Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marina barely believed it, the first time she realized what was happening. “The planet really is tilted…” she muttered to herself, in that small, sweet, wondrous voice that Pearl loved to hear. It put things into perspective, all the tiny things that she took for granted, like the leaves changing on the trees, the frosted tips of the grass in the morning, the shorter days, the shiver that quivered Marina’s whole body.

Marina didn’t have any of that, where she came from. And she muttered her wonder in a language Pearl could understand, just so Pearl could share in her awe.

It doesn’t change, years later, when they curl up together in bed and watch the rain meander down the windows in large rivulets. It’s not cold enough for the fleece blankets, but it’s getting close, and Marina presses her mouth to the shell of Pearl’s ear and mumbles, “the mornings are darker now...” It’s small, sweet, wondrous, and enough to make Pearl shiver.

Chapter Text

The make up almost makes the argument worth it. Almost. Pearl crawls into bed at close to three in the morning, sullen faced and flushed, cute in her frilly pajamas, and Marina doesn’t look up from her laptop. She doesn’t really remember what they were arguing about—a rhythm, she thinks, maybe, a syncopated triplet that Pearl decided to die for. It’s never really about the rhythm; it’s always something else, and Marina thinks that this time it’s Pearl noticing how late Marina comes to bed, now that she’s got this new project to work on, how exhausted she is in the studio and at the piano.

“Gonna sleep,” Pearl mutters—not an apology, but Marina isn’t ready to apologize yet either, so. “Turn off the light.”

Marina does her one better. She closes her laptop and sinks down into the pillows next to her. Pearl watches her, muted, unreadable, but scoots closer when Marina lays a careful hand on her side. “We’re keeping the triplet,” Pearl grumbles, right into Marina’s face.

“Relationships are full of compromises,” Marina hums in return, an acquiescence that makes Pearl squint. “I’ll come to bed by two.”

Not early enough for Pearl’s liking, but Marina doesn’t like the syncopation in this particular song. Pearl scowls and elevates up onto her elbow. “Fine. Can we kiss now?”

Marina chuckles and pulls Pearl down. 

Chapter Text

“This is where we keep our costumes.” Marina throws open the double doors, deep in the basement, to show Acht the large storage room, resplendent with uplighting that Marina wired herself, glass cases, perfectly pressed and steamed costumes stored on dress forms. A reverse chronological account of their lives in mockups and preserved fabrics, all kept in climate-controlled ease, all with enough memories that Pearl can’t help but smile as she steps past the pinned-up mockup of her world tour jacket.

“Some of them we had to buy back,” Marina continues, ghosting her hand over the glass case that’s protecting their Chaos and Order costumes. “They auction them. For charity. It’s in our contract.”

Acht hums, unreadable, chewing through that. “Okay,” they say, followed closely by a string of language that Pearl doesn’t understand. She doesn’t let it get to her, even though she considers herself fluent in Octarian. Well, in reality, she’s more fluent in Marina, with a little Eight thrown in. Apparently neither one of them likes slang.

Still, Marina laughs and shoves Acht fondly, jostling them enough that their overlarge sweater slips off one shoulder.

“Guess I am a bit of a showgirl,” Marina giggles. “You always said I was too dramatic for the army.”

Acht chuckles and moves to the end of the line to get a better look at their first costumes, from back when they were independent and playing clubs and malls—the ones worth both nothing and more than Pearl could ever say. Marina’s arm lands around Pearl’s middle, tentacle wrapping around her shoulders.

“Showgirl?” Pearl asks, feeling the word out. She thinks she’s got the meaning, compound word, similar enough to its Inkling cousin.

“Performer,” Marina explains, “a little derogatory, unnecessary extravagance, someone who’s voice is worth too much. It was a joke.”

Pearl snorts. “If anything, your voice is worth more—”

Marina giggles, high and chiming, and her tentacle curls possessively around Pearl’s ear. “Yours too.”

She always says that, because Pearl’s voice is what brought them together, but it’s Marina’s music that sealed the deal. “We should raise our rates,” Pearl reasons, a conclusion that makes Marina chortle again. “C’mon, before Acht opens a case and sets off the alarm.”

“Ah!” Marina yelps, and rushes off to stop her friend from doing just that.

Chapter Text

“Huh, so they do keep chickens out here,” Pearl says as she watches Marina bend down to see one up close. It bobs its head at her but can’t get closer because of the chicken wire fencing surrounding the coop. “Guess that’s why the eggs are always so good in the morning.”

“Pearlie…” Marina sighs. “You didn’t know?”

“There’s like a million acres, Rina. Cut me some slack.”

“It’s a couple hundred, at most.”

“Oh sorry, there’s like a couple hundred acres, Rina. Happy?”

Despite herself, Marina smiles. “You’ve lived here your whole life, and you didn’t know you had chickens…” she marvels to herself. It’s such a funny thing to think about, considering where she came from, where the extent of her real estate holdings were a small bunk and a hole in the ceiling where she stashed contraband. To have enough room for… eighteen, nineteen, over twenty chickens was a gift in itself, but in Pearl’s life, that’s just a postage stamp compared to the orchards and fields, tennis courts, swimming pools, go-kart track, golf courses, and bowling alleys.

“Yeah, yeah, sheltered little Pearlie, or whatever. Why are we out here again?”

Marina chuckles and gestures at the birds. “You said the splatfest theme was stupid and that you’d never even seen a real chicken before. So. Here you go.” She holds her hand out toward the chickens and almost receives a peck for her trouble. Luckily, she’s got fast reflexes from her time in the military, and she yanks her hand back before the strike can land.

Pearl stares at her for a second, computing, before she snorts and turns on her heel. “Yeah, great, and you almost lost a finger. I’m sticking with team egg. C’mon, I’m hungry.”

Marina rolls her eyes fondly but easily catches up with her long stride.

Chapter Text

And maybe Pearl just really misses Marina now that she’s living in a condo in the city. It doesn’t matter that Pearl spends every other night there because she can’t leave well enough alone; it’s only been two years since she moved out, and another two months since Eight landed in their lives, but, these days, any night that Marina isn’t nearby is one that Pearl considers wasted. She’s just better with Marina there, and the world slows down in a way that it hasn’t before. The hours they spend together sitting up at night feel like years in the best way, spooling out between them in an indulgent slow motion. It only happens after dark though, when they’re stealing a few extra hours to compose or arrange or watch one of Marina’s new favorite movies.

But with Eight, things have changed. They spend more time in the city, meandering between shops while Marina teaches her vocabulary and Pearl tries to pick up Octarian grammar without being too obvious. There’s no more Pearl and Marina time; it’s all Pearl, Marina, and Eight time, which is fine really. It’s not like Marina belongs to her or anything. It’s not like they’re dating, or like Pearl wishes it was her that was making Marina laugh like that, with her head thrown back and her neck all long. Or like she wishes she could just have one night where everything slows down and—

“Eight is going back,” Marina cuts in, as Eight fists all her shopping bags in one hand and turns toward the train, already fluent in the metro system. “Do you want to as well? We have work in the morning—”

“No!” Pearl cries, embarrassing, desperate even, but she doesn’t care. “I, uh, I mean— Don’t’cha wanna go runnin’ around the city just the two of us? Like we used to?”

Marina’s face lights up, and suddenly it really is just the two of them, world narrowed down to Pearl as she looks up at Marina looking down at her, caught in the light of a dim streetlight just turning on. Pearl swears that there’s magic between them, something holy that hasn’t existed before and never will again, once they’re gone, and she knows that it’s at its most potent at night, when all their responsibilities are gone and they’re just Pearl and Marina, smiling at each other expectantly.

“Shall we?” Marina holds a hand out, tentacles curling up to her ears in excitement.

Pearl slaps her hand into Marina’s, laces their fingers together, and leads her into the city.

Chapter Text

“For the record,” Eight says over a lunch of sushi at Marina’s small, two-person table in her kitchen, “I told Pearl about your translator.”

A moment passes, wherein Marina’s eyes slowly widen. She doesn’t respond, so caught up with running through just what that means, how it’ll change Pearl’s opinion of her, even if only slightly, and Eight takes her apprehensive silence as discomfit and plows on.

“You know how we’re helping each other learn Octarian and Inkling, right? Well, she asked for books on Octarian, because…” She pauses to take a breath, and when she speaks again, it’s in a high-pitched facsimile of Pearl’s voice: “Marina read so many books back in the day, Eight. That’s gotta be the best way to learn.”

Marina snorts. Trust Pearlie to gas her up, even three years in the past. It’s charming and makes something warm squish tightly in Marina’s chest. “So you showed her the translator?”

“Well, duh. You only spent a year building it from scratch. I told her, I said, Pearl, listen, there are no Octarian books. And her eyes got super wide, and I said, but Marina spent a year coding a fairly accurate translator for herself. I even told her that it translates grammar with ninety-six percent accuracy.”

Marina resists the urge to cover her face. She’s used to this kind of treatment from Pearl, who takes every opportunity to let everyone know just how amazing she thinks Marina is, but from Eight it’s entirely new and almost embarrassing. This is her straightlaced friend who knew what she used to be, back in the military. She shouldn’t be gushing about a minor accomplishment to Marina’s new… best friend? Partner? Crush? Pearl. Her Pearl.

“What’d she say?” Marina hears her own voice ask, despite all that, because it’s killing her. The translator was one of the things that kept her focused during the first year, when everything was new and exciting and she was making music with Pearl and learning a new language and culture. The translator was simple black and white she could return to at the end of a busy day—coding, grammar, vocabulary, all things that had factual, hard rules. The most ironic part of it was that once she finished coding it, she didn’t need it, because the process of making it had helped her fluency; still, it’s come in handy, now that Eight needs it.

Eight rolls her eyes and scoffs, sending Marina’s heart flipping in her chest. Did Pearl hate it? “She was so impressed she wouldn’t shut up about it. She promised to teach me new curse words, but we never got past the stupid translator and how cool you are!”

Marina covers her laugh with her hand, pleased beyond words.

Chapter Text

Their first kiss gets a little out of hand. It’s both of their faults, really, and Pearl is not going to fall on the sword or anything, but she also knows that she’s not helping matters, nipping at Marina’s lip like that and humming a little groan into her mouth. However, Marina makes it worse by sinking her fingers around the back of Pearl neck and squeezing, a little tight, and running her other hand up along Pearl’s face, palm big enough to cup her whole cheek with her fingertips ghosting around the base of her ear.

Hence the groan, right into Marina’s mouth, when those same fingers slid up and around said ear and under her hair, leaving a trail of white-hot fire in its wake. And this is just the first kiss—well, maybe the third or fourth, but they’re all chained together, and Pearl can’t do math at the best of times, let alone when her groan opens her mouth enough for Marina to get her lip between her teeth for a return bite.

All of Pearl’s air leaves her in a rush and she has to pull away. Marina allows it with a small, unhelpful keen, low in the back of her throat, and Pearl has one lucid thought as her brain is flooded with oxygen—contract, breach, no dating clause—before she hooks her hands in Marina’s shirt and yanks her back in for another kiss.

Marina laughs, sending it thrumming through both of them, and that’s it for any lucidity.

Chapter Text

So maybe Pearl overdid it with Tartar, but it’s not like she had a choice. The fate of the world was on the line, which meant that the fate of her voice would have to take a backseat. At the time, the scream ripped out of her and she felt her throat blister and tear, but she couldn’t do anything about it. It’s only after it’s all over, after Marina’s tackled her to the ground and she can’t get a word past the burning, bleeding pain, squirming there on the ground unable to complain, that she lets some of the fear eek in.

Her voice is her money maker, and, more than anything, it’s her happiness maker. She just got this whole idol thing locked down, just settled into the perfect little routine with Marina and the news and concerts and splatfests, just found meaning in the middle of a directionless life. It can’t be over; her voice can’t be ruined—

Marina doesn’t say anything as Pearl sits there with her legs dangling over the edge of the platform and they fly back to the city, but she watches Pearl with furrowed brows and a thin mouth. It’s only after they’re back in the house, Eight passed out in bed upstairs and Three and Cuttlefish sent off in a car, that Marina sits down across from Pearl in the breakfast nook and slides her a cup of warm honey tea.

“How bad does it hurt?”

Pearl swallows the tea, grimaces, and holds up nine fingers.

Marina frowns and breathes out, small and hesitant. “Okay. We’ll handle it, okay?”

Pearl looks up, struck for a moment, as Marina holds a squirming tentacle in one hand and allows it to wind itself anxiously around her fingers. She sniffs, chest peeling open, because there goes Marina, doing that thing she does where she stands stall behind Pearl and says stuff like we’ll handle it. Together, a partner that Pearl still isn’t used to having. She doesn’t have to do it alone.

The same Marina that had her whole life blown wide open a few days ago, sitting there and giving Pearl something more precious than money.

Pearl leans forward and grabs her hand so she can lace their fingers together. Marina looks up, smile as wide as the sunrise over the city.

Chapter Text

Marina is just eighteen the first time she asks. They’re out on the mountain, having a picnic like they do every first Saturday of the month. Pearl calls it a change of scenery to keep them fresh, but Marina likes to think that she wants alone time just as much as Marina does. They can only really find it up here.

The spot they chose this time is a narrow grouping of trees, ground dappled by sunlight through the leaves, and it opens up to a beautiful lookout at the city. The perfect spot to have a wedding, Marina thinks, unbidden, and she doesn’t know where the thought came from, but that’s the thing about thoughts. They come and go and she gets to decide what to do with them.

This time, her mouth decides for her: “Have you thought about getting married?”

“Huh?”

She should be embarrassed, but her curiosity is winning out. “I was thinking this would be the perfect spot.”

Pearl snorts and lays back with her hands laced behind her head. “Suppose not. Guy like me? She’s not made for marriage. Too much baggage.”

It’s Marina’s turn to snort and she crawls toward her so that she can look down into her face. “What baggage? Oh no, you like mayo in your ramen.”

Pearl grins up her, suave and teasing, which really isn’t fair because Marina’s small kitten crush has been growing claws and shredding her insides into pieces. Not that Pearl knows—and Marina wants to keep it that way. “Y’know me,” Pearl mutters, closing her eyes again, “spoiled little rich girl, maladjusted, leaving a trail of broken hearts in my wake.”

“You were just lonely, Pearlie. Not maladjusted. I think your mom would be offended if I told her you said that.”

Pearl’s grin rolls out even wider. “Fine, fine.” She props herself up on her elbows. “Real answer? I guess it’d take someone real special for me to start thinking about crap like marriage. Until then, I’m a free agent.”

And then, seven years pass, and Marina asks again when she’s twenty-five, in the same spot, in that passage of trees, different picnic blanket, with Pearl pressing stray kisses into her throat: “Have you thought about getting married?”

Pearl laughs, buzzing it against Marina’s skin.

Chapter Text

■Webmaster■ > MC.Princess has joined the chatroom.

MC.Princess > Rina

MC.Princess > Rinaaa

MC.Princess > Marinaaaa

■Webmaster■ > DJ_Hyperfresh has joined the chatroom.

DJ_Hyperfresh > Sorry, Pearlie. Agent Eight woke up and I got distracted preparing her for today’s stations. What’s up?

MC.Princess > Have u watched the news recently?

DJ_Hyperfresh > Ummmm, noooo? Why? Did something happen?

MC.Princess > Also when are u coming back here? It’s so booooring with you

MC.Princess > OH! Nuthin’s happenin’ I guess. They’re just using the gnarliest reruns i’ve ever seen. They got you talking bout me falling off the stage like every other broadcast

MC.Princess > *WITHOUT!! I MEANT WITHOUT YOU

DJ_Hyperfresh > Oh, sorry. I thought I was overstaying my welcome, but I can come back later this afternoon if that’s okay. ^^; And you do almost fall off the stage a lot, to be fair. There’s a reason they wanted to put you in a harness.

MC.Princess > Y’mean that WASN’T so I could do killer wire work over the crowd?? The fuck! Also “overstay your welcome”??? Just who do u think u are. You could move in and never leave again and u wouldn’t “overstay your welcome”

MC.Princess > How many times do I have to say that??

DJ_Hyperfresh > =W= PEARLIE… Okay, okay. Let me pack an overnight bag and I’ll be there soon. You watch out for Agent Eight, okay?

■Webmaster■ > DJ_Hyperfresh has left the chatroom.

MC.Princess > DUH! Dont worry Eight, ur in good hands! No one’s EVER died under MY watch.

MC.Princess > Well except for… No it dont matter! You got this Agent Eight!

Chapter Text

Don’t get it wrong: Pearl loves her drone body. It’s everything she didn’t know she wanted—compact, weaponized, capable of flying as high as her heart wants—but there’s no replacing the sensation of Marina’s skin under her hands, the soft press of her cheek against Marina’s shoulder, the ability to wrap her arms all the way around and never let go.

That’s exactly what happens, when they finish that final climb in that elevator after Eight puts Overlorder down and wake in their bodies. Their real bodies, in the real world, in the mansion, in Marina’s office. Pearl barely has time to recognize Eight as she yanks off the helmet before her attention is captured by Marina, slowly picking her big, beautiful head up off the table. The wood grain is imprinted on her face, Pearl manages to process, before she’s flying across the room and throwing herself at the love of her life.

Marina cries out in surprise, but it quickly morphs to that beautiful, chiming laugh of hers as she catches Pearl in her arms. They wind around Pearl’s back, holding tight, while Pearl returns the favor, laughing so hard she might cry, because she’s desperately wanted nothing more than to have exactly this. Marina, real, with flesh and give and those big eyes, breathing against her chest. It’s enough to make the last few days seem like a distant nightmare, at least for a moment.

There will be more to come. Eight is blinking at them with a confused, devastated look on her face, as she processes everything, and they’ll have to find Acht wherever they are, but, just now, all Pearl wants is to enjoy the restoration of her body and all that entails.

Marina presses their foreheads together, closing her eyes as she does the same, reorienting back in the present, and Pearl feels one of her hands curl up in her shirt, balling it up in her fist. “You’re real,” Marina mutters in Octarian.

“Always and forever, baby,” Pearl returns, already turning her head up, so that she says it right into Marina’s mouth as they kiss.

Chapter Text

It’s something that gets passed between them easily by the end. A press of lips to the crown of the head, a whisper before they step out onto stage; a hand held up to a cheek in the quiet dark of early morning, still pretzeled together in bed, a mumble that’s barely coherent. A promise when wrinkles appear and backs bow, when life sweeps them up like a flowing current and ferries them along, unhurried but without dawdling. When the hard years of dancing and touring catch up, they’re there to catch each other, a shoulder to lean hard on while a hot bath is drawn for a shaky body, a pair of hands that rub soap into the skin of the back, up around the neck, down the legs, deliberate and thorough; a kiss between the shoulders, under the neck, and murmur in Octarian, both with an accent and without.

It’s a guarantee that they both said on their wedding day, laced into their vows, I adore you and that will never change. And they live up to that promise, no matter how hard it gets. Especially in the dark of life, the night that crests and doesn’t leave, as they curl up together in bed with weak, lined hands and faces and press the memory of each other into their bodies.

“I adore you,” Pearl whispers to Marina, as she whispers it back, and it echoes throughout time, long after they’re both gone.

Chapter Text

It’s not fair, really, when Pearl walks around in her bathrobe, especially because she never ties it up properly. The gaping neckline just makes everything worse, especially when Marina is trying to focus on her own makeup, or on whatever movie they’re trying to watch, or psyching herself up for the coming performance.

It’s especially not fair when Marina can practically draw a line from Pearl’s chin down to her navel with her eyes (or her finger, if she wanted, if Pearl would let her). The pale line of skin, interrupted here and there with freckles along the flat space in the middle of her chest, where her breasts are nothing more than two enticing swells that disappear under the fabric, taunts her, and Pearl seems none the wiser as she marches around, spritely and spirited on the phone with their manager.

Marina almost has to sit on her hands. Instead, she focuses hard on the mirror, on her own face, on the flush she can feel under the skin, on her squirming tentacles, and leans forward to line her lips.

She always misses the way Pearl’s eyes darken in the reflection, when she sees the neckline of Marina’s own robe gape open.

It’s not fair for either of them, really.

Chapter Text

It happens sometimes: Pearl ends up on the outs with her mother and can’t stand to be in the same house as her, even in a place as big as the mansion. The difference is that, this time, she has a job to be at on Monday morning, seven on the dot, agreeable and willing to squeeze into her costume, so she can’t just disappear into the depths of the city to some twenty-four-hour public bath or net cafe.

So, she finds herself standing on Marina’s doormat, squinting into the camera above the doorbell. She’s crashed here before, but it’s a rare sight for her to show up without warning, hands shoved into her empty pockets, with just her wallet stuffed into her jacket pocket. She left her phone at home because her mom can track it, and she likes to feel like she’s running away, especially because they argued about something so stupid. She’s only twenty-two; she doesn’t need to settle down anytime soon, thank you.

Marina ushers her in when she sees her out there, rushing through some speech about how it’s not safe for Pearl to be out on the street alone, not when everyone knows their faces now. Pearl waves her off, because everyone’s always known her face since she was a little thing, and now they know that she has a mean right hook and an even meaner steel-toed kick. She lets Marina set her up on the couch though, with her softest blanket. It’s nearly one in the morning now, because Pearl took the long way to get here, but Marina was still awake; Pearl can see her laptop, only half-closed on the coffee table, and the sweating energy drink can making rings on the wood next to it.

“What did you argue about this time?” Marina’s voice comes from the kitchen, and Pearl scowls at her own face, reflected in the television across from her.

“Nothin’ important. It okay if I crash here for a few days?”

“Of course.” Marina reappears, holding a steaming cup of hot cocoa, like she always does when Pearl materializes on her stoop like a lost bird. “Your clothes are still in the dresser.”

Pearl snorts but happily accepts the cocoa. She has a whole drawer here, which isn’t that much, but it’s what Marina can afford to give, proportionally, of her small one-bedroom condo, and it means more than Pearl can get her hands around. A place for her to land, where she has a few creature comforts with someone who’s always happy to see her. It’s more than she can ask for, that drawer.

“Thanks,” she says, blowing the steam across the top of the cup with the breathless sigh that escapes, “for always being there.”

Marina smiles, gentle, in that soft way that she reserves for Pearl alone. “Anything for you, Pearlie.”

She reaches across and places a careful kiss on the top of Pearl’s head, and Pearl’s never felt more at home.

Chapter Text

“We can keep it with mine,” Marina says when Eight’s hands hover over her Octoshot, there in the genkan. It’s customary in Octarian culture to remove weapons along with shoes in the threshold of the home, while Inklings store weapons wherever there’s room, so Pearl makes it all the way to the stairs before she realizes that Marina and Eight aren’t following her. When she looks back, Marina waves her off while she carefully takes the Octoshot, safety on, barrel pointed at the floor away from them.

Eight dogs close to her heels as Marina leads her up the stairs. Pearl follows, quiet because her throat is still a little raw, and pauses at the doorway to the room Marina still keeps at the mansion. Marina slides to the floor in front of the bed and hooks an arm under the frame, digging around, before she comes up with a metal lockbox. Pearl gasps slightly, surprised because she’s never seen it before, and comes closer, clambering onto the bed to get a better look.

“This is all I have from my old life,” Marina explains to Eight. Pearl can’t understand the language, but she watches with a small furrow between her eyebrows, barely blinking, as Marina inputs the code and opens it. Inside, her old, black uniform is folded neatly alongside the worn, standard issue boots; her Octoshot is nestled between the folds of the fabric, clean and untouched for almost four years now.

It really is all she has, other than the old cassette player, cassette tape, laptop, and banged up midi keyboard, which were all retired and displayed in a place of honor in the studio. She was in such a rush that she escaped with next to nothing, but it’s still somehow more than Eight has now, with just a stolen weapon and clothes that she doesn’t remember putting on. Marina at least had her memories.

Eight’s fingers brush against the Octoshot, so similar in its construction to the one resting on the ground between them that Marina swears that they were made on the same production line. Her eyes rise, wide and surprised, as if it’s finally getting through that she has more in common with Marina that she ever imagined.

“Go on,” Marina prompts, pushing the box closer. “We’ll put your clothes in later.”

The Octoshot fits nicely next to its twin. Marina lets Eight see the code as she closes the box, a quiet promise that she’ll always have a right to what hers, and they push it back under the bed together.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know,” Pearl mutters, from where she’s lying on her stomach with her head hanging over the edge, watching the box disappear under the bed. “I’m such an idiot.”

Marina pauses, confused, before cupping Pearl’s pouty face between her hands. “You helped me figure out who I was. Isn’t that enough?”

Pearl’s eyes widen and she swallows, heavy, before nodding, slow and careful.

Marina presses a small kiss between her eyes. “Good.”

Chapter Text

And maybe that’s the thing. You open your eyes, and she’s there. The face you’ve been sitting across from for over seven years, with her tentacles curtaining long around you, smiles down at you, easy and pleased as always, and the diamonds painted on her cheek disappear in small whisps of pixels.

You almost lost her.

“Pearlie?” she asks, voice raw from wailing. What was it she said? You hadn’t processed the lyrics before, but it was something needy, something about patchwork, something holy. Her hand caresses your cheek, and the gray glove folds away next.

And maybe that’s the thing. You sit up and turn to her. You’re going to cry. Her smile shrinks a little when she sees the tears, and one hand comes up to rest on her chest, right over her heart. The dress ripples away, replaced with her black top, with the shimmery orange of her suit.

“Rina,” you gasp, and lunge for her. Her body is solid and real, like it’s always been.

For a moment, you had to face it: a future without her.

You press your face into her shoulder and sob.

And maybe that’s the thing. Pearl isn’t Pearl without Marina.

Chapter Text

Marina’s always been what Pearl called handsy. It’s just that the first time Pearl held her hand in the city, she felt something jolt inside, something cavernous and empty that she didn’t know was there, and it only got worse when Pearl let her go. Touch starvation, she learned later, from a lifetime of military distance, left to simmer in the background for her whole life, only to reveal itself in the light of the sun on the surface.

Pearl was the perfect person to have next to her, really. She was agreeable and happily accepted every hug, every arm that Marina threw over her shoulder, sat close to Marina on the couch when she scooted in, even fell asleep leaning on Marina’s shoulder a few times. It helped a lot, to slowly fill the hole inside her, the desperation for contact that she’d been pushing down for years, but it was never quite enough. As time passed and she fell for her best friend, she found herself wanting more, wanting hands and two bodies pressed together close enough that no light could get between them. She wanted to be squeezed and held, rubbed and gripped, compressed into a fine paste.

The first night, after they’ve kissed and negotiated, after they’ve talked about what their future would look like, it’s almost too much. Marina takes Pearl’s face between her hands and stops her before she can move too far south, whispers something like hold me in broken Inkling, and Pearl practically climbs on top of her, presses her face into the hollow of her throat, and wraps her arms around Marina as well as she can. The marrow-deep need in her recedes, pulling back like the tide, as Pearl breathes into her neck and rests her whole body weight on Marina’s chest.

“Thank you,” Marina wheezes, feeling delirious at the relief.

Pearl merely nuzzles in closer.

Chapter Text

“Pearlie, you can’t buy Acht another plant.”

“Why not? They still have room. And they look really cool in the background of their DJing livestreams. You think they’d let us jam on one of those?”

“They have enough plants—”

“Rina, I know plant people. They never have enough plants. Trust me on this, babe. ‘Sides, they don’t have this plant. I think. Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“That’s a tree, Pearl.”

“It’s a tree? Pssh, look at you. I’m Marina and I’m a botanist. I know a tree by sight alone. It’s a little thing with one leaf!”

“Did you even read the tag?”

“There’s a tag?”

“Pearlie… You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Lucky? What? Lucky? You fell for me because of my suave charm and bad boy moves. Admit it. You couldn’t resist.”

“Uh huh. If I consult my diary, I’m pretty sure it says Pearlie is so sweet and cute! She calls graffiti ‘doodle things’! I just want to hug her and squeeze her!”

“Y’know what? Forget the tree. I’ll get them this fern. They like ferns. Prehistoric or whatever. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

“Admit it, Pearlie. You’re a cuuuuutie.”

“Yeah yeah—”

“You’re grinning~ Always so cute when you’re sullen and pouting…”

“Yeah yeah! C’mon, before I show you just how cute I can be.”

“Promise?”

Chapter Text

“Did you know that the Sonic Siren is on record saying that her doctors thought she was psychic?”

It’s an innocent question, but Marina turns to look at Pearl with a playful lift to her mouth. She’s still naked, with the blankets pulled up under her arms. Her glasses are on the nightstand, but she doesn’t need them to use her powers, and she has that faraway look in her eyes, like she’s focusing on something Pearl can’t see, that means that she’s receiving some information from a computer.

Pearl glances toward the door and finds it cracked. Crankily, she crawls out of bed and yanks it closed, blocking off all the noise that only Marina can hear. Marina sighs and relaxes a little, shoulders drooping, and Pearl clamberes onto the bed next to her, throwing herself across her lap like a fainting flower.

“Where’d you hear that?” Pearl asks, because Marina is grinning at her fully now.

“New article in Time.” Marina runs her fingers through Pearl’s hair, allowing her long nails to drag along her scalp. “Eleventh anniversary of the fall of the Good Samaritan Super laws. They’ve done a feature on a different super every year. Guess it’s your turn.”

Pearl doesn’t know what to say to that. “Huh. My dad’s gonna be pissed.” She pauses, considering, before adding: “Wait, why didn’t they do a feature on both of us? We were a team!”

Marina chuckles, low and musical. “Hard to find anything on Ms.DOS. All her info has been mysteriously scrubbed from the internet. No one will know that my doctors also thought I was psychic.”

Pearl pushes herself up on her elbows, grinning. “Forreal? Why do they always go with psychic?”

Marina shrugs and presses her hands into Pearl’s shoulders, massaging the stiff muscles there. Pearl groans, low in her throat, as she works her thumbs into the soft, tender flesh near her shoulder blade. “Someone who can control people with a suggestion and someone who seems to know everything because she can Google it with her mind? Looks psychic to me.”

“Yeah, sure, but— Uhn—” Pearl breaks off to hiss, and all the words leave her when Marina leans forward to press a kiss to her throat. “Oh… Ah, Rina— You’d think that they’d realize that— Hhhssss— They’d realize that there’s no such thing as a— Ah! No such thing as a psychic!”

“Pearlie,” Marina grumbles, right into the skin of Pearl’s chest, “who cares?”

Pearl throws her head back and laughs, and Marina presses her lips to her clavicle.