ik galaxy duo/majormoon fans generally seem to focus on evil yandere pearl, but like, tbh, i think they both suck. and thats why i love them! and i like evil pearl too, because its kind of a revenge fantasy to me, but tbh, of the two of them, c!scott is the one who i prefer to write as "evil" (though still not as "pure evil" - as a more complex kind of awful.) that man is unhinged. he pretends to be so nice but he can act downright wicked sometimes (i.e. him torturing bigb in past life)
plus im probably projecting onto pearl a bit... but just think about last life. just consider the fact that pearl was hurt by scott's rejection not because she refused to take no as an answer romantically, but because she wanted to be what they were in last life again, with not just scott, but cleo too. it wasn't the romantic rejection that drove her revenge. it was the abandonment, from both of her friends. and yeah, i do think she wanted to hurt scott, but i think, more than that, she was trying to make him see her.
and tbh, scott is kind of a dick in double life! i feel like the only thing people remember from double life is the ending which, obviously, is amazing, but you can't ignore all the build-up to the resolution. pearl's slightly unhinged rampage was earned. throughout double life, she was invisible. to her soulbond, to her friend, and even to her honorary soulmate, martyn.
in the end, she MAKES them see her. and when they do, they call her crazy. but what has she done that wasn't earned? when scott ignites the tnt, it reads as an apology for a reason. "you deserve this more. tilly death do us part!" finally, he acknowledges her. he acknowledges their soulbond. at the very end, he acknowledges her, in nearly the same instant as both of their deaths.
but, then again, there's a reason why i prefer these characterizations, and theres a reason other ppl prefer other characterizations. im simply a fan of evil men and/or pairings where both parties such, but all interpretations are valid especially in a series like this in which lore and character motivations are primarily a matter of personal interpretation.
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!)
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.
i have no idea how pearl’s pose turned out as well as it did. or scott’s skirt. how the fuck did i do that
both scott and pearl have a flower hidden somewhere in their design relating to their agency!
(pearl’s is the iris pin on her chest (since iris = eye = WATCH), and scott’s is his pink gentian earring (pink gentian flowers only release their pollen if they sense a high C note frequency, which seems pretty LISTEN coded to me))
im going to kiss you i love you you are so perfect to me its THEM they are LOVEHATING THIS look at pearl shes probably about to pull a fucking gun djdbsbsjs. they both have one eye on the other and the other eye on their target (Gem). scotts DRESS. martyn tried to talk him out of it but he could not be swayed. im stealing the flower symbols those are great
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
And thus, the Gods deemed them soulmates.
I said I was writing a fic with joel in it but this is a different fic I was writing at the same time. would you like some double life scottpearl where they didn't mean to?
By the time they’re done clearing up the last of the disaster, the sun is almost up.
On the bright side, the beach looks almost back to normal. Scott’s always been a skilled builder; he tells Pearl that her terraforming abilities are second to none, too, and she has no choice but to believe him. Together they’ve managed to sweep the crater of their latest double-explosion back to being a mostly-intact cliff face and a slightly uneven sandy floor. If you hadn’t seen it before, you might be convinced that the Archipearlago had always looked this way.
They’ve talked, too. Scott is still a little unsteady on his feet from the sudden influx of a second, a third lifetime’s worth of memories, and so as he digs and shifts and replaces he keeps asking scattered questions. Pearl answers everything she can as patiently as she can. It’s not exactly comfortable, shuffling back through the worst six weeks of her life to explain what the thing about the snow was, or why she used to wake up every morning to a sharp shooting pain in her heart, and what exactly that has to do with the fiery-haired figure he’s never met before but who sits constant in both of their recollections like the souring aftertaste of a sweet drink... but it’s necessary.
(And besides, Pearl won’t back off from a little thing like reliving bad memories. She’s not so weak. She can stomach it, and so she does.)
So they’ve made the beach look good as new again, and they’ve covered the gaps in Scott’s still-raw memories, and as she kicks the last of the sand over a jutting spike of cobble she declares that enough to be getting on with.
Scott’s reluctant to leave, of course. This guilt that he’s become fixated on, the neverending well of remorse, has had him spontaneously apologising over and over again all night like he can’t stop himself from saying it whenever it pops back into his mind. Knowing everything he did and making sense of it must have made the compulsion even worse than before, because it feels like half the things he says are “sorry”. And he keeps looking back over at her, paws - hands - half-reaching like he wants something from her.
She figures it out before too long. These hugs aren’t exactly what she’d fantasised about at her lowest points in the old world, shivering and huddled up next to a half-starved wolfdog with a yellow collar, but they’re better than anything she could have hoped for back then. At least Scott actually wants her now.
He says he’s never going to abandon her like that again. That she deserves better, and that he’ll be here to give it to her. That (and he’s hesitant, here, but he says it anyway) he wants to be her best friend, properly this time.
Pearl would be a fool to not accept that offer.
(She’s probably a fool either way, but at least like this she’s a fool with someone’s arms around her.)
But he does need to sleep, and so does she, and so they part with bittersweet smiles in the end. Pearl doesn’t take her eyes off of Scott until he’s disappeared all the way round the side of the mountain.
Then she sits on the sand and she watches the rest of the sunrise.
The ocean is her only soundtrack. Its music is familiar, rhythmic and comforting - the same ebb and flow she heard each night before she left on her desperate attempt to shake off a man who only wanted closure. The same quiet shushing that lulled her to sleep more than once in the old world, cut off though they were from the wider expanse of the world. She’d like to play, for old times’ sake, to an audience of nothing but the fish and the kelp and the coral.
Her guitar’s in Gobland, though, and her bass and horn still tossed on the bed in that Chromian tavern room. She’ll need to fetch those sooner rather than later.
The dogs are in Gobland too, which is maybe a more urgent concern than that; Pearl doesn’t want to make Sausage do any more hard work than he has to looking after her pups. She’ll go get them first. As soon as she has a new house and a new bed - somewhere for them to settle.
Pearl stands up and goes to grab some of that extra cobblestone. Starter shack it is, then. Can’t be as ugly as Box.
The morning is bright and calm. The future feels clearer than ever.
They hate eachother so much they make out aggressively in the woods
Do you think they've explored eachothers bodies? 🤔 /memeref
(Also little hc, soulmates share some traits, in their case its hair color, their ends are switched up w the other... after the break up pearl tried to cut it off but it only extended further up... so she tried covering it w red dye... poorly..)
time for some rent lowering gunshots aka my introduction post! you can call me one. im a trans guy (he/it) and autistic. i do art, animation, and i write. im primarily interested in the life series.
im an adult and i will likely be making suggestive posts, so beware. unless otherwise specified, my posts are about the characters, not the people.
my favorite ships and characters fluctuate a lot, but im generally obsessed with scarian and majormoon. i am open to being inducted into your rarepairs, especially if they involve mumbo, scott, or tango (my little guys)
one of my rarepairs is: scott x mumbo, whom i literally do not know the ship name of :')
my gimmick account is griba-or-grain so go follow that if you're into those!
