Sep 9, 2025
Such a Pearlscott song to me TBH. Pearl as the singer, Scott as the subject, and Cleo as the temptress :]
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from India
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Kenya
seen from Malaysia
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
Such a Pearlscott song to me TBH. Pearl as the singer, Scott as the subject, and Cleo as the temptress :]
Thinking about Pearlscott fankids...
Rpf request
Scott been getting lots of weird comments/messages on all his socials
Someone saying how much they love him, how they know he's not straight and just need to find the right girl
Of course Scott is weirded out and blocked them, thinking it's just a weird stalker, but they kept coming back with different accounts, and keep saying weird stuff
And then they started sending pictures of Scott, pictures he never shared online, personal pictures of him and his friends
Scott started freaking out and tells them to stop, but him replying to them just made them send more pics
Scott starts telling his friend about this stalker and how he's worried for all of them
Pearl offer him the most help, telling him tips on how to deal with them, threaten to report to the cops, etc. and it works!! They stopped
And then suddenly they send Scott his own address, and tell him that they're gonna be together soon
After hearing it, Pearl offered Scott to stay at her house, to stay safe from the stalker, and Scott accepts
Unbeknownst to him, the stalker and Pearl are one and the same, and now Scott is with them, fulfilling their promise of being together
Who's to say what Pearl did with Scott that night, but the stalker will get more pics to send Scott later :3
- I am so normal about them 🐍
The Only Thing Worse Than A Troll Is A Witch (also avaliable on a03!)
Fandom: Life Series RPF
Pairings: Pearl/Scott
Warnings: RPF, Stalking, Online Harassment, Cyberstalking, Paranoia, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Yandere Behaviour
Word Count: 2.3k
A/N: Thank you so much for your incredibly detailed request, I had so much fun fulfilling this! :D
Scott had built a loyal following on his charismatic personality, intricate builds, and welcoming queer community. His channel boasted a million and fourty-five thousand subscribers, and his live streams routinely pulled in thousands of viewers. Life was good, if a little relentless in its demands for constant content... until, that is, something changed.
It began slowly, like a pebble dropped in a vast ocean. A comment on a Twitch stream during one of his first Cowboy SMP streams, buried deep among thousands of messages: “Scott, you need to find the right girl. You’re clearly not straight, but I can see it in you. Just gotta find your true self.” Scott had blinked, but pretended not to see it, knowing his chat mods would deal with it. He was openly gay, had been since 2018, he didn't care what some random homophobic stream viewer thought. He’d ignored it.
Then came another, on a YouTube video this time: “Heard about your new boyfriend, Scott. I think you’re confused. You’ll be much happier with a woman, and I know just the one for you. Me.” And another, on 'X': “Your laugh is so cute. You’d be even cuter if you weren’t so scared of what you really want. I know what you want. You want me.”
Scott felt a prickle of unease. Not just the "not gay" part, which was annoying, but the possessive tone, the insistence. He blocked the accounts, thinking that would be the end of it. Just a weird, overzealous fan with a bizarre fixation, that was all.
But they kept coming back. Different usernames, different platforms, always the same chilling insistence. “You can’t block destiny, Scott.” “Every block you place brings us closer.” “I’ll find you. I always do.” The messages grew progressively more personal, hinting at knowledge they shouldn’t have. They'd found that old deleted article on him by the Daily Record back when he'd only had 170k and was still a student at Dumbarton, they knew what classes he took at Glasgow Caledonian University, they even knew his sister's name, despite the fact he did his damnest to keep her out of the celebrity spotlight.
Scott started feeling watched, a phantom gaze on the back of his neck even when his curtains were drawn. He dismissed it as paranoia, a side effect of constant online exposure.
The real shift, the truly stomach-dropping moment, came two weeks later.
He was scrolling through Instagram, idly checking his DMs, when a message from a new, private account popped up. The profile picture was a blurry shot of a cat, innocuous enough. He clicked, ready to report.
The message contained a single image.
It was a photo of him. Not a screenshot from a video, or a blog, or an old Instagram post. It was him, sprawled on his couch, wearing his faded university hoodie, a half-eaten bowl of cereal on his chest. A truly unflattering, private moment. A photo he knew he’d never shared. He’d taken it himself, a silly selfie for his own amusement, deleting it moments later.
His breath hitched. How? How was this possible?
He stared at the image, then at the time stamp. A week old. He felt a cold dread seep into his bones, colder than the air conditioning blasting in his studio. He frantically scrolled through his camera roll, a desperate, futile search for a shared version... Nothing.
Then came another message. A cascade of images.
A picture of his living room, taken from outside, through the window, showing his messy coffee table and the discarded game controller. A photo of him and his closest friends – Pearl, Jimmy, Joel – together in a photoboth when they'd met up at the Minecraft Movie premiere back in March. This one he knew Pearl had taken on her phone, a quick snap for their private group chat. It had never left that group. Then, A childhood photo, faded and creased, of him holding a lopsided paper mache volcano. This one was from his old family album, stored in a dusty box in his attic.
His hands shook so violently he almost dropped his phone. This wasn’t just a weird fan. This was a stalker. A real, terrifying, flesh-and-blood person who was somehow breaching every wall he put up.
He typed, his fingers flying across the screen, rage warring with raw panic, threatening to call the cops, sue, anything to get them to stop.
The reply was immediate. Another picture. This one of him, right then, at his desk, staring wide-eyed at his phone, his face pale with fear. The angle was from above, slightly tilted, as if someone was watching him through a hidden camera mounted in his ceiling. He looked up, frantically scanning his studio, his heart hammering against his ribs. Nothing. Only the familiar lights and soundproofing panels.
The accompanying message was a single, chilling line: “You look so much cuter when you’re scared, Scott. Don’t worry, darling. I’m just getting started. It’s for us.”
Sleep became a luxury his mind refused. Every creak of the floorboards, every shift of wind outside, every shadow in the corner of his eye became a potential threat. He started checking his windows obsessively, double-locking his doors, even putting tape over his webcam when he wasn’t streaming. His concentration for content creation plummeted. The cheerful facade he presented online began to crack. His commentary became distracted.
Finally, after a particularly harrowing night spent staring at the ceiling, convinced he could hear faint whispers outside his bedroom window, he broke. He opened Discord and called his friends.
“Guys,” he began, his voice hoarse, “I need to talk to you. Something really messed up is happening.”
Scott recounted the bizarre comments, the persistent accounts, and finally, the photos. He pulled up the damning evidence on his phone, the image of him asleep on the couch, the shot of his living room, everything.
Jimmy's voice cracked through the audio, “Dude, that’s… that’s not just a weird fan. That’s a full-on invasion of privacy. Who even has old photos like that?”
Grian, ever the pragmatist, frowned. “And the current shots? Are you sure your house isn’t bugged? Or your computer?”
Pearl was silent for a long moment. “This is bad, Scott,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “They seem dangerous."
Scott shivered. “There was a private picture of all of us at the premiere. How could they get that? What do I do?”
Pearl took charge. “Okay. First, you need to change all your passwords. Every single one. Use unique, strong ones. Enable two-factor authentication on everything. Check your devices for malware, immediately. Get a professional to sweep your house for bugs. And do not, under any circumstances, engage with them. Replying, even blocking, tells them they’re getting to you. That’s what they want.”
She continued, a rapid-fire list of instructions. “We need to report this. Gather all the screenshots, dates, times. Digital evidence is crucial. I can help you compile everything. We’ll go to the police. This isn’t online harassment anymore, Scott. This is stalking."
Over the next few days, Pearl was a constant presence, a beacon of rationality in Scott’s spiraling fear. She helped him painstakingly collect every screenshot, every username, every timestamp. She walked him through security protocols, patiently explained VPNs and secure networks. She was diligent, empathetic, and unwavering.
“We’ll get through this, Scott,” she’d say, her hand resting reassuringly on his arm. “This person will get bored, or they’ll crack under pressure once the authorities get involved. They thrive on your fear. Don’t give it to them.”
Scott, following Pearl’s advice, stopped interacting entirely. He blocked new accounts without even looking at the messages, turning off notifications, trying to make himself as digitally invisible to the stalker as possible. Pearl made a pointed post on her social media vaguely referencing "escalated online harassment" and the legal ramifications given their communites tended to overlap.
And it worked.
Within a week, the messages dwindled. A stray one here or there, easily ignored, but nothing like the onslaught. No more new photos. No more chilling pronouncements. The digital silence was deafening, a balm to Scott’s frayed nerves. He started to breathe easier, to sleep more soundly. He thanked Pearl profusely.
“You’re my hero, Pearl,” he’d told her, a genuine smile returning to his face.
“Anytime, Scott. That’s what friends are for, after all!"
The peace lasted for nearly a month. Scott slowly eased back into his routine, though a lingering sense of unease still clung to him like a shadow. He was more private, less trusting, but at least the immediate terror had subsided. He even managed to put out some of his best content in weeks, a renewed energy flowing through him.
Then, one Tuesday morning, as he poured his coffee, his phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number. He almost deleted it, thinking it was spam, but something urged him to open it.
It was a single text, cold and precise.
His coffee cup slipped from his fingers, shattering on the tile floor.
His address. His exact, precise address.
And beneath it, a final, bone-chilling line:
"We’re going to be together soon, Scott. So very soon."
Terror unlike anything he’d felt before seized him. This wasn't just online anymore. This was real. This person knew where he lived. They were coming. He couldn’t stay there. He was exposed, vulnerable.
His thumb flew to Pearl’s contact. He called her, his voice shaking so hard he could barely get the words out. “Pearl! Oh my god, Pearl, they sent my address. My actual address. They said… they said they’re coming for me."
Pearl’s voice was instantly calm, soothing, but with an underlying urgency. “Scott? Breathe. Tell me exactly what happened.” He choked out the details, the shattered coffee cup, the rising panic.
“Okay,” Pearl said, her voice firm. “Okay, listen to me. You are not safe there. Not anymore. Don’t stay there another minute. Pack a bag, grab your essentials, and get in your car. I'm actually in the UK visiting some family in Littlehampton right now, it's less than an hour drive away from Brighton, they won't mind if you crash, especially given the situation. You can stay as long as you need to. Please, Scott. For your own safety.”
Scott didn’t hesitate. Pearl was his anchor, his protector. She had saved him once; she would save him again. He threw clothes into a duffel bag, grabbed his laptop, his wallet, keys. He didn’t even bother cleaning the coffee mess. He just needed to get out.
The drive to Pearl’s felt endless, every car behind him a potential threat, every shadow a lurking danger. He clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his eyes darting nervously from his rearview mirror to the road ahead. He made it to her adress, punched in the code she’d given him, and drove through, the heavy gates closing behind him with a comforting clang. Security. Refuge.
Pearl was waiting for him at her doorstep, a concerned, welcoming smile on her face. She looked warm, safe, her chair ulled back, wearing a comfortable sweater. “Scott, thank god you’re here,” she said, her voice laced with genuine relief. She pulled him into a hug, a surprisingly tight embrace. “You’re safe now. Come on in.”
He sagged against her, the adrenaline beginning to recede, replaced by exhaustion. “Thank you, Pearl,” he mumbled into her shoulder. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She pulled back, still holding his shoulders, her gaze lingering on his face a moment too long. Her smile widened, subtly, morphing into something else. Something predatory. Her eyes, usually so kind and intelligent, held a chilling gleam he’d never seen before.
“Oh, Scott,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a low, purring tone that was utterly alien. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to say that.”
Scott blinked, a cold wave of realization washing over him, slowly, sickeningly. The pieces clicked into place with horrifying precision. Pearl’s immediate, almost too-perfect advice. Her unwavering presence, her insistence on staying close, her strange, knowing smile when he thanked her for the lull in the stalking...
He tried to step back, but her grip on his shoulders tightened, like steel bands. Her smile stretched, unnatural, unfurling to reveal a terrifying excitement.
“You tried so hard to fight it, didn’t you, my darling?” she murmured, pulling him into the dimly lit hallway of her house. The door clicked shut behind them, the sound echoing ominously in the sudden, profound silence. “But I told you, didn’t I? Destiny. We were always meant to be together.”
Scott’s eyes darted around the hallway, searching for an escape, for a weapon, for anything. The air in the house grew heavy, suffocating. The terror Scott had felt online, the paranoia, the dread, coalesced into a visceral, paralyzing horror. He was in the lion’s den, led there by the lioness herself.
Pearl giggled, a soft, chilling sound that resonated in the quiet house. “Don’t worry, Scott. You’re finally safe. With me.” She traced a finger down his cheek, her touch unnervingly possessive. “No more nasty comments. No more scary messages. Just us... Forever.”
Who's to say what Pearl did with Scott that night, behind the secure, double-locked doors of the house she'd rented in the UK and flown twenty-seven hours from Melbourne to get to just for the occasion... The screams, if any, were muffled by thick walls, unheard by the outside world.
And, Scott? Well, the next day, he disappeared from the Internet entirely. His fans assumed he was taking a well-deserved mental health break away from social media, his friends assumed he was trying to ignore the cyberstalking he'd been facing online by focusing on his life offline, and his best friend insisted they not bug him while he was taking some time away from the spotlight.
After all, it was 2025. Youtubers were quitting left right and center, especially Minecraft Youtubers. He wouldn't be the first to abandon his channel and leave without a trace, and, really, curious fans should respect his privacy and his choice to step away from the screen!
He had more important things in his life to focus on than a silly Youtube channel now, after all.
Can I request something with selkie scott?
Seal Skin (also avaliable on a03!)
Fandom: The Life Series
Pairings: Pearl/Scott, minor Martyn/Scott
Warnings: Forced Relationship, Forced Cohabitation, Theft, Kidnapping, Stalking, Suicidal Idealization, Yandere Behaviour
Word Count: 1.0k
A/N: Here 'ya go! Thanks so much for the request! :p
Scott was a selkie, a being of two worlds: man and seal. His true essence, his very soul, resided in the sleek, dark coat he wore, a second skin woven from saltwater and starlight. Without it, he was trapped, vulnerable, diminished. And he had a secret, one he hadn't yet been brave enough to share, even with Martyn.
Martyn. His pirate. His Mean Gill. Brash, boisterous, with a laugh that echoed across the waves and eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Their life was a chaotic symphony of resource gathering, occasional skirmishes, and stolen moments of quiet intimacy beneath the moon. Scott loved him, truly. But the coat – that symbol of his deepest vulnerability, his very identity – remained a secret, never fully entrusted.
Martyn knew he loved the sea, that he spent hours on the beaches, but not why the sea called to him so profoundly.
Lately, an unsettling chill had begun to seep into the warmth of their isle. A flicker of movement at the edge of his vision, a rustle in the undergrowth when no wind blew, the distinct feeling of eyes on his back. He’d dismissed it at first, attributing it to the paranoia that these games inevitably bred. But then, the 'gifts' had started appearing. A perfectly preserved conch shell left on his pillow. A small, intricate carving of a seal, placed meticulously on his workbench.
She knew. Pearl. The name, unbidden, whispered itself in his mind. Pearl, his 'soulmate' from the last iteration of the game. A cold, possessive connection born of forced proximity, not genuine affection. She had been clingy then, intense. He'd have hoped she'd have quit with her obsession after their souls were no longer linked... seemed not.
“You’re jumpy, love,” Martyn observed one evening, watching Scott meticulously inspect the perimeter of their den. “Seen a ghost?”
Scott forced a laugh. “Just the usual jitters." He hadn’t told Martyn about Pearl. He couldn't. Not just yet. He feared Martyn's reaction, or worse, that the admission would make him seem weak, less worthy.
One scorching afternoon, the heat pressed down on the Coral Isles like a physical weight. Scott felt an overwhelming urge to shed his coat, unless he wanted to overheat in this blubberless skin. It was a dangerous impulse, leaving his coat unattended, but he didn't want to risk collapse from heatstroke. He'd found a secluded grotto, hidden behind a curtain of kelp, deep within a labyrinth of submerged caves. He carefully folded his coat, placing it on a dry ledge. It was safer here than on his person if he got attacked, anyway.
When he returned a few hours later, the grotto was silent, the air still and heavy, and his coat was gone.
A cold, visceral dread seized him, colder than any ocean current. Panic clawed at his throat, stealing his breath. He searched frantically, tearing apart the grotto, but there was nothing. Only the empty ledge, a silent testament to his folly. d.
A voice, soft as a siren’s song, drifted from the cave’s mouth. “Looking for something, Scott?”
Pearl.
She emerged from the shadows, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. In her hands, neatly folded, was his coat. His heart hammered against his ribs, a desperate drumbeat.
“Pearl,” he choked out, his voice hoarse. “Give it back. Please.”
She tilted her head, her eyes, usually a soft blue, glinting with an unsettling intensity. “Why, Scott? So you can run away again? So you can slip back into the sea and forget me? Forget us?” She took a step closer, her gaze possessive, unwavering. “We were always meant to be, you and I. Our souls, remember? Bound. Martyn is… an interloper. A distraction.”
“He is my partner!” Scott’s voice rose, desperation lending it a raw edge. “He is not an interloper. Give me my coat!”
Pearl’s smile widened, devoid of warmth. “Oh, Scott. Such a fierce little thing, aren’t you? But you’re so much safer with me. So much stronger, too. You don’t need to hide anymore.” She held the coat up, just out of his reach.
“This isn’t about hiding. This is about freedom. This is my life, Pearl, and you have no right to take away my choice!” He insisted.
“But I’m giving you a better life, Scott!” Her voice was dangerously gentle. “One where you don’t have to choose. One where you don’t have to pretend. We’ll be together, always. Just like we were meant to be. Just like we should have been, back then.” Then, with a chilling swiftness, she vanished deeper into the cave system, the coat clutched to her chest.
The next few days blurred into a suffocating nightmare. Pearl, with the coat always within sight but never within reach, began her meticulous, psychological torture. She moved them to a small, isolated island, a speck of land far from the main Coral Isles. Martyn would never find him here.
Pearl cooked for him, doted on him, described in chilling detail the 'future' they would build together. She spoke of Martyn with a chilling disdain, painting him as manipulative, uncaring, a brute who would never truly understand Scott’s 'delicate' nature. “He just wants to use you for your strength, Scott. He doesn’t see you.”
Every time Scott tried to argue, to snatch his coat, she would simply hold it tighter, her eyes hardening. “Don’t make me tie you down, Scott. You know I don’t want to. But I will, if you insist on being foolish.” The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air. He was a prisoner in all but name, his spirit slowly eroding under her relentless, suffocating 'love'.
He often found himself staring at the ocean, a dull ache in his chest, a longing so profound it felt like a sickness. He missed the weight of his coat, the sensation of water on his true skin. He missed Martyn, his rough comfort, his honest affection. He missed himself.
“See, Scott? We’re so much better off without the distractions. Just us. Isn’t this perfect?”
He didn’t respond. He just stared at the coat, draped carelessly over the back of a chair opposite him, a constant, mocking presence. He fantasized about snatching it, about the brutal fight he would barely win. But then what? She would just kill him if he tried.
Though... at this point?
Perhaps death was preferable to his current fate.
Request for last life scott and double life pearl?
Do It Right This Time (also avaliable on a03!)
Fandom: The Life Series
Pairings: Pearl/Scott, Pearl & Pearl, Pearl & Watchers
Warnings: Murder, Minor Character Death, Implied Suicide, Asphyxiation, Impersonation, Identity Theft, Obsession, Yandere Behaviour
Word Count: 2.0k
A/N: Hope you enjoy!
Pearl had never truly fought to win. What was the point? To win meant to outlive Scott. And what if they won and he was still alive, still rejecting her, still bound to her in this hollow, painful way? No, her existence was a slow, agonizing suffocation, a perpetual wound that never closed.
Then, the explosion.
It wasn't a graceful death, or a noble sacrifice in combat, the kind the Watchers sometimes narrated with poetic flourish. It was raw, brutal, and utterly Scott. He’d found a cache of TNT, rigged it to himself and detonated it. The concussive blast rattled Pearl’s teeth. The burning pain was instantaneous – a monstrous inferno erupting inside her chest, tearing through her limbs, blinding her with white agony.
She screamed, collapsing to the dusty ground, convulsing as her shared body disintegrated, a phantom fire consuming her from within.
But then, just as blackness threatened to engulf her, it was gone. The pain vanished. She was alive. And alone. Utterly, horrifically unlinked. The silence, after years of hearing his heartbeat in her ears, was deafening.
Scott… he had chosen to die. Chosen to take himself out, in the most violent way possible, so that she, his unwanted soulmate, could win. He had given her freedom. And in that moment, a flicker of something monstrous ignited in Pearl’s heart. It wasn't pity, not exactly. It was a distorted, desperate echo of love. He had given her everything. He had cared. He had sacrificed himself for her. It was, in her broken mind, the ultimate, most profound declaration of affection.
A shimmering portal materialized before her, swirling with iridescent light. From within, two figures emerged, tall and impossibly slender, their forms shifting like heat hazes. They had no discernible faces, only a vague, luminous glow where features should be. She knew who they were.
“One stands alone, the last to remain,” one Watcher intoned, its voice a soft whisper that echoed directly in her mind, bypassing her ears. “A victor crowned, absolved from all pain.” The other continued, its voice a resonant hum, “A prize is yours, a bounty to claim, speak your desire, and state your wish, your name.”
Pearl struggled to her feet, her body still trembling from the phantom agony of the blast, her mind reeling from the impossible gift. Freedom? What was freedom without him? What was life when the only person she truly loved was gone? Scott had given her this ultimate gift, had proven his strange, twisted affection, but it wasn't enough, because after he'd finally reciprocated, he'd been stolen from her. She didn't want freedom from him. She wanted freedom with him. She wanted him. And she wanted it to be real, a love that mirrored the depth of his sacrifice.
“I wish,” Pearl rasped, her voice hoarse, raw with a yearning that bordered on madness. “I wish to be with Scott. I wish to be in a place where we're both alive again and he loves me back. A love that is complete and undeniable.” Her voice cracked on the last word, the desperation palpable.
The Watchers paused, their luminous forms rippling like heat distortion, as if considering the sheer audacity of her request. “A love unbidden, a fate entwined,” the first intoned, a subtle shift in its light. “Re-written history, a new path to find.” The second continued, its hum growing slightly dissonant, “Your wish is heard, your longing so deep, but memories of old, we’ll make you un-keep.”
The world dissolved into a blinding flash of light, a kaleidoscopic maelstrom of colours and sounds that clawed at her mind. A searing pressure built behind her eyes, her thoughts scrambling, reforming, then dissolving again. When the light finally receded, Pearl was no longer standing in the void. She was sprawled on soft, damp grass, the scent of taiga trees and damp earth filling her nostrils. Birdsong chirped overhead, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence she was used to.
Her head throbbed, a dull ache behind her eyes. Confused, she pushed herself up, looking around. She was in a dense forest, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. In the distance, she heard voices. One of them, irrevocably, was Scott’s. A surge of anticipation, hot and frantic, shot through her. It worked. It actually worked.
Heart pounding, she stumbled through the undergrowth, drawn by the sound. The voices grew clearer, laughter bubbling up, light and easy. Her vision tunneled, focused solely on the source of that beloved voice. Of him. She broke through a thicket of ferns and stopped dead.
Before her, in a small clearing, knelt Scott. His hair was slightly dishevelled, a smear of mud on his cheek. He was carefully patching up a small cut on another person's arm – another woman. And that woman… it was Pearl.
But not her. Not this Pearl, the one who had just traversed realities. This was another Pearl. Younger, perhaps, or simply unburdened by years of suffering. She looked vibrant, her eyes sparkling with laughter as Scott teased her about her clumsiness. Their shoulders brushed affectionately.
She had been sent, not to a fresh start, but a place where this version of Pearl already existed, already had everything she had begged for, while she was left standing on the sidelines and could only watch. It was a cruel, cosmic joke.
A wave of nausea washed over her, quickly replaced by a chilling rage. This wasn't her prize. This… this impostor, this other Pearl, was standing in her way, casually living the life that should have been hers.
Her eyes narrowed, tracking the easy camaraderie between them. The way Scott’s hand lingered a moment too long on Other-Pearl’s wrist, the shared glances, the comfortable silence. It was everything she had ever yearned for, embodied by someone else. A stolen life. Her life.
A primal possessiveness seized her. This was her Scott. Her prize. She would not let this other version of herself—this weak, unwitting obstacle—ruin it. The rules of this game, had to be similar. She could see each player was marked by a red, yellow, or green hue, and this one looked to be red. If this Pearl died, then she could take her place. She would be the Pearl by Scott’s side. The Pearl he turned to. The Pearl he loved.
The thought, born of desperation and trauma, took root and blossomed into a horrific resolution.
She retreated silently, her mind racing, plotting. She stalked Other-Pearl for hours, a phantom presence in the woods. Other-Pearl eventually separated from Scott, venturing off alone to gather resources – a common enough task in this harsh world. She hummed a tuneless melody, oblivious, whistling a little off-key. Pearl moved like a shadow, her movements sharpened by years of shared torment and survival. This was a different game, yes, but the predatory instinct was universal.
She found Other-Pearl by a small stream, humming as she carefully picked berries from a bush. She smiled, a genuinely friendly, open smile. It was a smile that Pearl resented with every fibre of her being. This Pearl had no idea what suffering was. No idea what true yearning felt like. No idea what she was about to lose.
Pearl lunged, a silent, desperate predator. Her hands found Other-Pearl’s throat, raw strength fuelled by a lifetime of denial and festering resentment. Other-Pearl gasped, eyes wide with terror and disbelief when her eyes landed on her killer none other than herself. Her hands scrabbled at Pearl’s wrists, weak and ineffective. She was soft, unhardened by the constant, grinding agony Pearl had known.
"You don't deserve him," Pearl hissed, her voice a low, venomous whisper, barely audible over Other-Pearl’s choking gurgles. "You don't know what it's like. What I've been through." Other-Pearl's face was turning purple, her gasps growing ragged. "He’s mine. He was always meant to be mine!"
The struggle was brief. Other-Pearl’s eyes rolled back, her body going limp in Pearl’s grasp. Pearl held on for a few more agonizing seconds, feeling the last vestiges of life drain away, ensuring there was no mistake. Then, her fingers relaxed, and she released her, and Other-Pearl slumped to the ground, a broken doll, a final, faint breath escaping her lips.
Pearl stood over the body, breathing heavily, her hands shaking, adrenaline coursing through her. A strange sensation washed over her. Not pain, not shared damage, but a profound sense of… rightness.
She looked down at the lifeless face, identical to hers, yet so profoundly different. The eyes, now vacant, stared blankly at the sky. A wave of revulsion, quickly suppressed, rippled through her. This was necessary. This was the only way.
Carefully, meticulously, Pearl stripped Other-Pearl of her clothes, which were less bloodstained than her own, and donned them. She tried to wipe away the blood from her skin, scrubbing at it with leaves and dirt from the stream bank until it was somewhat obscured. It would have to do. The Death Game was messy, after all. A few new scars, some dirt, a bit of blood… it could be explained away. A stumble, a predator, a close call.
She dragged the body into a thicket, burying it crudely under a pile of leaves and branches, erasing the evidence as best she could. Her mind was a whirlwind of the practical: How to act? How to mimic this Pearl, her easy laughter, her casual way of being with Scott? She had to become her. She had to be her.
She closed her eyes, picturing Scott’s face, his kind eyes, the way he laughed. The goal was him. Only him. Nothing else mattered. The death, the deception, the lies – they were all just steps on the path to finally claiming what was hers.
When she returned to their cottage, Scott looked up from whittling a stick, his face breaking into a relieved smile. "Pearl! There you are, I was just about to come look for you. Everything alright? You look a bit… pale."
Pearl forced a shaky smile, her heart hammering against her ribs, threatening to burst. "Just… ran into a bit of trouble. Nothing major. Just a few mobs." She hoped her voice didn't betray the tremor she felt deep within. She quickly busied herself, trying to appear normal, rubbing at a non-existent stain on her sleeve.
Scott's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of concern. He dropped the stick. "Are you sure? You seemed to be gone for a while. And you're trembling." He reached out, his hand gently touching her arm, a comforting, familiar gesture she remembered from her observation.
She flinched, almost imperceptibly, before forcing herself to relax into his touch, allowing herself to lean into it. "Just a little shaken, I guess. It's a dangerous game, isn't it?" She managed a weak chuckle, desperately trying to sound like the Pearl he knew, the one he had spent so much time with.
He nodded, his concern softening into his usual easygoing manner. "Yeah, it is. But we've got each other's backs, right? Always." He squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Good to have you back." His smile was genuine, wide, radiating warmth.
Pearl looked at him, truly looked at him, his genuine warmth, his innocent trust, his beautiful, unsuspecting eyes. A chilling realization settled deep in her bones. This Scott, this wonderful, beautiful Scott, had no idea. He had no idea what she had done, what she was. He had no idea that the Pearl he knew was dead, replaced by a monster of his own creation. He was hers now. He might not know it yet, but he would. She would make him. She wouldn't let him slip through her fingers this time. Not ever again.
A predatory smile, cold and knowing, touched her lips, hidden by the turn of her head as she leaned into his side. The game had just begun. And the real horror wasn't death; it was the chilling, suffocating grip of a love that had festered into obsession, trapping them both in a nightmare she alone had woven.
From the unseen corners of this newly twisted reality, the Watchers' voices whispered, a faint, rhythmic hum that only Pearl’s fractured mind seemed to perceive, a final, damning judgment:
“A prize awarded, a wish now entwined,”
"But what you sought, is not what you’ll find.”
“For love coerced, is a cage, not a key,”
“And true horror, dear Pearl, is what you shall be.”
could i suggest/reguest a boogeyman apocalypse pearl kidnapping/taking advantage of scott in some way?
If I Were A Zombie, I'd Never Eat Your Brain (I'd Just Want Your Heart) (also avaliable on a03!)
Fandom: The Life Series
Pairings: Pearl/Scott
Warnings: Possessive Behaviour, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Kissing, Scapegoating, Avoidance of Accountability
Word Count: 2.1k
A/N: Hope you like it, thank you so much for the request! :P Title from the Zombie Song, which I think fits Scott/Pearl sooo well!
It began subtly.
A whisper on the wind, a chilling rumour, one suspicious death after another. Bdubs, then Impulse, then Pearl, then so forth... Their figures, once vibrant, now moved with a jerky, unnatural gait, their eyes glazed over, an unsettling hunger in their vacant stares. And their targets weren’t just rivals; they were former allies, green-named friends, hunted down with a single-minded ferocity: to infect.
That was the truly horrifying part. Seeing the faces of your friends, their once-familiar expressions twisted into a mask of predatory malice, of eerie need.
The source of the infection wasn't hard to put together. Gem. His ally. She’d been acting strange for days leading up to the outbreak, distant, evasive. He’d dismissed it as the stress of the game, the secret tasks making everybody act a bit off behaviour... But now, it was all too easy to put the pieces together, in hindsight.
Martyn, BigB, Grian, Cleo and himself had managed to hide in his enchantment room for a while, but that'd been found shortly after, and they'd lost BigB to the infection in the process. Scott ran, but he didn't know where the others had gone; he could tell from his console that Grian and Cleo hadn't died, so they were still out there somewhere, thank God... but he might not be for much longer.
Pearl had seen him, her usually vibrant blue eyes dull and lifeless, her movements a startling mimicry of her old fluidity as she chased him relentlessly. She was on a different team this season, yes, but they’d been friends for years, shared countless laughs. Now, her eyes were fixed on him, an unnerving, single-minded desire. Even if she was the only one after him, his hearts were too low to try to take her in a fight.
So, he ran, lungs burning. Behind him, the sounds of pursuit intensified. He didn’t dare look back. He just ran. He needed to find a cave. Anything.
Then, a flicker of movement. Not the lurching gait of a typical infected, but something faster, more purposeful. Pearl. She was ahead of him, somehow. Had she known where he was going? She moved with an unnerving grace, cutting off his path. Her iron sword, usually adorned, was plain, chipped, and held with grim intent.
Scott skidded to a halt, panting, his own stone sword raised defensively. “Pearl- we can talk this out, yeah?” he choked out, his voice raw. He was really just stalling for time. There was nothing left of Pearl to talk to.
She stopped about ten feet away, her head tilted, an expression on her face that was almost… curious. Her blue eyes, though vacant, seemed to hold a flicker of something he couldn't quite place. Not malice, not just hunger... It was something deeper, more twisted.
“Scott,” she breathed, her voice raspy, a far cry from her usual cheerful tone. “Don't worry! You’re safe with me.”
Then she lunged. Scott instinctively sidestepped, narrowly avoiding her swing. She was unsettlingly quick Her attacks weren’t wild, but precise, aimed to disable. She was playing with him. Or maybe something worse.
He parried, the clang of metal echoing in the desolate landscape. He saw an opening, a chance to disarm her, but as he moved, her eyes locked onto his, and a jolt of something akin to recognition, or perhaps a perverted protectiveness, flashed within their depths. He hesitated. That was his mistake.
She didn’t strike to kill. Instead, she moved in close, sidestepping his own clumsy counter, and slammed the flat of her sword against his head. The world tilted, a blinding white flash, and then darkness.
He woke to a dull ache behind his eyes, the smell of damp earth, and an unsettling quiet. He was in a small, cramped chamber, carved roughly from cobblestone. A single redstone torch on the wall cast flickering, deep red shadows. His hands were bound. His sword was gone. He was on one heart. A one-shot.
“You’re awake.”
Pearl. She sat on a rough-hewn stool opposite him, watching him with an unnerving intensity. She was holding a cooked pork chop, gnawing on it slowly, her eyes never leaving him. Her clothes were torn, caked with grime, yet she moved with an almost ethereal stillness now that the chase was over.
“Pearl, what… what is this?” Scott tried to sound firm, but his voice cracked, fear tightening his throat. “Why aren’t you… why haven't you infected me? Isn't that your guys' task? Why haven't you killed me yet?" It didn't make sense.
She finished the pork chop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. A faint smile, chillingly familiar yet utterly alien, touched her lips. “Kill you? No, Scott. You don’t understand. I'm protecting you. It’s dangerous out there. They’re everywhere,” She gestured vaguely with her head, as if indicating the entire world outside. “They want to… change you. Make you like them. But I won’t let them. Because you're already perfect.”
She stood, moving towards him with a languid grace that sent shivers down his spine. She knelt, her face inches from his. Her breath was warm, sweet and faintly metallic.
“Gem… she wants everyone to be part of the… family,” Pearl whispered, her eyes boring into his. “But you’re different. You’re mine. I'm not sharing.”
Her hand, surprisingly gentle, reached out and stroked his cheek. Her touch, clammy and cold, made him flinch. His heart hammered against his ribs. This wasn’t Pearl. Not the Pearl who joked and laughed, who built grand contraptions, who always had his back. This was something warped, a twisted reflection. And yet, the familiarity was there, in the curve of her jaw, the shade of her eyes...
“I'll keep you safe,” she murmured, her voice laced with a possessive pride. “I knew they’d come for you. Impulse, Gem… they always wanted you. But this time, I got you first.”
He tried to pull away, but the bindings held firm. The fear escalated, twisting into a visceral terror. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. This was about something profoundly disturbing, a violation of self.
Pearl leaned closer, her eyes glittering in the dim light. “You’re scared,” she observed, a strange, almost childlike curiosity in her tone. “Don’t be. I’ll protect you. We’ll be together. Forever.”
Then, her lips pressed against his. They were surprisingly soft, but the kiss was cold, wet, and utterly devoid of warmth. It was a possessive claim, not an act of affection. He tasted dirt, and something else… something metallic and sickly sweet. He squeezed his eyes shut, revulsion and horror washing over him. He felt trapped, not just physically, but emotionally. This wasn’t just a simple game anymore. This was a nightmare.
She pulled back, a faint, almost satisfied hum escaping her lips. “See? It’s not so bad. Just us. Safe.” She stroked his hair, her fingers tangling in the strands. “I’ve been watching you, Scott. All this time. I couldn’t let them ruin you. You need me. And I need you.”
He tried to plead, to reason, but the words stuck in his throat. What could he say to this version of Pearl? This infected aberration of his friend? She was beyond logic. She was a horrifying echo of a person, her love twisted into something suffocating and terrifying.
Hours stretched into an eternity. Pearl would occasionally bring him fish or sweetberries, offering them with a strange, doting air. She would talk, her voice a low murmur, recounting distorted memories of their past interactions, always ending with how she had "known" he was special, how she "had to protect him." She didn’t threaten him physically, not overtly. Her threat was purely psychological – the complete erasure of his autonomy, the chilling certainty that he was hers.
He could hear the distant sounds of the horde above, their moans and shouts. Once, Gem’s voice, clear and chilling, echoed through the stone ceiling, calling out names. Pearl merely tightened her grip on him, a jealous glint in her eyes. “She won’t find you here,” she whispered, as if talking to a frightened child. “This is our secret place.”
Just when he thought he would shatter, when the claustrophobia and the constant, unnerving presence of Pearl threatened to consume him whole, a sudden, blinding flash.
The world dissolved into a shimmering white light, the sound of a distant, ringing bell. Then, silence.
He was standing, disoriented, in the familiar spawn hub. The circular stone platform, the vibrant banners, the gentle hum of the main server room. Pearl was gone. The redstone torch, the claustrophobic chamber, the chilling kisses – all gone as if they were a dream.
Around him, others were materializing, blinking, disoriented. Grian stood a few feet away, pale but alive, Cleo beside him, rubbing her temples. They scanned the faces, relief flooding their features as they spotted each other. Only a handful of players had survived the session without being infected or dying a final death. Scott. Grian. Cleo. They'd made it.
The game was over. The session had ended.
A collective sigh of relief swept through the gathered players. Then, the inevitable conversation began.
“What was that?” Joel groaned, running a hand through his hair. “The infection… it was insane.”
Scott flinched as Gem walked past, looking perfectly normal, a slightly apologetic frown on her face. Her eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a flicker of something he couldn’t decipher – regret? Recognition? Then it was gone, replaced by innocent concern.
All the infected players slowly materialized, looking sheepish, confused. Their skins were back to normal, their eyes clear.
“We… we don’t really remember much,” Impulse began, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s like a haze. Just… a compulsion. Like we had to convert everyone. It felt… right at the time.”
Etho nodded. “Yeah, it was like a secret task that overrode everything. Like a… a mind control. We really weren’t ourselves.”
"No player was truly in control of their actions once infected," Grian admitted, "A lot of players killed their own allies. Therefore, to preserve the spirit of the Life Series, I propose a collective agreement: hold no grudges. What happened in the apocalypse stays in the apocalypse. We move forward, as friends, as allies, without holding anyone accountable for actions taken, or else alliances would get reaaaal messy. 'Kay?"
A wave of murmurs, then hesitant nods. It was easy, convenient. A clean slate. A way to avoid the messy, emotional fallout of betrayal and terror.
Scott stood frozen, listening. He saw Pearl emerge, looking utterly normal, a slight frown on her face as she listened to the admin’s decree. She caught his eye, offered a small, tentative smile. “Scott! Are you okay? That was intense, huh?”
She looked nothing like the monster who had kidnapped him, who had kissed him with cold, possessive lips. She looked like Pearl, his friend.
He managed a strained nod. “Yeah. Just… shaken up.”
The “no grudges” agreement settled over the hub like a shroud, suffocating the dark truth. His head swam with the contradiction. Not in their right minds. But Pearl… how could her obsessive behaviour, her specific targeting of him, be simply a byproduct of an infection that erased free will? It felt too specific, too personal. It felt like her.
He wanted to believe it. He desperately wanted to believe it. Because if he didn’t, if he truly believed Pearl had been conscious in some form, had chosen to trap him, to violate him in that way, then his perception of his friend would be shattered beyond repair. He didn’t want to accept that a person he trusted could take those actions if they even had an inkling of cognizance.
So, he swallowed it. He accepted the easy out. He nodded along when Grian said, “Yeah, it was just the game, Scott. They couldn’t help it.” He even managed a weak smile back at Pearl when she approached him later.
But deep down, in the hidden corners of his mind, a cold suspicion lingered. He saw the way Pearl sometimes looked at him, a flicker in her eyes that was just a shade too intense, too knowing. He felt her touch, phantom cold on his cheek, the ghost of a kiss.
He told himself it was trauma, that he was projecting. He had to believe it.
Because the alternative was too terrifying: that his friend wasn't truly his friend, that the game had revealed something monstrous within her, and that the "no grudges" pact was nothing more than a convenient lie to avoid accountability.
He wanted to believe it wasn't real. That she wasn't a bad person. He wanted to believe it so bad. But the chilling memory of Pearl’s smile in the darkness, and the whispered promise of “forever,” continued to haunt him, just like she said it would. Forever.
Idk if I can share ideas here but uhhh
I had one
Yandere Pearl, Soup Group Ploy..... GemAndTheScotts
Gem and the Scotts was a ploy to make sure Pearl had Scott all to herself
None of his teammates will help him. They are helping Pearl
Cause soup group helps one another get everything they all want
Idk, wanted to share that cause it popped in my head and it find it kinda fun
Suspicious Stew (also avaliable on a03!)
Fandom: The Life Series
Pairings: Gem & Impulse & Scott, Pearl/Scott
Warnings: Implied/Non-Graphic Rape, Toxic Friendships, Unhealthy Relationships, Gaslighting, Destabilizing Triangulation, Victim Blaming, Manipulation, Mentions of Suicide
Word Count: 1.9k
A/N: :O Oh my gosh, this idea is genius, I can't believe I've never thought of it! Anon, your brain is huge, thank you so much for the idea! :D
Scott hummed along to the tune he was idly strumming on a crafted lute, its strings fashioned from spider silk. The lyrics were still rough, but the melody was catchy.
Gem & The Scotts– that was their band name, a silly moniker they’d come up with on a whim. Gem, with her practical mining gear and bright, adventurous eyes, was currently sorting through a chest of raw iron. Impulse, ever the efficient one, was meticulously laying out new redstone circuits for a farm, his brow furrowed in concentration. His middle name was Scott, so, technically, he counted as a Scott, hence the band name.
They were a trio, a solid unit in a game designed to pit everyone against each other: three lives apiece, and the constant threat of players, monsters, and the dreaded, ever-changing "tasks" that dictated their daily grind.
“Almost done with this farm!” Impulse called out, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “And, Gem, that iron haul is looking sweet for some new tools!”
Gem grinned, tossing a stack of ingots into the furnace. “Just a few more runs, then we can hit those diamond veins I scouted. Maybe even get a chestplate before the next session starts proper!”
Scott plucked a final chord, a sense of belonging blooming in his chest. They were safe here, a pocket of warmth and camaraderie in a world that craved blood and resources. He trusted them.
He shouldn't have.
The task had been simple enough: Decorate another player's base with at least ten glowberries without them noticing. It had seemed innocuous, a minor inconvenience in his day compared to kill a Warden or start a cult or something like that. Hardest part about it was probably finding a lush cave. Scott had ventured deep into the winding tunnels, the only light coming from his torch and the occasional fungal glow. The air grew heavy, damp, smelling of stone and something else… something unsettling.
Then he heard it. A soft humming, carried on the subterranean breeze. Pearl.
“Scott? What are you doing down here?” Her voice, usually bright and boisterous, was strangely muted, almost a purr.
“Oh, just task stuff,” Scott replied, relief washing over him that it was just her. Company was always welcome in the dark. “On that note, anything I can help you with?”
She stepped into the small circle of his torchlight, her eyes seeming to absorb the illumination rather than reflect it. They held a glint he’d never seen before, a strange, possessive intensity that made the hairs on his arms stand up. “Just… exploring. But you look like you could use a hand, Scotty! This place is pretty creepy, isn’t it?”
He agreed, feeling a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the cave’s temperature. She moved closer, too close, her presence suddenly overwhelming the small space. “Yeah, it’s a bit…”
Before he could finish, her hand was on his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. Her other hand reached up, cupping his face, her thumb brushing over his lips. Her smile stretched, wider than he remembered, showing too much teeth. “You know, Scott,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a gravelly, intimate tone that scraped against his nerves. “You’re so… innocent. So sweet.”
He tried to pull back, a knot of confusion and unease tightening in his gut. “Pearl, what are you–”
Her free hand clamped over his mouth, crushing his words. He struggled, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs like a panicked bird. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, bored into his. There was no warmth, no playfulness left. Only a cold, predatory hunger. The cave walls seemed to press in, the darkness swallowing the fragile light of his torch. He tasted dust, and fear.
He remembered the cold, hard press of rough stone against his back, the sudden tearing pain, the acrid scent of ozone and something rotten. He remembered sounds he didn't want to identify, choked, guttural noises that were his own, and Pearl's low, insistent murmuring, words of warped affection that curdled his blood. He remembered the feeling of being utterly, terrifyingly helpless, exposed, every part of him screaming in silent agony.
When it was over, or when she decided it was over, she simply stepped back, slipping her pants back on, her face serene, almost content, satisifed.
"There," she said, her voice light, as if commenting on the weather. "Perfect."
Scott lay there, his body a trembling wreck, his mind a shattered mess. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Every nerve ending screamed. He felt… violated. Mutilated. Not just physically, but his very soul had been torn open, defiled.
He scrambled to his feet, a desperate, animalistic instinct to flee overriding the agony, the shame, the horror. He bolted, not even looking back, the damp, claustrophobic air of the cave suddenly a thousand times more suffocating.
He ran, blindly, sobbing, ignoring every mob, every chasm, every treacherous block, until the blessed light of day, or what passed for it, met him. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs threatened to give out, driven by one desperate thought: Gem and Impulse. They'll help. I need help. I need to get home.
He burst into the base, stumbling over the threshold, his clothes torn, his face streaked with dirt and tears. He was shaking uncontrollably, his breath ragged. Gem and Impulse looked up, their expressions shifting from surprise to concern.
“Scott? What happened, bud?” Impulse exclaimed, rising quickly.
Gem was at his side in an instant, her hand reaching for his arm. “Scotty, what is it? Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?”
He flinched at her touch, the memory of Pearl’s grip vivid and horrifying. “No… yes… Pearl…” He choked, words tumbling out in a rapid, incoherent cascade. “Pearl… she… in the cave… she raped me. She… she wouldn’t stop… she…” The words caught in his throat, too monstrous to articulate. He just needed them to know. He needed someone to know.
Gem and Impulse exchanged a quick, almost imperceptible glance, a flicker of something unreadable in their eyes before their faces settled back into expressions of concerned empathy.
“Slow down, Scotty,” Gem said, her voice soothing, but unnervingly calm. “What are you talking about? Pearl? Our Pearl?”
Impulse stepped closer, his hand coming to rest on Scott’s shoulder, a gesture that usually brought comfort, but now felt like a heavy weight. “Are you sure it was Pearl, Scott?"
“It-it was Pearl, I saw it, I saw her," he gulped, "She… she…” He couldn't force the full words out again. He just shook his head, desperate for them to see the truth in his eyes, his soul.
Gem sighed, a soft, almost parental sound, wincing before continuing slowly, like explaining a simple concept to a child, “Scott... rape is a big accusation. And you're obviously.. not thinking straight right now. We can't really be sure what you saw- you can't really be sure what you saw."
Scott felt a wave of nausea, desperate to be believed, to be seen. “No! It was her. She… she- it was rape. She wouldn’t stop! I-I told her no- look,” he was so desperate to be believed, he threw his pride out the window, stripped himself raw- literally. He let them see the bites, the bruises, the evidence, it was irrefutable, wasn't it? They could see what she did. It was written all over him.
Impulse’s expression hardened slightly at the sight, a subtle shift that sent a fresh chill down Scott’s spine before he continued gently, “Are you sure you weren’t… leading her on, bud? Pearl's not one to just go there unless provoked. And you can be a bit… flirty, sometimes.”
Scott stared at him, aghast. “I didn’t- I'm gay! I would never- Impulse, what are you saying?”
Gem stepped in, her voice softening, but her eyes were cold, assessing. “Think about it, Scott. You’re stressed, we’re all under pressure in this game. You seemed a bit off today. Maybe you just don’t remember it right...? Pearl’s harmless! She's a wet cat, she's literally pathetic, she isn't capable of doing something like that."
Impulse's brow knitted, and he stepped closer, adding, quietly, “And, even if she did do something... I know you don't remember it, but you heard what you did in Double Life, right?"
Nobody remembered Double Life... that is, except Pearl. And, from what they'd all gathered, it had been a rough season on the winner. From what she'd relayed, she'd been called a witch, became an outcast, a reject, and had gone near insane from the isolation and alienation from other factions... which, she attributed to many false rumours and gossip about her scaring allies friends off, mostly created by Ren, but had accredited a big portion of the estrangement due to a baseless rumour Scott had propagated about her raping him. Scott didn't want to think he'd do such a thing, but he'd also never thought he'd kill himself with TNT, which they'd acquired proof for, so it seemed he'd have to throw any notions about who he was and what he thought was plausible for himself to do when it came to whoever he'd been in Double Life out the window, because clearly Double Life Scott had been another breed, apparently.
"You don't really want to ruin her reputation, would you? It was clear Double Life really did a number on her, she was traumatized, it took years of therapy for her to stablize after the isolation she went through in that game after you destroyed her reputation was destroyed, she barely survived... on Hermitcraft, we had to stop three separate suicide attempts before we finally got her to see reason. She was suicidal, Scott. Do you really want to ruin her reputation again? To put her through that again...?"
The words hit him like a physical blow, each one a hammer striking against his fragile sense of reality. You don’t remember it right. You were provoking her. You wouldn’t want to ruin her reputation. The world tilted on its axis.
"Whether it didn't happen, or whether it did," Gem's pronunciation made it obvious she found the latter unlikely, "Maybe... it's in everyone's best interest we forget about it, okay? Here!" Gem typed furiously into her console, the heart gift mechanic, before regen rushed through him. She smiled. "There we go! Now, it's like nothing ever happened!"
"Yeah," Scott mumbled, hollowly, staring at his hands. The bruises were gone. He looked just like he'd looked this morning.
"Like nothing ever happened..."
Maybe he really had imagined it.
Impulse took Scott to rest, but Gem hurried off, citing she had to go cash in her task. And, while she did have to visit the Secret Keeper, she also had another task to mark as complete.
Pearl was standing outside the door, having been listening in, a grin on her face as she blew her a chef's kiss. "Mwah! Oh, Gem, you're spectacular, you and Impulse, that was perfect!"
"D'aww, you flatter us! Really, it's nothing," Gem shrugged with a sheepish smile.
"But it was everything, to me. I really can't thank you two enough for helping with this... seriously, I owe you two, big time." Pearl swore.
"Hey, you don't owe us anything!" Gem argued quickly, booping her on the nose refuttingly, "Friends help friends out! It's no biggie. Besides, Soup Group forever, right? We're always here to make sure our friend gets everything she wants. Deserves," Gem smiled softly, "And you deserve the best!"
"Gemmm... augh, don't make me get all sappy now, mate!" Pearl whined as she pulled Gem into a hug, sighing fondly:
"Man, you two really are the best friends a gal could ever ask for."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Heyo! I made a a03 prompt collection for anybody to submit OR fufill Yandere Pearl/Scott prompts if anybody's interested! :3
Feel free to plop sumthin' in if you have an idea you want to throw in the ring, OR look through to see if there's any prompts that catch your eye you might wanna write! :p