i love ur majormoon/galaxy duo posting never stop. ily btw /parasocial /silly
They are sooooooo ???????
I love divorce quartet... I love galaxy duo. Your honor, they are soulmates. I could talk about them 5ever... About Last Life Scott expressing regret that he saved his teammate Pearl's life because he lost his own in the process... about the way he kept asking her to feed him more lives... About the way Joel tried to come between them by acting like Scott pulled all the weight in their team and Pearl did nothing, only for Scott to immediately defend that he wouldn't be able to build the Scottage if Pearl hadn't gone out to get him all the blocks...
All of this played off against who they are in Double Life when he's the one who ditches her despite everything they were last season, uggghhhhh... I love writing my server hub fics where all of that is part of their canon (i.e. not washed away between seasons). I need to crumple them in my hands.
But congrats! You've unlocked a very out-of-context sneak peek of the Dog's Life scene I wrote last night when I made my "I love weird galaxy duo" post. Enjoy!
[Heads up for text messages that reference eating souls and Pearl channeling her inner Nosy Neighbor]
PearlescentMoon: hot
Smajor1995: see I wouldn't say that? just grotesque
PearlescentMoon: nah, I stand by it. You peeping tom
A pause. No typing bubbles, and Pearl managed a few long sips of water (interspersed with half a brownie) before Scott snuck an answer in.
Smajor1995: but I will admit it got my vex brain on 😳 Ears UP
PearlescentMoon: oh???
Smajor1995: damn straight
Smajor1995: (for once)
Smajor1995: Pearl I locked in 😩
Smajor1995: You eat souls- Is that what it’s like?
PearlescentMoon: oi
PearlescentMoon: said I stand by “hot”
Smajor1995: damn bestie; take me to target class
Smajor1995: So that’s where your eyes went when we used to voyeur at Rose House? 🤔
… Tone it down. Pearl lets the soft tip of her drinking straw press the backs of her teeth until it slips free, popping in the air. Gettin’ fast, mate. Beat, beat, beat goes the knock of ego on her pride.
Smajor1995: I won't lie, I want to watch. You free rn? You and BigB must know all the best peeping spots
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
PearlescentMoon: If you’d asked, I would’ve eaten you like that
If Bdubs didn’t have dibs. If you hadn’t been in the allay closet- If you’d trusted me-
Smajor1995: Oh?
I hate stupid vampire bat and corrupted owl people /affectionate
Bonus context to last night's "weird about each other" post: I was watching Scott's Past Life 7 and how Scott reacts to Pearl's death despite not being on her team, and thinking about the earlier episodes where he came to visit her and complimented her on "her amazing personality" and said she was "a joy to be around," but cut that part out of his own POV for some reason... His Wild Life outfit... the Past Life boogeyman team-up... ooouugghhh... Something about him seeking her out for fun and to rotate the creature in his mind... you get me.
Me, sobbing about them being neighbors in Legacy SMP: And they were SOULMATES!!
Two weeks from now, I'm posting Chapter 5 of Top 10 Hanahaki Life Hacks, which showcases Cleo visiting Scott and Pearl (separately) and them talking about their relationship, so you'll probably enjoy that :> You know what they say... Can't spell divorce quartet without divorce.
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.
I'll never be over Scar calling Pearl "The Villies' version of Scott" (stealing from people).
Divorce quartet: eternally haunted by the soulmate narrative...
And they were BEST FRIENDS once upon a time!!! How did it all go so wrong..... (Forgot to show up for arranged marriage). And they were TEAMED BOOGEYMEN!!
Dedicating this doodle to all the pup play research I did for Sour Petals AU only after pairing Scott's "dress up and bake" thing with Pup Pearl the Witch Familiar because I thought they would match.
I love the Majormoon in your Sour Petals AU oh my gosh! I hope they get back together after the divorce they're so cute and deserve to be queer and happy together! <3
; _ ; ty... They are so very important to me.
They are definitely not enjoying the divorce (High school sweethearts -> Broke up -> Years of not dating -> Talked things out and got back together -> Cheating allegations). Losing each other once, getting through it, agreeing to give their all and make it work, and having several great years of marriage only to split AGAIN cuts deep...
There's a ton of friction because they both refuse to leave their overlapping social circles, so they keep running into each other (as opposed to Martyn/Cleo, when Cleo moved to a new city). They're fun...
(She will, in fact, be stealing hair off his lint roller.)
I haven't decided on their endgame yet (since I need to get this first fic done), but I have a WIP planned where they do at least talk!
We get to see them both (post-divorce) next "Top 10 Hanahaki Life Hacks" chapter! ... Not at the same time, but Cleo's going back to Aqua Town! And that is where they live. I am rotating them like chicken...
Did a lot of Sour Petals AU chapter drafts this week, so here's some pre-divorced Majormoon.
Shout out to them growing up in a world where they were told "Marry someone who doesn't give you Hanahaki disease" and they were like "Okay" and everyone went "?? No, not like that." People get SO mad about it... lmao.
Bonus Panel:
Just to be clear, the aphobia in Panel 1 is intentional- "Top 10 Hanahaki Life Hacks" is a 'fic where outsiders look at this extremely queer marriage and assume Pearl "trapped" a very gay Scott into it or "isn't enough for him" or that she's "cruel" for "not opening the marriage for Scott"- ignoring the fact that Scott does not even WANT an open marriage, and that people never tell Scott he's cruel for not opening the marriage for Pearl... and that they both care a lot for each other & it's none of anyone's business how it works for them.
Pearl gets FURIOUS when people ask "why Scott would even want to marry her," especially if they imply she should "get over him" because "he was never going to feel anything for her" or anything that implies Scott's orientation carries more weight than hers... I acknowledge the aphobia and yes, it's a Whole Theme in this AU..... They were queer and married and loved each other very much. It's been a rough divorce.
My favorite part of divorce quartet is watching them get married over and over, lol... In Neighborhood Watch AU, I do write them as open and poly, which I enjoy, but not for Sour Petals. Although in NW, Pearl's twin does get mad at Scott for kissing his soulmate at a New Year's party (but for some reason ignores Joel kissing Lizzie instead of his soulmate), so y'know. Can't have nothin' when you're galaxy duo, smh...
It's very important to me that in these Double Life AUs [pre-divorce], I always write Scott as someone who - if he thinks they click - is down to marry Pearl no matter what her orientation, and she just happens to be aro. This marriage is not "more valid" because she is aro than if she were straight, and it wouldn't be "more valid" if he were aroace instead of gay... It is a valid marriage because they chose marriage. I will write this theme 1000 times... u get me.
bro is a Minecraft allay... he just wants to treat his partner with nice things /SHOT
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.
