we kill together, we live together, we die together. Sorta like the Deadlock gang, but… With people who were like family. And better meals too. Hell, I remember comin’ in, a lil whelp of a kid, wearing clothes that always seemed too big for me. Ole man Reyes told me to change into something that was my size, but everything was far too big on me. Tell ya what, I thought I had just told him that I liked drownin’ puppies or somethin’, from the look in his eyes. He started making me eat double servings at each meal, even ones that don’t count, like Brunch and Reinhardt’s Sunday Coffe and Cake.”
The gunslinger chuckled softly, looking down at his slightly protruding waistline and playfully poked his stomach.
“Guess all that eating did somethin’, though I doubt Reyes meant me to grow this much.”
The intercom crackled to life, a protesting voice heard in the background.
“Bullshit, ingrate, there’s nothing wrong with your body-”
“Agent Reaper, either quieten down or leave.” The other voice scolded. After an angry silence, the voice returned. “Please continue.”
“Yeah, well, I was close to Commander Gabriel Reyes. He kinda blended into the Pa I never really had. Hell, the whole of Overwatch became family! But, Reyes and me were more close than anyone else in my life-”
There was a soft ‘fwumpf’ and Jesse leaned forward, obviously reading something from afar, eyes squinting. The cowboy suddenly snorted, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll worry about correcting my grammar another times, jefe, bit busy at the moment.”
“Anyway. A few years in, I’m officially adopted into Blackwatch, and more importantly, Reyes. If Gabe was my father figure, hell, then Ana was the mother figure. She taught me Dead-Eye and I’ve never forgotten her for it since.
But, yeah, I’ve learned the ropes, know who to answer to and whatnot. Reyes… Reyes begins to change. He becomes… Paranoid. He’s certain that there are… Terrorist spies in Blackwatch, in Overwatch. He kinda became obsessed. Jack and him start to get a huge crack in their relationship. Jack just didn’t believe him.
"I left Blackwatch… Left Overwatch cuz, like an animal, I sensed that danger was fast approaching. Whether or not there were spies, things in Overwatch were breaking down. Miss Amelie was gone, Ana was left behind, Reinhardt was being forced to retire, Angela… She was changing. Everyone became weary of each other. Tail between my legs, I got outta there.”
The gunslinger mused in silence for a moment, examining a torn patch in his serape.
“You do know now that there were Talon spies planted in Overwatch and Blackwatch, correct?”
“So why are you willing joined us?”
Jesse McCree stubs out the cigarillo on the mahogany table, leaving a scorched mark. His mark.
“Because a lil birdie told me that those infiltrated Talon agents have gone rogue. Fucked Overwatch over and gone. But now, with Overwatch recalled, they’ve slunk back in and are practically running it. Right?”
“Correct.” The voice sounded uncomfortable.
“Well, I ain’t looking to go back to Overwatch. Just looking to put those bastards who took my home away from me down.”
“Well… I’ve also missed jefe’s cooking.” Jesse let a boyish smirk take over his face.
There was a few minutes of silence, seeming like hours. Then;
“Welcome, Agent McCree. Satya here will show you to your new quarters. Trim that god forsaken beard, ingrate, then meet me in the mess hall.”
“Glad to be here, Reyes.”
The footage is stopped, then the disk holding the event of the meeting is placed inside a black folder. On the front there is the name “McCree, Jesse” and an image. Trimmed beard, new clothes. Not at all like the man that had put out his cigarillo on the table. Except for the eyes.
Still ready to kick ass and be home in time for Reaper’s cooking.
•Got smacked in the face by a live fish
•Covered in dried algae, dirt, and sand
•Got soaked literally from head to toe in saltwater
•Didn’t have time to take lunch until 2pm
•Acquired at least 3-4 new scrapes and bruises
•So exhausted I could barely move when I got home
•Still think I have the greatest job in the whole entire world 😊