#Life Series Impulse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deityoftherain · 1 month ago

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good enough - Scott Angst SL Fanfic [w/Scottpulse+Gem&TheScotts]

Rating: Teen

Relationship: M/M, Gen

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 5,036

Summary: Scott has a mental breakdown while the Secret Life server is on break between sessions, his mind spiraling and reflecting on both current and previous games. Impulse goes to check on him and bring him the comfort he so desperately craves.

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

“Oh, what a fantastic session!” Gem exclaimed, almost giddy as she threw her arms up into the air. She spun on her heel, the motion seamlessly transitioning into her flopping down on the cherry wood seats by the fire. “This is so much fun, honestly, I- I’m so happy Grian let me join officially this season.”

Scott had used some of their extra wool to create cushions for them to sit on, so that helped break her fall. If it hurt, she didn’t show it, so Scott chose to believe he simply did an efficient enough job. Good. That means he was useful, making his teammates more comfortable. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. For now, anyway. He would figure out more ways to improve their base, and to help ensure Gem and Impulse get far.

“Me too,” Impulse agreed with a nod, grin wide. “It was about time Geminislay entered the race.”

Gem flashed him a smile that only had the slightest glint of bloodlust within it. “Glad to know someone agrees.”

Secret Life, as they’ve been calling it, was Gem’s first official game. She had taken over for a session in Limited Life while Cleo recovered from a bug in their code, but she has never experienced a game start to finish like the rest of them have. She wasn’t used to– let alone prepared for– the outright chaos and bloodshed of everyone being Red, of everyone who was left fighting desperately to be the last one standing.

Gem would be able to hold her own; she was a skilled fighter. She’s proven that so far, even with the curveball of regeneration being turned off this time around. She’s gotten hurt and lost hearts, sure, all of them have, but she was doing really well considerably. Scott was impressed, but not surprised. He always knew she would thrive if she were to ever join these games.

That didn’t mean the big brother in him was happy.

The big brother in him despised that she was there. The big brother in him wanted to hide her away and let no one come near. The big brother in him wanted to hold her back, keep the situation in his control, and protect Gem from the parts that weren’t as fantastic.

As much as Scott wanted to comply, he loved Gem too much to let his protective instincts take control like that. She wasn’t a little kid anymore– hadn’t been for awhile now– and she didn’t deserve to have him hovering and preventing her from playing the game just like everyone else. Void knows that Scott wouldn’t have appreciated someone doing that to him his first game, back in Third Life. She didn’t need to be babied like that, and he knew it would feel patronizing.

But she’s never experienced the bloodlust that comes with going Red. Scott chewed on his lower lip, keeping his head low. What if it’s too much for her?

Scott managed his bloodlust with grace, the urge more of an annoying yet distant jittery feeling in the back of his mind. Many others didn’t have the same level of control as he did when it came to being Red. What if she’s more like Joel? What if she gets too reckless? What if-?

Scott physically shook the thoughts out of his mind, dismissing the obsessive worry and ordering his body to relax. It would be okay. Gem was strong and more than capable in her own right. Scott would simply do all he could to aid in her success, like he did for all his teammates, and not go into the overbearingly excessive territory. Easy, right?

“Hey, Scott,” Gem pulled him out of his thoughts, concern furrowing her brow. “Are you okay? You’ve been weirdly quiet.”

��Yeah, I’m okay.” Scott stopped fiddling with the sleeve of the translucent blue jacket he tied around his waist, flashing her what was meant to be a reassuring smile, a silent promise that she didn’t have to worry. Hypocrite. “Just tired.”

“Mm, okay,” Gem accepted without argument, though she didn’t seem fully convinced. Impulse shot him a concerned glance as well, but Gem pulled his attention back by continuing whatever conversation they were in before.

Scott didn’t pay attention to what they were discussing, hoping it wasn’t things he needed to know. If it was important, hopefully they’ll mention it later. Instead, he inwardly scolded himself for drawing attention to himself in the first place. His anxiety was getting the better of him, and he hated it. I’m a better actor than this!

He’s dealt with anxiety for as long as he could remember, but he knew how to cope. He did! He actually knew how to cope quite well, if he did say so himself. Scott doubted that most of the other Players even knew he had an anxiety disorder literally ingrained in his code! It wasn’t like it was something they could see, most of the symptoms being something he’s learned to mask over the years. It was fine.

Scott was generally confident, charismatic, and self-assured. He transferred his anxious tendencies into preparation and identifying where things could improve. He had made his anxiety into a tool rather than a hindrance, though it would occasionally become too much and overtake his every thought.

Like right now.

Like when Gem was involved.

He would never voice such a thing, of course. Gem deserved to shine in her own right, not be forced into his shadow or controlled like she was his puppet. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Scott was a past winner, and he knew that had weight to it. He won Last Life, and there was a trend of his past allies making it to victory. People noticed that. People called it out. It was… a lot of pressure. He never intended to become– or, at least, viewed as– somewhat of a good luck charm.

Perhaps they noticed the trend because Scott was extremely loyal to those who managed to get on his good side, perhaps to a fault. Perhaps it was simply because he was useful, a team player, and wanted things to ultimately be fair. He didn’t play dirty, and people respected that. But that was all it was, right? What if none of his allies win. Would people turn their backs to him? Would he suddenly not be enough?

Scott did– and does– all he can to help his team. He worked diligently to aid them in any way he could to give them more time, to prolong how long their lives lasted, to get them all as far in the game as he could manage. I’m enough, I’m enough, I’m good enough, I–

So, yes, he was a good ally to have, but Scott never wanted his efforts to outshine the ones that won. The winners didn’t win because Scott looked their way, no, of course not! They won because they earned it. Scott’s contributions were equivalent to what any other good teammate would do. He didn’t win their games for them, dictating their every move. Gem deserved a chance to do the same. She had every right to fight hard and strive to win, no matter how dangerous or deadly it became.

That didn’t mean it was easy to accept, however.

Scott’s stomach seemed to somehow tighten, do flips, and turn into a gaping ravine all at the same time. It was nauseating, leaving him achy and just wanting to cry. He squeezed his eyes closed, attempting to push the tears that threatened to spill away.

Try as he might, it was useless. A singular tear ran down his cheek, slipping past the defenses he’d worked so hard to maintain. Scott wiped the tear away as soon as it appeared before promptly pushing himself up to his feet. “I’m going to go to bed.” He may have said more– or perhaps not be so blunt– if it were a regular night, but he didn’t have it in him at the moment. Scott was seconds away from breaking down, the stress becoming just too much. He made long strides from the little campfire to his private cottage. As soon as he closed the door behind him, sobs rippled through his body. Stupid, worthless, inadequate–

Scott allowed the tears to fall this time, and, as soon as he started, he couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to. The dam had broken and it was going to spill out of him until there was nothing left to give. Scott had plenty of experience giving until he had nothing left, not even his own life…

He suppressed his verbal cries, whimpers, and wails the best he could, his body shuddering with the effort. Scott blindly stumbled forward, his vision blinded by the sheer amount of tears welling in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’s cried this hard while in the games.

Lies. Scott couldn’t help but correct himself, though he hated that he did. That lie was meant to be passive, a way for his brain to try and protect itself from spiraling even more, but Scott’s stream of consciousness pushed its way past the fragile barrier.

Jimmy. Scott harshly grabbed at his chest, pinching not only the crop top he wore to match the band vibes with Impulse, but the flesh underneath as well. It hurt, but the sensation was only a fraction of his pain. He barely registered the input as he grieved. I’m a widow.

And a widow he was. Scott lost, mourned, and buried his husband, back in Third Life. There was no getting what they had back. Maybe they could have continued growing their relationship, once upon a time, but Jimmy hadn’t been interested, and that was okay. It had to be okay. Even if they couldn’t be romantic– or be that close– anymore, Jimmy would still be a friend. Right? Right?

Scott had gone through heartbreak before, but that didn’t make it easier. He was a widow, and he carried that with him, even if Jimmy was still technically alive. The Jimmy on the server now wasn’t his Jimmy. His Jimmy was dead, buried on the server they played Third Life on. Jimmy himself made that clear in Limited Life.

“Scott, I’m going to give you thirty seconds to run, and go someplace else.”

Jimmy had wanted to kill him, to take his time. Scott refused, not wanting to give more of himself up, not yet. He hadn’t liked that.

“Okay…” It hurt, but Scott knew hurt. He could persist through it. “Love you!”

“Alright, have fun–”Scott frowned. He knew Jimmy didn’t consider them husbands anymore, but that didn’t mean they were nothing to each other. “Say I love you back.”“Thirty seconds.”

Jimmy never said it back. Even when Scott reminded them of what they had. He had given him a Pufferish of Peace, a reminder of good times. Jimmy lost it, didn’t know where it was, and didn’t seem to care. Scott pretended not to care as well. He tried to, at least.

Scott’s knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor. He tensed his muscles, biting down harshly on his tongue. He stayed still for a moment before shuffling to press his back against the wall beside his bed. Scott curled his hands into fists, his pink polished nails digging into his palm. He, Gem, and Impulse had painted their nails during the game’s downtime as a team bonding activity. It was Impulse’s idea, actually, and it had been… really nice.

Last Life, Scott tried to move on. He built a bigger cottagecore sort of house than he had in his and his husband’s– ex-husband’s? dead husband’s flower valley. He teamed with Pearl, and later Cleo, two of his best friends. It has been good and beautiful, and not just because he won that game.

“Yet,” Scott choked on his words, voice strained, “I fucked it up.”

I fucked it up. I fucked it up. I fucked it– his brain spiraled, regret rising like bile in his throat. When Double Life had come around, Scott had self-destructed. Foolishly self-destructed, and he hurt his friends in the process. Scott knew why he did it, but that didn’t mean he approved of his past actions.

The why was quite simple: he had learned they were going to have soulmates this time around. Soulmates. Someone who he shared a deep connection with, something he desired so badly. Scott logically knew that the soulmates were going to be randomized and arbitrary– just another game mechanic with the deep connection being shared health– but Scott had always been a bit of a romantic.

Okay, fine, a lot of a romantic.

It was stupid, he knew it was, but Scott had been hoping that his soulmate would have been just that: a soulmate. A romantic soulmate. Someone who he would be attached to and could love, even after death. Someone who wouldn’t leave. I don’t want to be a widow again.

When he came to the conclusion that his soulmate didn’t care like he did, by finding him, he became bitter, and maybe a bit angry. Scott cursed his rotten luck and put up walls in an attempt to guard his heart from further damage. And so, not wanting to spend the game alone, he decided to stick to what he knew. He stuck to Cleo, one of the few people Scott could count on to always be there for him if he needed it.

“I think, Pearl, you deserve this more.”

And she did deserve it.

They were antagonistic to each other all season, hurting themselves to hurt each other, the cozy and warm embrace of Last Life locked away… but they had made it to the end. Scott gave it his all, he always did, but Pearl was the reason they were the final two. Blowing himself up to guarantee people recognized her win was the only sort of apology he knew how to give that would actually mean something. Scott would do it again in a heartbeat. His life was hers, after all, even when standing on opposing sides.

In a way, Pearl was his soulmate, but she wasn’t the romantic connection he had been searching for. Their love was strong, but it was strictly platonic. Scott simply didn’t feel that sort of attraction toward her, and Pearl was more interested in girls anyway. It wasn’t her fault that the game linked their lives together, much to Scott’s dismay. His fantasy of being swept off his feet by a handsome Player that season had been squashed.

Scott banged his fists against his skull, leaving throbbing in their wake. That didn’t encourage him to stop, nor slow down. His brain was already working overtime as he sifted through his traumas, anxieties, and regrets having to do with these games. His sinuses were stuffy and his nose was full of runny gunk. He sniffed, not wanting it to get in his mouth, but all it did was increase the pressure in his sinuses. His mouth and throat grew dry, yearning for water but only getting tears. He did little to try and rectify the discomfort.

Little regret came with Limited Life– at least, compared to the game that came before.

When Scott first started building the Coral Isles, he had expected to be alone. He assumed Martyn had abandoned him to join another team, and he was going to be okay with that. He was! The extrovert within him hated it, but he tried to convince himself that it was a good thing. He could socialize with the other teams and then have time to himself… alone, on glorified floating dirt.

Scott tried to convince himself that, maybe, being alone would give him the space he needed to work himself out, and to not fall back into unhealthy tendencies. He didn’t want to be without teammates, but he would make due. It would be fine! It could have been fine. Maybe.

Luckily though, Martyn returned, and he was a good teammate and fun to talk to. Scott knew what to expect with him, for the most part, and it worked out! Very well, actually! They made it to the final three, and Scott wouldn’t have had it any other way.

There were times Scott fantasized about Martyn, as one does when sharing “paradise” with someone who looked like that. He wondered if Martyn would be the one he could fall asleep in the arms of and kiss until they ran out of breath… it all came to a stop when Martyn had mentioned Ren, his husband who was waiting for him once they were released from the games. Scott felt embarrassed, having forgotten about Ren. Safe to say, all fantasies died right then and there. Scott was many things, but he refused to be a homewrecker.

Now though, his eye had been wandering to Impulse, now that they’ve been spending so much time together. He knew for a fact that Impulse was single– he subtly checked– but Scott tried to deny himself. He didn’t want to do the same song and dance, fairly sure how it would end. He would only get hurt, trying to chase that daydream, just like it had repeatedly before. Scott couldn’t continue to put his heart in the hands of another yet again just to watch as they discarded it like his heart was a piece of rotten flesh in an otherwise full inventory.

The headbanging turned into scratching, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more, promptly changing tactics. Scott bit down on the flesh of his forearm, biting hard. The indents of his teeth littered his arms as an outlet to turn his emotional suffering into something physical– something easier to conceptualize and process– and to get himself to quiet the fuck down.

The last thing he needed was Gem or Impulse coming to check on him. He was fine. He was! He didn’t need them to worry. Everything is fine.

Scott was supposed to be confident and dependable, so that’s the role he had to continue to play, even if he didn’t always feel like it. It is fine. It had to be okay! Because… What would they say if they found out he struggled against his own mind on a regular basis? Who would want a teammate who frequently lost battles against themself?

Pathetic. The word was spat like venom, shooting down his spine and jerking his head back. A cry escaped his lips, despite his efforts to keep any noises to a minimum. Scott pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them tight, curling himself as small as he could. Maybe if he held himself together tight enough, he would stop shattering. Stop, stop, stop!

Scott didn’t know how long it had been since he left the campfire, but it felt like eternity. His body didn’t even feel real anymore. It was numb– almost null, like the embrace of the void– except for the places that homed his self-inflicted pain. The scratches, the impact bruises, the bitemarks… they were Scott’s only real tether to the world he existed in. They were necessary, and I deserve them. I deserve worse.

Did he truly think that little of himself? That he was so bad of a person that he deserved even worse pain than the anguish he felt? Scott squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, sucking in his lips and trying to steady himself. No, he didn’t. He didn’t think that low of himself… most of the time. Scott could usually hold himself together, so well that even he would forget these moments.

Ha. Scott huffed to himself bitterly, the unspoken words rancid on his tongue. Of course I dip this low during such an inconvenient time. Just– fuck me, I guess.

“Scott?” The unexpected input of another Player startled Scott, causing him to flinch. His grasp of his legs weakened, causing the ball he rolled himself in to uncurl. His head hit the wall again, he cursed under his breath, and reached back to press a hand against the definite bruise under his blue locks.

“Oh, jeez, Scott!” The same voice as before fretted, growing closer. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked, but you didn’t answer, and I heard… I decided to check on you, but I–”

Scott blinked a few times to readjust his vision before squinting at the Player that crouched down in front of him. “Impulse?” Impulse gave him a weak but friendly smile. “That’s me. How ya feeling, bud?”

“Like shit,” Scott murmured, letting his eyes close again. He was exhausted. It had been a long day, and his body had ensured to use as much physical and mental energy as it could. What a punishment.

“Yeah, I bet.” The comment came out with an awkward sort of chuckle to it, something Scott found sort of charming. He would probably find it more charming if he heard it under different circumstances, though. “How about I help you to your bed, huh? Do you think you can stand?”

Impulse simply talking to him acted like an anchor, something Scott could latch onto to bring him away from the disordered thinking of his brain, the flaws in his code. He stared down at his body, at the red and purple decorating his arms, and all he felt was shame. Scott hung his head, averting his eyes. “I don’t… maybe. I could try. You could just leave me here, though, I’m fine.”

“Sorry, Scott, but you definitely are not fine, and I’m not going to leave you on the floor when you have a perfectly good bed right here.” Impulse shook his head, like in disbelief, but he kept his tone gentle and unthreatening, like he was trying not to set Scott off. “I could pick you up, if that’s easier.”

Scott looked up at Impulse through his eyelashes, taking him in the best he could. Impulse was broad shouldered with subtle muscles, worked out for strength not aesthetics. Little imp horns peaked through his brown hair and Scott noticed his fangs every time he opened his mouth to speak or smile. The outfit he wore was similar enough to his default to be recognizable, but it was just different enough to be interesting. It looked good on him. Impulse just looked good in general.

Scott could feel his heartbeat pick up in his chest as he averted his eyes, this time to his hands. He examined the pink nail polish, a part of him giggling like a stereotypical teenage girl over her first boy band member crush. They were matching. “If you want.”

As soon as permission was granted, Impulse adjusted his body to position himself to properly lift Scott off the ground. One arm snaked under his knees while the other went on his back, preparing to hold him bridal style.

“Put your arms around my neck,” Impulse instructed, and Scott was quick to obey. Now with a good hold on him, Impulse used his knees to help him both hold Scott and rise to his full height.

Scott relaxed into Impulse’s hold, burrowing his body the best he could against Impulse’s chest. He took a deep breath, partly to steady his breathing more, but also to take in Impulse’s scent. He smelled vaguely like cherry blossoms, smoke, and musk, which must be partly due to their mutual environment. Still, he tried to commit the scent to memory so he could try to soothe himself with it when he felt particularly lonely…

Considering that they were right by Scott's bed, Impulse didn’t need to hold him long. He stepped forward and started to lower Scott onto the mattress, but panic surged within him. No! He didn’t want Impulse to put him down yet! Not when Impulse carrying him felt so safe. Impulse was a haven, providing shelter from the raging hurricane of torment waiting for him outside. Scott tightened his relatively weak grip, pressing himself against the imp like he was trying to merge their bodies together.

“Please don’t!” Scott begged, voice cracking with desperation. He smushed his face against Impulse’s chest, not ready to be on his own again. He craved the touch and affection of another so badly. Scott hadn’t even realized how bad it had gotten until he was given a taste. “Please, Impulse, just… hold me. Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

Scott could almost feel Impulse’s pity, but Scott didn’t take back his words. Begging– especially for something so basic– felt overly embarrassing, but the need was too great to deny himself any longer. He would do just about anything Impulse wanted from him as long as he promised to stay just a little bit longer. Please don’t leave me too.

“Do you want me to stay the rest of the night?” Impulse asked, as if to confirm, breaking the silence. He shifted his hold on Scott and, for a moment, Scott feared he would put him down, despite his begging, but he didn’t. Impulse used his own body as leverage until he could free a hand, presumingly using it to move the blanket aside on Scott’s neatly made bed.

“Please.” Scott hated how small and vulnerable he felt. Anyone could take advantage of him in this state, and he would let them, but Impulse is a good guy. He will take care of me. “I want you to stay. If you would. I… I need you.”

“Okay, I’ll stay,” Impulse promised, returning the removed hand and pressing a gentle kiss against Scott’s hairline. Scott whimpered an attempted Thank you, relief flooding his senses as his face grew hotter.

The imp turned them around so he could half-climb backward into Scott’s bed, never letting go of the elf at any point. Impulse adjusted the pillows before setting Scott down on his lap, one arm still around him. He leaned forward, reaching for the blanket to pull over them before returning his arms around Scott.

Impulse pulled Scott close, cuddling him against his chest. One hand rested on Scott’s hip while the other tangled within his wavy blue hair, gently scraping his claws against Scott’s scalp. Scott melted into Impulse, the dark fog that surrounded him starting to dissipate. His muscles relaxed and the pain started to subside, though still noticeable. It was never that easy, was it?

Scott was just about to give into his exhaustion when Impulse spoke again, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” Scott knew there was much that could be said, considering the state at which he was found, but he didn’t want to think about it anymore. All it brought was more suffering, and Scott wasn’t wanting– wasn’t ready to unpack it all in any sort of constructive way. At least, not right now. “I’m fine.” “If I didn’t know better, I may have believed that.” The words themselves felt dismissive and scolding, but Impulse’s tone never strayed there. Scott could tell he was putting in the effort to tend to him, which almost made Scott start crying all over again. Impulse’s big heart was going to be the death of him, wasn’t it? How was he just so… perfect? “Do you want to try that again?” Scott groaned– partly in mild protest and partly in pain– as he turned his head, pointed ear now against Impulse’s chest. In the quiet of Scott’s cottage, Scott could hear Impulse’s heartbeat. It was steady and dependable, a comfort in comparison to the frantic and frenzied beating Scott’s heart had been not too long ago. Scott drew closer to tranquility with every rise and fall of Impulse’s chest, drumming along like a fixed tempo.

“I would share,” Scott admitted, voice barely above a whisper, “but I don’t think I could without crying again. It’s all just… a lot. We can… maybe we can talk about it later, after the games, if you still care– if you want– but, for now… for now, can we just be like this?”

Impulse didn’t respond right away, likely in consideration as he outlined figure eights against Scott’s sensitive skin. “Of course I care, Scott. And I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here as long as you need.” “Thank you,” Scott breathed out, the words barely audible. Impulse hummed his response, but didn’t say more, and that was enough. Scott allowed his exhaustion to take him, guiding him to unconsciousness as Impulse provided him the physical content Scott often had to go without.

Scott was almost to dreamland when it dawned on him, funnily enough. I love Impulse.

The realization jolted him from the sleepy daze, heart squeezing in his chest as he tried to determine what he felt about it. Scott had told himself, going into Secret Life, to abandon the ridiculous notion of finding lasting love here. These were death games, not a speed dating event at a cafe, or a fun and quirky way to meet new people. Putting himself out there only left him damaged and vulnerable, and he wanted to spare himself from further destruction.

Looking up at Impulse now, Scott knew it was too late for him. He had fallen for the other man, his affections shifting from platonic to romantic the more time they spent together. The ends of Scott’s lips twitched up into a bittersweet smile. Hopefully they wouldn’t end as tragic as he and Jimmy. Scott wasn’t sure if he could survive his heart shattering again.

Now wasn’t a good time to confess his newly discovered adoration, affection, romantic care, and love, but the information settled comfortably within him, slotting into place. It didn’t force its way in, greedily pushing and shoving for a spot, no. Love for Impulse just… clicked. Clicked like it was always meant to be there. Like they had a fighting chance. Like he was more than simply good enough. Like they were meant to be. Scott slept peacefully that night, relishing in the warmth the idea of spending the rest of his life with Impulse brought.

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