#and yes it's Chert they meet!

[naturepointstheway]

“Drawn to the Stars” (Outer Wilds)

Will you look at that, finally writing fanfiction for Outer Wilds! In this, a very young Hatchling, born not long ago, finds themselves drawn to the stars and meets a Hearthian who also has a great passion for the great universe beyond Timber Hearth. One day I might come back and refine it some more to put it on AO3 in the future.

From the first moment they could see the sky and grass and trees and not have it be a blur of colour as their eyes learned to see for the first time, the Hatchling was immediately drawn to the curious twinkling stars and the bright burning sun and the eclipsing, rotating, looming planets and the Attlerock. The first night they saw the stars in their glory for the first time in their very small life, they lay back on cool Hearthian grass and just stared skyward until their eyes drooped closed, losing the battle against encroaching sleep. 

From the very first night their eyes could see the stars in each of their individual twinkling glories, the Hatchling (who had yet to be bestowed a name, unless they found one for themselves first), they played with the characters of the stars, finding all manners of shapes and objects among them. They pretended one was a little fish swimming close to its parent, and watched it grow until it became a bright constellation, one with several bright stars. Though, one night, they couldn’t help but notice one had dimmed and then went away forever for some reason. Maybe that star would come back, maybe it hid itself because it was shy. Could stars be shy?

Among those beautiful twinkling stars, they imagined an eye, round and bright yellow like their own. On the horizon, one late night, they connected a group of stars together so that it seemed to form the image of a scroll, spiraling in on itself like some strange, alien writing script. Another time, they sketched a space-faring ship among the stars, and dreamed of flying between and around and through every strange big round planet they could see. Maybe they might even be the first to land on one of those big round planets--imagine that! What wonders, what sights, what curiosities they might find! 

Oh! How muched they burned with the dream that they could get up closer, so much closer to the stars and planets, that they might even be able to touch them with their own feet or hands! It was a little ache at first, tiny like a seed planted in their heart, but it was one that grew every day and night until they imagined they might be consumed entirely by that desire and wish to fly among the stars and worlds and moons waiting for them to discover and explore. 

One night, though, after having sneaked out and walked well out of the village bounds to stare up at the stars again, they discovered an odd apparatus left alone in the vast plain of grass and sky. It was a cylindrical thing on a wooden stand, and it was staring up at the night sky too, as though just as drawn and awestruck by the universe as the Hatchling. 

No one was around to stop them, so why not go find out what in the world it could be--was it some kind of tool? Did it belong to someone in their village? Why was it here all alone? Did nobody else want it? Well then, maybe the Hatchling could have it, if it was useful to them at all! 

Letting their own insatiable curiosity lead the way, the Hatchling scurried to the object, examining it closely, running their fingers over the cool outside--it seemed to be made of some metal--and twiddling the knobs with their other hand, but they weren’t sure what effect the twisting and turning was supposed to have (as far as they could tell, nothing). When they grew bored of the knobs, they walked around to stick their little head into the larger opening, only their small ears sticking out of the rim. The world on the other side looked very small and blurry and upside-down. They wondered, what use could anyone get out of that? 

Maybe...maybe they were supposed to look in the other end? Maybe that was right, and what they were doing was the wrong way! 

With this thought in mind, the Hatchling pulled their head out of the large opening and turned around only to stumble as they saw someone else was already there. That “someone” was short and stubby, not much taller than the Hatchling themselves, their arms folded, ears high as they watched the Hatchling. 

“Are you quite done yet?” 

The Hatchling’s excited grin faded in the face of their new companion’s less-than-pleased, and very huffy, tone of voice. 

“Uh--sorry--yeah?” 

“Hatchling, let it be known this is my property, and that means do not touch, you hear?” 

Yes, this short Hearthian was clearly not happy for their company, let alone playing with whatever that was. 

“I thought it belonged to no one.” 

“Well, it does belong to someone--specifically, me--and it’s not a toy you can play with.” 

“Then why did you leave it so anyone could play with it?” 

The other Hearthian raised a finger to massage a temple. 

“Just because it was left out here doesn’t mean finder’s keepers. And it’s called a telescope, and it’s a very delicate instrument!” 

“What does a...telescope thing do? Why was it looking at the stars?” 

The other Hearthian dropped their hand back to their side with a sigh.

“Because that’s what it’s for. What did you think?” 

The Hatchling did not respond--every one of their thoughts captivated by this new knowledge: this telescope was for looking at the stars?! Then why couldn’t they see them? Why could they only see grass? Maybe....

“I think it’s broken, um...” 

Another sigh, but much less annoyed-sounding now. “Chert. And it’s not broken--at least last time I left it before I found you here.” 

“Um...I played with the knobs a little? And I can only see grass looking inside, not stars. And I wanna see the stars! Really bad! I want to see what they look like up close! And--and I want to see them so bad. And the planets. Can I? I mean, you don’t seem to like me much and that’s probably because I broke it--”

The Hearthian raised a hand to stop the Hatchling in their babbling tracks, the latter falling quiet--they had to stop to catch their breath anyway after so much talking at once. 

“Calm down, Hatchling. One: you were looking in the wrong end, and that’s why you saw the grass and not the stars.” 

Turned out the Hatchling’s guess was right after all. 

“Okay! I was starting to think that too anyway.” 

“Two: it’s not too much trouble to recalibrate everything. A damn nuisance after you played with them, but no matter. I have all night.” 

“Oh. Did I ruin everything?” 

“Yes, but it’s fixable. A fixable nuisance. And three: I don’t dislike you because you’re a child that saw something and thought it was a toy and wanted to play with it. Because that’s what children do.” 

“Oh! Okay! So...can I look at the stars? I mean, can you show me how to look at the stars?” 

“Use your eyes, you have four of them.” 

The Hatchling rolled their eyes. “Yeah, duh, that’s what I do every night. But what about...” the Hatchling gestured at the telescope. 

“I’m very busy tonight, but I can spare some time. A little time.” 

“Oh! Now? Will you? Show me how?” 

“Well, I might as well, since you’re obviously going to keep badgering me until I do, won’t you?” 

“Yeah.” 

The Hatchling may have been imagining things, but they were sure they saw the hint of a grin from Chert, the friendly expression softening their words.

“Let’s get started, then,” Chert crooked a finger at the Hatchling. “Get over here, Hatchling, let me show you the stars, once I re-calibrate my telescope.” 

“Ooh!” the Hatchling bounded closer to Chert as the latter peeked into the telescope and fiddled with the knobs, turning them this way and that with much more care and finesse than the younger Hearthian had. 

“Oh wow, you really are very short!” the Hatchling blurted as they stood next to Chert, barely able to wait to stare at the stars through the telescope. 

Chert lifted their head and looked pointedly at the Hatchling. “And I would ask that you not remind me.” 

“But--”

“No.” 

How did adults do that, finish a conversation just like that with all of one word? Chert was already looking through the telescope again, giving a knob one final little tweak before looking back up at the Hatchling with a smile. 

“Okay, it’s all set, but a warning first.”

“Um, yeah?” 

“Don’t expect to see everything in full detail like you would our sun.”

“Why?” 

“They’re very, very, very far away and even this powerful piece will have them show up no more than pinpoints of light. But. You can see some are double stars or even triple systems.”

“You mean like there’s more than one star?” 

“You can see galaxies too if you know where to look.”

“Whoa! Uh, what’s a galaxy?” 

“It’s a big collection of stars. If I can find one, I’ll show you what they look like. Or, there’s the observatory in the village. I think Hornfels has their image of a group of galaxies in there.” 

“Really?” 

“You can always go visit the observatory and ask them. They’re always at the observatory. I’m almost convinced they live there too. Give me another moment.” 

After giving their telescope one last check, Chert moved aside and motioned for the Hatchling to take a look through it. 

“Found a little beautiful collection of stars for you to look at. Take a peek!” 

“Really?!” 

The Hatchling’s excitement so great they were shaking from it, they sidled up to the telescope, leaning over to take a peek through the eyepiece, their eye wide and round as if to try to take in as much of the starlight waiting for them beyond as they possible could. 

And...oh. 

What a sight! 

The Hatchling cried out in delight, awestruck beyond anything they could have imagined as five twinkling stars shining brilliant blue and orange and white, winked right back at the little Hearthian. 

Whoa. 

Time fell away like the ground beneath their feet as they stared into the heart of the star cluster, wanting to stay like this forever, just still as a tree undisturbed by a storm, and as quiet as the last faint light of sunset disappearing over the valley borders. Everything collapsed to nothing but this handful of stars floating in a lonely patch of sky. 

I’m going there. I will.

The Hatchling, after what felt like forever, finally lifted their eye from the eyepiece and stared up, unblinking, at the splash of stars wheeling far over Timber Hearth. Some distant surprise hit them that Chert hadn’t said a word yet, and, wondering if they had left after all, looked to their side, only to find the other Hearthian was still standing nearby, a knowing smile and look in their eyes. 

“Beautiful, huh?” 

Yes seemed too small, too weak, too pathetic an answer, and so the Hatchling nodded instead, unable to find the words they wanted that would be poetic enough to even touch upon what seemed to them a transformative experience. 

When words that seemed full enough to voice finally filled their thoughts, the Hatchling remarked:

“I’m going to go visit the stars. And the planets. And the moons. I’m going up.” 

Chert patted the Hatchling’s arm, squeezing briefly, their voice gentle. 

“I know you will, Hatchling. You will. I can tell.” 

“Imagine all the stories I could bring back!” the Hatchling’s excitement sparked in them, warm and filling like a marshmallow toasted just right. “I want to bring back stories of adventures from other planets and maybe even the stars!” 

“They’re very far to travel to, but yes, you want stories, you’re in luck.” 

“What?” 

“Other Hearthians have been up there too. Maybe not the stars, but certainly within our solar system.” 

“Really?” 

“I think I’m going to have to introduce you to Feldspar tomorrow, Hatchling. I can tell you, they have lots of stories to share.” 

The Hatchling could hardly wait. 

[yorkesteins]

If you're still taking prompts for the baby fic? Since they got married in Vegas without Amelia and the other runaways ~ 099: “Why wasn’t I invited to your wedding?”

Gert needs a new babysitter. 

Amelia’s curled up in Molly’s lap on the couch, and they’ve been watching The Little Mermaid for the past hour and a half. It’s great, because she finally has a chance to sit down and read Bad Feminist without worrying about her toddler finding the nearest electric socket to play with. 

It’s less great when Ariel and Eric get married at the end. 

“Look, Amelia,” Molly says, her voice a little too loud to be just for the baby. “They’re having a wedding. Doesn’t that look cool?”

Gert rolls her eyes. She does not look up from her book. 

Amelia claps, and babbles a little in a way that’s maybe 10% actual words, which is probably an indicator that her baby is a 15-month-old genius, actually. 

“Yeah, you’re right, she did invite all of her sisters,” Molly says. Very loudly. 

Gert slams her book shut, glaring. “Stop brainwashing my kid, Molly.”

Molly raises her eyebrows, bouncing the baby on her lap. Amelia giggles and claps. It’s almost cute enough to make Gert stop glaring at Molly. Almost.

“We’re just talking about the movie!” she says, then bends her head down next to Amelia’s. “I think someone’s feeling paranoid because Ariel managed to invite all five billion of her mermaid sisters who can’t even go on dry land.”

“Oh my God, Molly—”

“Which is way harder than one sister with a working car—”

“Okay, that’s enough screen time for today,” Gert says, getting up and reclaiming her child. Amelia pouts, like she’s not sure if she wants to cry and at the movement, but settles into her arms when Gert presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go read, hmm? Do you want to go read? Something that’s not about a woman giving up her voice for a man?”

“You told me that was a reductive take that shut downs the opportunity for nuanced discussion!” Molly says, crossing her arms.

Because she’s a mature adult and mother, Gert chooses not to dignify that with a response. She sticks her tongue out at Molly as they leave.

***

Because he’s responsible, Chase asks Karolina to watch the baby for, like, five minutes while he’s messing with some exposed wires on his current project. 

He regrets it. 

When he comes back to get her for nap time, Karolina’s officiating a wedding between Amelia’s Tiana doll and her stuffed unicorn. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. “Did Molly put you up to this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Karolina says, leaning Tiana in to kiss the unicorn. Amelia giggles. “We’re just playing.”

“You’re reinforcing heteronormative expectations of patriarchal traditions,” he says, crossing his arms. He’s pretty sure he got all of the words in an order that makes sense. Karolina looks up, raising her eyebrows. 

“Someone swallowed a dictionary,” she says. “And they’re both girls. That’s at least as subverting expectations as getting married in a Taco Bell.”

“Okay, we didn’t actually get married in the Taco Bell,” he rolls his eyes. “Can I have my kid back? It’s nap time.”

Amelia looks up abruptly, because she knows that word now. Because she’s the smartest baby in the world. 

“No,” she says. “Dada no.”

He’s momentarily distracted by the dada of it all, because she’s been saying it for months now, but it’s still cool. Karolina steps in, handing Amelia a little wicker basket. 

“Here, Amelia,” she says, smiling. “Why don’t you show your dad how good of a flower girl you are?”

“Hey—”

And then Amelia’s grabbing fistfuls of shredded paper from the basket in her chubby little fist, grinning widely as she tosses them into the air. Karolina smiles smugly.

“You’re playing dirty, Dean,” he mutters, crouching down and holding a hand up for Amelia to high five when she reaches him. “Yeah, okay. Good job, munchkin.”

***

“Family meeting. Now.”

Gert busts into the Treehouse without knocking, Amelia balanced on her hip. Molly follows, sighing heavily as Chase walks in behind her, glaring at the back of her head. Alex trails behind them all, looking only slightly more confused and irritated than normal.

“Yeah, sure, come on in,” Nico says, rolling her eyes. Gert ignores, grabbing Chase’s hand and tugging him with her, in front of the rest of them.

“We get it, okay?” she says, glaring.

“You’re all pissed we got married in Vegas,” Chase says, crossing his arms.

“Without us,” Molly adds, helpfully.

“I’m not pissed,” Nico says.

“You spelled our TV to play Say Yes to the Dress on repeat for an entire day,” Gert says, raising her eyebrows. Nico shrugs.

“Well I’m not pissed,” Alex says. Chase rolls his eyes.

“You used my email to mass sign me up for, like, every wedding photographer in LA’s mailing list,” he says. “Which is actually pretty amatuer for you, bro. You can do better than that.”

“Stop encouraging him to prank us,” Gert says, glaring as she gently removes Amelia’s hands from her hair. 

“Look, we’re sorry we’ve been giving you a hard time,” Karolina says, biting her lip. “It’s your thing, we get it—”

“We do?” Molly asks. Alex elbows her. “Ow. I mean. We do.”

Chase and Gert exchange a glance, both trying not to grin. Nico frowns.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” they say, in unison. Molly’s eyes widen.

“Yes, there is,”  she says, pointedly. “You’re getting all Chert about something.”

“Still not a thing,” Chase mumbles. Gert bites her lip, but the smile breaks through anyway.

“It was our thing,” she says, carefully. “We love you guys, you know that, but it just felt like something we needed to do, just for us.”

Molly and Karolina exchange (somewhat) guilty glances.

“But,” Chase says, shrugging. “It wasn’t, like, a wedding.”

“Huh?” Alex says, frowning. Molly grins widely. 

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

“We got married for us,” Gert says, softly, smiling at Chase. “But. Maybe we could have a wedding for you guys. Just us, though. And nothing, like. Fancy.”

Molly yelps, jumping up on the bed, pumping a fist in the air. 

“Just for the record, we would have agreed to it sooner if you guys weren’t so annoying,” Chase says.

“Oh, yeah, the Little Mermaid stunt pushed us back, like, a week. At least,” Gert says, agreeing.

“Whatever,” Molly says, hopping off the bed, running to hug them both.

Karolina beams. “Gert, there’s this amazing dress I found—”

“I can get ordained online,” Alex says. Nico glares.

“No way, I’m getting ordained.”

The bickering overlaps with Molly and Karolina’s rush to plan; Amelia begins to babble loudly, refusing to be left out. Chase wraps an arm around Gert, pulling them both close.

“Regretting it yet?” he whispers. Gert grins.

“Not a chance.”

[fics-not-tragedies]

Dirtbag ballet [3]

This fic is based on those two requests 1 & 2 I got ages ago, and I decided to merge them together and make a tiny bit longer fic. Here’s part three (and one part to go).

SUMMARY: After confessing to Jardani that you haven’t been with anyone before you tell him that he’s the only man you trust when it comes to having sex for the first time. Words:  1271; Warnings: smut, some gentle first time lovemaking;

Readers tag list:

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Jardani reached out to place his hand at the back of your neck, slowly guiding your face to his, “C-Can I kiss you?”

You swallowed, your breathing slightly shaky but you nodded, closing your eyes and the space between you, his lips meeting yours.

Your heart fluttered as he kissed you softly, his fingers brushing through your hair. This was really happening. You slowly parted your lips and kissed him back a little more eagerly, sighing softly.

“We’ll only do this if you’re ready and if you want to…” he whispered against your lips before kissing you deeply again, both his hands cupping your face gently, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks.

“I-I want this, Jardani…” you replied shakily.

The mood had shifted ever since he had suggested this. You hadn’t needed much convincing and now you were here, his lips moving on yours, feeling so much better than you could have ever imagined.

As you both pulled back to catch your breath, he looked at you with his soft, big eyes that had you melting. He’d never looked at you like that. “I…” he said, “You know I’m not trying to pressure you…”

“No, Jardani, I want this” you said again, maybe a little too quick because he chuckled and pecked your lips softly again.

You sighed, pulling your sleep shirt over your head with one swift move, watching his eyes drop to your bare chest. “Blyad … you’re so hot…”

You giggled nervously, a faint blush creeping into your cheeks and you quickly moved to kiss him again, cupping his face this time and moving your lips with more determination.

He wrapped one arm around you and you moved to lie down to pull him on top of you without breaking the kiss. He held himself up over you but as you were trapped underneath him, a sense of warmth overtook you and you ran your hands down his bare chest, humming into the kiss.

When he drew back, you pouted, looking up at him as he rested his forehead against yours. “How’re you feeling?” He asked with a soft smile.

You giggled nervously, “Like I … trust you…”

He smiled, brushing your hair back. “And you’re really sure?”

Rolling your eyes, you nodded. “Yes, are you?”

He chuckled, pecking your lips again. “Very … let me … try and make you feel good, milaya…”

You swallowed when he sat up, taking his warmth with him but only moved to slowly push down your pajama shorts. You shifted to help him and pulled him back to you with your arms around his neck as you kicked them off your legs, pushing your thighs together to ease the tingling feeling there.

He kissed you back needily, one of his hands traveling down your body and toying with the elastic of your panties. “You’re so sexy…” he whispered against your lips, making you blush darkly as his hand slipped inside your underwear and you tensed.

“Alright?” He asked, not moving any further and lifting his head to look back at you.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah … just … not used to someone else…”

He smiled, “Just me, lyubov'” he said softly, “So you’ve done this … alone, da?”

Even though you felt like it wasn’t really possible for your face to heat up even more, you felt yourself blushing even more. “Y-Yeah…” you admitted.

“Don’t be nervous about that…” he assured you. “It’s … hot…”

“It is?”

“Thinking about you touching yourself? Da, chert voz'mi…”

You pressed your lips together, looking up at him again, “U-Um…”

“Tell me what you like … tell me what feels good…” he said slowly and you felt his fingers pushing between your legs, just teasing your folds, making you gasp softly and shut your eyes when they brushed against your clit.

He smiled at your reaction and picked up on it, lightly teasing your clit, gradually adding more pressure when he felt you hold on tighter to him and your soft moans became louder.

“T-This feels good…” you whispered, your hips bucking up into his touch almost automatically.

He lowered his head down again, nuzzling into your neck and pressing soft kisses to your skin. With your body pressed closer to yours, his fingers working between your legs, you suddenly felt him against your leg, hard in his underwear.

You took a deep breath to gather up the confidence and reached down to touch him, making him tremble for a moment.

“Milaya, you don’t have to…” he mumbled against your neck.

“I want to make you feel good too…”

He sighed appreciatively when you palmed him through his underwear and you felt his fingers teasing your opening, moaning softly.

He paused for a moment as if to wait for your permission and you nodded. “Please…” you whispered, tensing when you felt one of his fingers push inside you, moaning softly as you tried to get used to the new sensation. “F-Fuck…”

“Tell me how it feels, lyubov'…”

“Jardani… it feels good…” you whispered, finding yourself pushing your hips up to get his finger to push deeper inside you, moaning softly as he continuously flicked your clit to add to the sensation of his fingers inside you.

You hesitantly moved your hand into his underwear, wrapping your fingers around him, biting your lip at how big he was, wondering how it would feel … if it would fit…

“Blyad, darling, you're getting so wet…” he mumbled against your neck, his hips moving into your touch as he began sucking lightly on your skin and you felt his finger slide inside you more easily as he pushed it back in before slowly attempting to add another, making you cry out softly, one of your hands gripping his arm, “Are you alright?”

You nodded eagerly, starting to move your hips slowly along with the movement of his fingers he started to slowly work in and out of you, drawing soft moans from your lips that got louder each time you felt his fingers stroke your walls.

He was filling you up, making you squeeze his fingers and you squirmed, feeling yourself get closer, “Jardani…” you whimpered when you felt his fingers push inside you as deep as he could and he curled them inside you, making you cry out and squeeze his arm, “Please…”

“Are you ready to let go for me, prekrasnaya?” He asked and you whimpered softly when he repeated the motion of his fingers, his thumb starting to rub your clit with more pressure.

“Yes…” you whispered, your hips moving with his fingers as he sped up their movements, curling them inside you at the same time as he pressed down your clit, making you cry out and come undone with a gasp, the pleasure washing over you and you felt your walls contracting around him as if to keep his fingers inside you and he continued stroking you through your orgasm, pressing soft kisses to your neck, guiding you through it with soft praises of your name. Your legs shaking, your eyes shut tightly, you held onto him, overwhelmed by him filling all your senses.

Once you’d relaxed underneath him, he slowly pulled his fingers from you, making you whimper and look up at him desperately. You wanted them back inside you, your walls now contracting around the emptiness they’d left. Your breathing was heavy, your face flushed and your heart was beating fast.

“Are you alright, prekrasnaya?” He asked softly.

You nodded eagerly, bringing your hand up to the back of his neck and pulling him in for a needy kiss.

[love-takes-work]

Flint and Chert

In the Steven Universe official podcast, during the series “Steven Selects” episode 8, the conversation covered the episode “Off Colors.” When guests Matt Burnett and Ben Levin (writers on the show) offered some tidbits of information from behind the scenes, they revealed that they’d initially planned to have two more Off Color Gems in the group. Their names were Flint and Chert.

You can read my full writeup of that episode of the podcast if you want more context.

In the podcast, Matt and Ben said these two Quartzes were initially planned to be conscientious objectors: Gems who were morally opposed to fighting and war. Part of the reason they decided to keep the Off Colors group to just Fluorite, Rhodonite, Padparadscha, and the Rutile Twins was that they were already throwing so many characters in and the group was already pretty big, but they also scrapped Flint and Chert because they wanted the Off Colors to be Gems who were rejected for who and what they were, not Gems who had made an ideological choice to avoid conflict.

I Really Love this, and I'm going to tell you why.

You'll notice that the included Gems are perceived as being rejected by their society for their IDENTITY--not for their behavior or ideology. The Rutile Twins coming out with a physical variation makes sense as being unacceptable to Homeworld. Padparadscha coming out with a mental variation that makes her unable to perform her expected service makes sense as being unacceptable to Homeworld. But then you have two Fusions: Rhodonite and Fluorite. And you'll notice their status as rejected Gems is NOT presented as a choice.

Obviously, since Fusions are relationships and Fusion Gems being rejected by their society has many parallels with same-sex relationships in a homophobic society, this is a clear indication that being a Permafusion is not regarded as "a choice" the same way that being a pacifist is. You can choose to object to war, but being who you are and loving who you do is not "a choice."

Obviously there are choices INVOLVED with fusion. Garnet has called fusion "a choice" in other contexts ("Keeping It Together," specifically), indicating that the fusing Gems must choose to fuse with each other for a valid, consensual relationship to result. But the being who results from that choice does not have a choice about who they are--and who someone feels attracted to can be an integral part of identity.

I love that the show acknowledges the importance of identity vs. choice when it comes to these relationships. It can be dangerous to portray a romantic orientation as a choice--both because it creates a perception that people are choosing to feel rather than choosing based on their feelings, and because it goes hand in hand with pressuring people not to choose the resulting relationships. They push the narrative that if you can just DECIDE not to feel that way, you have no excuse for any decisions you make about your relationships or any resulting hardships you suffer as a result. Deciding to be in a relationship is indeed a choice, but feeling the attractions that will lead to those relationships is not. Those feelings are linked to identity in a way that intellectually objecting to fighting is not.

There is NO suggestion on the show that Rhodonite and Fluorite have less right to belong in the Off Colors group than Padparadscha and the Rutile Twins do. It is true that they presumably had choices that Padparadscha and the Rutile Twins didn't--that yes, they could have chosen not to live in Fusion relationships and just keep serving the empire keeping their feelings or relationships a secret. And yet, they are never treated like "voluntary" Off Colors--as if the only true Off Colors are those who were forcibly ejected from Gem society for reasons they physically cannot undo. I find it really satisfying that Fusions are recognized as "who they are" and cast out by an intolerant society but face no judgment from other Off Colors whose reasons for being rejected are built into their bodies in a way they have no choice about.

I have unfortunately seen occasional Oppression Olympics among homophobic and transphobic people in activist communities. Most reasonable activists accept that LGBTQ+ (including anyone who is not cisgender) are oppressed classes, but some whose primary activist focus is on stamping out sexism or racism will make the terrible argument that being gay/not-straight or being trans/not-cisgender is "a choice" while being born a girl or being born an oppressed race is not. (I'd say this would extend to disability rights as well, but I honestly have never seen a disability activist claiming LGBTQ+ people aren't oppressed. Not saying it's never happened, but I haven't seen any of this from the ones I know.) People's sexual orientation or gender identity is not "a choice," and saying otherwise is a bigoted perspective, full stop.

So I'm just pleased and relieved that the writers of this show get that.

Not that I wouldn't want to meet Flint and Chert someday, and learn more about Quartzes who have rejected Homeworld's ideology. Those kinds of people who recognize that their society is corrupt, deadly to other beings, and oppressive to most members of their own kind are very necessary as well; they're not less important than the Off Colors we know. In many ways, they can also be allies to oppressed classes who don't have the connections or power to change their society.

It would be really interesting if we could see some pacifist Quartzes being double agents and making small changes to help their fellow Gems, but it would also be really cool to see some of them inspired to fight by other Gems who were designated Off Color regardless of their will. These kinds of Gems can help Off Colors without being discarded for being one, especially if they are not personally sacrificing anything and aren't suffering as an effect of performing their duties. People in positions of relative power who can choose to fight these battles are very valuable to the cause of those who have been rejected by society, but recognizing the difference between being rejected and rejecting through one's choice is important.

I realize I've read a lot into this choice that may not have been explicitly intended, but it's pretty consistent with other messages they've included in the show, so it wouldn't surprise me if they'd had some of these conversations behind the scenes as well.

[clefartist]

JTS 8- Round Again

it’s been 3000 years... did you know i write? did you know I have an unfinished rarepair fic? did you know it’s been exactly 13 months since it updated?

[archive] * read on a03 * next

Steven fixed his hair from the strong gusts as the boat landed on Iron Island. His intentions were to meet up with Riley again, but how could he wait in the cabin when there were beautiful gems to be found? 

The path he chose was a small opening that shot off from the main section of the mine, leading to a small, quiet cavern.  He began inspecting the walls as noise from the main path echoed within.  Someone was quite rowdy, their voice even reaching Steven’s ears. They began walking toward Steven’s location and he could pick out the conversation was about fossils.   “Let’s just, move this out of the cave and – Steven?” Turning his attention away from the wall, he found Riley meeting his eyes. In front of Riley was Roark conversing with a rugged man, the source of the loud voice. They remained unaware of Steven as they walked out, arguing. “Dad, how could you compare a fossil like that to MY Rampardos?!” “A fossil that rare MUST have incredible value!!” “They can’t be compared until we revive it!” “WHY WOULD I LET YOU REVIVE SUCH A FOSSIL” Riley watched them leave next to Steven, shaking his head. “It never ends with those two.” “Are they just going to cause a ruckus outside now?” said Steven. “…Yes.” Riley grimaced. “Once I settle it, I can go with you into the mine.” He began walking toward the exit. Steven followed outside. The pair was about to battle just in front of the entrance, Riley jogging over to quickly intercede. “It’s ten years too early for you to beat ME, son!” “Today’s the day I finally show you, DAD! Go Rampardos!” Roark’s signature pokemon stamped the ground, letting out a cry. “I LOVE BASTIODON!” The pokemon kicked up dirt, yelling into the sky. The pokemon that came out had a metallic body. It had to be a steel type. “Roark, Byron, please! If you fight seriously here you’ll disturb the Steelix!” “Riley, where’s Lucario?” Steven fingered his belt. “He’s back in the mine, keeping people away from where these two found a fossil.” “Alright, I’ll handle this.” With a flick of his wrist, he watched as Aggron took a place between the fighters, metal hide shining under the sun. The pair whipped their heads toward Steven. “HEY! What’cha doing?” “Steven? You were here?” “Good to see you again, Roark. And you,” he turned his head, “must be Byron. Roark has told me about you.” “A friend of my son, eh?” “I’m a wandering stone collector.” “Stones? But the best thing there is FOSSILS!” Byron called back Bastiodon, walking toward Steven. “Follow me to the cabin. I’ll show you fossils brighter than the biggest jewel!” Steven smirked, calling back Aggron. “I don’t believe that to be an accurate comparison, but I’ll follow.” He set off after Byron, who was already moving toward the cabin. Roark called back Rampardos, following after. “As if you have any fossils better than my fossils!” Riley mumbled after them. - “Dad I can’t stay any longer, I have to go back to my Gym.” “If you must, son.” Byron took a gulp from his glass and Roark got up from the table. “It was great to catch up with you Steven, Riley.” “Likewise, Roark. Have a good night.” Steven smiled. He gripped his own glass. Riley sat with a cup of tea. The door shut behind him as Byron took out another bottle, setting it on the table with gusto. “Byron, Steven actually thought I was a Gym trainer when we met” said Riley as Byron put the filled glass to his lips. Booze flew across the table from Byron’s mouth as Steven hid his face. “HA! Gym trainer? He’s Gym LEADER material!” “I’m honored, but your son was the better fit at the time.” “At the time? How long have you known each other?” Steven said. “It’s been a number of years now.” Riley answered. “Yes. I found Iron Island, abundant with potential, when Riley appeared!” said Byron, “The spark in his eye called for a battle, and who am I to refuse!” Riley’s face was blank. Steven glanced at him but returned as he continued. “We battled for days and nights, neither giving an inch! In the end we had a bond stronger than STEEL, and together we changed Iron Island!” Riley sighed as Byron chugged down more. “Byron built this cabin with some help. He’s also responsible for bringing people here in the first place.” “HA HAH! And Riley does the rest!” Riley nodded in agreement. “He is a Gym Leader after all.” “Can’t come here as much as I want to.” “Doesn’t stop you from visiting late at night for a round or two.” “Of course!” With a hearty laugh Byron refilled his glass again. Steven smirked, helping himself to a bit of his drink. “So Riley, how’d you meet Steven?” “He was digging in the Steelix den.” Byron loudly chuckled to himself as Steven froze. “No one dares go close! What gave you such thick skin?” “It’s not like that at all. Mostly just, willing to look anywhere for a stone or two.” said Steven. “And what did you find?” Riley asked. “There was a time I found chert at a dormant volcano in my home region of Hoenn, that was quite exciting. But I have to say, Sinnoh has –“ THUD. Byron’s head had crashed onto the table. “There it is.” Riley got up from the table, moving his empty teacup and Byron’s glass into the sink and putting away the liquor before. “Sorry Steven, but’s let’s call it a night. The room you took before is still free.” “Thanks Riley.” He handed Riley his glass as got up from his chair. “Let’s leave the mine to tomorrow then.” “Of course.” Riley lifted Byron onto his shoulder, holding his arm against his waist. While a bulky load, Riley easily carried Byron out toward the living room. “Could you open the door to Byron’s room?” Steven made his way there in front of them, opening Byron’s door before moving toward his own. “Goodnight Riley.” “Thank you, goodnight.”

[omdizznac]

Viewing the city illegally from the ground. The tumbleweeds blow in the wind, focused in our generation comfortably. Astigmatism yet visually baffling to the naked eye. Flying slowly in the wind tastefully, honorably, and tragically the tumbleweeds adequately coat the window of a classroom. Classmates unfocused and in their comics implicate and overstate the canonical mellow change. The probing councilwoman  flushes out her surroundings a traumatizing stepping stone. Frivously jamming from his earth sized imagination, peaking and maturing was the godchild's charcoal gray heavily armed subartic anorak jacket. Just somebody's human life right? There directly in his jacket he set aside a  dark star shaped sharpie marker tastefully, just in case. An era that normally only finds themselves indecisive  with their mothers the darkened and intraocular sly stay of the mean green marker feathered moment to moment with his   pollyannaish style and high backed heavy arm approach. His jacket drenched with grass stains and red rock.  The aroma of the classroom was probing and tolled a gentle expired chardonnay. The classroom's setting was an iconographic, designed by Ka the assistent baseboard coach, and thus field based. The godchild Neimus was dual witted and overjoyous, but disaproving and often confused on subjects like metrics and runes. 2 Apropos of nothing, all parties sped through the gazebo with claim, needle sharp enduranceand without delay. Close cropping and outlining the meritocracy  cunningly assimilating a haunted and foiled copybook. Fluctuating fast pace between being achievement oriented and badmouthing the violet blue, vanilla scented,  high platform revenue abusive, moldable yet massive sandwhich swallowing founder's sofa. Again  Competing was the masked guilty alternative to the therapuetic piracy that cloaked the convoy of matters such as bullmarket deregulation. Rarely is uncensored combat cool or has the ability to supress the beauty of a lather of Delphinian tumbleweeds or is able to facilitate inappropriate neglect or from a far see toward eco friendly experimentation. But  Imsonia denunciates; the standard component being sleep, and physically chaffs the illdefined hypothetical overdraft of proffesional business. It was late. 3 Gently stated, geo morphologies, modalistic orbit covertly qualifies brokerage for a thick set of unequivocal cananolization within all structures. Whimpering to a cultivated core measured faster methodically and halfway validates and proves tamper resistant but doesn't cover liquidation through trademark displacement or in correlating markets such as tax, equality, accountability, and structure. Prevention against antagonization at innumerate levels adumbrates sequential calculation and pro union dwarfism chert with post revenue returns lack a productive and climatical middleware. On the general premises of dimensions and principles surfaced, detected, and channeled. The plan is to be flag burning and it is distinguished per household and adjacently fit in regions of contract, and a multiplicity of methedology issues. Flag burning is expected to secure the brokerage of the uncreative. Through the rock ripe net procceses nearing the hot creosote areas with no internet connection . Here perspective is not submission for us. Here coordinates face two installations throughout employee stellations all circulating a secure averse fusion of data, models, bodies and complex points alternated by the cast. Electricians at massive centers from previous preservations will manage the polycarbonate roentgen rates of the tax payers from the tyranny of the impetuous in different material domains. Wider planetary deformities in the body of the coorperation counting and appealing to the bilingual pedals of assumption within reported systems . Jostling might  grieving more than others we're asking that you restrain your classmates and students to protect the flux scores of  those amused. "Ten foot sucker" Jostling says with a seductive and troublesome voice. The unfair hegemony of drugs, carousing about with dilated pupiles. The lunchroom was so magical the Dj had to overwork for the bifurcated dance song remix. Sobbing over the prior uncompleted berth between her and the snarky strangler or the 50-60 splinters in his leg that would have to be removed with tweezers. An editorially achitectonically righteous predator,  the pet Goshawk searched through the techno music for prey. "Go on!" he said. "What, who?" The 16 year old replied. Injury slapped shut out the sound from the dj's booth outside in the heat meaning in a blaze and a flicker  bareback and backwards looking was the godchild amongst a number of anti apartheid movement teens. Going into his thermal jacket he got out a paperclip and a fork, open to the possibility of eating with Jostling. On the one basis that they secured responsibilities on paper and were able to mesh just them to as thoroughbred's. Worldwide ideally they would pursuade the DJ to play the debut #1 song disproportionately taking control. If she'd allow it it would also force the DJ to unscientifically pick a song. The plaza was stirring up nicely as Daft punk started to play the cattle man gossiped inpart about the minivan's new unentended sub evergreen color. Auspicious and known by it's parking spot allowing cars stopped at the sign to go around and apparently the youth who wouldnt think twice about the frightening expierience of getting hit by a car at a sign. Outdated crackers, and fruity pebbles were catered conceptually from the butler combo'ed with perpetually preconditioned expresso's . "Ewe, the Kaleidoscope kids said, with ficuciary curtsies and uncannily pestilence. The mini blinds opened and closed with the sound of the kettle drum. "Busk ignoramus, " the dwelled text on the T shirt of one of the unsocial students. Jazz was playing now. Subsitute teachers would frequently send each other home with cut and recorded footage for the head honcho director and also for the memories. "Excellent, jello." Tomas, one well dressed student well educated in metrics and runes scolded. The sternal bell beat the scores of students as they sounded "Happy New Year!" everybody exclaimed. "Nicely done," said the translocal and syllogistic staffer. As "On Melancholy Hill" by The Gorrillaz started to play in the syncoptic yet prolific backflow of moments. Some year it was. Then our plunged into a new year, a time for proclamation about months long away. What's felt most is signal or offer for transition, opposite suspicious demographic or other astronomical outrage. Three years to the end of the waxen ceiling of hard currency to chasing the cross currency of gigabit. A t-shirt favor frivoulsly spoken on in areas from drug treatment for the unincoorporated to the whippoorwilled tax paying citizens of the 26th century. A peremptory cheerleader, an oberservor, an handicapped student, and a Paleoanthropologist teacher uncultured in social apparel meet. Leprous and evilly find they don't want to lose a their contended social advantage for the year. Subdued with shame they seperate themselves from cohabiting the lent posterior of the rock strewn with vandalism on the proffessor's land that read of profanity and love. Richocheting was the aroma of glade scents a rare chance for the teacher, and children to make up some work and show their affection as equal enrollee's. Made for TV the actual matter of parallel mysticalism, like rainfall  to tumbleweeds radiography scars, scabs and melts citizens like  a sauna and is the downfall of atheist disfigurement. "Ummmm...and i suspect it rechristenizes as a last resort." the cheerleader says. "Yes rechrenized resorbtion," Everyone laughs, But the proffessor announces that she's correct. He strictly says the plagiarist wants all expenses paid and remains googly eyed at the sentimental snowdrops of any energy producing American leasehold. The four wheel gazebo soldier fingerboard of the tax paying citizen is position, ventilation, review, and out group configuration. Play by Play liberation point blank stems of mannerisms varying a physically predicted element or co stemmed creation tailing multiple men. And merchandising hominid multiplicities of content and length even with or without synthesis is  not accessible in coin and conflictually accesible out of logic in prints, locations and correlations that so gallantly fly away. Comparable  short, long and immediately widespread characteristics of adaptation shield the recessive pincer's of the shrubby whiteboard of billionaire habits. Bloating it is expected to move and deductively secure brokerage through transportable net proccesses nearing pyschic cortorsionist shapes. Here within adverbial equilaterals perspective is not submission for them. When describing the frizzy haired glass bottom limit of phenomena where without process cross dimensional contract roughly equals a compassionate measure from your lowest level, to a cultivated core it measures faster and entirely protects scores of deceiving mediums. 4* Saints at adolescence, residents now charitably hunted for the temporary regeneration of well anything within communication. Well hidden and wide mouthed huckster, Roc, rode ceaselessly to the classroom priming pass bringing all but his special star sharpie left on the seat during markdown rank and file commercial reinvigorated with a blink of harrasment he reaches for his jacket  animalisticly  to check again. On the subject of mood altering from the long serving test manufacturer you could see a glimpse of insouciant dissapointment in Roc's results. Feeling positive, writerly coach's second in command Ka commands with wingless bigamy a press and a wrap around offensive play. The high man passes the puck and recomitt's to Ka's play. His jalopy doesn't skid or level. The official makes a sour look. The other team capably counters in the jalopy's. Doubtlessly getting sidetracked the crisscrossing. Light's out, Ka motions for some much needed attention on the field. Each students turns in line the students waved masterly with their single volume class materials on the founder's couch and worse a few kept their materials on the magazine rack hand while  beelining, fair and direct. The potentiality of the outcome of baseboard's expeditious, and fatuous  was found in the supply of all of the school magazines. Ka's unmediated self discovery was quoted for its monitazation and dampened you surely syntactically and cleansed you of naivity and negativity. 5 Comprised of gentle and anti  viralities like cosmic deer thrown into the zoo the repression, watershed, and shelled causative of textural wickets and ukelele's and four sided cherooted programmable drumsticks proffessed interfering and noninvasive. Coattails knicked the grass, a suceeded frontrunner knowledgeably signing off the circles of thousand year proffesors who journalistically proved immune to therapy. Polycyclic gameboy's that self-selected empanel curving for students; the group's most ludicrous stegosaurus midway scheduling a contamination of the current accounts of high and low city run sea blue carom games. Light in comparison to the three-hundred pound lower skill restriction expectorate to individual approach. Troubling moss dripped from the authoritative section, with pop rock music playing, the head an old and new love/hate relationship. Energy consuming, the fate of emissions and ramped up notifications. one two and harmonized, inocullant and quantized inverting mineralization, plasmapheresis pilgrimage emulation in a irresistable spiral that intimidated computer simulated meteors, trendy and bleached null. Random to the point of non existince, engravings are placed with astute discretion at the topmost portion of the Venezelean border on the map. Inclined to aid the reducton of venal forges and chimed fro dislocated message. Contacated elasticity among unaccompanied ledges abate meaning nominally canceled movement from terministic aim. The physiology of alternating combinatory identities, such as Marxist and   Nietzchean philosophies, dated years prior , and chemistry's, and  hertz and surges  of bioinformatics contended in any model settings. The purest of Fjord layers and sub boundaries form conditionaly from variant states. Modal age and omission cooporates with itself and proves offal operations by being probablistic and intrisic systematically. The creation of sagitally balanced inventions such as stickball really vitaciously correspond frequenctly in valiant worlds. Projecting effulgence in specifix areas of etiology and application logically spoofs forward mechanisms into layers of validation and security. Elucidated intermittency proves proportionate and pleasant in relationships but often results in pure uncertain vice through the synod periodicals. The liquidly frivoulous zones often border background conduction. Furthered by bridging an exclusive amount or multitude of material relations formed from dogmatic life creations such as bobbleheads. The littled discussion to absolution of coined contrapropagated multimedia styles merge eletronic and private relations formally. The stormy left wing libertarians expect communication in the style of numerous manual truths from the most informative cells on  levels of high production rather the space of that who suceeds in facilitation. Who holds visually, superficially and is of highly esteemed class in relation to structure appears most competent. The aim of class being to determine personal existence from within visually creating personal value. The aim also being to create luminscent identity from divided though luxurious monumental gap. You quickly reach a conclusion that there is no solution to searching through the brought fragments of every misnamed framework. The ergonomics of bringing electricians from massive centers from previous preservations to manage rates in different material domains is clearly better left at lower levels of instruction. Stories sent from spent in the visually free oscillating exterior  accented other models, digital simulations, and modern proccesses. The extention of the federation refers to ministers, proffesors, and auditors, once interconnected through sense of salvation, prodsodic and by art prepared equipartion in waves of knowledge. Brought though the deadly mystery of gift. Principally the gifts appeared firm in difference and depended nominally on the imperfections of unsolved value mesurement. However with sense and personal knowledge propagated reduction was held in esteem among glorified numbers. While Eyeing the wall, a snowstorm gave way. the philantropist logic subjugated settling around the jarred burning abash of wood for an intervention. Professors were speaking on a strict multisensory self relational concept of reticular pro environmental econometrics and other majors. Isolating the kid size home models sinned like the era of soldiers that were shown before ignition of the blooming ailments of firewood as an indication of rank. Finally the hospital wife's without a word, scan or sinful wave over, but just a disclination at the common symbol for  painful hostage. The methodic piracy of irrelevantly recording with outdated equipment. Through the wavy night it was prohibited and heavily santioned, tactically defending against mobile and mainstream media. Tottering and fertilizing their astigmatic brains also to the habitual snowstorm of sarcasm and exile. Increasing the chaff microcosm and ragtime of invulnerable high fives. The high's felt through the infidel airsream completely and full figuredly capturing concepts of the bareback 20th century. A commingled dominatrix of recompense and one to two minutes later the crowd hard eyed the fifty foot array of cardio which they would each have to walk. Who's  platform of agnostic geniality wobbled or plus forwarning studies of all travel related infrequency on the tested and retested treatment of all dispayed super inimical features of the plaza. Of the lack of or lost intentionality in the fiery interview the epileptic traffic caused corruption and a senseless a thousand feelings. Basic terrestria served more to sufficiently accent the prepared space. And those accused, and  gathered for were unobtrusively remembered upon the conclusion of reception. It's pleasing to glorify self first through or from prior expectation yet corruption superficially seeds paradigm provoking broadcast and avoidurpoisly create a multitude of competencies if one is thrown a concerned impetuous tuple of feelings first. The fully displayed impetuous cells left troops reputations not utilized but wishes of the family's subsequently were withheld and completed through competent puppet operations. This type of treatment was considered to wrap date of modern processes from close and far. The bullring of self talk and vegetable based satirical seductiveness venturing into the many bodied non accesible school so disintrestedly rounded irreproachably a hibernating recurrent of aduced residentials who lived in revolving positions aestetically. Expressly the spatial eighth floor was for flaking, number crunching and open eyed break throughs in the subject of econometrics, exculpation and free stone art for the passive arrangement of a  fast expanding human who sought to deal with computers features, take it or leave it subtotaled a strenuous revision of joy. Allen Roc Neimus seemed pleased on a variety of different revisions associated with his upbringing. Loudly, legitmately, lively, age appropriately, diametriclly and grimly his chatterbox  dealt widely, cognitively and fro begged exclusion from his tapped habitat. The occasional patience of the ideal confronted outsider's in the formal crisp sphere of forthrightness and monogramed archeology laughingly set trends in the grades of sheetrock assignment. Inexpressibly two fifths of all filed and enveloped flub and slosh crashed intersubjectively archeologically closing the rag tagged wordly characters to size. Straightly put Jostling molded the ashen faced time model and paragmatically quarried and thawed congruously the monitor. The catafalque of lint free objective smells of foreign owned parsimony from lords tiered interchangeably. The pentacostal atrophy of inflation the plexiglass nonagricultural dripping six floor model who's minicomputer prior belonged to the regional pediatricians held in damnable respite. Unripe, spiteful and well hidden the face down tetrapod weighed a hundred pounds theoretically waitressing the red striped drill. On the most left was isomorphic swarm of incredulity, cotton price'd on the town road. Demonizing on the surface but with age a groggy hypnotist nightmarishly delectable emerged. A centralized ordanace clandestinely spectre to postdoctorality and posthumous valiant ventilation in conductance within the formatted town's plaza. With the light apochromatic lenses as opposed to the ocular ones downstairs. Overpopultaion was topiary and collegial to Roc Neimus.