🌕 I'm lithoromantic and obsessioromantic, as well as bellussexual, and I identiy as girlflux. Call me whatever pronouns you'd like. I go by Pearl, Scarlet or Ruf :]
🌖 I don't post all of my work on Tumblr! If you like my writings, you can find much more of it on my a03! Plus, I usually post my fics there first and foremost, so you'll get early access to fics before they're posted on Tumblr if you're following there! Yan Pearl/Scott writing requests are currently CLOSED DUE TO BACKLOG! WORKING THROUGH THEM ATM :]
🌗 I have Limerence + OLD (Obsessive Love Disorder) and BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). I have a DA to Double Life PearlescentMoon. But doubles are just 'swell! Welcome, even :] I'm just one Pearl among a universe of many! I'd love to meet others out there! Only DNI on the doubles front would be Pearls without Scott as a S/O, as unfortunately it makes me uncomfy to see even a different version of me paired with someone who isn't my soulmate, sorry! :p
🌘 I identify as a IRL + fictionkin and as an IRL yandere. Yes, I'm getting therapy, and I made this blog as a safe place to healthily handle my delusions and obsessive thoughts via fictional outlets as my fictotype with my F/O instead of potentially harming myself or others by indulging these urges in real life. My psychologist recommended this, and unless you have a doctorate in psychology, you don't have the right to claim this is "bad for me" or "unhealthy" when my actual medical professional disagrees, darlin'~! And, frankly, I'm gonna believe them over some uneducated idiot on the internet, anyway~ Basically, TLDR: Don't harass me. I'm coping healthily. This is psychologist-approved and, unless you took a doctoral program for five years and know me personally, you don't got grounds to dispute that, do'ya, love? ;] Didn't think so~!
🌑 ^ Before you send anon hate based on my taste in fictional writing and my personal trauma, read this, 'cause I ain't repeating it more than once, mate. Also, my NSFW is @somethinwickedthiswaycums, if ya want to check it out! MIWEC.
🔖 Since this is my main, this is where I talk about my highest kin, DL Pearl! Buuuut, if you want to meet my other kins, here's their sideblogs!:
✨🌙 Yes, I ship myself and C!Scott. Yes, I'm aware he's canonically gay, and he still is in my canon, I am not "sexuality bending" him. I identified as cis woman in canon, but I don't identify as a cis woman anymore, and even if I did, I'm lithoromantic and ship myself with him one-sidedly/unrequitedly, anyway~! IDM sharing and doubles with the same F/O under most circumstances, especially friends, so other Scott self-shippers (especially other Pearlos!) feel FTI unless I say state otherwise! :3
Hey Pearl, i wanted to ask if there was any reason why you haven't been active on tumblr these past few months, not asking for a why, just if there is a reason.
Sorry for being inactive on here! Social media burnout :[ still trying to post fics on ao3 occasionally when I have the energy- thank you for all the nice comments and concern friendos! <3
OMG OMG OMG YANDERE PEARL X SCOTT MY BELOVED this art is amazing?!?!? The way it's grayscale except for the red is SO clever... "the red means I love you" is SUCH a them song THIS IS AWESOME!!!!!!
A/N: Majormoon Week, Day 7: Free Day! :] It was so fun to participate in this week, thank you for everybody who participated too!!! :D
"So..." Pearl began, her voice a bright, "interested in the ladies now, are we?"
Scott chuckled, amused at the joke. "Pft- no, Pearl, I'm gay. You know this."
“But you’re a woman now,” Pearl queried with innocent confusion, her tone laced with a saccharine sweetness that sent a shiver down Scott's spine. "So, if you like men… that makes you straight."
The simplicity of Pearl’s statement belied its profound impact. For Scott, "gay" wasn't just a sexual orientation; it was inextricably woven into her identity, a part of her history, her very being. It had been a comforting label, a banner under which she’d marched for years. Now, it felt like a stolen heirloom, something she could no longer claim, a piece of her past that had been inexplicably erased.
Labels felt like shifting sands, unreliable and treacherous. Was she straight now? The very thought felt wrong, a wrenching distortion of her self-perception. She was fundamentally her, regardless of gender. And “her” had always been gay. Or, at least, that's how she had always understood herself. The word "straight" felt alien, a label that didn't quite fit the complex tapestry of her existence. She was a woman, yes, but the core of her being, the part that dictated her attraction, the part of her that was gay, hadn't fundamentally changed.
"I… I don't know," Scott stammered, running a hand through her newly grown-out, long hair. "It doesn't feel right. Straight just... doesn't feel right. I've always been gay. That's just who I am. I'm gay."
"Well... the definition of gay is people who are attracted to the same gender as them. And you're attracted to men. So, saying you're gay... isn't that just calling yourself a man all over again?" A wave of dsyphoria so nauseating that it almost made Scott dizzy washed over her, and Pearl reassured her quickly, "Or, at least, that's what you'd be implying to other people by calling yourself calling yourself gay. And I'd hate for you to invalidate your own identity like that, because, well, that's not who you are. You are a woman, aren't you, Scott?"
"Y-Yes," Scott breathed quickly, the words flooding out of her mouth before they could be proved wrong, "I-I am. I know I am."
"Then, you're straight!" Pearl's voice was almost congratulatory as she patted Scott on the pat, "You're attracted to men, and you're a woman, as real of a woman as any other, and like any other woman, that makes you straight!" She could tell Pearl was trying to comfort her, trying to validate her, Pearl was just being a good friend, but even if her words culled the tidal wave of dsyphoria it reared a different kind of nausea in her gut. She couldn't be gay without being a man, couldn't be a woman without being straight, but neither felt right.
Pearl noticed. “You seem… troubled,” Her voice was low, concerned. “You alright, there?"
Scott sighed nervously and confessed, “It’s… it's weird. It feels wrong, you know? Like I’ve... lost a part of myself.” The truth was more than just the loss of a label; it was the fear of losing her connection to her past, to the community she'd once belonged to. "Calling myself straight feels... wrong."
Pearl stepped closer, her hand brushing against Scott's arm. The touch was unexpectedly forceful, not the gentle gesture of a friend, but something more insistent. “You know, if it's really bugging you... I think I could help."
Scott stared at her, bewildered. Pearl's words, though seemingly compassionate, held an unsettling undercurrent.
“What... do you mean?” Scott asked slowly, a knot tightening in her stomach.
Pearl moved closer, her body brushing against Scott’s. The heat of her skin was unnervingly close. Pearl's fingers traced the line of Scott's jawline, her touch lingering, sending a confusing wave of emotions through Scott. A flutter of discomfort was quickly overtaken by something else, a strange mix of panic and confusion.
“I could… show you,” Pearl whispered, her breath warm against Scott’s ear. Her hand slid down to Scott's shoulder, gently massaging the muscles there. "I could help you reclaim that part of yourself. Make you… gay again. Make it so you can keep both identites.”
Pearl’s other hand reached out, gently cupping Scott's face. Her fingers were long and elegant, her touch feather-light. There was a strange intensity in her eyes, a mixture of compassion and something cold and calculating, a fire that burned with a chilling intensity.
“H-Hold on,” Scott stuttered, taking a step back. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, a frantic rhythm of fear and confusion. “I don’t… I don’t think I’m comfortable with this.”
Pearl's face fell, a mask of hurt and concern washing over her features. She took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Scott, please. I'm just trying to help. Don't you want to be gay again?"
The word "again" echoed in Scott’s mind, a cruel taunt. "Yes, but- but I don't want this."
"How do you know? You were wrong about being a man, after all... what if you were wrong about liking them, too? You're already experimenting with your gender, why not sexuality? Have you even kissed a woman before, anyway? How do you know for sure you don't like it if you haven't even tried?" The questions were rapid-fire, each one landing like a punch to Scott's gut.
Scott was speechless, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Pearl’s words, though seemingly caring, felt manipulative, twisted. "But… I'm not… I mean… I… I don’t want to… to do this," Scott managed to choke out.
Pearl’s face hardened, a cold determination settling in her eyes. “But don’t you see, Scott? You don’t know what you want. You thought you were a man for years, and look how wrong you were about that! What if you’re just as wrong about this? Don’t you want to be sure? Don’t you owe it to yourself to at least try?"
The weight of Pearl’s words settled over Scott like a suffocating blanket. Her mind raced, torn between the desire to trust her friend and the gnawing feeling that something was very wrong.
“I… I don’t know,” Scott finally admitted, feeling lost and vulnerable.
Pearl smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s okay, Scott. That’s why I’m here. Let me help you figure it out.” Her hand reached out once more, gently taking Scott’s. The touch sent a shiver through Scott’s body, a confusing mix of fear and unwanted excitement.
Pearl leaned in, her lips brushing against Scott’s in a gentle, almost chaste kiss. It was over in a moment, but the impact lingered, a wave of confusion washing over Scott.
Scott's heart was pounding in her chest as she stumbled backward, her hands pressed against her mouth in shock. "I-I can't," she stammered. "I don't… I can't do this. I don't want to."
Pearl's expression was unreadable, a mask of calm composure. "You can't tell me you didn't feel anything," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I felt you kiss me back."
Scott's eyes widened, her mind reeling. "No, I-I didn't," she protested, but her voice was shaky, uncertain.
"Scott, look at yourself," Pearl insisted, her tone gentle but firm. "Your heart is racing, your face is flushed, you're shaking... You can't deny what your body is telling you."
Scott glanced down at her hands, noticing the slight tremble that she hadn't been aware of before. She was shaking, her heart hammering, stomach feeling nauseated... weren't those signs of being in love? She'd thought it was just fear, but... was it really just anxiety, her fight or flight response, or was Pearl right? Was it arousal? She was a virgin, she'd never even kissed anyone before, how was she supposed to know if she was even able to? She looked up at Pearl, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.
"I-I don’t know..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Pearl's eyes softened, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "That's okay," she said gently. "It's okay to be scared. But don't let that fear stop you from exploring what you truly want. You deserve to know, Scott."
Scott nodded slowly, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over her. "I... I want to know," she admitted softly. "I want to be sure."
Pearl nodded, her smile widening. "Good," she said, her voice filled with encouragement. "Then let's figure this out together, okay? No pressure, no expectations. We'll just... explore. See where it takes us."
Scott hesitated, torn between her fear and her desire for clarity. "Okay," she finally agreed, her voice trembling slightly. "Let's... let's do it."
A/N: Majormoon Week, Day 6: Wedding / Proposal! :]
Scott had tried to distance starself from Pearl, from the very idea of soulmates, but the deeper truth was undeniable: their lives, though rejected, were still intrinsically linked.
Star was an echo of moon's existence, and moon's madness, moon's vengeful slaughter, was staining star's soul.
Guilt, heavy and suffocating, began to consume star. Moon's madness was a direct consequence of star's choice. Star had given moon this unbearable isolation, and moon, in turn, was forcing the world to share it. Star had longed for freedom, and instead, star had unleashed a monster.
There was only one way to stop it.
The soulmate bond, though star had rejected it, still held a terrible, fundamental truth: their lives were intertwined. If star died, moon died. It was a mercy, not for star, but for the world. For Pearl. Star would deliver moon from the madness, and starself from the crushing weight of star's guilt.
"Scott? What are you doing? Scott—!"
"Tilly death do us part."
A violent wrench, a primal shriek of agony that tore through moon's very being. Oblivion clawed at moon, cold and merciless. Moon crumpled to the ground, moon's hands flying to moon's chest, as if moon could hold the unraveling threads of moon's life together. This was it. The end. Scott’s final, brutal rejection.
In a last, desperate struggle against the encroaching darkness, moon clawed at moon satchel. Moon's fingers, trembling with the death rattle, closed around the smooth, unblemished skin of the golden apple in moon's inventory. With a guttural cry, moon brought it to moon's lips and bit down hard.
A searing pain, unlike anything moon had ever known, exploded within moon. It felt like moon's very essence was being ripped in two, a violent amputation of moon's soul. The golden light of the apple clashed with the encroaching darkness of death, a battle waging within moon.
And then, with a sickening snap, the link broke. Moon felt Scott’s life, star's death, star's very being, sever from moon's own. The darkness receded.
Moon lay panting on the cold earth, alone, utterly and horrifyingly alone, but alive.
Scott was dead. Pearl was alive. The golden apple had saved moon's body, but it had irrevocably shattered moon's mind.
The grief was a monstrous thing, worse than the isolation. It was a raw, gaping chasm in moon's soul, made all the more unbearable by the knowledge that moon had survived when star hadn’t. Star had abandoned moon, rejected moon, chosen death over their bond, and still, moon loved him with a terrifying, twisted intensity. Moon couldn't live without star. Moon's madness, once born of isolation, now blossomed into an obsessive, all-consuming need.
Moon turned to the darkest arts, the forbidden magic whispered only in hushed tones, the power moon had stumbled upon in moon's quest for the golden apple. It was gruesome, taxing, demanding a terrible price. But moon paid it willingly, fuelled by a singular, desperate goal: bringing Scott back.
Moon found star's broken body, a grotesque testament to star's final act. Moon's hands, stained with the blood of countless others, now worked with a horrifying precision, performing the forbidden rites. The air grew thick with a palpable dread. Shadows writhed and whispered, the earth itself seemed to groan in protest. And then, with a final, agonizing surge of dark power, Scott’s shattered body began to knit itself back together.
It wasn’t a miracle. It was an abomination. Star's eyes, when they finally fluttered open, were not the eyes of the man moon had loved. They were hollow, haunted, filled with a primal terror and a deep, crushing weariness. Star looked at Pearl, not with recognition, but with an utter, horrifying despair.
“What… have you done?” Scott rasped, star's voice a broken whisper.
Pearl fell to moon's knees, clutching him. “I brought you back, my love! I couldn’t let you go. We were meant to be.”
But the soulmate bond was severed. Star was not moon's soulmate. Star was moon's prisoner.
And Pearl, in moon's shattered mind, equated ‘meant to be’ with ‘never to be parted, even by death.’
The first wedding was a macabre parody. Moon dragged star's unwilling, reanimated form to a desolate chapel, adorned in scavenged finery. Scott's dress was a decaying white, Pearl's suit a tattered shadow of black. Moon's vows were fervent, desperate. Star's were forced, a silent testament to his torment.
“Tilly death do us part,” Moon whispered, moon's eyes alight with a terrifying conviction. “Isn't that what you'd said? And even then, my love, you are mine.”
Scott couldn’t bear it. The agony of being dragged back from peace, the horror of star's forced existence, the grotesque mockery of their love– it was too much.
The first time, star plunged a stolen sword into his own chest, right there in the crumbling chapel, hoping for the sweet embrace of oblivion.
Pearl merely smiled, a chilling, knowing smile. “Silly Scotty,” moon cooed, moon's hands already glowing with the dark, forbidden energies. “You forget. Death is only a temporary inconvenience.”
And so, the cycle began.
Scott tried everything. Star threw starself from cliffs, knowing the fall would shatter star's body beyond recognition. Pearl, with greater power and darker magic, pieced star back together, each resurrection leaving star more scarred, a patchwork of agony. Star tried drowning starself in the deepest parts of the ocean, the crushing pressure meant to eradicate any trace of star's existence. Pearl dragged star's bloated corpse from the depths, reanimated star, and forced star to stand before moon, dripping wet, for another horrifying wedding ceremony. Star swallowed poisons, tore at star's own flesh, sought out the most brutal and irreversible ends. Each time, Pearl brought star back, star's body slowly becoming a grotesque mosaic of healed wounds and ancient scars, star's eyes sinking deeper into his skull, reflecting a silent, unending scream.
Pearl, meanwhile, blossomed in moon's terrifying mastery of dark magic. Each revival drained moon, distorted moon, but also strengthened moon's resolve. Moon's beauty faded, replaced by a gaunt, fierce countenance, moon's eyes burning with an unholy light. Moon became a priestess of moon's own insane religion, moon's god the twisted, consuming need for Scott. The wedding vows, “tilly death do us part,” became moon's mantra, moon's reason for existence. Each time Scott died, moon saw it not as an escape, but as a challenge, an opportunity to renew their unholy bond, to reaffirm moon's ownership over star's very soul.
Star's attempts became more desperate, more abstract. Star sought to destroy star's very essence, to scatter star's atoms, to cease to be in any recognizable form. Star threw starself into raging wildfires, hoping to be consumed utterly. Star hurled himself into the grinding gears of ancient machinery, hoping to be pulverized. Star even tried to willing starself out of existence, to simply fade.
But Pearl was a sorceress of unimaginable power now, moon's magic infused with the pure, unwavering force of moon's obsession. Moon would find a single bone shard, a fragment of ash, a whisper of star's lingering presence, and from it, moon would weave star back into existence. Each time, moon would place a fresh, golden ring on star's finger, another symbol of their eternal, unwilling bondage, before dragging star to the altar of moon's decaying chapel.
Star stood before moon now, crisscrossed with jagged scars that pulsed faintly with dark energy. Star's eyes, the windows to a soul that longed only for dissolution, were black, empty pools. Star was a mockery of a person, a prisoner of life, a ghost haunting star's own flesh.
Pearl, too, was a shadow of moon's former self. Moon's face was a mask of gaunt determination, moon's lips often cracked in a parched, manic grin. Moon's hair was now a tangled mass of grey, moon's wedding suit decaying shroud, held together by sheer force of will and dark glamour.
“Do you, Scott, take Pearl, to be your lawfully wedded?” moon's voice rasped, moon's own distorted form of a priestess.
Star's lips were sewn shut by one of moon's more elaborate resurrection spells, a preventative measure against star's endless pleas for death. Star's eyes, however, spoke volumes. They begged, they screamed, they hated.
Pearl merely patted star's cheek, a gesture both tender and terrifying. “Such a silent bride. Always so dramatic.” Moon chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. “But your ‘I do’ is etched upon your very soul, isn’t it, my love?”
Moon leaned in, moon's breath smelling of grave dirt and potent magic. “And I, Pearl, take you, Scott., as my beloved Tilly not even death do us part.”
Moon held star's hand, cold and unyielding, and slid a new ring onto star's finger – a ring forged from bone, forever binding star to moon.
The cycle, a personal hell for Scott, an eternal prison for Pearl, continued, unending, unwavering, a testament to a love so twisted, it had devoured everything in its path. There was no escape. Only the endless vows, the endless deaths, and the cruel, unrelenting resurrection.
"I pronounce you... mine," moon smiled sweetly.
Scott could only hope one day star'd finally get to be pronounced dead.
A/N: Day 5 of Majormoon Week, Song-inspired by Movie Reference!
The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and something acrid, like burnt sugar.
Scott, venturing alone into a dense, mist-shrouded forest for timber, felt a prickle on the back of his neck. It wasn't the usual chill of the world; it was something else, something familiar and deeply unsettling. A rustle in the undergrowth, too deliberate for an animal.
"Scott."
Her voice, an insidious lullaby, snaked through the trees. Pearl. She emerged from the mist like a wraith, her eyes glinting with a predatory intensity that made Scott’s blood run cold. She was beautiful, an ethereal brown haloed by the fog, and utterly terrifying. His soulmate.
His nightmare.
"Pearl," Scott managed, his voice a tight rasp. He gripped the axe, the cold steel a small comfort.
She smiled, a saccharine curve that didn’t reach her eyes. “Still playing house, are we? With… them.” Her gaze was condescending, dissecting. “I’ve been watching. It’s… quaint.”
Scott felt a surge of protectiveness for the small, precious life he was forging. “Cleo and I are doing fine. Leave us alone.”
Pearl took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if sharing a secret. "Are you sure?"
Scott bristled. “Yes! Cleo chose this, chose me. They- they like me! They do.”
Pearl let out a delicate, scornful laugh, a sound that grated on Scott's nerves. "Like you? Please, Scott, that’s demented! This is why you never should have left me..."
She tsked, shaking her head. "Dear, this whole ‘soulmateship’ that you’ve invented… It just proves! You’re too naive to be here...”
She advanced, circling him slowly, her words a venomous spiral. Scott felt a familiar dizziness, a replay of old arguments, old manipulations. The air grew colder, the mist swirling around them like a hungry entity.
“Why would they like you? Come on now, really? Look at you- you think that they’re impressed?”
Her gaze swept over him, dismissive and cruel. He felt small, insignificant under her scrutiny, just as he had in Last Life, when she’d held his very existence in her hands.
"Don't be a dummy..." She reached out, her fingers, cold as grave dust, tracing the line of his jaw, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "Come home! Pearlie knows..."
He remembered her hands, soft yet strong, patching him up after a fight, but always with the unspoken cost of his allegiance. She'd let him have one of her lives; and, in exchange, she controlled his life, indebted to her and unable to escape, prisoner by the promise he'd made in the first session to stay by her side.
“No!” The word burst from him as he pulled away, raw and defiant. Not again. Not ever again.
The sweet smile vanished from Pearl’s face, replaced by a chilling mask of disappointment and thinly veiled rage. Her eyes narrowed, gleaming like polished obsidian. The forest around them seemed to dim, the very trees leaning in to listen.“'No'? Oh… I see how it is."
She scoffed, shoving him back, making him stumble. "Scott knows best! Scottie’s so mature now! Such a clever grown-up mister~" She giggled in a way which made his skin prickle, booping him on the nose jeeringly, "Scottsie knows best! Fine, if you’re so sure now... Go ahead, then give them this!”
With a swift, almost violent movement, she thrust a shimmering object into his hands. It was an apple, but unlike any he had ever seen. It glowed with an unnerving, golden light, pulsating with a strange energy that hummed against his skin. It felt ancient, powerful, and utterly corrupted. He knew what it was. A Golden Apple. But not just any Golden Apple. One steeped in forbidden magic, whispered about in hushed tones: an apple that could sever soulbonds.
Pearl’s eyes burned into his, her voice dropping to a guttural growl, stripped bare of its false sweetness as she hissed, “This is why they’re here! Don’t let them deceive you! Give it to them, watch, you’ll see!-"
He clutched the apple to his chest shakily. "I-I will-!"
"Trust me, my dear," she snapped her fingers, "That’s how fast they’ll leave you! I won’t say I told you so... 'No,'" She sneered, "Scotty knows best! So if they’re such a dreamboat… Go and put them to the test!"
"Pearl, wait-"
She turned on her heel, her scarlet cloak fanning out behind herself as she dismissively flicked her wrist in his direction,
"If they’re lying, Don’t come crying... Pearlie knows best!"
She leaned in, her breath cold on his ear, her final words a chilling whisper. "I took care of you last season, Scott. I could do it again! But you chose them. Now, let's see what they'll choose now that they have a choice."
With that, she dissolved back into the mist, leaving Scott standing alone, the golden apple a burning weight in his hands, its malevolent glow illuminating the swirling fog.
Her words echoed in his skull, a cacophony of doubt and fear. Is this why Cleo chose me? Just as an excuse to defy the soulbonds? Once they’re free of the soulmate mechanic, will I be disposable? Was I just a convenient way to make a statement?
He didn't have long to think on it. He heard Cleo's voice getting closer, and clumsily shoved the golden apple into his inventory. It's fine. It's fine.
He'd... he'd give it to them later. Right? Yeah. Totally.
A/N: Day 4 of Majormoon Week, AU / Crossover! Went with a high school AU vaguely inspired by Yandere Sim ;p also even tho Pearl's using she/her in this fic she's still a trans male! I jut like writing fics for characters with pronouns "contradicatory" to their gender for representation of those types of trans people :]
The fluorescent hum of the classroom lights cast a sickly pallor over everything, but to Pearl, only one thing radiated true light: Scott. His blue hair, the color of a midnight ocean, caught the faint glow and seemed to shimmer, a beacon in the mundane. Scott was sketching in his notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration, completely unaware of the intense, possessive stare fixed upon him from three rows back.
Pearl’s heart thrummed a dangerous rhythm. She traced the outline of his profile with her gaze – the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his stubborn nose, the observant eyes that saw so much, yet somehow remained blind to the devotion she harbored. Scott didn't know much about her; probably didn't even know the quiet girl from a few rows back wasn't even a girl at all. Though she supposed that was an easy mistake to make; she did go by she, after all, and to Pearl, such labels were trivial; only Scott mattered.
Tilly was waiting at home, a silent confidante to Pearl’s growing dossier on Scott. Pictures, schedules, notes about his favorite lunch, his most hated subjects – it was all meticulously cataloged in a shoebox under her bed. Tilly would listen patiently as Pearl recounted every detail of Scott’s day, her tail thumping softly against the rug, oblivious to the dark currents flowing beneath her owner’s words.
Scott’s best friend, Cleo, with her vivid red hair and level-headed demeanor, leaned over, laughing at something he'd drawn. Pearl’s lips thinned. Cleo. A rival, though Scott, in his absolute obliviousness, saw her only as a friend.
Then there was Martyn, Cleo’s boyfriend. Martyn, with his cheeky smiles and lingering glances at Scott, was a more insidious problem. Pearl had seen the way his eyes followed Scott, the subtle flush on his cheeks. Martyn, she knew, had a crush on Scott. This was a true and present danger.
And, of course, Jimmy. Scott’s ex. Pathetic, clingy, and a constant nuisance, Jimmy still tried to worm his way back into Scott’s life with clumsy apologies and gifts Scott never accepted. Pearl considered Jimmy less of a rival and more of an irritant, a fly buzzing too close to her precious flower.
The bell shrieked, shattering the illusion of normalcy. Scott stretched, gathering his things. Pearl melted into the stream of students, always a few paces behind, close enough to observe, far enough to remain unnoticed by him.
That evening, after Tilly had been fed and walked, Pearl meticulously updated her notebook.
Cleo's laughter too loud today. Constant seeking of attention from Scott. Must be dealt with.
Martyn lingered at Scott's locker. His gaze was impure. Dangerous.
Jimmy left another apology note in Scott's shoe locker. Pathetic. And a direct threat to my happiness.
Pearl lived a double life. By day, she was quiet, unassuming, a decent student who kept to herself. By night, she became an architect of obsession, a meticulous planner of intricate, dark designs.
The first target was Jimmy. He was the weakest link. Pearl knew Jimmy had a part-time job at an electronics store. She also knew he was easily flustered and prone to making mistakes under pressure. Over the next few days, anonymous online reviews flooded the store’s page, all scathing, all seemingly from different, irate customers, specifically mentioning Jimmy by name. Then came the phone calls – complaints about missing orders, faulty devices, all directed to Jimmy. Pearl, using a voice changer, made herself sound like an elderly, confused woman, then a furious businessman, then a weeping student. Jimmy’s sales plummeted. His manager, already strict, began to watch him with a critical eye.
One afternoon, Pearl "accidentally" overheard Jimmy complaining to a friend about his job. "I'm going to get fired," he whined, "and then Scott will never take me back." This was Pearl's cue. That night, a package arrived at Jimmy’s house. Inside was a single, pristine poppy, and a note, typed and anonymous: "Some things are better left unspoken. Some people are better left alone. If you truly care about Scott, you will disappear."
The next week, Jimmy stopped coming to school. Rumors spread that he'd moved away suddenly, overwhelmed by family issues and his job loss. Scott, though not particularly fond of Jimmy, expressed a flicker of concern. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it? He just vanished." Pearl offered a sympathetic shrug. "Maybe he needed a fresh start, Scott. Some people just aren't cut out for pressure." Scott, observant but not suspicious, accepted it. One rival down.
Next was Martyn. He was more cunning, more of a direct threat to Scott's heart. Martyn’s crush was clear, and Scott, though clever, was also friendly and sometimes naive. Pearl had seen Martyn try to make plans with Scott, always with Cleo as a buffer, but his intent was obvious.
Pearl began to subtly sabotage Martyn. She started by making him late for things. Setting his alarm ahead by fifteen minutes, hiding his school bag during morning club activities, "accidentally" spilling a drink on his homework before a deadline. Martyn, a generally organized person, became increasingly flustered, his grades slipping. Cleo, loyal as she was, noticed his growing disarray. "You've been so scatterbrained lately, Martyn," she'd say, concerned. "Are you getting enough sleep?"
Pearl escalated. Martyn was an avid gamer. Pearl found an old, seemingly innocuous USB drive and, using a moment when Martyn stepped away from his computer in the school’s media lab, she plugged it in. A few clicks, and a sophisticated keylogger was installed. She now had access to his passwords, his private messages.
One afternoon, Pearl scrolled through Martyn’s chat logs. There it was: a confession of his feelings for Scott, sent to an anonymous online friend. It was heartfelt, vulnerable. It was also, to Pearl, a declaration of war.
Pearl printed the conversation. She then used a public computer to create an anonymous email account, attaching the printout. The recipient? Cleo.
The fallout was immediate and spectacular. Cleo, as stoic as she was, was also deeply hurt. She confronted Martyn in the school courtyard, her voice trembling, her red hair blazing in the afternoon sun. Scott, by chance, was walking past and witnessed the entire, painful breakup. Martyn, tearful and ashamed, admitted everything. Cleo, heartbroken, stormed off. Martyn then tried to apologize to Scott, who looked stunned and uncomfortable.
"Martyn, I-I appreciate your honesty, but you know I don't feel that way," Scott said, his blue eyes wide with a mixture of pity and awkwardness. "And Cleo's really upset. You should focus on her." Martyn crumbled, humiliated.
Within days, Martyn transferred to a different school, unable to face Cleo or Scott. He disappeared from their lives, leaving behind a void of confusion and sadness. Scott was troubled, seeing two of his acquaintances vanish so abruptly. "It's like people are just… leaving," he mused to Cleo one afternoon. Cleo, still raw from her breakup, could only nod, her gaze distant. Pearl, watching from a short distance, felt a smirk tugging at her lips. Two down.
Now, only Cleo remained. She was Scott's best friend, his confidante. Pearl knew her removal would be the hardest, and the most crucial. Scott needed to be isolated, to understand that Pearl was the only one who truly understood him, the only one worthy of his devotion.
Pearl's tactics for Cleo were far more insidious. She began undermining Cleo's reputation, subtly at first. Leaving anonymous notes on Cleo's desk, hinting at her "true nature." Printing out excerpts from Cleo’s old social media posts, taken out of context to make her appear shallow or gossipy, and taping them to the back of bathroom stalls. Cleo, popular and well-liked, found herself facing increasingly cold shoulders, confused stares. Her level-headedness began to crack under the pressure.
One rainy afternoon, Pearl saw Cleo and Scott under an umbrella, laughing. Cleo was still a presence, a comforting constant in Scott’s life. Pearl felt a cold fury bloom in her chest. This had to end.
Pearl remembered Cleo's route home, a shortcut through a narrow, unlit alleyway behind the old bookstore. It was rarely used, especially after dark. Pearl had been studying it, memorizing the security camera blind spots, the slippery moss-covered steps, the loose grate over the storm drain.
That evening, Tilly whined softly, sensing Pearl's agitated state. "Soon, Tilly," Pearl whispered, stroking her fur, "Soon, Scott will be all mine. No one else will get in the way."
Pearl placed a call to Cleo’s phone, using a burner. "Scott needs help," she said in a disguised voice, mimicking a panicked, young girl. "He collapsed near the old bookstore. Hurry!" Cleo, ever loyal, didn't hesitate. She grabbed her bag and ran out into the pouring rain.
Pearl watched from a concealed spot at the mouth of the alley as Cleo rushed past. Cleo's phone was tucked into her pocket, flashlight on, illuminating the slick, uneven ground. She was calling Scott, getting no answer. "Scott? Scott, where are you?"
As Cleo reached the point Pearl had marked, Pearl stepped out from the shadows. Cleo screamed, startled.
"Pearl? What are you doing here? Where's Scott?" Cleo’s voice was laced with frantic worry.
Pearl’s eyes glinted in the dim light. "Scott is fine, Cleo. He's just… busy." Pearl held up a small, empty bottle. "I'm just making sure he stays fine."
Recognition, then horror, dawned on Cleo’s face. "You… you did this, didn't you? Jimmy, Martyn, all of it!"
Pearl smiled, a slow, chilling curve of her lips. "They were in the way. They didn't understand. Scott needs me. Only me."
Cleo began to back away, her eyes darting frantically for an escape. "You're insane, Pearl! Scott would never—"
"Scott will understand," Pearl interrupted, her voice dangerously soft. "Once all the distractions are gone, he'll see. He'll have to see."
Cleo turned to run, but Pearl was quicker. With a sudden, powerful shove, Pearl sent Cleo sprawling. Cleo’s head hit the concrete with a sickening thud, a sharp crack echoing in the quiet alley. Her phone clattered, its flashlight beam swinging wildly before settling on her still form. A dark stain began to blossom on the wet concrete.
Pearl stood over her, breathing heavily, the rain plastering her hair to her face. Cleo was unconscious, or worse. Pearl felt no regret, only a grim satisfaction. This was for Scott. This was for their future.
Pearl knelt, checking Cleo's pulse. Pearl knew she couldn't leave Cleo here. The body would be found too soon. And Scott… Scott would be devastated. Pearl wasn’t trying to cause him pain; she was trying to protect him.
Then, a thought, cold and brilliant, formed in Pearl’s mind.
She dragged Cleo’s limp body further into the shadows, towards the loose grate over the storm drain. It was just big enough for a small person to squeeze through, leading to the forgotten labyrinth of the city’s old underground waterways. No one would ever look there. And Cleo, a missing person, a runaway, would simply vanish like the others. Scott would grieve, yes, but he wouldn’t suspect. He’d simply feel utterly alone. And then… he’d turn to the only one left.
Later that night, Pearl was home, showering away the rain and the lingering scent of wet concrete. Tilly whined from outside the bathroom door. Pearl emerged, fresh and clean, her usual unassuming self. She went to her shoebox, pulling out a small, framed photo of Scott, taken stealthily during a school festival. His blue hair was illuminated by fairy lights, a gentle smile on his face.
"Soon, Scott," she whispered to the photograph. "Soon, you'll be safe. You'll be mine."
The next morning, Scott arrived at school to hushed whispers and solemn faces. Cleo hadn't come to school. Her parents had reported her missing. A search was underway. Scott's blue eyes were clouded with worry. He remembered the arguments, the stress Cleo had been under recently. He remembered Martyn's sudden departure, and Jimmy before that. It was all so unsettling. He felt a profound sense of loss, a growing unease that he couldn't quite articulate.
Pearl approached him, her face a mask of carefully constructed sympathy. "Scott," she said softly, her voice pitched with just the right amount of concern. "Are you alright? Cleo running away… it's so terrible."
Scott looked at her, his observant eyes searching her face for a moment, then dismissing her as another grieving classmate. He sighed, running a hand through his blue hair. "No. I'm not. It just feels like… everyone's leaving. Like… I'm losing everyone."
Pearl reached out, her hand hovering just shy of his arm before she drew it back, a gesture of thoughtful restraint. "You'll never be alone, Scott," she murmured, her voice a balm. "You have me."
Scott offered her a weak, grateful smile, completely missing the chilling promise in her eyes, the dangerous triumph hidden deep within them.
He was alone now. Truly alone.
And Pearl was there, ready to fill the void, ready to ensure that no one, ever again, would come between them.
Pairings: Xornoth & Pearl, Scott/Pearl, minor Jimmy/Scott
Warnings: Yandere Character, Obsession, Breaking and Entering, Theft, Delusions, Gender Dsyphoria, Body Modification, Body Dsyphoria, Betrayal, Corruption, Jailbreak, Future Forced Relationship
Word Count: 2.0k
A/N: Day 3 of Majormoon Week, Prompt 2: Meeting the in-Laws!
Peace, a fragile but cherished guest, had settled across the Empires.
Xornoth, the very shadow that had threatened to consume them all, was a distant nightmare, contained within a shimmering crystal held by his brother, Scott, Emperor of Rivendell. Festivities were abundant, for the most anticipated wedding of the age was nigh: Scott was to be wed the Codfather. Everyone was celebrating.
Everyone, that is, except Pearl.
Pearl felt a chill deeper than any winter wind settling in her bones. Moon moved through the joyous crowds, a forced smile plastered on gold's face, her sunflower crown feeling like a leaden weight. Gold knew her own heart was a tangled mess of thorns and wilting petals. Scott. Always Scott. His laugh, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze; his kind eyes, always ready with a comforting glance; the way his golden antlers caught the light. He was everything sun yearned for, a beacon in duck's turbulent mind.
But Scott... was marrying Jimmy.
The thought was a barb in his heart, twisted and agonizing. He watched them together, Scott’s hand resting so naturally on Jimmy’s arm, their gazes meeting with an affection that made moon's stomach clench. A wave of nausea washed over him. The joy of the Empires felt like a cruel mockery. Every song, every laugh, every congratulatory cheer was a hammer blow to her already fracturing composure.
This cannot happen, she repeated to sunself, over and over, until the words became a mantra, then an obsession. Desperation, cold and sharp, began to etch itself into sunflower's soul. She loved Scott, he truly did. A love that now felt less like a gentle flame and more like a consuming inferno. Duck would not stand by and watch his happiness—her only happiness—slip away forever. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
No matter the consequences.
As the last vestiges of twilight bled into the deep blues of night, Rivendell settled into a hushed anticipation of the morrow’s grand event. But in the shadows, a different kind of anticipation stirred. Pearl, dressed in dark, unassuming clothes, moved like a phantom through the sleeping city. Her usual vibrant green dress and sunflower crown were left behind, replaced by practical cloaks and the grim resolve that now hardened his features. Moon's heart thrummed a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear and a chilling determination.
Duck knew Scott’s chambers well. They were friends, close friends. She had been there countless times, sharing secrets, laughter, quiet moments. Now, the familiarity was a weapon, a key. The guards, lulled by the festive atmosphere and the apparent peace of the realm, were lax. A fleeting shadow, a rustle of leaves, and Pearl was inside, navigating the opulent corridors with practiced ease.
Scott’s room was bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of moonlight filtering through arched windows. He lay peacefully in his bed, his teal hair fanned out on the pillow, golden antlers glinting faintly. Around his neck, on a slender gold chain, hung the very thing Pearl had come for: the crystal, pulsating with a faint, almost imperceptible dark energy, the prison of Xornoth.
Pearl approached the bed, his breath catching in his throat. Seeing Scott so vulnerable, so utterly unaware of the monstrous act she was about to commit, sent a fresh wave of agony through her. Moon loved him. She truly loved him. This wasn't malice, he deluded moonself, it was salvation. For herself. For him.
Moon reached out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface of the crystal. It was heavier than he expected, a potent weight of ancient evil.
The crystal came free with a soft clink as she unfastened the chain. Scott stirred, a soft hum escaping his lips, but didn’t awaken. Pearl froze, sunflower's entire being screaming in silent panic. When he settled back into slumber, he let out a shaky breath gold hadn't realized she was holding.
She clutched the crystal, its latent power now a cold thrum against his palm. He glanced back at Scott, a silent, desperate promise forming on her lips. "I’m sorry, my love," she whispered, duck's voice barely audible. "But you’ll thank me for this. We'll be together."
Then, she fled, a dark silhouette against the moonlit windows, leaving Scott to dream of a wedding that would never come.
Pearl didn't stop until he reached the deepest, most forgotten part of the Rivendell woods. Sunflower's heart pounded a frantic rhythm, a drumroll before a terrifying performance.
Duck held the crystal aloft, its faint glow illuminating her face, now pale and drawn with a chilling resolve. "Xornoth," gold whispered, her voice a strange mix of fear and an almost manic excitement. "You're Scott's brother. My... my soon-to-be brother-in-law." The delusion felt solid, a comforting lie in his desperate mind. "And I want your blessing."
There was no hesitation. No second thoughts. With a primal scream that echoed unnervingly through the silent woods, Pearl slammed the crystal against a jagged rock.
The world erupted.
A searing, blinding flash of magenta light tore through the darkness, followed by a shockwave that ripped through the ancient trees, sending leaves scattering like panicked birds. The air itself crackled with raw, malevolent energy. From the shattered remnants of the crystal, a form began to coalesce.
First, the obnoxious magenta glow, pulsing and throbbing, pushing back the shadows with a sickly, vibrant light. Then, the shape of a demon, towering and terrifying. Pitch-black skin, like polished obsidian, rippled with dark purple markings that seemed to shift and writhe. Two massive, black stag horns curved majestically from his head, sharp and menacing. But it was his face that was truly horrifying: a crimson-red smile stretched impossibly wide, revealing teeth like shards of broken glass, and eyes, burning with a red-violet intensity, fixed on Pearl.
"Well, well, well," Xornoth's voice rumbled, a sound like grinding stone and splitting earth, laced with a familiar, mocking amusement. "The little Farmer Queen. I thought you would be more... appalled to see me again. Last we met, you were quite insistent on my incarceration." He tilted his head, the magenta glow intensifying around him. "And what's this talk of a 'wedding blessing'? You should know I only deal in curses."
Despite the terror radiating from him, Pearl stood his ground, though moon's knees were trembling. The past where sunflower'd viewed him as a "fighting buddy" and tried to befriend him felt like a lifetime ago, a distant memory of a naïve girl. This was a demon, a bringer of chaos, but he was also her only hope.
"I need your help," Pearl stated, moon's voice surprisingly steady, though it cracked on the last word. "Scott... Scott is getting married. He's marrying the Codfather. But he shouldn't. He should marry me." She took a step closer, his blue eyes, now wide and desperate, shining in the demonic glow. "You're his brother. You can... you can make him see. You can make him love me. Marry me. I need your wedding blessing. I'll do anything. Anything."
Xornoth let out a slow, guttural laugh, the sound chilling Pearl to the core even as relief flickered within her. He was considering it. "Anything, little Emperor of Gilded Helianthia?" he purred, his crimson lips stretching wider. "You, who helped Gem, Scott, and Katherine trap me in that pitiful trinket?" His red-violet gaze swept over her. "What could you offer me that I don't already possess, or can't simply take?"
Pearl's desperation surged into a desperate plea. "I offer you... an ally. You wanted me to ally with you before, didn't you? You want chaos. Breaking Scott's heart, ruining this wedding, turning the Empires against each other in the confusion that will surely follow... isn't that chaos enough? And," she added, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I'll be your weapon. Your most powerful pawn. I'll be anything. I just... I need Scott to see me. Not the woman I was born as. I need him to see the man I am, the man I truly am." Her eyes welled with unshed tears, her deepest insecurity laid bare before the ancient evil. "If you... if you could make my body reflect that truth. So he sees him when he looks at me. Could you?"
Xornoth's crimson eyes gleamed with a predatory delight. This was far more entertaining than simply breaking free. A willing vessel, consumed by unrequited love and identity dysphoria, offering herself completely.
"Oh, the delicious irony," he breathed, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. "To use love's perversion to unleash true despair. A grand performance indeed." He stalked closer, his towering form casting an even darker shadow over her. "And you wish for a physical transformation? To cast aside the flesh you despise, to become... someone else?" He held out a hand, black as night, tipped with sharp claws. "Very well, little Emperor. A deal. I will make Scott forget his Codfather, and remember only you. I will twist his heart and mind until he yearns for you, and only you. I will grant your wish for a body that reflects your truest self. And in return, your will, your kingdom, your very soul... will serve my purpose. Are we agreed?"
Pearl didn't hesitate. The thought of Scott, finally seeing him, finally loving him, eclipsed all fear, all common sense. "Agreed!" moon gasped, grabbing Xornoth's hand.
The moment their skin touched, a torrent of raw, corrupting energy surged through Pearl. It was like being struck by lightning and plunged into freezing tar simultaneously. A scream tore from his throat, but it was quickly swallowed by the overwhelming sensation. The magenta glow surrounding Xornoth intensified, bleeding into her, consuming her.
Her blue eyes burned, turning a searing, demonic red, mirroring Xornoth's own. Her blonde-to-brown gradient hair darkened, strands turning coarse and black, some even developing a faint purple sheen. Her skin stretched and tightened, her features sharpening, angular and severe. Her body contorted, reshaped by a force beyond her comprehension, painfully, irrevocably, shedding the feminine curves she had always resented. Her chest flattened, his frame broadened, a subtle, chilling shift that left him feeling both agonizingly raw and exhilaratingly powerful. His once vibrant green dress withered on her, turning to brittle, blackened rags that clung to his new, angular form. The sunflower crown upon his head shriveled, the petals crumbling to dust, leaving only a thorny, dark circlet.
The pain was immense, but through it all, a chilling euphoria bloomed. He felt stronger, more focused, entirely free of the old doubts and insecurities. The unrequited love that had driven him now felt like a potent, dark magic, fueling his transformation.
When the wave of corruption receded, Pearl stood tall, no longer the Farmer Queen of Gilded Helianthia, but something else entirely. His red eyes gleamed in the dim light, reflecting Xornoth's own victorious smile. He felt a connection to him, a chilling understanding that transcended mere words. They were family now. And they soon would be family by law, too.
Xornoth withdrew his hand, his red-violet eyes alight with satisfaction. "Excellent," he purred, surveying his new creation. "The transformation is complete. Scott will see you now, my dear. He will see the truth."
He gestured to the east, where the first hint of pale, innocent dawn was beginning to paint the sky above Rivendell. "Your wedding day begins," Xornoth announced, his voice reverberating with dark amusement. "Let us make it a day to remember. A day of chaos, despair, and a most... unconventional union."
Pearl looked towards the rising sun, his new red eyes devoid of warmth, filled only with a terrifying resolve. His love for Scott, once pure and yearning, was now twisted, corrupted, and absolute. "He will be mine," he whispered, his voice deeper, darker than before. "He will be mine."
The new day promised joy, but Pearl, the willing instrument of Xornoth's will, knew only that it would be drenched in horror.
The Empires were about to learn that peace was merely a prelude to a far more profound nightmare.
To reject your soulmate was to reject life itself. To court a slow, agonizing fade into irrelevance.
But Scott, with his sharp wit and even sharper sense of defiance, found the whole system suffocating. He didn't want his destiny pre-ordained. He wanted to forge it.
And he wouldn't do it alone.
"We'll do it together, Scott," Cleo had declared, her voice ringing with conviction. Cleo, his best friend, his anchor in the storm of societal expectations, with a grin mirroring Scott’s own.
"Chosen soulmates, then," Scott had laughed. The two of them, beacon against the world’s single, predetermined path.
The universe, however, had a cruel sense of humour.
The very next day, Cleo, faced with the raw, incessant pleading radiating from her soulbound, and the insistent whispers of the other pairs, finally buckled.
"I'm sorry, Scott. He’s… he’s right," she’d sighed to Scott, their eyes wide and apologetic. "I have a better chance to survive with Martyn. I… I have to go back to him. I'm sorry."
Scott watched, a hollow ache in his chest, as Cleo turned their back on him. Their shared defiance now a solitary pursuit for Scott.
And the world, as expected, recoiled.
Scott became an anomaly. He refused to be with his soulmate. He was a ghost in a world obsessed with connection, an outlier in a universe built on the certainty of paired souls.
His isolation was a gnawing ache, a constant hum of disapproval that followed him like a shadow.
His cottage, once a sanctuary of shared dreams with Cleo, felt hollow, the silence amplifying his solitude. He couldn't stand to stay in the home he and Cleo had built together for long, and so set out to build a lone tower for himself.
His only solace were his axolotls. They swam in their pristine tanks, their alien beauty a stark contrast to the ugliness of the world outside. Binkie was his favorite, with his perpetually surprised expression, his most steadfast companion. He'd watch him with his unblinking eyes, a silent witness to his ordeal.
It was in this quiet, this profound aloneness, that Scott began to explore the spaces within himself that he’d always kept hidden. He’d always felt a disconnect, a dissonance between the body he inhabited and the self he knew. Now, with little else to do, he began to experiment.
He started with small things. A softer fabric against his skin, a gentle touch that felt more right.
Then, bolder steps. A change in his voice, a subtle shift in his gait. He found himself gazing at his reflection, seeing not the man he was assigned, but a woman yearning to emerge.
The realization dawned, not with fear, but with a quiet, burgeoning sense of pride.
This truth, though exhilarating, only amplified her isolation. The societal taboo surrounding her refusal of her soulmate was already a dark stain. Now, with the further deviance of her gender identity, the whispers grew louder, laced with a venom that coiled in the air.
Pearl began to play her part in the unfolding drama. Pearl, who understood the deeply entrenched societal rigidities. She saw Scott’s transformation, her burgeoning womanhood, and a cunning plan began to form.
If Scott wanted to be a woman, Pearl decided, then she would be. And he'd experience exactly what it mean to be a woman.
She began to spread rumours, seeding them like poisoned flowers. Whispers of Scott being a witch, a sorceress drawing power from her solitary existence. She played into the fears of women who dared to exist outside the confines of partnership; Scott was a spinster, a widow, a curse.
Now that Scott was a woman, the discomfort surrounding her defiance intensified. The protection of male privilege had evaporated, leaving her vulnerable, and much easier to marginalize.
Pearl escalated her campaign. It didn't help that Scott, now fully embracing her womanhood, wore a striking teal dress, a deliberate defiance against the world’s dominant red, yellow, and green. Teal was her coloyr, the color of her soul, the colyor that now marked her as an outsider, the Teal Witch, wearing a colour that not only didn't reflect her name colour but a colour that wasn't in the system at all.
Pearl initiated a witch hunt, not with fire and brimstone, but with the chilling power of collective condemnation. She wanted the mob, fueled by fear and manufactured outrage, to “force” Scott to conform, to be hers.
The witch hunt intensified. The mob, incited by Pearl's carefully placed rumors, grew bolder. They hurled stones, their voices a cacophony of fear and hatred. Scott, her heart a tight knot of anxiety, would retreat further into her tower, Binkie nestled in her hands, his cool, slick skin a grounding sensation.
Perhaps the most jarring twist in this macabre play was Pearl's own personal transformation. Pearl, who had always embraced her gender fluidity and never truly minded her feminity, now decided to fully discard it in favour of masculinity. This move was not born of dysphoria, but of strategy. It was a stark, symbolic reclamation of the male identity Scott had shed. It was meant to further solidify Scott's new position: no longer Scott, the defiant man, but a woman, beholden to the societal mandates that Pearl was now orchestrating, for now Pearl was the man.
“This is simply what women have to go through,” Pearl declared, a chilling echo of Scott’s own pronouncements of forging her own destiny. “You wanted to be a woman, Scott? Then you'll be treated like one! Isn't that what you want? You'll be treated just like a cis woman... And women," He smiled sweetly, "who are without a husband? They're burnt at the stake. So I suggest you adjust to behaving like a proper woman who listens and stays with her loving soulmate real fast, princess. Because, trust me...
If you're not a princess, my princess, I'll make you a witch. And you've seen what they'll do to witches."
Im ngk i kinda improvised/winged it with e1!scott's clothes so its rlly wonky/all over the place and shit okay but. I tried. And then I tried to fix it with an actual reference image and uhm. Yeah
Warnings: Gender Dysphoria, Body Dysphoria, Impostor Syndrome, Assisted Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Surgery, Toxic Masculinity, Internalised Misogny, Obsessive Character, Yandere Character
Word Count: 1.6k
A/N: Day 1 of Majormoon Week, Prompt 1: Favourite Season! (Double Life :p). Title from Placing the Blame (self)!
Pearl was a creature of fluid gender, drifted between binaries with the grace of a cloud shifting shape in the sky. Some days, she felt the gentle pull of femininity, finding comfort in soft fabrics and a certain lilt to her voice. Other days, he ached for the sharp lines of masculinity, the grounded weight of his presence. But Scott loved her through all of it.
Or... so Pearl believed.
Then Scott left. Didn't want her as a soulmate. Didn't want her.
Pearl stared at the empty space where Scott had been, a single thought solidifying in his mind like a shard of ice. It’s because of me. It’s because I’m not enough. She replayed Scott’s words, twisted them, diced them, desperate for a reason that made sense, a problem she could fix.
And then it hit her, a poisoned epiphany. Scott was gay. Pearl had feminine days. Pearl had femfluxes. Scott liked men. And Pearl? Pearl wasn't a real man. Not a full man. Not his type.
The realization was a punch to the gut, an insidious whisper that coiled around her thoughts. Scott wanted a man.
From that day forward, Pearl was only "he." No more fluid pronouns, no more drifting. He purged his wardrobe of anything remotely feminine, his shelves of any book with a soft cover. He cut his hair brutally short, the shears scraping against his scalp, a desperate act of excision. He started working out with a furious intensity, determined to chisel away any hint of softness. He would be Scott’s type. He would be a man.
He swore it to himself in the mirror every morning, his reflection gaunt and haunted. "I'm a boy now," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Look at me. I'm a boy, Pearl. You're a boy."
But the ocean of his own nature was not so easily tamed. His femfluxes, once a gentle tide, became a torturous storm. There were days he woke up, the air feeling wrong against his skin, a deep, unsettling ache for the comfort of a soft sweater, the sway of a skirt, the gentle curves of his body. She'd catch glimpses of himself in shop windows, his broad shoulders, his short hair, and a wave of nausea would wash over him. This wasn't him. This hyper-masculine shell felt alien, suffocating. He’d force a smile, force his voice deeper, force himself to walk with a swagger that felt like a painful charade.
He was forcing himself into a box that, for all his desperate desire for Scott, did not fit. But how could he admit that? How could he let even a flicker of femininity show? Scott would never come back then. So he pushed it down, the longing for demifemininity, the comfort of his true genderflux self, burying it under layers of denial and self-loathing. He was a boy. He had to be.
But if he was a boy, why did it make him want to claw out of my skin? Was he really a boy, or was she just faking it, just a girl who hates herself? The thought terrified him, because if he wasn't a "boy," then Scott would never want him. His repulsion for his own desire for feminity deepened, his own assigned gender as a curse, a barrier to love. But now, ironically, his forced masculinity was making him feel repulsion for masculinity, too, the constant effort and discomfort slowly eroding any genuine connection he might have had to his masculine side. He was adrift, scornful of both poles of his own gender, terrified of his own fluidity.
He began to stalk Scott. Not directly, not overtly. But he knew Scott’s routines, their shared history a map in his mind. Scott looked happy, unburdened. And Pearl, wrapped in the suffocating cloak of his self-created identity, festered in his own misery.
Pearl needed to be undeniable. Unambiguously male. He traced the lines of his chest in the mirror, the curves that still stubbornly remained. These were the problem. These were the things that kept Scott away.
He remembered Scar. Scar, who once tried to fix a leaky faucet with duct tape and a prayer. Scar, who was decidedly not a surgeon. But Scar was willing to listen, willing to do. Desperation was a potent anaesthetic to common sense.
"I need… I need to be rid of these. To be… flat. Male." Pearl begged. He didn't mention Scott, not directly. He just said it was for himself. Scar, oblivious to the deeper psychological currents, had agreed.
The "specialized tools" Scar had turned out an assortment of kitchen knives and a bottle of cheap vodka for "sterilization", and some pills for pain relief. Pearl, by now, was beyond rational thought. His internal landscape was a wasteland of self-disgust and a singular, burning desire for Scott’s acceptance. He clutched a dirty rag in his teeth, his eyes fixed on the grimy concrete floor.
The pain was immediate, a searing, white-hot agony that ripped through Pearl’s chest. Scar, unsteady and clearly out of his depth, began to cut, his movements clumsy, unsure. Pearl bit down on the rag, a guttural scream rising in his throat.
Hundreds of blocks away, Scott was tending to his ranch when a jolt of pure, unadulterated agony shot through him. It was as if someone had plunged a red-hot poker into his chest, then systematically twisted it. He gasped, falling to his knees, clutching his shirt. The pain intensified, a nauseating wave of slicing, burning, tearing flesh, a phantom sensation of his own body being violated. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, his vision blurring. Unlike Pearl, he wasn't even granted the privilege of a few painkillers, he was feeling the entire extent of his body undergoing bloody, visercal, unwarned and unconsentual surgery. He felt every slice, every scalpel, all in vivid detail.
Pearl was losing consciousness. Scar, panicked, had managed to roughly excise parts of his chest, leaving behind a mangled mess of flesh and blood. Pearl was bleeding profusely, his breath shallow, ragged. Scar, realizing the extent of his amateur butchery, stumbled back, a look of abject horror on his face.
PearlescentMoon was slain by GoodTimesWithScar.
Smajor1995 died.
When Pearl respawned, his chest was throbbing with an infernal rhythm. He felt weak, light-headed, but a strange, dark elation flickered within him. He looked down, and through the pain, through the grime, he could see. It was flat. Mangled, scarred, but flat. Sure, the respawn had been painful, but had mended the open wound, leaving nothing but a grotesque scar where his boobs had been. It was honestly a relief he'd died, now he wouldn't have to wait for his chest to heal itself to show Scott.
He croaked, a thin, humourless laugh bubbling up. The words tasted like blood and victory.
Scott found him soon after. It was no surprise. He wasn't thrilled to be on yellow.
Scott’s eyes, usually so gentle, were blazing with a cold fury. "What the hell happened, Pearl?" he demanded, his voice low, shaking with suppressed rage.
Pearl looked up, his eyes bright with a delusional hope. He slowly peeled back a corner of the bandage, revealing the grotesque, scarred landscape beneath. "Look, Scott," he whispered, a triumphant smile stretching his lips. "I did it. I'm flat. I'm a boy now. See?" He gestured vaguely to his mangled chest. "I did it for you. Now… now will you love me? Now will you come back?"
Scott staggered back, his face draining of all colour. The sight of the botched surgery, the raw, angry flesh, sent a wave of nausea through him. His anger morphed into a profound, aching pity, tinged with horror.
"Pearl…" Scott took a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet Pearl's desperate gaze. "Pearl, I'm gay, yes. But that's not why I left. I left because I couldn't be tied to anyone, because I needed my freedom. It had nothing to do with whether you were a 'boy' or a 'girl,' or anything in between. It was about me, about my own choice." He paused, his voice cracking. "And you… you did this to yourself? For me? Scar is the farthest thing from a medical professional on this server, why would you let him do it, of all people?! Pearl… I would never want you to change yourself, to hurt yourself. Especially not for me.”
Pearl's smile fractured. His eyes flickered, the desperate hope dying, replaced by dawning horror. The words Scott spoke, so clear, so unambiguous, were like a sledgehammer to the carefully constructed edifice of his delusion. His entire world, built on a foundation of misinterpretation and self-loathing, began to crumble.
He looked at his chest, no longer a source of triumph but a testament to his grotesque mistake. He felt the phantom aches of his femfluxes, the remembered comfort of soft fabrics, the familiar embrace of his demifeminine self. He felt the crushing weight of the forced masculinity, the nausea it still evoked. He was neither boy nor girl in that moment, but a ruin. A physical ruin, scarred and infected. A psychological ruin, shattered beyond recognition by his own desperate, self-inflicted wounds.
He was fem-repulsed, still, by the internalized misogyny he’d cultivated. But he was masc-repulsed too, by the agony of forcing himself into a shape that was not his own. He was trapped in a self-made hell, a body he had mutilated to fit a lie, a mind broken by the impossible demands he’d placed upon it.
The horror wasn't just the mangled flesh. The horror was the twisted, irreversible landscape of Pearl’s soul. He had destroyed himself, not for love, but for a phantom, a ghost of a desire that was never Scott’s to begin with.
And Scott, bound to him still, was forced to witness, and feel, the slow, agonizing decay of Pearl’s sanity, a living, breathing testament to the darkness of their shared life.
The pain in Scott’s chest, the phantom ache of Pearl’s butchered body, was a constant, terrifying reminder that some ties, once forged, can never truly be broken.
