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goodlucktai · 1 month ago

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one of the rotten ones

rottmnt word count: 2k pairing: don & leo, don & OC title borrowed from anthems for a seventeen year old by yeule part of the archer au :) read on ao3

“I don’t think Gio likes me,” Donnie blurts.

He’d feel self-conscious if he was pressed to admit it anywhere else, but he’s in the infirmary, and the only one around to hear him say so is his twin.

They’re moving into hour two of Leo’s “faves” playlist and the fourth consecutive Taylor Swift song even though he swore he put it on shuffle. Leo is going through cabinets and shelves systematically, updating inventory on his phone, while Donnie infodumps about energy storage and projectile dynamics and the breaking strength of crossbow string.

Donatello’s base knowledge of this particular ranged weapon is severely lacking, which is a significant personal problem for him now that he has a sibling with a preference for archery. He needs to be the world’s leading expert on the subject yesterday. He has half a dozen half-formed plans for things like sonar bolts for 3-D mapping, which may or may not have been inspired by the Jupiter Jim Pluto Vacation run.

Only every glance at the project folder simply labeled ‘G-01’ causes an uncomfortable feeling to squirm to life in his stomach, not unlike the Krang tentacles that had attached themselves to his carapace on the day the world didn’t end.

Donnie isn’t good at people. He doesn’t know how they tick, and there are no reliable lines of code or handy user manuals that he can fall back on when he’s mystified by human behavior.

His siblings don’t have the same problem. Leo is perceptive to a degree that borders upon clairvoyance, Mikey is the single-most emotionally intelligent member of their family, Raph is more charming than he gets credit for, and April can talk her way through any closed door, police tape or VIP-only entrance. None of them fumble the way Donnie does when a social interaction goes off-script, like it’s a volleyball that got served his way without the ample warning he needs to be anything approaching passable at the sport.

But he knows he’s not imagining it—the way Gio seems to brace himself when Donnie comes into the room, like he’s expecting a confrontation every time. Like the last thing Donatello could want with him is something good.

Donnie can be a lot. They all can. They come by it honestly, equal parts chaotic lab experiments and their father’s sons. And not every structure is built to withstand hurricane winds. Not every person is equipped to deal with a Hamato level weather event.

But he has never seen Gio flinch away from anyone else.

So he did what he always did when confronted by something outside his formidable repertoire—he took it to Leo.

There had never in Donnie’s life been a problem that couldn’t be made into their problem. It came with twin territory.

And Donnie’s twin in particular is good at translating Donatello and translating other people for Donatello, and jumps on any chance to be helpful and feel wanted, and absolutely loves problems. It’s one of the most annoying and endearing things about him. If there is any trouble within a hundred miles, Leo will find it. He will worm his way into the center of it and then puzzle his way out from the inside. Most other clever and curious people were satisfied by the daily Wordle; Leo would chew through a wall unless he had something more hands-on to occupy his mind with. As polar-opposite as the two of them could be in, in that regard, they were one and the same.

It’s somewhat reassuring to Donnie that Leo’s immediate reaction is plain incredulity. He looks baffled, like Donnie has just started throwing stuff around the room for no reason.

(He knows better. In the medbay, of all places, that would be a death wish. Leo runs a tight ship here and only here.)

“Sorry, you don’t think Gio likes you?” Leo says slowly. “Our Gio? The guy who let you infodump about the mycelial networks of fungi to him for almost two hours, all because Mikey mentioned he was making mushroom stir-fry for dinner?”

Donnie scoffs, but he can’t help but feel warmed by the reminder. Gio had settled right in, the way he always did once he was sure of his welcome, and watched Donnie talk like nothing more interesting existed on this side of the equator.

“His eyes didn’t even glaze over,” Leo goes on, doing what he always does and pressing the advantage. “That’s a new personal best in this family. Even April started looking for a window to climb out of at the thirty minute mark.”

“There was bound to be at least one other mutant turtle in the New York metropolitan area with an appreciation for botany,” Donnie says imperiously, tilting his chin up.

But the worry is still there, firmly rooted, trying to flower. Leo must be able to tell because his frown deepens, playfulness evaporating by the second. He pauses the music and sets his phone down. The room rings in the sudden silence, but it’s not uncomfortable, because it’s a room Donnie exists in with his twin.

“I just want him to like me,” Donnie says. It’s a childish want, it makes him feel half his age, but it’s true.

He was never one of those human kids lingering near the playground, on the edge of the classroom, desperate to fit in. He was never on the outs because he never had the chance to be. But this is probably what that would have felt like.

Giorgio is quiet by default, absorbing everything with dark brown eyes, always pausing to think before speaking in a low, flat register that is becoming as familiar to Donnie as Raph’s comforting rumbles and Mikey’s energetic shrieks and Leo’s sweet or sly laughter.

He hasn’t been anything but kind since he got here. He saved Leo, brought him home from a place it should have been impossible to come home from, so Donatello would put up with any manner of assholery from that quarter in exchange—but it’s not that at all.

Once Gio’s initial guard goes up and then comes down, once they outlive that moment of consideration that verges upon scrutiny without ever crossing the line, the eldest turtle softens for any younger one like clockwork. He indulges whatever noise or nonsense they’ve brought with them like there is no better use of his time.

It doesn’t seem like a lie. But Donnie is the least qualified person he knows to make that judgement call.

There’s a lot at stake if he’s wrong, is all.

Leo looks like Donnie has taken a melon baller to his insides just for fun.

“I’d know if he didn’t like you,” Leo says with absolute certainty. And he probably would. And he would take it so personally. He wouldn’t let Gio know a single moment’s rest until the spotted turtle had a coming-to-Jesus moment and acknowledged his wrongdoings in canceled Youtuber apology video format.

Since that isn’t the reality they live in—and Leo’s daily relentless pestering of Gio is harmless and little-sibling-shaped and decidedly not mean-spirited by any stretch of the imagination—some small part of the tight, unhappy feeling in Donnie’s heart has no choice but to accept that as the compelling argument it is.

“He probably misses you, Tello,” Leo adds, something softening in his face that it hurts to look directly at. “His you, I mean. I know I would be a train wreck cosplaying as a person if I had to go someplace I’d never see you again. Can you imagine how screwed-up I’d be?”

Donnie’s whole soul shudders at the idea, at the nightmare that almost came true when the portal closed around the Technodrome and as good as severed Donnie clean down the middle. At the glimpse of a life he’d be forced to live with one leg, one lung, one arm, one eye, half a heart.

“That’ll never happen,” he says, a little too loud.

“You’re stuck with me,” Leo agrees. He means it, Donnie can tell—even after that almost-nightmare he put his family through, he means it. It’s one thing to take the nuclear option at the actual on-paper end of the world, it’s another to sit in a safe, warmly-lit room with his twin brother and try to conceive of an existence in which their dynamic duo was whittled down to a solo act.

When they were little, Donnie once tried to explain how big the unobservable universe was. He told Leo that light from the big bang hadn’t reached Earth from all the way over there yet. It was a concept he struggled with as a child, that something could be so unknowable and immeasurable.

“That’s how big my ‘I love you’ is,” he said, all of seven years old and putting it into words the best way he knew how.

“I love you bigger than that,” Leo said promptly.

“Ugh, you can’t,” Donnie said, frustrated at his twin for always trying to one-up him, for not understanding the huge thing Donnie was trying to compress and fit into his hands. “It’s not possible.”

“It is,” Leo said firmly, eyes gold to match Donnie’s, warm and shining in a way that was all his own. “I do.”

And then Leo went on to prove it. In a way Donnie never would have wanted him to—in an explosion that split the sky and left flash burns in their eyes, and the hollow pain of a surgical removal as the still-beating heart of their family was cut away, and the discordant electronic fuzz where a beloved voice had been rushing through last words, replaced by the sound of a radio without a signal, a device unpaired—but he proved it in a thousand other ways, too.

He was even proving it now, this afternoon he spent leaning on a forearm crutch and ambling around to various shelves and cabinets to keep up with his stock of medical supplies that had been severely depleted in the weeks after the invasion. Leo had carried bandaids and lidocaine spray in a tiny tote bag since he was two feet tall. He couldn’t stop bad things from happening but he could try to make the bad things better.

He’s looking at Donnie like he would right every wrong for him if he knew where to start. Like the unobservable universe was small enough to fit in his pocket compared to the lengths Leonardo would go for Donatello.

Leo is the younger twin, but sometimes the only thing there is for Donnie to do is shuffle over and bonk their foreheads together and believe him.

“If Gigi hated you, he wouldn’t be a Hamato,” Leo announces, muffled and silly and entirely correct. “It’s a required qualification. You must have missed that meeting with HR.” And then, because it’s important, he whispers, “I promise, okay?”

“Okay,” Donnie whispers back.

At about that moment, TSwift’s I Think He Knows comes on, proving once and for all that there is actually no way Leo’s playlist is on shuffle. The weighted moment they’re holding on tight to transitions into a lighter one that gets flung haphazardly around as an immediate life-or-death struggle for the phone ensues.

Stalemate is only reached when Splinter barges in to read them the riot act for daring to roughhouse while they had a non-zero number of broken bones between the two of them. Leo is bright-eyed with mischief and already fast-talking their way out of trouble the same effortless way April can rattle off her brothers’ favorite coffee orders, and Donnie’s worry has been soundly evicted, all its belongings in boxes in the yard.

Sitting around has never been his style. He’s a turtle of discovery and invention. And now that he’s been reassured that the absolute worst-case scenario is not on the table—that it, in fact, was never on the table to begin with—curiosity rears its head and snaps up the dregs of anxiety like a hungry wolfhound who mistook it for an unattended rack of lamb.

Hypothesis: Georgie isn’t being weird out of dislike of Donatello. Leo’s certain he’s not, so certain that he was willing to promise, point-blank and absolute, instead of being tricky and sly in the name of cheering Donnie up instead. Leo even offered a much more palatable alternative, but further evidentiary support is required.

So after dinner a week later, as the whole family crowds comfortably around the banana split bar spilling across the entire kitchen island and argues over which toppings Gio and Casey should stack their bowls with first, Donnie blurts, “Can I see your crossbow?”

Giorgio really is one of the clowns in this circus. He proves it by putting his ice cream down, and picking the bow up from where it was relegated to the bench seat where everyone tosses their coats and shoes when they get home, and passing it right over. No normal person would put a loaded weapon in Donnie’s hands just because he asked nicely.

As if in tacit agreement, both of Casey’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline and Raph makes incredulous scoffing noises. April says, “You did not just—” at the same time Splinter blusters, “Purple, you fire that thing off in this house even once and I am grounding you from everything you know and love, including Orange!” and Donnie screeches, over Mikey and Leo’s hysterical laughter, “I can be trusted with projectile weaponry!”

The crossbow has been carefully maintained, but it hasn’t been used in weeks that Donnie is aware of. They’ve all stuck pretty close to home since the invasion, and it’s not like Gio knows anyone but them—it’s not like they need firepower for grocery hauls or pizza runs, though, knowing their luck, that could change any given day.

But Gio still cleans it regularly, and he’s become a familiar sight at the kitchen table; parts spread out on an oil-stained rag, meticulous and methodical with the one belonging he brought here with him from the future other than the clothes on his back and the colorful friendship bracelet on his right wrist.

It’s important to him, clearly, but he’s letting Donnie handle it with an indulgent look on his face. Like there are no better hands to leave it in than his little brother’s.

Because he’s at risk of having a whole emotion about that out loud, where his entire family is assembled to witness it, Donnie quickly turns his mind onto the much safer road of gadgetry.

He has never actually held a crossbow before, has never built or used one, but he’s been doing a lot of research. He has a lot of ideas. He wants to print mechanical broadhead arrows with explosive tips, or tear gas canisters, or EMP charges. It’s a brand new world of creative chaos and that’s not even touching all the build customizations Donnie has in mind. His fingers are already itching to dismantle and reassemble the machine into something better, something that won’t ever fail, something his big brother will love.

Only—huh. What feels like a low-level electric current thrums to quiet life like it was waiting to be noticed by the right pair of eyes, just enough of a static shock to get his attention and guide his hand to the rail. Glowing purple does the work of an allen wrench in seconds and a handful of screws clatter to the table. Donnie removes the scope in one sure motion, and moves on to snap the rail from the stock.

Raph says, low and warning, “Donnie,” intimately familiar with gremlin gadget mode and all the kitchen appliances and shared toys destroyed in Donnie’s early years in the name of science. But he’s not breaking this time, he’s just looking.

He flips the rail over in his hands and finds the source of that odd electricity-conductive feeling. Hidden on the underside is a small embossed logo that Donnie would recognize anywhere, because it’s his.

“A-ha!” he says, absurdly pleased with the discovery. “A Genius Built mod.”

The rail was one of the first things he’d had in mind to upgrade, but it looks like he’d beaten himself to the punch.

“With a custom rail, we can add whatever attachments we want to the stock, way beyond just an average scope or a rangefinder,” Donnie says eagerly, his mind darting ahead in three different directions at once. “The world is our oyster, Georgie!”

He can’t help grinning. His logo on Gio’s prized possession is that last little bit of evidence he needed. He’s never been happier to be wrong, and will endure Leo’s smugness for an unheard of two entire business days before initiating retaliation.

No version of Donatello would put that mark on anything unless he really cared about it.

And Gio wouldn’t lift the rail from Donnie’s hands, and touch his thumb to that stylized “D” as if to prove to himself that it was real, an expression of painful wistful longing on his face, unless he really cared, too.

#rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #hamato donatello #hamato leonardo #disaster twins #the archer au #my writing #tmnt fic

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salemoleander · 8 months ago

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Pearl's new ep has me like 🥺

In addition to just being so impressed & delighted by Wordle, it's incredibly heartwarming to see the amount of inspiration that cycles through the Hermits

The aspect ratio change during her montage feels very inspired by Bdubs. Calling it a montage like a tongue-in-cheek callback to Mumbo's last ep, where he insisted that despite technically being a montage, he'll always call what he does timelapses. Tango coming and helping add extra musical feedback to the game, an aspect of minigame design that Etho really focused on a few seasons ago. She plans on adding custom Cub fireworks to celebrate wins.

To be clear this is entirely Pearl's achievement, this isn't meant to give other people credit for 8+ hours of work and design. It has just really reminded me that Joe Hills' description of the Hermits as an artists' collective is Extremely Accurate. I'm eternally delighted to see the echoes of artistic inspiration every Hermit takes & gives back to the server

#hc s10 #s10 #pearl #hermitcraft #full of so much love #like it's easy to just point to what they do and go 'friendship!' and that is a factor #but as someone who is at heart a Creative and an artist; it's almost more impactful to see them inspire each other #letting someone affect how you do your art is so personal and requires a lot of confidence in them and yourself #salem tag #also just. thinking about how much more collaborative the focus has been #bdubs championing the freestanding camera mod and then Joe picking it up bc it makes for ideal puppeting #and then Hypno uses it. and then Gem. and I believe multiple others just those are who i remember #theyre so intent on spending time with and learning from each other and it makes me feel so warm

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floralcyanide · 2 years ago

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Gasoline

Joel Miller x Reader

request: "congratulations on 2k my dear friend!!! ana i would love to see smut prompt 5 (“I think you lost your underwear somewhere.”) with our emotionally stunted apocalypse daddy joel miller if you have time and/or the inspiration for it 👉👈" by @she-is-juniper

smut prompt #5: "I think you lost your underwear somewhere."

warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, use of a makeshift gag, car sex, mentions of a gun.

summary: When a mission suddenly turns awry, you and Joel have to make a run for it. Later, you discover you left something behind.

word count: 1237

author’s note: welcome to the 2nd request of my 2k celebration and my first Joel fic!! I hope everyone enjoys this (: if you do, please let me know! I hope to write more for him in the future.

masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here | 2k celebration prompts here | request a prompt here or in my asks.

“There’s a sickness that is going ‘round, but no one’s got a vaccine.”

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Your eyes burn into Joel’s, unblinking and unwavering, as his fingers bury themselves deep inside you. The pads of his pointer and index fingers hit a spot inside of you, causing you to whimper. But the sound is muffled by your underwear that’s been bunched up and shoved into your mouth to keep you quiet.

You were on your way back from abusing Bill and Frank’s shower and getting some supplies from them when a storm began blowing through. Not wanting to get drenched and come down with a cough, you and Joel broke into a car that wasn’t completely submerged in vines and had a viable backseat. The two of you are now cramped in the said backseat, passing the time as rain pelts down on the car. It wasn’t long that the two of you were in the car before Joel began to get handsy. He had hurriedly yanked your old jeans down your legs, to which you warned him to be careful- they were your only pair that survived the apocalypse- and then he did the same to your fresh underwear, which is now obviously being used for other things.

A spring from the torn-up backseat digs into your back as the smell of stale gasoline fills your nose. You figure the action of you thrusting your hips forward is making it move around in the tank as the car jostles slightly. You’re desperately trying to chase that familiar warmth in your lower stomach as you push away your thoughts.

“That’s it, doll. So good for me, taking my fingers so well,” Joel drawls, his eyes heavy with lust.

His free hand has your wrists enclasped, holding all his body weight on them as he relentlessly stretches you out with his deft fingers. You’re still burning your gaze into his, willing yourself not to let your eyes roll into the back of your head. You’re stubborn when it comes to Joel, who is also very stubborn himself, and you two often battle over who's in charge in many aspects. Including sex. So, even if you’re the one on the receiving end right now, you aren’t letting your guard down completely. Which means you’re not gonna break eye contact until you absolutely have to. But that comes all too quickly when Joel snaps his head to his right, eyes now wide with alert as he stares out of the back windshield. His fingers pause their movements as well, much to your dismay.

“We need to go. Now,” Joel mutters, pulling away from you.

You rip your underwear out of your mouth, tossing them somewhere on the floor of the car, “What’s going on?”

“I thought I heard someone yell,” Joel says, his eyes still focused on the street outside.

“Wouldn’t it be better to stay here, then?” you whisper, trying to listen for the voices he heard.

“The rain stopped, and we need to head home with our stuff as soon as possible anyway,” Joel says, “It’s gonna get dark soon.”

You sit up wordlessly, trying to regain your composure from the cloud of pleasure you were experiencing. Suddenly, you hear the yelling Joel was referring to, and in a panic, you grab your jeans and pull them up your legs as Joel grabs the backpacks with your stuff in them from the front seat. Joel pulls his gun from his waistband as he slowly opens the car door, ushering you to get out quickly with one of the bags.

Before you make a run for it, Joel grabs your shoulder, “You see that dumpster over there?” he jerks his head in its direction, and you nod, “Make a run for it and hide behind it until I get there.”

Looking in both directions of the street before pushing yourself off the side of the car, you bolt for the dumpster without issue. You watch nervously as Joel sprints across the street, gun in hand. He hunches beside you before slowly rising up, peeking over the rotted dumpster to make sure no one is coming. After a few minutes of silence, Joel sinks back down.

“Let’s go,” he says, and the two of you, very carefully, proceed to your usual route back to the QZ.

The night begins to fall right as you and Joel reach the apartment building the two of you have holed up in. You two weren’t far from the QZ when it began raining, so thankfully, the trek back home wasn't too strenuous. You sit the backpack down by the door, sighing as you slump your shoulders and drag your feet toward the bed. Joel follows you, hovering over you as you lie down.

“Now,” he says, “Where were we?”

You giggle as he unbuttons your pants again, but your smile fades when an unreadable expression crosses Joel’s face, and he pauses his movements.

“What?”

“I think you lost your underwear somewhere,” he says, stifling a laugh by pursing his lips.

You furrow your eyebrows and become aware of the feeling of denim on your delicate skin.

“Damn, I left them in the Buick,” you groan, covering your face with your hands.

“It’s alright. Makes my job easier,” Joel smirks as he fully removes your pants and tosses them on the floor.

He lowers himself and levels his eyes with your core, taking a gentle hand and spreading you open before planting a kiss on your clit.

“So beautiful,” Joel says, his breath fanning against you.

He ever so slowly licks a stripe up your slit, circling your clit carefully when he finally reaches it.

“Fuck, Joel,” you squirm, and Joel grips your hips with his large hands, keeping you still against his face.

You clamp your thighs around his head, squeezing as he begins to suck lightly on your bundle of nerves.

“Be nice,” Joel mutters as he briefly pulls away from you, only to resume his soft torment seconds later.

His tongue laps at your growing wetness, swirling around your clit before he takes it between his lips again. You whimper, squeezing your legs around his head again. Joel pulls them off his and spreads them, pinning them to the bed by your knees. Now you were on full display for him. Joel flattens his tongue against your clit, shaking his head side to side vigorously. You let out a guttural moan, your legs struggling against his grip. Joel then gently nips at the bundle of nerves, rolling it between his teeth lightly before sucking it between his lips again. He flicks his tongue on the bud as he sucks, causing your stomach to tie in a familiar knot.

“Close,” is all you could muster, your stubborn facade melting away.

Joel grazes his teeth over you again, sucking harder than before. The feeling of his teeth pinching you slightly sends you over the edge, your legs shaking under his hands as your hips buck wildly against his face. Your stomach tightens as your release washes over you, Joel’s name slipping from your lips repeatedly.

After letting you come down from your high, Joel pulls off of you and wipes his face of your arousal.

“God, that was definitely worth losing my new pair of underwear,” you sigh as Joel climbs beside you and lays down next to you.

“They were gonna end up ruined anyway,” he jokes.

You just roll your eyes at him and smack his chest playfully.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader smut #tlou #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #floralcyanide writes #floralcyanide 2k celebration

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imogens-temult · 10 months ago

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soooo, i did a little thing again and this time designed some taylor swift cardigan cross stitch patterns - now available on my Etsy - it's been a few months in the works but they're finally ready and available!!!! ✨🦋🌸 and a lil reminder of my taylor wordle designs too and while I'm here!!

(Taylor Swift inspired cardigan cross stitch design patterns - 6 in total, you get individual patterns for each style as instant download PDF pages, colour, colour & symbol, and symbols.)

*just tagging people i know who like taylor, please feel free to ignore this there’s no pressure to reblog as it’s not the usual content i would post but any signal boosting is always appreciated greatly xoxo

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shortfeather · 4 months ago

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Gempearl Mcc 27? the prompt 19?

(send me a ship and a number and i'll write a kiss) (yes it's still on i know it's been like five months sorry i had an AO3 author moment)

I don't watch MCC so I couldn't make this specific to then, but I took a bit of inspiration from Pearl's recent video talking about the twitchcon(?) MCC and the few clips I've seen of MCCs past!

The island was absolutely crawling with people and cameras, but somehow, the two of them had found a corner where privacy as a concept hadn't been totally eradicated. No, their only audience was the blue void stretching out beneath their dangling feet, and each other.

"You excited for Ace Race?" Gem piped up, swinging her legs idly over the empty sky. "Your ping's been really good today, not that you need to be un-nerfed."

"Gem!" Pearl squawked, turning to face her with betrayal writ large across her eyes. "You can't just say that, now it's gonna be worse than ever!"

"Maybe I just want a chance against you, tryhard."

"Tryha—I—excuse you? I am not a tryhard, miss GeminiSlay." A blush slowly took over Pearl's face as she stammered, and Gem grinned, ignoring the reminder of her silly nickname. Pearl beat her in combat all the time, so really, it was a reminder of how insanely cracked her girlfriend was. And even if it wasn't, this was worth it. Flustering Pearl was just so much fun!

"I'll have you know I try a—a normal amount! At every—at most things!" Pearl continued, waving a hand around wildly. "I can admit I went a little hard on Decked Out 2, but—"

"Pearl, you memorized the map of every level down to the block. And you were the only person to beat the game."

"Yeah, but Etho won."

"Not in Tango's eyes! Etho didn't even go into the maze for most of the game, you literally ran it blind."

"Well." Pearl kicked her legs alongside Gem's, smiling a little goofily. "Like I said. I can admit I went hard on that. But not other ways! I'm not a tryhard!"

Gem raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Wordle."

"That was just me learning—"

"Final four in every life series you've been a part of, not to mention the one you won." Gem slapped a hand over Pearl's mouth as she went to protest again. "Queen of Decked Out 2, which you built a part of, might I remind you! Helped dethrone a king and intimidated Scar into not having a chest monster, even if it was temporary. Easily the best master of organics on Hermitcraft. Intimidated Doc—Doc!—into giving up something he'd taken as revenge." She paused. "Actually, I retract that last one, Doc's a scaredy-creeper. But there's tons more, miss tryhard. Just how many times have you won MCC now? Care to remind—ew!"

Gem yanked her hand away from Pearl's mouth, grimacing as she wiped off the spit from where Pearl had licked her. Pearl, for her part, just laughed.

"You licked me!" the redhead yelled, rather redundantly.

"I had to get your attention somehow." Pearl scooted closer, until she was almost nose-to-nose with Gem. "You kept ignoring the real proof of my accomplishments."

When Gem just frowned, she let her smile go sappy and said, "Girlfriend of the one and only GeminiTay? Ring a bell?"

"Oh my god," Gem drawled. Still, she was giggling as she playfully shoved Pearl's face away with a hand on her cheek. "You're the worst. And still a tryhard!"

Pearl pouted, going into full puppy-dog-eyes mode. "The worst? Can I get a kiss then, to cope with the pain of worstness?"

"No."

"For luck, then?"

"Wh—you don't need luck! I just gave you a million reasons you don't need luck!"

"But Geeeeeemmmmm," Pearl whined, pushing her face into Gem's hand. "You mentioned my ping, and now it's gonna suck."

"Oh my god," Gem muttered to herself. But her hand was cupping the back of Pearl's neck now, and drawing her closer, leaving Pearl's heart a delighted flutter. No matter how many times she kissed Gem, it seemed it would always feel like the first.

"Good luck," Gem said softly when they parted. "Again, not that you need it."

The bell rang around them before Pearl could reply, signaling the end of break. Gem sighed as their comms started buzzing rapidly, the whole server going wild at the prospect of starting this half with Ace Race. They only had a few minutes to meet up and strategize, so she stood up and brushed the dirt off her pants while Pearl stretched.

"You know," she said, stepping back towards the void they'd been sitting over. Pearl looked up with a raised eyebrow, curious. "I still don't think you need luck. But if you do—well, you know where to find me."

And she grinned, full of mischief. "On the course, that is."

Pearl sat there, stunned, as her girlfriend stepped into void and flew back to her team. Then she jumped to her feet, more determined than she'd perhaps ever been before.

Luck and ping both be damned. She'd try harder than anyone could ever dream of trying if it meant she got to kiss Gem some more.

#gempearl #man. how do i tag writing stuff again?#ask the author #writing game #hermitshipping #this one got. long. BUT THEY DESERVE IT OKAY

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