#Musgravite

[bellsolciere]

The Shooting Stars Updated Gemstones

By the way ask me anything I would love to interact a bit

[db-a-sketches]

BORNITE 🎆

Iridescent Musgravite + Light Purple Pearl

•

•

•

•

•

Collab with @maxxi_universe

•

•

•

I definitely loved working with him, I love the result, it's just so wow; if you wonder what he is controlling it's fireworks, one of his powers; I think you should see the other version! (Iridescent Musgravite) belongs to me and (Light Purple Pearl) belongs to @maxxi_universe

[icinnie]

you know I should probably make a habit of posting my art to my actual art blog

[gemsbuild]

Musgravite: A Rare Gemstone Gem for the Discerning Collector

Gemsbuild

2 min read

·

Just now

The world of gemstones is filled with dazzling beauty, but some stones hold a special place due to their exceptional rarity. Enter Musgravite, a captivating treasure shrouded in mystery that sits at the pinnacle of exclusivity.

Unveiling the Rarity of Musgravite

Musgravite isn’t just rare gem; it’s a true marvel of nature. Estimates suggest there are less than one hundred faceted Musgravite crystals in existence worldwide. Even its close relative, the uncommon Taaffeite, seems abundant compared to Musgravite’s scarcity.

This extreme rarity makes Musgravite a coveted prize for collectors. Each faceted Musgravite is a unique treasure, a testament to the Earth’s incredible capacity for creating breathtaking beauty. Owning a piece of Musgravite jewelry becomes more than just an adornment; it’s a conversation starter, a symbol of your appreciation for the extraordinary.

Beyond Rarity: The Allure of Musgravite’s Beauty

Musgravite’s appeal goes beyond its scarcity. It boasts a dazzling display of colors, from a captivating colorless brilliance to mesmerizing shades of green, gray, and even a rare purple hue. This variety ensures there’s a Musgravite to capture the heart of every collector.

A Visual Feast for the Discerning Eye

Musgravite caters to the discerning collector. It’s a gemstone unlike any other, speaking volumes about your taste and your desire to possess something truly unique.

Musgravite: A Gemstone for the Ages

Finding a Musgravite might be a challenge, but the captivating beauty and undeniable rarity make the search worthwhile. Whether you’re a seasoned collector or simply someone who appreciates the finer things in life, Musgravite promises a truly unforgettable experience.

Remember: Due to its rarity, Musgravite can be a significant investment. Conduct thorough research and consult a reputable gemologist before making a purchase to ensure you’re getting a genuine and valuable stone.

[drinkerocoffees-art]

Musgravite! My sweet tiny baby... she's an ex-Homeworld Gem that's on the rare/small side of things, very high ranking because she's essentially a resource calculator. Her brain runs calculations very fast, so she was used to tally resource costs for upcoming projects/create statistics, and was in frequent communications with the Diamonds to pass on her findings.

She got disillusioned with her job once computers became more standard, and used her pull to go to one of Yellow Diamond's asteroid processing colonies once she heard its workers were on the... off-color side (guaranteed to fail less if she were there to help them manage their resources better). Eventually she got tired of her entourage straight up forgetting her/leaving her behind, so she ran off and stumbled on three off-color Jades making an escape.

Musgravite isn't the most spontaneous, but she made a choice to sneak aboard when they didn't notice and it was a good decision for her. She's much better now.

[ID: A single reference image of Musgravite. She is a tiny Gem with very light purple, stylistic side swept bangs and side fringes, with the rest of it up in a ponytail. Her skin is a dark purple blue, and her outfit makes her reminiscent of a princess. She has long ballroom gloves, frilly sleeves, and a dress of varying purples.

Her gem is square shaped and on her stomach, the facets forming a more stylized square with its corners missing. She is looking at something off screen with a worried expression, balled fist held close to her face and her left hand off to her side.

End ID.]

[1800titz]

HI BESTIES. Trivia!Harry x Shy!Reader part 1 ((based on THIS post))

The one where Harry hosts trivia at a small town bar every Thursday and you just can’t seem to shut up.

WC: 3.7K

This is part one of a patreon exclusive series — the rest will only be accessible through my patreon. You can already find part 2 up on my patreon (✿◠‿◠)

You take a long drink. It tastes like kismet and carbonated nothingness.

(Retrospect will tell you that it's meant to be— tiny town, diminutive ambitions, hulking potential. But now, the twinge of an uncomfortable fever crawls up from your collar and makes you want to squirm in your seat.)

“Alright, alright, alright.”

And the smooth baritone against the head of a microphone makes your insides squeeze. Close. Real close— his mouth is pink, hovering millimeters, and that brass is the kind that seeps over your nape, under your skin. Molasses-heavy, slinking the gaps in the meshed grill caging. You blink up at the portable four-by-eight platform.

It's the kind of squeeze along your guts, the heat simmering in your face the longer you stare, that'll taunt you in the ridges of the night. Boxed into this— tonight, under a parapet— comfort zone hovering beyond your periphery, in the nook of the living room you left behind to wrack your head and stare at sin-in-bulk on a mobile stage.

The lively chatter dulls as heads turn, and then swells in eager increments. 

“Alright,” he says, a set of green eyes flickering from the monitor he’s settled over a rejigged high top, bounding sharply to whoever’s just given an overly enthusiastic cry of yes from the horde.

A peal of sparse, scattered laughter blooms in the throng. His mouth quirks.

“Very enthusiastic. How are you?” 

His cresting gaze climbs from the glowy screen, casting light and carving shadow over the sultry features of his visage; an evenly straight slope of a nose, cheekbones feathered by long lashes, a bit of curl that traipses over his forehead. 

His chin swivels to his left, somewhere closer to the platform where a woman leans over the table— her designated team. The corners of his lips curl in response to whatever she’s said. He smiles. Nods. He tips his chin. Makes a creased face like something playful. Says something else, laughs softly, and turns back, shaking his head. 

You tuck the straw into your mouth and take another, long slow sip.  

In the heft of his hand, the stem of the mic nearly resembles a toy. A maquette between the thick of his fingers.

“Hope everyone’s having a lovely Thursday. M’Harry, I’ll be leading the trivia— as I do— so if you’re sitting there going, who is this obnoxious cock, talking into the mic the whole night? Hi, Hello. That’s me— I do trivia.”

You get it now. The infamous cynosure is fit. 

At first, you had been dubious to desert your romcom reruns and your cross-stitch project mid-way (despite the fact that your thumb now resembles a pin cushion) when your friends had swept you off into their regularly scheduled, mysteriously niche Thursday night schemes. Now, you get it. 

The destination— The Black Horse— is a fuggy little space that smells like spilt Michelob and fusty, weathered oak. There’s a no smoking sign pasted in a spare crevice of the backbar, but someone in the far right corner exhales a plume of vapor like they’ve hit their elfbar in the most nonchalantly covert manner imaginable. Shamelessly. It’s a small town— an islet in the heart of an archipelago— and you think you can make out your seventh grade swim team rival perched somewhere off in the front row. 

The Black Horse is nothing special. It sells cheap draughts by the pitcher and parallels a barbershop in the crux of the town, two blocks off the boardwalk, which is arguably the chiseled, shiny musgravite of Treah’s core— a roaring green sea that eats away at the borders of the isle, shrouding vibrantly hued cays, glimmering under the beam of the sun. The majority of the holm’s economy is dependent on tourism (a simultaneous bane— said tourists enjoy uprooting foliage, building infrastructures, and partaking in chunks of housing buyouts), but you can tell that The Black Horse has been …preserved to say the least. It’s four stone walls sewn into a plaza with three other natively owned businesses and looks like something straight out of a cinematic piece set in a rural village, planted into Treah long before you had her first wiggly tooth. 

The Black Horse isn’t what makes attendance worth it. It’s him—

“We’ve got a crowd tonight. If you haven’t played trivia with me here at The Black Horse before, welcome. S’a little different than your typical trivia, though, because it’s…”

The crowd hollers back, as if scripted, “Dirty trivia!” 

“Dirty Trivia,” Harry echoes, and when the edges of his lips crook, dimples burrow beside the corners, “Right, Dirty Trivia. This one’s rated R, so if you’re not old enough to be here, I dunno how you got here, but this is going to be your cue to head out. Any— any children in here tonight? …No? Wonderful.” 

He huffs into the mic, shaking his head and jostling his halo of curls. A jaundiced, warm beam catches on them. “I know that sounds ridiculous, but m’not even joking— a couple of weeks ago someone was sitting in here with, like, a little kid.” 

It’s Harry, with the divots burrowing into his cheeks, the croon into the mic, lighting the crowd alive on an introduction. Incandescent (speckled in stars, spelled out— you don't get that bit, yet.)

You cross your legs. Your friend raises her eyebrows from across the teak table top and says it with her eyes. Told you so; Trivia Man is a cream dream. 

“Yeah,” Harry confirms over the dispersed, appalled eruption of laughter, nodding down at someone seated at a table closer to the stage, “I was, like, …shit,” he blinks back up and motions out, a slow sweep with his free hand, “Friendly reminder, this is not a form of sex ed.” 

Pausing, (lips twitchy over the sown mirth), he brings the microphone back with a newfound seriousness and tacks on, nodding slowly, “…That kid won it for the whole team.” 

He smiles. It's a lopsided spall of a ruddy seam that shows teeth, and that's when you recognize the heinous, gurgling froth of a new addiction. Incipient, blooming along your shimmery, star-struck eyes.

“No, m’joking,” he clears his throat. “M’gonna pass out a sheet and some little note pads for your answers. You’re gonna use one of those little notes to jot down a clever team name, do the same in that team name spot of the sheet, and then pass the note up to me.”

Pussy Posse. A pre-established moniker you have had no jurisdiction over, merely perched as an addition to a settled cadre. Still, you gnaw into your cheek when you watch a friend beside you scribble in the title with a ballpoint. 

“I’ll be coming around between questions to pick those answers up, have a chat, whatever. We’re all here to have fun, yes?” 

You swear he sweeps you with his eyes, like a passing tide gliding the sea. Probably just the way the green in his sockets meets everyone else in the throng, but the moment it happens your molars chew in harder.

“On the topic of fun, let’s keep it nice and fair, yeah? Phones put away— no cheating— you’ll have plenty of time to check those when we have our break midway.”

It feels ignoble to eye-fuck him from behind the sheathes of your empty irises as he paces the stage— after all, this is just a wholesomely clad, virtuously upstanding guy leading trivia, but. The gears behind your skull are mottled with the amalgam of a fawning affliction— cerebrospinal fluid and sticky tar. It leaves you in a goop of thoughtless ogling that renders your head empty. Even when he makes his way to the bar-height table your team curls around, when his eyes linger on you— “A new face.”— you just...

Mindlessly stare. 

Dirty trivia, you learn, is dirty.

It hits you when Harry quips (dare you note, mischievously), “Hoo-hoo-hoo. Starting off strong with the first one.” 

He states, talc flickering from the LED display ahead to the bevy of trivia-players, “What country,” and pauses for emphasis, “has—“ pits grub at the smooth of his cheeks, beside the grin that splinters to show ivory teeth, “the highest average, in the world, for penis size?” 

There’s no source of entertainment like that of trivia held, on a Thursday, on a remote islet, in a poky bar that smells like stale beer and dust-coated, chipping leather. Evidently. 

“I actually don’t know this one,” Harry chimes, raising a wry shoulder, “So it’s trivia for me, as well.” 

“England,” Marina stamps a blow that the teak hasn’t warranted, whisper-shouting over the staggering peals of guffaw and chatter, “He’s hung, I bet you.”

“He’s not going to fuck you for writing in England,” Beth’s chortles clash with your scorned, “Marina.”

“That’s not even an answer,” Bee waves towards the flatscreen framed over the man’s head.

Senegal, Haiti, Ecuador, and Gambia. 

“Where the fuck is Gambia—”

You settle on Gambia. 

You watch Beth scribble it in and dot the i with an open sphere. The edges don’t meet. When Harry winds the rows of tables, plucking answer cards and making small-talk, you cast your inkpools into your glass, pyrexia across the bridge of your nose, brain-rotted with the insinuation of him being …hung.

“Lots of Haiti, lots of Senegal,” Harry states, once he’s smoothed the cards out with his colossal, ringed paws, and looked them over. 

You stare at the bob of his throat as he swallows, directing the mic back to his lips.

“Big reveal?” He pauses, as if for cataclysmic emphasis, riling the crowd enough for you to note restive shoulders and juddering feet. 

“Patience,” Harry says softly into the microphone, raising his eyebrows. It's a muted word that clicks in the speaker with a thump. Throbs between your ribs, under your cold hands.

With paltry warning, he reveals, “Ecuador! At,” squinting at the blue-toned LED, “—a whopping 6-point-nine-three. Solid for the average. Do we have any Ecuadorian men in the audience tonight? Anybody who’s added to that average? Congratulations. You beat us. You beat everyone.” 

There’s a dissonant slurry of responses, some ripostes flung along tables, some bouts of clapping, hollering over the rows, sloshing mugs raised in triumph. 

Harry’s deltoids climb in a shrug, and his head wags from side to side, “Some valiant contenders, those Ecuadorians.” 

“I told you it wasn’t Gambia—“

You ogles the way Harry tilts over the platform towards a table, brows kinked as if trying to pick up something audible he’d missed. In your periphery, Marina prods into Beth’s direction with a palmful of something claret in a pellucid martini glass. 

“What was that?” Harry coaxes into the microphone. 

The corners of his mouth have caved up, and by the time the majority of the trivia-players sink into a piqued lull, he’s slanted over toward the table. A brunette with long, shiny hair arches up out of her seat into her directions, braced to the teak high-top with planted, elbow-locked arms. 

“Where do you fall?” is undeniable the second time. 

Harry blinks. His mouth paints over with a smile. 

“Where do I fall?”

He blatantly bridles a sputter when he winds toward the laptop he’s set up, culls his glass of a golden, pale straw beer that’s lost its layer of foam, and takes a long drink. Clears his throat. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Very forward. Take me out to dinner first.” 

You discover that, despite the ubiquitously crude sexualizing, Harry is sort of like a bird. An Indian Peafowl, preening with its neatly arranged plume— he likes it. The flattery. His tongue peeks out and swipes along as he stares down at the screen. Little dimples pit when it tucks back in— ones he blatantly can’t contain. 

He chuckles and states into the microphone, “…Below. Don’t worry about it.” 

Somehow, you doubt it.  -

-

-

-

You plait yourself into the Thursday Fawn Sessions as a regular attendee, curling up at the same high top to ogle the same man pace a platform with a microphone. Watch him make jesting comments and ask things like, “Axillism is the act of using what strange body part during sex?” 

You find yourself learning a thing or two from each session, and you find that the emeralds seated in his sockets linger on you, sometimes— this absolute clam shell taking up a spot in the bar and chugging fizzy water (ogling his frame in lull every time he approaches your table), too. Pussy Posse is no good at the trivia, more often than not wheedling in second-to-last, but you find yourself much too entertained to mind. 

Franks is a self-explanatory hot dog cart. It stands midway on the boardwalk and operates through sunny mizzles and borderline hurricane cloudbursts, when the green salt chuck is choppy. High tiding. Those are the days you stand out in your jaundiced poncho, salty rain spittle beating at your cheeks, and watch the waves eat at the ipe in a nasty, wet hunger, no customers in sight. 

Midsummer afternoons, though, are good. Busy. When Treah morphs industrious and bustling — tourists like Franks on the boardwalk. 

It’s a slow coda for June. The sea is planate, swaying over steel supports mantled by barnacles. Gulls chortle, gliding low in the ether— it oozes yellow, something balmy like the goo of an egg yolk. You've sold two hot dogs, tallied three joggers (one eager speedwalker), and noted one couple pushing a baby in a stroller, who offered tight-lipped smiles and veganism. You don't entirely mind a slow day, because setting shop on the boardwalk means spending the day on the boardwalk. Breathing the sea until your lungs are full of salt and your eardrums reverberate the crash of the water behind your skull. You taste it at the back of your throat— something like home as home could get.  

There’s another jogger loping— a moving blip of skin color in chiaroscuro against wood paneling. In the distance. Drawing closer. You imagine him passing the cart, the soles of his trainers padding over the row of planks until he’s just another form of lines and shading, faced away. You check your phone. 

The jogger is still a good bit away. You swipe open Wordle. You're on your third attempt of elucidating something that goes blank, I, blank, E, blank (with a P that doesn’t quite fit where you've slotted it)—

“Hi.”

Your eyes crest. 

Treah is a really small town. Not in a prudishly, bible-bashing form of a pastoral village, sheathed in a bosky, wooded moat of thicket and then plains of nothingness for hundreds of miles. But it is an island enveloped by the sea from all sides, sequestered without a boat or a little plane, whose wheels bumpily kiss the asphalt of anearly comically small airport. Even the tourists lodging up in their summer homes, all the same months like annual clockwork, make reappearances. The faces are, nearly always, the same, and you see the same faces often. It was only a (limited) matter of time before you'd coalesced beyond the borders skirting The Black Horse.

In hindsight, you didn’t envisage that you'd be wearing a baseball cap emblematized with a weenie when it happened. Or that his tits would be out and about. 

“Have you got water?”

He’s panting. Casually slippery; coated in sweat that glimmers in the sun and carves the well-toned sinews of his torso, with sunglasses tucked up over his curls like a makeshift headband. He ogles expectantly with a set of jade that puts the hues of the lapping, green sea behind him to shame. A parted mouth, sculpted and cushiony, sucks in breaths from the liminal space divvying their atoms while your own become clogged, somewhere midway an esophageal prison, in limbo toward your lungs. A shaded lepidoptera scored over his tummy flutters, batting its wings in the swell and sink of his diaphragm expanding. 

His shorts are teeny. Tiny, little things. Cobalt. Mirroring laurels carving alongside his V-line peek from the waistband, and a happy trail climbs to kiss his navel. 

You blink. “Yes. Yeah. We do. Yes. …Is bottled okay?” 

“Bottled is perfect.”

He sticks a hand into his pocket, eyes flickering to your face, away, back. Slow-like. You trace the wisps in the sky with your eyes, heat searing up your neck and pooling in the flesh of your face. It’s a sudden, unforeseen stuffiness sweltering for such a beautiful day. You recognize your horrid blunder in his next words. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” 

You should have ducked your chin, tucked the visor lower, and hoped for the best. Instead, now, you blink, dazed and wide-eyed like a Red brocket saturated by blinding headlights.  

“Oh. I’m not sure. Um. Small …town— maybe?” 

“You come to, uh—“ a nudge with his chin in your direction as you arduously regulate the stuttery pace of your respiration. The jitter in your fingers, like a lovesick school girl. You cache them behind the cart and let them judder. “—trivia nights. At The Black Horse, yeah? I couldn’t forget a face like yours.” 

Harry grins, the way he does. Lopsided, so the left corner turns up a little higher— dimpled with a long flash of teeth. Except now, he’s slippery and half-naked. 

Folie. Miscalculated gaffe in a weenie cap. Your smile is tight.

“Oh—“ again, “…Yeah.” 

“Right,” Harry nods. Smiley. Lingering, looking you over. He buries an enormous hand back into his pocket then, brows creasing like he’s remembered something, and pulls out a little rectangle in cardboard paper. “Hey, actually. I’ve got this coupon here. S’what I do all the other days of the week, ah—“

He extends it out. 

Harve-y a free drink, on us! 

“M’a bartender over at Harvey’s. S’close to The Black Horse, if you’re in that area. Monday and Saturday mornings. Wednesday and Friday nights. If you come by, I’ll fix you up with a drink.” 

It feels impolite to leave him hanging, so you swipe out at the offering, cradling it with slow fingertips. 

“We can do some one on one trivia. Train you up,” Harry tacks on.

You swallow. Harry is an attractive man. His allure is apodictic— a sort of conventional, objective quality that leaves your throat parched when it becomes paired with his unfaltering eye contact. You're not a virgin, and you're an adept swimmer, but his presence feels like viridian saltwater that’s waiting to swallow her whole. The nerves that bubble, a fizz of chagrin, remind you why exactly you enjoy fawning from a distance. Because he makes you feel nervous, and when you're nervous, the dialogue spumes like miasmic word vomit. 

He’s got a thin sheathe of sweat that glimmers in the seat of his cupid’s bow, but it’s not in a gross way. In fact, it reminds you that the rest of him, his denuded skin, is slick, because he’s been jogging along the boardwalk. It reminds you how hard it is not to openly ogle the tattoos he’s got on show. You should have called out from your weenie gig, and you should have refilled her alprazolam prescription weeks ago. 

“Oh,” you tell him, slowly, face creasing, “I don’t— I don’t drink.”

Harry blinks. It’s a weird confession, considering you're a Thursday night regular at a bar that’s really only good for anything that has enough alcohol to shroud the stale taste perfuming the air. Still, nothing beyond open expectancy erupts along his features, and that’s worse. You feel them crawling up your throat, clambering up the back of your tongue like the words have knobby joints. They meet the backs of your teeth, waiting to spew. 

“—Not because I’m a recovering alcoholic or anything, I just don’t like the way it makes me feel. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Or drinking. I actually think it’s so admirable. You know? Like, to be brave… and… and a lot of times those people will attend support groups—“

Harry blinks again. 

“—And they talk about it. I can’t imagine sharing something like that— not that there’s anything wrong with it! But. Um. I always get virgin cocktails at The Black Horse. Or club soda. Or juice.”

Her lips seal over. You entrap the rest behind your traitorous teeth — a drawbridge that never should’ve sunk open. Despite your overly candid, overstated explanation, you don't stick the coupon back out in his direction. You harbor it in your hand, blinking slowly and gnawing into your cheek. 

“…S’okay. We do orange juice, too,” Harry tells her, entirely casual despite your discomfited speech, raising his brows. 

There’s the curbed efforts of a bemusedly mirthy grin at the corners of his mouth, and his nonchalant bearing only makes your face hotter. You feels like you're broiling under the shade of the awning. 

“And club soda.” 

“…Cool,” You settle on, tightly. 

“Sick.”

“…It’s, uh… two dollars,” you tell him when the reticence starts to suffocate you. 

You're going to go home and ram your head through a window. 

“Oh,” Harry casts his gaze to the water (it has the average, entirely typical proportions of a water bottle, but in his hand, it’s nearly miniature), as if he’s forgotten the chilly source of condensation coating his palm. That he’s in arrears. He sticks his free hand into the same pocket where the coupon was stuffed, “Right. I think I’ve got two dollars in here, somewhere.” 

Instead, when he stretches a bill out towards you, it’s worth ten. You avoid eye contact. You reach for the cash box tucked below, and you pry the lid up to delegate his change. 

“Oh,” Harry echoes, raising his enormous hand in effort of halting you, “S’alright. S’yours.”  

“Oh. I… can’t take tips. It’s, like. Against the code of conduct.” 

“Code of conduct at a …hot dog stand?” 

As if you needed to be reminded that you're donning a silly cap with an animated frank, standing on a boardwalk that’s practically empty of prospective patrons. The chagrin churns in your stomach and surfaces in the set line of your mouth. 

“…Yes.” 

Harry pauses, brows kinked like he’s ruminating, and then he inhales and decides, “Well. It’s not a tip, yeah? It’s just… you break it up, put two in the box, and then put the rest in your pocket.” 

“Oh. No. You— you’ve already given me the coupon—“ you argue, frenziedly waving out a mismatched wad of cash.

He raises his hands and ambles in one suavely, lengthy step back. “I’m going now.” 

“No!” 

He’s three away that would fit five or six of your own gait when he declares, “Yes! I hope to see you for that orange juice. On the house. Have a good one.” 

This is a patreon exclusive series. If you'd like to read more, part 2 is already up on my patreon! <3

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

Could I request prince Izuku x reader?

Prince Izuku... now how do I go about portraying him as a prince... Let's see. This one's been in my asks for a while- sorry nonnie! Im tryna clear these up before I go on hiatus

Curly green hair bounces as Izuku walks through the bustling marketplace, his black hood concealing his face from the people of the city. He couldn't risk being caught sneaking out.

After visiting yet another pet store, he rounds a corner to take a break… until he spots you.

One foot propped against the wall, head leaned back and eyes closed, chest heaving from all the running you had been doing. He comes to a sudden halt, causing his boots to skid against the concrete. You look up, eyes widening.

You hurriedly pull the black makeshift bandeau mask over your nose, concealing the lower half of your face. You are about to make a run for it when he calls out.

"Wait! Please, don't run," he says, his voice gentle and sincere. "I'm not here to cause trouble."

You hesitate, heart pounding in your chest. Your gaze lingers on him, the atmosphere tense but intriguing.

Curiosity gets the better of you. Eyes flitting across his form, you try to figure out who he is. Then he lowers his hood, and you recognize him instantly. You curtsy. "Your Highness, I apologize. I didn't recognize you."

"That's… kinda the point. What are you doing here?" he asks, staring at you with wide eyes.

You struggle to come up with a response, something he catches on to easily. "Erm… I'm not from here." Well, that wasn't a lie.

"But you're the Prince. Sneaking away from the castle isn't really the brightest idea, now is it?" you chide, plopping down. He notices the sudden shift in your mood but doesn't comment, sitting right next to you.

"Things can get overbearing…" he mumbles, staring at the brick wall opposite you.

"I see. What's been bothering you?" you query, head tilted to one side as you await an answer.

"My parents are hosting a ball, one that determines which Princess gets to be the Queen of the Kingdom. I don't even know anyone there! How am I supposed to pick a bride?" he rants, sighing heavily.

You listen, humming softly after he finishes his rant. "Maybe it won't be so bad…" you try to reason.

"Puh, yeah right," he groans. The sound of the kingdom bells rings, signaling lunchtime, and you stand up, cursing softly. "I have to get going." You dust yourself off.

"Wait! When will I see you again? I don't even know your name!" he calls after you, hastily standing up and grabbing your wrist.

"Y/n," you answer, as he lets go, confusion and curiosity mixing in his eyes. He tries to memorize the name you gave him… Y/n. So pretty.

A glint catches his eye and he looks down at his feet. There lies a shiny ring. He picks it up delicately, observing the expensive gems on top, surrounded by diamonds is a musgravite gemstone, one he knows is extremely rare.

Who exactly were you?

[zorceus]

Name: Painite

Race: gem

Age: 4,900 (before shattering)

Hardness: 7.5

Occupation: fighter, adventurer

Nickname: none

Teammate: Musgravite

Status: inactive, shattered

Current Location: Earth, the Ocean

Appearance: Painite is a primarily red gem with black accents. They wore a black top, shorts, tie, and heels with a white undershirt and belt. Their hair was long and red on the right side, covering their eye while the other half of their hair was very short and black.

When it was summer, they switched to the summer uniform.

Personality: Painite is curious to a fault, a habit they share with their partner and best friend; Musgravite. They were known to be rather active and lively, always seen running around or fighting when duty called for them. Because of them being the dominate fighter out of the pair; Painite was very protective of Musgravite and didn't want them shattered. When Musgravite was sharing their beliefs that there had to be more land than the island they lived on, Painite began to share the belief that they could find a new land free from Lunarians for their fellow gems to go to.

History: Painite was created sometime before Rubellite's time.

Painite and Musgravite were partnered together sometime and fought Lunarians together. They however were gowing weary of everyday battles and Painite came to the conclusion that there must be other land formations than the island the gems live.

One day, despite Sensei telling Musgravite and Painite no land formations exist anymore, they hopped on a raft together to venture out to sea.

Its unclear what happened to Musgravite and Painite, but it is believed that they were caught in a harsh hurricane and were shattered, their shards lying on the bottom of the ocean.

In Houseki no Kuni canon, Painite and Musgravite were unable to be turned into Lunarians due to their shards being at the bottom of the ocean. However, they were prayed away by Phos when Phos prayed for all human based lifeforms.

[gemsona-advice]

Hi! I need a couple of fusion gems! can I get one with a Rhodolite, Jedi Spinel, Indicolite, and Sky Blue Tahitian Pearl? I also want one with a Purple Spinel and benitoite please!

Rhodolite + Jedi Spinel + Indicolite + Sky Blue Tahitian Pearl = musgravite, charoite, stichtite?

Purple Spinel + Benitoite = tanzanite, iolite, purple scapolite?

[badlydrawnhouseki]

Good evening,

I'm here to speak with Labradorite. You see, some of my precious textbooks, Structure of the Gemstone, volumes 2 through 5, have gone missing. As the current head Archivist, I was hoping you would have some in stock, or perhaps would be able to correspond some time this week to see about making new copies.

Sincerely,

Musgravite.

Oh! I think the librarians took them to sort them into the system actually!

... I think.

[blorbosfrommyhead]

@williameaston's safeshiptember day 6: Roleswap-the one where Mari is Musgravite, working under Queen Beryl and collecting human energy for the Dark Kingdom, and Jadeite is Jaden, human deliquent with a fascinating past life he doesn't remember

Musgravite didn't thought much of her life. All she knew was Queen Beryl and the Dark Kingdom. Nothing else mattered. And why would it? She was content with what she had and who she was. She was powerful and fierce, master of disguises. She had no needs for anything, or anyone, else. That was until Jaden came into her life. Human with stars on his face. And something long forgotten awoke in her. It was him, her past love she thought she would never see again. Only he was different now. He was weak. Frail. Human. It saddened her what he has turned into. And yet, she couldn't let him go. Not now when she finally found him. This would surely displease Queen Beryl if she ever found out. IF. Musgravite will make sure she never finds out. It would be his end, and she couldn't let that happen again.

He was her weakness, that much was obvious. But she couldn't care less. Even if they never formally meet, she will make sure to protect him from the shadows. She'll be his knight.

[padora911rakenrol]

Technology has apply of our lives,help as to do our work, we can use it for work, learning, as a user we need to use it properly, as a student I need to use technology in a good way, each people has many acces in technology and a lot of people share their ideas.we should know the site and app that are using by sharing information.we should share fact's.

Padora, Franchesca Nicole L.

9 Musgravite

[doradaexplorerr]

Angelica Purugganan

9-musgravite

how can you observe social, ethical, and legal responsibilties in the use of technology tools and resources?

Observing social, ethical, and legal responsibilities in the use of technology tools and resources is crucial to ensure the responsible and appropriate application of technology. Here are some guidelines to help you navigate these responsibilities:

1. Social Responsibility:

- Consider the impact of technology on society: Evaluate how technology tools and resources can affect individuals, communities, and society as a whole. Anticipate and mitigate any potential negative consequences.

- Promote digital literacy: Encourage education and awareness about responsible technology use. Help bridge the digital divide by providing access to technology and teaching essential digital skills.

- Foster digital inclusion: Ensure that technology is accessible and available to all individuals, regardless of their socioeconomic background or geographical location.

- Support ethical technology initiatives: Contribute to projects and initiatives that aim to develop and utilize technology for social good, such as using technology to address environmental challenges, promote equality, or enhance healthcare.

2. Ethical Responsibility:

- Consider the ethical implications of emerging technologies: Stay informed about the latest technological advancements and assess their potential ethical implications. Examples include artificial intelligence, machine learning, genetic engineering, and virtual reality.

- Foster transparency and accountability: Advocate for transparency in the development and deployment of technology. Encourage organizations to disclose information about their algorithms, data practices, and decision-making processes.

- Encourage ethical design and development practices: Promote the integration of ethical considerations into the design, development, and deployment of technology. This includes factors such as user privacy, security, and the avoidance of bias and discrimination.

- Engage in ethical data practices: Handle data responsibly, ensuring that it is collected, processed, and stored securely. Use data for legitimate purposes and obtain explicit consent when necessary. Anonymize or de-identify data when possible to protect individual privacy.

3. Legal Responsibility:

- Comply with applicable laws and regulations: Stay updated on the legal requirements related to technology use, including data protection, cybersecurity, intellectual property, and online behavior. Ensure that your actions and use of technology are in accordance with these laws.

- Secure intellectual property rights: Respect intellectual property laws and protect your own intellectual property. Obtain proper licenses, permissions, or copyrights for any content or software you use or distribute.

- Be aware of jurisdictional differences: Recognize that technology-related laws may vary across different countries and jurisdictions. If you operate internationally, familiarize yourself with the legal requirements of the regions you engage with.

By integrating social, ethical, and legal responsibilities into your use of technology, you can contribute to a more responsible and sustainable digital ecosystem.

[boompanistarattarat]

"How can you observe Social, Ethical, and Legal Responsibilities in the use of technology tools and resources?"

By being mindful of our actions and expanding our knowledge of ethics in our society. Respecting everyone's privacy is a must. Reading the laws and pertaining to the technology we use will help us being legally responsible. We should avoid causing harm to anyone on the internet like cyberbullying in the view of the fact that it's unlawful. Having self discipline helps too, it enables you to stay in control of yourself and to your actions when using the internet.

RASAY

9 MUSGRAVITE

[krisflorencesalagoste]

KRIS FLORENCE SALAGOSTE

Grade 9 - MUSGRAVITE

As an internet user and Filipino citizen, I can emphasize having a good attitude and being responsible in using the internet, whether in society or technology. If they know their rules, law, rights and responsibility. Because when they know their law rules, rights and responsibilities, they will know the extent of the limitation or the system of its proper use.We can avoid taking and imitating work/projects of others without the permission of the creator, hacking into accounts, cyber bullying and many other things that can be avoided in the internet if we become responsible and be good at using the internet or technology. where it can be noticed, it will be noticed by everyone because of our correct and disciplined use of the internet.#schoolpurposes

[myusername12]

Jhanzenth Aeron Reyes

G9-MUSGRAVITE

How can I observe my ethical,social and Legal responsibilities in use of technology tools and resources ?

To observe my ethical,social and Legal responsibilities in use of technology tools and resources,First remember that technology is a powerful tool to harm us in many ways. Always respect the privacy of an individual and don't share personal information. Be respectful and responsible when using social media avoid cyber bullying and spreading false information in the internet. Share your knowledge and ideas in the internet so other people can learn from your knowledge and ideas. Download an anti-virus software and use a strong password so your private information is safe and secured. Always remember the internet is fun and scary place at the same time so don't leak some of your personal information in the internet. Be kind,polite,don't bully people online,don't post false information and be responsible.