#i’m sorry dutch isn’t a real language it always makes me laugh so fucking HARD it’s just MUMBLING

[bibleofficial]

flying to spain only had 1 glass of wine & ive a layover in amsterdam on the way … but its fucking like 9hr layover on the way back from - at NIGHT 😭😭😭

[zanybohbot]

The Outsiders: A Trip To Santa Monica

The Outsiders: A TRIP TO SANTA MONICA (Episode 3)

Published: 10-16-19 - Updated: 10-17-19

They head to Button's house at Santa Monica. Brain's gotta new girlfriend called Tara, Button's sister. He has to man himself up and stop being a pussy so he can finally get it on. Which means, he needs an advice of how to make this scenario better without screwing it up. Will Brain get it? This is episode 3 of The Outsiders. Rated R for Strong Language/Sexual References

Part 1: Brain's New Girlfriend

(Squit N/R: So Brain whisked Button's sister, Tara, away for their romantic weekend, and it's fair to say it wasn't exactly as she'd imagined it.)

Tara: Can you slow down a bit at least, Brain?

Brain: OK, Tara. Sorry.

Pinky: Christ, what's got into you? We're only doing fucking 65!

Tara: I get carsick, especially in the back.

Squit: (sarcastically) There's no rush. Let's enjoy the drive. This is one of the more beautiful stretches of anonymous American highway.

Brain: It's not Tara's fault she gets carsick.

Tara: I can speak for myself, Brain.

Pinky: Oooohhhhh! Beep, beep, beep, beep!

Brain: (swats Pinky in the head) Pinky, shut up!

(silence)

Tara: OW! Something hard's digging into my leg.

Pinky: (scratching his head looking dizzy) Ha. Don't look at me. Although my ding-a-ling could reach from here! (laughs)

Brain: (annoyed by Pinky's comment) Pinky, prepare for more pain when we get there.

Tara: Shit, what is this? (picks up a bottle of orangeade from outta nowhere)

Pesto: Oh, sorry. That's mine. My bad.

Squit: Why are you taking a four-litre bottle of orangeade to Santa Monica?

Pesto: Well, duh. Polite, being a good guest, bring a bottle.

Squit: Bring a bottle means alcohol, Pesto.

Pesto: Nah, everyone likes orangeade. You make cocktails with it, like vodka and orangeade, or whisky and orangeade, or wine and orangeade.

Squit: Those aren't cocktails. That's just the names drinks with orangeade added to it.

Pesto: Ayy, coo off! At least I'm being polite here!

Tara: Thank you, Pesto, I'm sure my brother, Buttons, will appreciate it.

Pesto: But ya know what he wouldn't appreciate…(grunt)

Pinky: Oh, no, Pesto, you didn't?

Pesto: Fuck yeah, I did. (laughs)

Wakko: (holds nose) I'm gonna throw up.

Tara: What happened?

Squit: Unbelievable.

Tara: (sniff) Oh, my God, that stinks!

Brain: Pesto, have you farted again?

Pesto: Not sure. Could be fart, could be worse. (laughs)

Brain: (annoyed) For fuck's sake, open a window!

Squit: You really need to see a bowel specialist.

Wakko: Or a bowel exorcist.

Pinky: (teasing) Or he could ask his gay-ass dad. He likes inspecting men's anuses.

Tara: Oh, I feel really sick. Brain, can you pull over?

Pesto: Relax, it was only a Sausage and Cheese McMuffin.

(Tara moans again)

Pesto: No, wait. (farts again) Oh, forgot the hash brown.

Brain: PESTO!

Squit: Oh, for christ's sake!

Tara: Can someone please open a window?!

(Squit N/R: Fortunately, Pesto''s McFarts calmed down just outside Santa Monica. Which is more than could be said for Tara.)

Tara: They're getting the train back or I am.

Brain: Look, it'll be fine. Let's just remember why we're here, okay?

(Buttons saw Squit, Pinky, Brain, Pesto and Wakko as he knows them again but he looks unimpressed.)

Buttons: Oh no, It's you five again.

Pinky: We've just came to hang out, OK? No biggie.

Pesto: (points at Squit) Apart from him, he's lonely.

Squit: Some of us are going to work at the animation department next year, so I thought I'd come along, check the place out, maybe even make a few friends in case worst comes to worst and I end up at Santa Monica.

Buttons: Meaning?

Squit: Well, just it's not my first choice.

Wakko: It's your last choice.

Squit: But it is a choice. I think that's the key point.

Pesto: I've bought orangeade for the party.

Buttons: There isn't a party.

Pinky: Good. 'Coz we could make it a party.

Buttons: You couldn't. God, it's bad enough that Concord Condor's idiotic friends descend on us practically every night.

Squit: Jesus, is he still a nightmare?

Buttons: God, he's a complete tool, all he does is drink. I don't know why we agreed to share with him.

Squit: I know him before, interesting. Bit of a social hub is he? The big man on campus, the go-to guy?

(All of them, even Buttons, look confused by Squit's comment.)

Buttons: Whatever. Christian's away, so I suppose those four can sleep in his room. I'll share with Heike, although she's got the flu. That'll mean me catching it. Tara, you and Brain can have my room.

Brain & Tara: Thanks.

Buttons: I'm not keen on you having sex, but at least I know you're doing it somewhere comfortable.

Brain: Phew. Absolutely. Only in her vagina.

Buttons: Uhhh...I meant in my bed.

Brain: So did I?

Pinky: Then, why did you say "vagina"?

Brain: (confused) Huh, weird.

(awkward silence)

Buttons: Come on, Tara, I'll show you where the condoms and spare sheets are.

Pinky: Nice to see ya back, bruh.

(Buttons and Tara went inside.)

Wakko: Wait. Who's Heike?

Brain: Roommate. Sexy. Also Dutch.

Pesto: Cool, I've never met a Dutch.

Pinky: How comes you never met a single Dutch?! They're always the filthiest!

Pesto: You know this?

Pinky: Well, duh. I fucked a Dutch bitch. Remember?

Brain: (disbelief) Bullshit. Never been to Holland.

Pinky: Yeah, I have! It was when I had my Sweet 16.

Squit: (sarcastically) And what did she do to you at your 16th birthday that was so filthy? Give you a blow job in a windmill? Jerk you off with clogs?

Pinky: No, but I wish. Look, it was properly filthy, I shouldn't tell.

Brain: Oh, really. Go for it.

Pinky: Fine. (thinks of something) When I fingered her, she shat down my arm.

(All 4 look confused and disgusted by Pinky's story.)

(awkward silence)

Pesto: Shall we go and look where we're sleeping?

Squit: Yep. Good Idea.

(All of them went in Button's house.)

(Squit N/R: And to think, I had a Sweet 16. Huh?)

Part 2: QUESTIONS! DOWN IT!

(Squit N/R: We'd only travelled as far as Santa Monica, but Button's roommate, Concord, the one we know, and his friends including, Willie Wombat and Axl Gator, the actors from Taz-Mania are the ones I have known them before, but now they seemed to speak a different language for some reason. And yes, they're actually rappers.)

(Concord opens the door for Willie and Axl.)

Concord: Good evening, Commander, Bombardier.

Willie: Good evening, Admiral!

(Buttons came to the door, looking dead inside.)

Axl: All right, Butto, where's dat lil' sis of yours?

Buttons: She's upstairs with her boyfriend.

(They all gasp)

Willie: Boyfriend!?

Axl: Denied!

Concord: Denied!

Willie: Denied!

Concord: Come in, gentlemen, and we'll commence!

(They came in.)

Buttons: Don't break anything.

Axl: Chill, speccy.

(Squit N/R: Speccy. An insulting nickname. I think it meant they like you. Meanwhile, it was a good job that Pinky, Pesto and Wakko had their sleeves rolled down, cos there was a Dutch gal on the loose.)

(In the bedroom.)

Heike: Hello!

Pinky: Hey there, what's up?

Heike: You are Button's sister's friends?

Wakko: Oh, absolutely.

Heike: OK, very welcome. I have a fucking cold, so I am looking for the bloody tissues. (sneezed)

Pinky: Bless ya.

Heike: Thanks! (Pick up a box of Kleenex from the table) There are the bloody things. See you, guys, have a super fun night.

Pinky: Oh, we will have a super fun night. If ya know what I mean. (elbows Wakko softly) Heh, heh?

Wakko: Most definitely.

Pesto: Um-hm.

Heike: Great. Bye to you.

(She leaves the room.)

Pesto: (whispers to Pinky) She's hot!

Wakko: She looks like she loves dick.

Pesto: Do you have to do it different with dis Dutch ho?

Pinky: There are 3 things you need to know about European hoes, homies. They're filthy, they're hairy and they don't mind if you wipe it on the towel.

(Wakko and Pesto look confused by Pinky's comment.)

(Squit N/R: I'd always imagined my evenings at Santa Monica would consist of studing animation and filmmaking, heated intellectual debate and avoiding elderly homosexual hip-hop lecturers. The reality over here was a little different.)

Willie: The next game is Fuzzy Duck.

Axl: Duckmaster General, to da left, fuzzy duck.

Concord: Fuzzy duck.

Willie: Did he?

Axl: Fuzzy duck?

Concord: Drink! Yo lost, son!

Axl: Damnit! (drinks a bottle of wine.)

(Squit came into the living room to get a can of beer.)

Squit: Hey, fellas, you don't mind if I join ya, do ya?

Concord: Questions, motherfucka! Two fingers.

Squit: What? What does "two fingers" mean? Two fingers of what? (points at beer) This?

Axl: (singing) Pointiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnngggggggg!

Willie: A fine, Admiral? Mah only wan.

Concord: And the fine is…

Concord, Willie & Axl: Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...

Squit: Y'okay?

Concord, Willie & Axl: ...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…

Squit: Uhhh...do ya need help or something?

Concord, Willie & Axl: ...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...DOWN IT!

Axl: Yeah, c'mon!

Squit: Fine. But after that, can we speak proper English, please?

Concord, Willie & Axl: QUESTIONS! QUESTIONS! DOWN IT! DOWN IT! DOWN IT!

Squit: (slightly annoyed) Fine! I was about to drink it anyway, gosh! (he opens the can and drinks)

Concord, Willie & Axl: (rapping) Down it! Down it! Down it! Down It! Get it down ya, Zulu warriah! Get it down you, Zulu ho!

Squit: (confused) What? Zulu? Why Zulu?

(Pinky and Pesto ran to the living room.)

Pinky: Dafuq's dat noise?!

Pesto: Yeah. What's all da ruckuss?

Axl: Question! Down it! (hands 2 beers to Pinky and Pesto)

Squit: (annoyed) I honestly have no idea what's going on anymore.

(Wakko came.)

Wakko: Can I play?

Concord, Willie & Axl: Questions! (hand a beer to Wakko.)

(Squit N/R: It seems like a vaguely ghetto-gangsta moronic drinking game. But as these guys were real rappers, I assumed it was irony. In the kitchen, nothing ironic was happening.)

(Brain and Tara were kissing in the kitchen but Buttons came along.)

Buttons: Not in the kitchen, please. I eat in here.

Brain: Hi, Buttons. Didn't notice ya here. Heh, heh.

(Buttons ignores him.)

Buttons: Tara, did you find those towels to put down?

Tara: Yep.

Buttons: And the lotion?

Tara: Yep.

Buttons: Good. Well, just remember, it's when you're ready, not when he's ready, OK? It doesn't have to be tonight and it certainly doesn't have to be in the kitchen either.

Brain: (butting in) So what's your new career anyway, Buttons?

Buttons: Look, you probably won't enjoy it, but just make sure you don't regret it, OK?

Brain: (still butting in) You said you're directing, right?

Tara: Jesus, just give it a rest, please.

Buttons: Look, I'm only saying these things because I love you, okay?

Tara: Yeah, I know, but your friend loves me too.

Buttons: Huh. Does he?

(Buttons looks at Brain, as Brain was gulping, looking shy.)

Pesto: (from the living room) FUZZY DUCKKKKKKKKK!

Brain: Sorry, that was my friends. I should go and check on them.

Buttons: No, don't worry, I'll do it.

Brain: Bye, Buttons! Great to see ya again!

(Buttons looks at Brain angrily and leaves the kitchen.)

Tara: I think he really likes you!

Brain: Yeah, he LIKED us. I don't understand. We use to work together since 1993, now he seems like he hates me.

Tara: No, he's probably just jealous.

Brain: Really?

Tara: Yeah, cos I've got you. Let's not wait any longer, let's go to bed and get it on.

Brain: Great. I just need to run that by my friends first.

Tara: For what? Are you gonna ask them for their advice?

Brain: (shocked) Oh, shit, did Pinky tell you?!

Tara: I was joking!

Brain: Ha, good one. But I do need to talk to them about dinner, though. Pinky gets grumpy if he doesn't eat.

Tara: (gets annoyed) I don't give a flying fuck!

Brain: Look, why don't you go upstairs and get yourself ready, and I'll tell them they can order pizza.

(Squit, Pinky, Pesto and Wakko came into the kitchen.)

Pinky: Those motherfuckas are dope as fuck!

Squit: Yeah. Like dopelly need help! Do they even speak english?

Pesto: (he whacks Squit in the head) Ayy, quit ya whinin'! You're just dead inside because we fit in with da posse because we're da homies and you don't because you're a pussy!

Wakko: I love it. I think I wanna be a rapper now.

Squit: I wouldn't bank on it, Wakko.

Pesto: Ha. Good times.

Brain: Anyway, Pinky, I just wanna talk about dinner. (Hands Pinky $50) Here's $50, just order some pizza.

Pinky: Sweet, thanks, mah boy!

Tara: Brain, c'mon! Let's go.

Brain: Okay, just a sec, I just need to sort this out.

Tara: God! Fine! (she was about to leave)

Brain: But, don't worry. You won't forget the flaw, right?

Tara: What flaw?

Brain: The flaw is I'M GONNA FUCK YOUR FUCKIN' FANNY OFF, YOU FUCKIN' WHORE!

Tara: Nice, now your talking! That's what I need from a man like you! See ya in the sec, hot boy!

(Tara goes upstairs)

Brain: (he suddenly panics) Guys! Listen, I need your advice. You know you said I'd have a problem getting it up? I've got the exact opposite problem, it won't go down. If she touches it, I'm sure it'll go off, straight away. What am I gonna do?

Squit: Just be yourself, be honest with her.

(Pesto facepalms.)

Pinky: (in disbelief) Worst advice ever.

Brain: Pinky, help me!

Pinky: Look, it's somethin' simple. If I were you, go and jerk off now, then when she puts some protection around it, you'll be able to go for hours.

Brain: Pinky, you're a genius! Good idea. (looking confused) Wait...is it?!

Pinky: Fuck yeah! Now shut da fuck up, get up there, knock one out, start on her and don't embarrass yourself and most importantly, don't...be...a...pussy.

Pesto: Yeah, try and forget about how dis is da biggest moment of your life.

Brain: Thanks. See ya.

(Brain runs upstairs.)

Pinky: Good luck.

(Squit N/R: So Brain chose Pinky's advice over mine and as a result was now masturbating into a sink whilst inhaling his girlfriend's thong.)

(In the bathroom, Brain was masturbating.)

Tara: (outside the bathroom) Brainy-Poo, come on. Come to bed.

Brain: Coming, I'm just doing a...number 2. Promise, I'll be quick.

Tara: (outside the bathroom) OK. Wash your hands. (leaves)

Brain: Phew. (carried on masturbating)

(Squit N/R: Downstairs, after only a couple of hours in their company, I was already hopin' the Commander, the Bombardier and the Admiral - would get sent to Afghanistan.)

Willie: Yo, MC Pest, dare ya to down this shit?! (Holds a bottle of orangeade, but now with cigerette butts inside.)

Pesto: Oh, what, no way. (slience) Ahhh...fuck it, let's do dis!

Squit: You don't have to bow to peer pressure, Pesto.

Pesto: Ayy, coo off! I'm talking here! (silence) BITCH-MAGNET! (chugs down a bottle of orangeade with cigerette butts inside)

Squit: No, Pesto, c'mon! It's disgusting! Look, it's got fag butts in it!

(Pesto finishes the whole bottle and spits out a cigerette as everybody cheers.)

Pesto: HA! Smokinggggggg.

Squit: (sarcastically) Oh, great, cheer for dat. Because that was so impressive! What would you like for an encore, Pinky to punch himself in the fuckin' face?!

Pinky: Sure, why not. (punches himself as the other's celebrated.)

Axl: Y'some pussy-ass motherfucka.

Squit: No, no, I'm not.

Pinky: Y'still a bitch tho.

Squit: What, because I don't do dares?! It takes no time or effort or skill to down half a bottle of orangeade!

Wakko: Takes big balls, tho.

Squit: Well, I've got balls! More than you!

Concord: More than 2? Go ahead, do a dare!

Pesto: He won't, dat bitch is a bitch, son.

Axl: I know, look at dis dude.

Squit: So what, if I eat this…(grabs the bonsai tree)...bonsai tree, I automatically become more dope, do I?!

Everyone (in unison): FUCK YEAH! DOWN IT! DOWN IT! DOWN IT!

Axl: Do it.

Squit: Fine, I will!

(There's a short silence as Squit decides whether to eat it or now, despite that he's worried. Then he takes big bites out of the bonsai tree as he really is daring. The others are cheering for Squit.)

(Squit N/R: Unfortunately, it turns out bonsai doesn't mean "delicious little tree" in Japanese. Upstairs, Brain was striving to get some wood of his own.)

(In the bedroom.)

Brain: It is cold in here, isn't it? Like, really cold.

Tara: Cuddle up tighter?

Brain: Good idea.

(They cuddled up tighter as they kiss again.)

Brain: Jesus, does Buttons ever turn the heating on in here?

Tara: (unimpressed) Your sex talk is getting worse, Brain.

Brain: Sorry.

(They carried on kissing.)

Brain: Wait...is it gonna be his first directorial debut?

Tara: (annoyed) Look, he's a filmmaker, it's expensive, OK?! Do you wanna go and talk to him about gas prices?!

Brain: God no!

Tara: Good.

(Brain takes his top off.)

Brain: Are you gonna take your top off?

Tara: I'm cold too, you know.

Brain: Of course, sure, we established. Gimme the condom.

(Tara gets the condom for Brain until…)

Brain: Wait...could you put it on me? It's sexier.

Tara: OK, bad boy!

Brain: Are you ready?

Tara: I dunno. It doesn't look ready.

Brain: No, I'm fine. I just think it would help my, y'know, readiness a little bit, if you put it on with your mouth.

Tara: (confused) With my mouth?

Brain: Or ass.

(Tara looks even more confused.)

(Squit N/R: Or ass. Those two little words every girl dreams of hearing on her first time. Tut, tut, tut. Brain, what are ya doing?)

FINAL PART: The Night's Ruined, Literally

(Squit N/R: Back downstairs, I was halfway through dinner.)

(Squit is still munching up the bonsai tree and the others still cheering. Buttons came to the living room shortly after.)

Buttons: Guys, I'm going to bed, so can you try and keep it down 'coz my head is fuckin' killing me…(looks at Squit disgustingly) The fuck are you doing?!

Pinky: (tried offering Buttons a can of beer) Question! Two fingers. Therefore yo bitch!

Squit: I'm sorry! (burp) I was trying to satirise their bravado. But if you think about it, it worked.

Buttons: (looking disbelief) You ate a bonsai tree.

Squit: Yes, but...

Buttons: (annoyed) I think you should go to bed, and y'all should leave!

Concord: Yeah, fine, we're going back to the studio anyway.

Axl: (looks at Squit, sarcastically) Nice one, Specs, thanks for ruining da night.

Willie: (looks at Pinky) Oh, Pink-Boi, remember what we told ya about Heike, yo?

Pinky: Don't worry, my boy. No regrets!

Concord: No regrets.

Willie: No regrets.

Axl: (singing) NO REGREEEEEEEETS!

(They left as they shut the door, Squit was about to leave the living room.)

Buttons: Uhhh...where do you think you're going?

Squit: Bed. You told me to, remember? I'm tired anyways.

Buttons: Well, not without them, you're not. (sarcastically) Oh, and if you fancy a midnight snack, there's a spider plant in the bathroom. Night! (he goes upstairs)

Pesto: This has been the best night of my life.

(Squit N/R: So, while Pesto got emotional about drinking orangeade and fag butts, Tara was also doing her best to get something disgusting in her mouth: Brain's flaccid penis.)

(In the bedroom.)

Tara: I can't put it on at all when it's like that! Is it nerves?

Brain: Look, just stop talking about it, OK? It's not helping. Just get it on.

Tara: It's not working, it's too soft!

Brain: One more time, please.

Tara: Okay. Just don't push my head down so hard!

Brain: Sorry.

(Tara was choking on the condom but spits it out.)

Brain: Shit! Are you OK? Sorry, but you gotta be more careful. I was scared shitless.

Tara: Brain, it's still not doing anything!

Brain: I know. Oh, God, why won't it start? I do think if I could see your boobs, it would help.

(Tara looked slightly disgusted.)

Squit N/R: Unlike Brain, I could see nipples. Unfortunately, they were hairy and attached to 2 dickheads who wouldn't shut the fuck up.)

(In Button's bedroom, Pinky, Squit, Wakko and Pesto were in bed ready to sleep.)

Pinky: I know Heike wants to fuck me first.

Pesto: Uhhh...no. She wants to fuck ME first. Like the way she looked at me after she sneezed.

Squit: (half-asleep) Shhh. Sleepy times now.

Pinky: No! I've got young meat.

Pesto: No, I'VE got young meat! The Commander said she'd chose me first!

Pinky: Uhhh...no he didn't, motherfucka!

Pesto: Y'calling me a liar, bitch!?

Pinky: Y'calling me a bitch, ya bitch-calling liar!?

Pesto: DAT'S IT!

(As they were about to fight, when they were supposed to be asleep by now, Squit loses his temper and throws a pillow at them.)

Squit: (frustrated) You know what, I have a better idea! Why don't you two imbeciles go and do it together or something?! Get out of the bedroom, and ask her for the fuck she so famously wants! Just let me FUCKIN' SLEEP!

(They pondered as they agreed.)

Pesto: Ayy, good idea.

Pinky: Dude, you're a genius.

Pesto: We'll be right back.

(As they leave.)

Squit: No, guys, come on, I wasn't serious.

(The door shuts.)

Squit: Fine, fine, have it your way! I don't care. I'm sick and tired of babysitting you spoiled brats anyways. (he sleeps in piece)

Wakko: (whispering in his sleep) Ugh, it feels so gooooood.

Squit: Yeah, it does feel so…(He jumped out of the bed and finally realises Wakko was pissing in the bed.) Wak! WAK! WAKE THE FUCK UP, YOU PISSED THE BED!

Wakko: (finally woke up, but still pissing) Oh, no!

Squit: Stop! Stop pissing!

Wakko: I've gotta problem with that!

Squit: Well, go to the fuckin' toliet next time, how about that!?

(Wakko finally gets up and stops pissing.)

Squit: Oh, God, Button's gonna murder us! Why's it so green?

Wakko: Uh. My head hurts.

Squit: (furious) Well, thank you very much for reminding me this 'coz I'll suspend your sympathy once I get uncovered in your piss!

Wakko: It's good for you.

Squit: (sarcastically) Well, whooptty-doo! I'll piss on you, shall I?!

Wakko: Wait, really?

Squit: NO! GET THE FUCK TO THE TOILET!

(Wakko goes outside the bedroom.)

Squit: Ugh, it smells like pissy Sugar Puffs!

Wakko: I'm a mess. Which one's the bathroom?

Squit: More worryingly, where's Pinky and Pesto?

(Heike screamed from the other bedroom.)

Squit: (sarcastically) Well, what a surprise.

(In the bedroom.)

Pinky: Come on, Heike, just gimme a little fuck, I know you wanna.

Buttons: (angrily) Get out! You've got ten seconds to get out of my fucking room!

Pesto: Don't worry! I've got enough young meat for ya both. How about a fourway?!

Buttons: (gets out of bed and kicks them out) Get fucking out!

(Squit N/R: So while these two idiots had to get out, Brain couldn't get in.)

(Tara and Brain were trying to have sex, but it wasn't going so well.)

Tara: Brain, Brain. Nothing's happening.

Brain: (frustrated) I know, do you think I don't fucking know that?! I know that better than anyone! I know it's floppy!

Tara: Sorry! I was just saying.

Brain: Well, don't just say, OK?! I know better than anyone that my penis isn't fucking working!

Tara: It's OK.

Brain: (gets furious) It's not fucking OK! It's not OK! (looks at his penis) Why won't you start?! Every time I don't want one, you're actually there, and yet the one time I actually need it, nothing!

Tara: OK, you're scaring me now.

Brain: Just work, you stupid fucking thing! Get big! Get big!

Tara: (scared) Brain!

Brain: Why aren't you doing it?! Do it! Get big! Oh, please just work, you ugly cunt! (he burst into tears as he was hitting his penis)

Tara: (scared) Brain, stop it!

(Meanwhile, Buttons kicks Pinky and Pesto out of the bedroom and saw Squit and Wakko covered in piss.)

Buttons: What the fuck, man, have you pissed in my fucking room?!

Squit: Well, Wakko… (looks at Wakko angrily)

Wakko: My bad.

Squit: ...just had a little accident. But look, none of this is ideal, I am aware of that.

Buttons: (getting furious) You are disgusting! Disgusting! Oh, my God, the smell, the mess!

(Tara gets out of the room and hid behind Buttons to get away from Brain as she's scared.)

Tara: Buttons, Buttons, he's gone weird just like you said he would.

(Brain also gets out of the room.)

Brain: Yes! Tara, Tara, Tara, look, I've almost got it! Oh, hi, everyone.

(There was a short silence as Pinky facepalms and whispers "I told ya not to be a pussy", Buttons look disgusted, Pesto and Wakko looked confused and Squit looks shocked.)

Pinky: Buttons, look. I know we had some shitty times but look around us now!

(Buttons looked at them as the others were naked.)

Pinky: WE'RE NAKED!

(short silence)

Buttons: (getting livid) I swear to god! If you don't get outta my house right now, I'm gonna call the fuckin' cops!

(Pinky turned his smile into a frown.)

Buttons: GET OUT! (as he gets the phone)

Pinky: (angrily) Well, fuck you! It worked anyway!

Squit: Okay fine, this isn't perfect, sure, but let's be reasonable here, none of us have any clothes on.

(Buttons still looks disgusted.)

Pesto: Are we havin' dis four-way or what?!

(Buttons was losing his patients as he threatens them by calling 911.)

Squit: OK, OK. Fine. We're going. We're sorry.

(They all leave.)

(Squit N/R: No, we weren't gonna have a four-way, we were gonna spend the night in Brain's shitty-ass car naked and then when we'd sobered up, drive home at stupid 5 o'clock the next morning.)

(In a car, Brain, Squit and Wakko were still upset about earlier while Pinky and Pesto were vomiting in the doggybags.)

Pesto: God, I think I regret drinking a whole bottle of orangeade wit cigarettes in it! (vomits again)

Wakko: Didn't Tara want a lift back, Brain?

Brain: I think she's OK, Wak. (sarcastically) Oh, and I forgot to thank y'all for the advice, by the way, it went perfectly. I'm so glad y'all came along.

Pinky: I told ya not to pussy out. What exactly did you do to her anyway?

Pesto: Yeah, what happened?

Brain: (sarcastically) Nothing. I think that's what happened.

(Brain's phone rang from the floor.)

Brain: Get it, Squit.

(Squit picks up his phone and checks.)

Squit: It's Tara.

Pinky: (dizzy) Beep, beep, beep, beep.

Brain: Oh, cool.

Squit: (still checking) She says never contact her and Buttons again or Buttons will kill you.

Brain: Cool.

(Pinky vomited in the bag again as Brain tapped him in the back.)

(Squit N/R: I'd been inspired by my trip to Santa Monica. Inspired to get the best career I possibly could so I didn't end up at the asylum with Pinky and Pesto. But one good thing came out of the weekend: Tara dumping Brain meant I got my friend back. My silver-tongued,... (Brain (flashback): FUCK YOUR FUCKIN' FANNY OFF, YOU FUCKIN' WHORE!) ...slightly weird and still a "pussy" friend.)

Pesto: Guys, pull over to da hospital, I think I need ta get my stomach pumped! (farts) Whoops. (laughs) I think the orangeade and the cigarettes just slipped outta my rear end for somehow. My bad! (laughs again)

Squit: Oh, for Christ's sake!

Brain: PESTO!

THE END!

I hope you enjoyed my 3rd fanfiction episode of the Outsiders. Thx. Peace!

[five-hour-anxiety]

depresssion vlog 😥😴👎💭🏳️ | The Theory Of Real Activity | thursday vlogs

Taglist: @zerogettie  @spacevirgil@tree4life25@thebiggestnaturaldisaster @pailettehazel@jordandobbertin@thecityofthefireflies @the-fabulous-kimball@azuranightsong@virmillion @erlenmeyertrash @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @the-sanders-sides @punch-you-with-friendship@captaincantatrice@clovenpinetree @jughead-is-canonically-aroace@aplaceinthevoid@that-random-fandom-girl @zennyo

Word Count: 4431

Warnings: depression and talks of anxiety

Pairings: platonic prinxiety, platonic logicality, platonic analogical

Summary: Virgil is in the middle of a spiral and the back to back bad days are making it hard to function. He texts a few friends for help, and this is the result.

Designated Nerd:  Virgil, it has been some time since I’ve heard from you. Are you feeling well?

Me:  i mean, am i ever fine

Designated Nerd:  Well that is indeed worrying. Is there anything I can do for you, or would you rather I contact our more… emotional friends? Do you need me to come visit?

Me:  no, i dont want anyone over right now. this is gonna sound so stupid but,,, could u tell me what u do when ur upset

Designated Nerd:  If it helps, of course. I tend to listen to stimulating music and take hot showers. Please try to brush your teeth sometime soon as well, as hygiene is something that we all tend to be lax with in these states.

Me:  i should have expected advice like that

Designated Nerd:  Is it not useful? I apologize.

Me:  o no, its good. thx lo

Designated Nerd:  Anytime Virgil. Do not hesitate to contact me if you need anything else.

 ***

Sir-Sing-A-Lot:  hey panic at the everywhere, u still breathing

Me:  wow didnt kno u cared that much

Sir-Sing-A-Lot:  of course i care u ass how u doing

Me:  i mean im not dead. thats a fucking victory dude can i get a hell yeah

Sir-Sing-A-Lot:  hell fucking yeah bro im proud of u

Me:  hey while ur here,,,, how do u deal with ur bad days.

Sir-Sing-A-Lot:  poorly

Me:  damn dude

Sir-Sing-A-Lot:  yeah well thats life but i also light candles and fucking moisturize. unlike u u heathen

Me: thanks u fucking prick

Sir-Sing-A-Lot: hate u too u asshole c u this weekend~

***

Pat-Dad:  hey kiddo!! haven’t heard a peep outta you lately, just wanna make sure you’re still okay!!

Me:  im not okay, actually. but im glad u texted bc i have a q for u

Pat-Dad: anything for you kiddo, tell me how i can help!! :)

Me: wat do u do on bad days. like, how do u deal with the shitty emotions

Pat-Dad:  language kiddo.

Me: hellcrab.png

Pat-Dad: i dont have the profanity manatee on me so just pretend i sent that. anyway! i like to watch a bunch of funny shows and sit around in my favorite clothes! gotta feel good somehow!! and like, a lot of pillows are involved.

Me:  is this permission to turn my living room into a pillow fort

Pat-Dad: absolutely!!! but make sure you eat something today kiddo,,, making food is gonna be better than takeout btw. Feels good to have made something, trick the brian into enjoying the food more.

Me:  brian

Pat-Dad:  *brain, oh hush up

Me:  thanks 4 the help. <3 u

Pat-Dad: anytime kiddo!!!! :) <3 love you more!!!!!

***

   “Welcome back to the Theory of Real Activity -- today’s vlog: not what you all signed up for.” Virgil sighed, running a hand through his hair. “As I’m sure a lot of you have noticed, or at least the twitter crew has, I haven’t been as active on the channel lately. And I’m sorry about that, but I think I’m ready to talk about why now.

   “As many of you know, I have depression and anxiety. No way around it, there’s the truth. Often, these diseases prevent me from functioning like a healthy person would. That’s what’s been happening to me for the last few months. I’ve had a hard time getting up and dragging myself anywhere, much less making new content for all of you. Talking to friends via text is really hard too, so Twitter is something I can’t deal with either.

   “And I know a lot of you out there are the same way -- heck, when I do use Twitter and the likes, I see messages like that all the time. And I’m happy I’m able to help you all through those days when I can. But I can’t always be around to make stuff like that, so today I’m gonna talk you guys through helping yourselves when the days get bad and the voices get loud, okay?

   “But don’t let the start of this video fool you -- this isn’t a ‘oh we’re all gonna be okay if we just believe!’ kinda thing. Because there’s a lot of those. Don’t get me wrong, those are all wonderful messages and I really appreciate them, but I don’t think we need another one right now. What’s the point in trying to be motivated when the energy just isn’t there? I don’t know about any of you, but I almost feel worse when I watch those because I know whoever is on the other side of the screen wants me to work for happiness and I just… can’t. I can’t do it when I’m that low. So, no, this is not one of those videos.

“This is something completely different, I really hope it clicks with a few of you.”

   The camera switches out of selfie mode to reveal a table full of shopping bags. Virgil laughs off-screen and there’s the sound of papers shuffling.

   “Ladies, Gents, and everyone beyond the binary welcome to ‘How to Kinda Cope with Shit Brains’, starring yours truly. Let’s begin, shall we?”

***

   “Logan, you didn’t tell me you were uploading a video today! What’s this one about?” Patton squealed, clicking on the notification. Logan peered over his shoulder, trying to make out the display behind layers of smudges and a few cracks.

   “I- I did not upload a video today as Thursdays are typically reserved for anything Virgil wishes to post. That’s why there have not been any midweek videos recently.” Logan pulled out his own phone, giving up on Patton’s, and quickly unlocked the screen. “There is no one else with access to the account, so who- oh never mind. That is clearly something of Virgil’s creation.”

   “My goodness, he sure loves emojis, huh?” Patton giggled, reaching into his pockets. Logan groaned something like ‘you have no idea’ and pulled out a screen cloth for Patton. The younger man took it and quickly cleaned off his screen before pulling out his earbuds

“Do you wanna watch it together?” He asked, dangling them in front of Logan. Logan stared at him, grimacing.

   “Do you know how unsanitary sharing earphones is, Patton? I have a split connector in my bag, allow me to retrieve it and we shall view it together.”

***

   “So, I have compiled a list of things my friends do when they’re having bad days, as well as a few activities of my own, and we’re gonna test them. I’ll take note of how I feel before I start, do the activities, and then I’ll rate them by how I feel afterward. And if that sounds complicated, it is! Kinda. Logan says it’s the proper way to test things, by having a starting point and an end point, so go ask him? I don’t know, he’s always talking about control groups and I don’t know about any of you but I don’t want to make myself have bad days back to back just so I can test a bunch of things ‘fairly’.

“Anyway, first up: Roman’s list. He- he actually didn’t have much to say, just “moisturize bitch’ so I just pulled ideas from what he normally does on off-days. Sorry, Ro, but you brought this upon yourself.”

   Virgil reaches into the bag marked “Bed, Bath, and Beyond” and fishes out a bottle of something pink, as well as a purple container of lotion and a green candle.

   “I know for a fact Roman prefers grapefruit face wash, so that’s what we got here,” he shakes the pink bottle, “so we can gift this to him when we’re done here. And we have a bottle of lavender-scented lotion to go with it. I read somewhere that lavender helps with anxiety or something, but like,” he points at the camera, “it just smells good, and I am not ashamed to admit to that. Don’t read too much into this.

   “I also bought a scented candle, because that’s the only other thing Roman offered advice-wise. I fact-checked this one, and apparently good scents are supposed to help you think more clearly? Or something. I don’t know, I read the article at four in the morning, there’s not much I can really remember about it. Four am Virgil is really bad at retaining information.”

   The camera jostles as Virgil picks it up and walks into his bathroom. “Uh, just for like, the starting point? The best way to describe this type of anxiety is the buzzing and tensing of your muscles and the tightness in your chest. There’s nothing I want more than to dive under my bed sheets and sleep until tomorrow and try again later.

   “But I’m going to do this, so wish me luck.” He mutters, turning the tap on and grabbing a washcloth. The screen cuts away to black as an upbeat nineties song plays, and the text on the screen reads ‘Roman’s results’.

   “So,” Virgil starts, his face covered in white foam, “this stuff kinda burns? Roman, what the hell is wrong with you, you like this stuff? Ugh. Also, just so everyone knows, the smell of artificial grapefruit and lavender do not mix. Like separate, they are really good smells but just… don’t mix them together. It’s a really bad idea. We may have to do my list next so I can let the house air out for a while. As it is, I didn’t even try to light the candle, we do not need to add spearmint to this stink bomb.

   “Beyond that? The face wash is definitely waking me up. I feel a little more ‘oh hey, I’m a person’ that I did before so, yeah. This wasn’t a total bust. And my skin is soft! I understand the appeal of moisturizing now! Roman, how dare you keep this a secret from me?” Virgil laughs, rubbing his hands together. “Holy shit I feel like a million bucks. I am keeping the lotion, you can take this demon face scrub.” Virgil reaches off screen and picks up the pink bottle, scanning the back panel of text.

   “So overall, I’d say Roman’s tactics work. You just gotta like, make sure you get complimentary smells so you don’t stink yourself out of your house,” He says, still reading the bottle, “And you should definitely read the instructions on the bottles because this,” He holds up the pink bottle, “says to wash off after a few minutes, and it’s been ten. I’m gonna go get this off my face now.”

***

   “Babe, you seriously didn’t read the instructions?” Roman howled, throwing his head back into the couch. He could hear Virgil scoff from the kitchen.

   “Excuse me, but I thought it was like one of those face masks you leave on for half an hour! How was I supposed to know!” He asked, walking back into the room and plopping down beside Roman. “They look the same when you put them on, and you have a few long-lasting ones that smell like grapefruit! I had no way of knowing!”

   “You could’ve called, man. I would have helped you!” Roman lifted his arm, inviting Virgil to crawl under it. He took it and wrapped his arms around the taller man’s chest. “You bought face scrub, which is definitely not the same thing. Both are good though! Just, not that same.”

   “Yeah, well, I know that now,” Virgil muttered, burying his head in Roman’s hoodie.

   “We can do actual face masks after this if you want.” Roman offered, picking his phone back up. “Your pores could really benefit from one.”

   “You’re a dick. Turn that thing off.”

   “Love you too, bastard, but there’s no way in hell I’m turning this off.”

***

   The camera cuts again, and this time Virgil is in his bedroom. The window is open, and the sound of passing cars is almost inaudible but still present. His peach walls are bathed in a warm glow of the setting sun, a light breeze pushing his bangs up every so often.

   “Okay so, next up is Patton’s list. As per my own ‘rules’, I’m feeling mentally exhausted and ready to check the fuck out right now. But despite this, I’m actually… really excited for this one? It involves food, there’s no way this can go poorly.”

   The video cuts to footage of Virgil screaming as food on the stove erupts into flame. The 1812 Overture is playing the background. Whatever was in the pan is no longer food, as the burnt sustenance is bubbling in an ominous manner. The oven mitt is no longer on Virgil’s hand and is instead in a smoky heap on the kitchen counter.

   “No way this can go poorly” Virgil’s voice echoes as he runs off camera screaming. He returns with a fire extinguisher, the lens becoming jammed with foam just before the video cuts back to Virgil in his room eating Chinese takeout.

   “Okay so. It turns out it can go poorly. Patton said that making sure you eat, like, actual food and not six servings of chocolate cake with a glass of cherry coke on the side is supposed to help with the depression thing but like. It definitely didn’t help with the anxiety. Something about the food you worked to make tasting better?

   “So, I cheated and ordered take out. But hey! This stuff has got a bunch of veggies in it, so I think I won this round. Moving on,” Virgil puts the food down and leans down to grab something off the floor, “Patton also recommended watching some shows that I know I enjoy, so let’s do that next.” Virgil puts on the purple headphones he had grabbed and pulled his laptop onto his lap. He clicks off the light on his desk and plunges the room into darkness with only his computer light illuminating his face.

   “We’re watching the entirety of the Brooklyn Nine-Nine Halloween episodes, so be prepared for a highlight reel of that while I stuff my face with rice.” He twirls his finger around in a ‘roll film’ motion and kicks his feet up on the desk.

   The camera cuts to a black screen once more, the same upbeat music playing in the background. The text now read’s “Patton’s results”.

   The next few minutes is a series of clips strung together, many of them consisting of Virgil mouthing the lines along with the characters, and screeching with laughter. The last one shows him crying into his takeout, mumbling about how much he loves the relationship between Jake and Amy. He had taken his feet down from the desk at some point, now curled into his chair and bundled in his hoodie almost entirely.

   The video cuts away to a slightly more composed Virgil, who is now cuddling a pillow and scraping the bottom of the takeout box. His eye makeup had run down his face over the last few hours and he looked unnaturally pale in the weird lighting.

   “Yeah that uh,” He coughs awkwardly, “that worked. Ten out of three Patton, way to go. Got my brain to shut up for like, I don’t know, two hours?” He takes a deep breath and puts the takeout container on the desk. “It’s late, I think I’m gonna just do Logan’s and I’s lists tomorrow.”

***

   “Should I be concerned that he set the kitchen on fire and didn’t call anyone?” Patton whispered, pausing the video. “Why didn’t he call anyone? Did he get burned?”

   “I do not think you speeding to his house would have done any good, Patton, as he got the fire out by himself. That being said,” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, “he is not allowed to cook for game night. Ever. What was he even trying to make?”

   “He can join me in the kitchen ban, then. The store-bought cookie club just gained a new member.”

   “God help us if you ever cook together. I’d have to take out a loan for a new apartment. I already cannot pay my student loans, I fear the possibility of adding to my life debt.” Logan shuddered, reaching over to unpause the video.

***

   “Okay, good morning internet. It’s buttcrack early outside, I don’t even think the sun is up yet? That’s good, actually, and I’ll get to why later.

“So, all that’s left is Logan and I’s lists, and to be honest? Logan may have already won the whole thing, looking at this on paper. He actually cares about like, not dying by germs or some shit.,I can guarantee his list will be practical. I gotta go set some stuff up for my list, so hang tight.” The screen cuts to a slightly more awake Virgil.

   He grins and gives a tiny wave before tapping the screen to switch the camera and show a hammock.

   “So, I’m next. I’m also gonna save Logan’s advice for the end of the video so you guys watch this whole thing. Give people an incentive for sticking around. Because I can see the stats on this, I know half of you like, exit the video halfway through. Stay for the whole thing, dammit, I need the ad money.” He laughs, gently putting the camera down. The screen shows a new sunrise, one full of soft purples and oranges. Above the sun and its halo are a few stars that have yet to go out for the day, barely visible behind the hazy clouds. Virgil picks the camera back up, the footage shaky.

   The camera stills to a shot of Virgil’s legs, the hammock swaying gently in the breeze. A few frogs can be heard singing in the background and Virgil hums a few notes. His voice is low as he speaks, still rough from sleep.

   “Again, to follow my own rules: I feel so awful I don’t even want to talk about it, guys. Sorry.” Virgil is quiet for a while longer, the occasional whispered lyric picked up by the microphone. Eventually, he speaks once more, a lighter tone to his voice.

   “Sure, this looks peaceful, but if you could all hear what kind of music I’m listening to right now, you’d be calling my therapist. Hey, Paul, I apologize my bro, but wow are you not gonna like me the next time I’m in.

   “So yeah, my list is just ‘get sun and get songs’. You Gucci fam, just stay out here until you either feel good or get cold. Probably gonna be the last one but, hey, you tried. Gold star. Bring a blanket if you wanna aim for the best possible outcome.”

   The camera cuts again, this time looking down from what is assumed to be a porch. The sky is dark once more, and the only source of light is a small candle.

   “Huh. What do you know, the candle works after all. Spearmint -- the poor man’s anti-anxiety. You know, I actually looked that up. Spearmint is supposed to be a good stress reliever and some kind of mood booster. The more you know, huh?”

***

   “Virgil, what the hell does that mean?” Roman chuckled, rubbing Virgil’s arm.

   “It means that when I’m panicking at work I just pop in a breath mint and BAM I am suddenly closer to reality than I was ten seconds ago.”

   “Do I wanna know how you discovered that?”

   “I had a hangry panic attack in high school and the only thing I had to eat in my bag were breath mints I was meaning to gift to you.”

   “Oh, that’s pretty- hey.”

   “You could still use some, man. Keep your nasty breath away from me.”

   Roman just hummed, looking at Virgil from the corner of his eyes. He smiled softly, his eyes sad and concerned. Pulling him closer, he unpaused the video and listened as he continued to hold his friend.

***

   “And last but certainly not least, is the list of the late, great Logan. He’s not dead. He’s just always late to dinner dates. Like a pretentious nerd, his excuses are ‘oh, I was studying’, ‘oh, I had an exam’, or ‘Patton set the kitchen on fire again, call 911’. What an ass.

   “Anyway. This list, which doesn’t have a cool name because Logan is against emojis and stuff, just has like, five items on it. In order that is: brush your teeth, put on some clean clothes, wash your hair, put on some socks, and the last one is a surprise. Because it really took me off guard and I need you all to be as surprised as I was.

   “And right now, I just feel apathetic. In case someone gets upset that I didn’t mention I felt going into this, I just feel apathetic.”

   The video cuts away to Virgil’s bathroom once more, and the leftover mess from the other day can be seen in the sink.

“Uh. Just, just ignore that mess. You know what it’s from, I don’t feel bad about that. Anyway, teeth brushing. Let me just find the toothpaste…

“You know, I can’t remember if I bought toothpaste at the store. Of all the crap I bought, don’t think toothpaste made it into the bin. So, let’s just see if I still have any of the travel samples from the dentist.”

Virgil riffles through his cabinets, pulling out items such as combs, hair dye, bleach, and a bottle of pills. He hums for a second, before crouching down to look under the sink.

   “I feel like, and I could be the only one who experiences this, I feel like anything that gets put under the sink will never see the light of day. So maybe I won’t be brushing my teeth today- wait. Wait! Oh gosh, thank you Jesus- there’s a- there is a bottle in the back there, but I can’t reach it. Outta my way, makeup kit, I got teeth to be cleaned!”

   Virgil pops back into view, holding up a half used mini bottle of toothpaste. It’s the kid’s kind, that tastes like berries and bubblegum. He uncaps it and starts to squeeze it out onto his toothbrush buts stops short.

   “Why the hell are there sparkles in this thing? That- isn’t that a, like, choking hazard or some shit? Okay, sorry Logan, teeth brushing is not happening in this video. I think you’d agree with me on this. When you get to this point in the video, feel free to add toothpaste to our shopping list.”

***

   “Jokes on you, Virgil, I added it yesterday when I spent the night and had to use that monstrosity.”

   “I use that stuff all the time, Logan, there’s nothing wrong with it! Look at me, I’m perfectly fine!”

   “That’s… that’s a, uh, great point Patton. Explains a lot.”

***

   “Okay, so next on the list was clean clothes. I’m doing that off camera, you nasties, so hang tight for a word from our sponsors.”

   The screen is black, with white text reading “crofters plz sponsor us logan is desperate.”

   Virgil reappears, in the same hoodie and shirt. He smirks, pointing at a pile of clothes on the floor.

   “Ha, I own two of these hoodies and three of these shirts. I am a cartoon character, y’all will never see me in a different outfit. You can dream, but my job is to crush those dreams.” He makes a fist as he says this, laughing through his teeth as he tries to appear tough.

   The camera cuts again, this time showing Virgil singing into a hairbrush while a towel is wrapped around his head. The scene doesn’t last long, as we are once again taken back to Virgil’s bedroom where he is set up with a laptop. This time he’s on his bed and the curtains are drawn.

   “It said to wash your hair, and you can’t wash hair without serenading the monsters living behind the shower curtains we all feared when we were little. Just because we aren’t afraid of them doesn’t mean they aren’t real!

   “Anyway, this is the last part of Logan’s list. It’s actually really sweet? Like, I am a grown ass man, and I am not ashamed to say I sobbed over this.” He continues, voice starting to tremor.

   Virgil spins his laptop around to show a YouTube video that’s about half an hour long. The title reads, ‘the best of Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street’. Virgil sniffs real fast, raking a fist over his eyes.

   “He uh, he knew these guys were my heroes growing up. And he knew it would cheer me up. Guess w-hat man,” Virgil sniffs again, “It- it worked like a fu-fucking charm. I uh, I’m actually feeling things after going through your list, so like. Nice work, I guess, I owe you dinner. Like, dinner at a restaurant, not a cooking dinner because I don’t want to poison you.

   “Ahem. Anyway. That’s the best thing in this whole video, you win Logan. And that about wraps up the Thursday vlog. Thanks for listening everyone, here’s the obligatory ‘we’re gonna be okay’ message, because as corny as that is -- it’s true. Find yourself a Bert to go with your Ernie and it’ll be okay. Maybe throw in an Elmo or a Zoey if you wanna round out the group. And my metaphor is getting too complicated, so! Virgil out! See you this weekend for the next Theory of Real Activity -- Logan and I are joined by Patton this time and we get into wild shit this week, let me tell you.”

***

   “Well, what are we still waiting around here for?” Patton asked, turning his phone off. He disconnected the earbuds, stuffing his haphazardly into his front pocket. Logan winced at the sight, and quickly but carefully wound his up into their case.

   “I’ll text Virgil to make sure he knows to expect us. Patton, if you could text Roman?” Logan asks, standing up and smoothing out his shirt. Patton nods, already poking away at his phone.

Me: Greetings, Virgil. Patton and I are on our way over to your house if that is okay?

Virgil Jackson: cant tell you no, you practically live here

Me: Yes, well, that is true. Is there anything I should bring with us?

Virgil Jackson: would it be lame to say a hug

Me: Not at all. If there is anything this group is good for, it’s hugging and crying. The occasional yelling, but that could go either way.

Virgil Jackson: whatever nerd, get over here already

[what-happened-to-agent-georgia]

Identity Crisis

For the RvB Angst War ( @rvbficwars )

The original prompt was from @sxpaiscia: “hi! from the discord chat for the angst war: simmons keeping mistaken for jene (gene?) and even sarge and grif (if he comes back) just mistake the two soldiers, making simmons go crazy because they know him from years but this guy can easily take his place without nobody noticing. i hope u like this :)”

Thank you for the prompt, and I hope this lives up to the prompt’s expectations!

Also, blame @wordsysayswords, who’s sitting in the corner whispering “More AngstTM”, for the ending.

Word Count: 2127

Pairings: Grif/Simmons (implied, and who’s surprised? No one)

Warnings: Season 15 Spoilers up through Episode 10!!!!!! Canon-Typical Violence/Language, Non-Canonical Character Death

Summary: Who is Richard Simmons? The question’s been on his mind lately, driving him mad all day and keeping him up all night. It doesn’t help that Tucker’s been pointing out how much he and Gene are alike every time he gets a chance.

Who is Richard Simmons?

The question’s been on his mind lately, driving him mad all day and keeping him up all night.

It doesn’t help that Tucker’s been pointing out how much he and Gene are alike every time he gets a chance.

Sarge is still so sleep deprived, Simmons isn’t sure the guy knows his name, let alone realizes he’s called Simmons “Gene” eight times now.

Caboose has been calling him Gene Simmons (Simmons isn’t sure if this is a step up or a step down from ‘Simons’) since they met the Blues and Reds. No surprise there—Simmons isn’t even sure if Caboose is in on the joke. He called Agent Washington ‘Church’ for months.

Even Temple, who’s known Gene longer, messed up earlier that day:

“Geeeyimmons?” Simmons can hear the cringe in Temple’s voice when he realizes his mistake.

“I’m Simmons. Sim-mons,” Simmons sighs. “Honestly, we’re nothing alike!”

“Sorry,” Temple apologizes. “It’s just… you do have the same color armor. And you sound exactly the same.”

“His visor is blue!” Simmons points out.

“It is, sure, but I can’t see that when your back’s to me,” Temple says.

“We’re still nothing alike,” Simmons mumbles. Wash doesn’t say anything, just kind of looks awkwardly to the left.

Simmons sighs.

“Did you need something?” he asks.

“Actually, I was looking for Gene,” Temple admits.

“Ugh… he went that way,” Simmons says, gesturing off down a hallway to his right.

“Hey thanks, G—Simmons,” Temple says. Simmons watches him disappear down the hall.

He knows Temple didn’t mean anything by it, that Caboose is just confused, and Sarge is more zombie than human right now. In fact, the only person doing it on purpose is Tucker.

That somehow makes it worse.

Simmons finds himself glaring at his reflection in the mirror while the shower runs behind him, still in armor from the waist down, wondering what Gene looks like under his helmet.

Probably isn’t a cyborg, Simmons thinks. I’ve got that going for me.

And who knows if Gene is Dutch-Irish, right? If he even came from Earth.

Bet he can’t play the banjo.

Also, Gene doesn’t have a Grif. But… neither does Simmons, not anymore. It’s not that Simmons needs Grif to define him, it’s just. Simmons can let down his guard around Grif, can be himself around Grif. Sure, there was always teasing, but at the end of the day, Grif was a friend.

More than a friend.

He wishes Grif was here, to tell him to quit being an idiot.

If Grif was here, he’d be just as happy to point out how alike Gene and I am. Simmons knows this, but somehow, it’s different—different from Tucker’s jokes and Temple’s mix-ups.

It’s like—It’s like this. Grif calls Simmons a kiss-ass, Simmons retorts that Grif’s a fatass. They cross their arms and glare at each other. Five seconds later they’re talking about some of life’s greatest mysteries, or the worst superpower ever, their fight so stupid they’ve already forgotten it.

For years, they’ve had each other’s backs. There have certainly been days Simmons wants to punch Grif in his smug little face—but he’s not too stupid to realize Grif feels the same way about him. For years, they’ve enjoyed each other’s company, laughed at each other’s dumb jokes over a bottle of shitty moonshine, stood and faced down death together.

But now.

Now, apparently, Grif didn’t need him. Hated him even.

Simmons feels rage begin to boil in his stomach, fiery and dangerously close to overflowing. He’s felt this way a lot lately.

Fuck him. He thinks. After everything they’ve been through, everything they talked about, dreamt about, for Grif to just. Fucking say. ‘I quit’? Fuck him.

Simmons hates that, once again, his mind turned to the one thing he didn’t want to think about. Ever.

Shaking his head, he tries to focus on his reflection in the mirror, only to find it’s fogged up. He takes his hand and wipes it across the mirror, but even then, the face staring back at him is distorted and slowly fading behind fresh steam.

He waits until he can no longer see his reflection, then he sighs, finishes undressing, and gets in the shower.

**

Clean and sufficiently scalded, Simmons turns off the water and pulls on his pajama pants. It’s not until he’s brushing his teeth that he realizes his helmet’s on the counter behind him.

Funny. Pretty sure I left that in my room…

Spitting out toothpaste, Simmons moves over to his helmet. At first, he thinks it’s the lighting, but after a moment’s inspection, he realizes someone tampered with its visor.

And now it’s blue. Like Gene’s.

“Son of a bitch!” he yells. Without thinking, he takes his helmet and flings it across the bathroom.

It connects with the mirror and Simmons watches, blank-faced, as cracks spiderweb up the glass. There’s the telltale tinkling as shards fall, most of them landing on the counter and sink underneath.

Simmons realizes he’s been clenching his fists, and he looks down as he slowly relaxes his fingers. He can still see the scars (You wanna talk about it?) from where he punched the mirror in Blood Gulch.

At least it was my helmet and not my hand this time, Simmons thinks. He shuffles up to the broken mirror and peers into the sink. A dozen red-faced Simmons glare back at him, wide eyed and angry.

Simmons grabs his helmet and leaves the mess for someone else to deal with.

**

“Gene!” Temple barks from his office.

Here we go. Simmons sighs. He turns into Temple’s office, ready to give his “I’m Simmons” spiel for the fifth time today.

Before Simmons can say anything though, the door slides shut behind him and Temple, in the process of pulling his helmet on, says,

“It’s done.”

“What?”

“Agents Washington and Carolina are with the other Freelancers,” Temple says. He laughs, and Simmons feels chills slither down his spine.

“We’re all taking bets as to how long they survive down there,” Temple goes on. “My money’s on Carolina holding out the longest, but Surge thinks maybe Washington will outlive her.”

“Ah,” is all Simmons can manage.

“Well? What do you think, Gene?” Temple asks.

“Uh, well, I think that Carolina is the more… more logical choice,” Simmons says. Whatthefuckwhatthefuck—“I mean, isn’t she like, uh, wasn’t she the best Freelancer?”

“That she was,” Temple says. He sounds far away, and there’s a brief moment of silence in which Simmons is sure he’s going to be found out, sure that Temple can hear his mechanical heart going ape shit. But then Temple shakes his head.

“I need you to help me keep an eye on that reporter,” Temple says. “The Reds and Blues need watching too, of course, but they’re nowhere near as big a threat as she is.”

“Of course, sir,” Simmons says. “I’ll, uh, get right on it then?”

Temple nods dismissively and turns to stare out his window. A whale passes by. It might be amazing if Simmons wasn’t scared shitless.

Simmons takes slow, deliberate steps as he leaves Temple’s office, resisting the urge to sprint as fast as he can to warn the others.

Simmons counts his lucky stars Tucker thought it was funny to mess with his visor.

**

He knew coming back was going to be hard, knew there was a lot of shit he was going to have to answer for. He even expected getting shot at.

But Grif never fucking expected this.

This has got to be the most cliché, movie bullshit of all time, Grif thinks.

He’d complain about it if he didn’t have his gun aimed right down the middle of two Simmons. Fucking two of them, as if one kiss ass wasn’t enough.

They’re aiming their weapons at each other, babbling back and forth. They haven’t noticed him yet, and Grif is tempted to turn around and get the fuck out of there.

But he can’t.

“What the fuck is this bullshit?” he demands, his voice hitching slightly.

The Simmonses (Grif hates this) whip their heads around to face Grif.

“Grif?” the one on the left says.

“Oh, Grif, thank god you’re here,” the one on the right says. Grif is immediately suspicious of that one.

Simmons wouldn’t be happy to see him. Not after what he said on the moon.

The Simmons on the left is still staring at him, face inscrutable behind his visor. Why is it blue? Was it always blue?

“Don’t just stand there, fat ass,” the Simmons on the right snaps, “Fucking shoot him!”

Okay, maybe that one is the real Simmons.

“Shut up, kiss ass,” Grif says, “How do I even know you’re Simmons?”

“H—he’s not!” Left Simmons (Grif is confusing himself now) finally speaks up. “I’m Simmons!”

“Nuh-uh, I am!” Right Simmons argues.

Grif is starting to get a headache.

“C’mon, Grif,” Right Simmons says, “You know me!”

“The only thing I know is you’re both being a pain in the ass!” Grif snaps. He has the sudden urge to just shoot them both and be done with it.

“Hey, fuck you,” Left Simmons says. “You don’t have two guns pointed at your face!”

That’s when Grif realizes he’s slowly started moving his gun to aim it at Left Simmons. He jerks it back so it’s centered again.

The Simmonses still have their guns aimed at each other. Both have blue visors, and both are shouting at him with the same frantic voice.

“Shut up!” Grif shouts. Left Simmons huffs and Right Simmons sputters a short protest before going silent.

Grif can hear gunfire from elsewhere in the base. They don’t have time for this, Kai is up there on her own, and while Grif doesn’t doubt his sister’s abilities, he’s worried there are more doubles upstairs. Is there a copy of him? Would Kai realize it?

Then it hits him.

He knows how to figure out which Simmons is his Simmons.

“What happened at the Vegas Quadrant?” He asks.

**

Of all the questions he could’ve asked, it had to be about the fucking Vegas Quadrant. Simmons wants to scream.

What happened at the Vegas Quadrant? Absolutely nothing.

Well, nothing to write home about.

They went out, they got shitfaced, they went back to their hotel, they ordered a pizza, then they crashed while watching Battlestar Galactica.

It was the best night Simmons ever had, and he hasn’t had a better one ever since. It’s the night he realized he would follow Grif anywhere, because he couldn’t begin to imagine the universe without that fatass by his side.

But Simmons hadn’t wanted to fuck up their friendship, make it weird between them. If he lost Grif, well. He didn’t want to think about it.

So, he never brought up the Vegas Quadrant again.

Not that it did any good.

Grif left him anyway.

And now he’s here.

Asking about the fucking Vegas Quadrant.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he snaps.

**

Right Simmons doesn’t miss a beat.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says.

“That’s not good enough,” Grif says.

Grif turns to look at Left Simmons.

“Fuck. You, Grif,” Left Simmons says.

Grif raises an eyebrow, but then he remembers they can’t see his face.

“Excuse me?” he says.

“Fuck you,” Left Simmons repeats. “You know I don’t want to talk about that. Fuck you. Just—you know what? Just fucking shoot me now.”

“Huh?” Grif lowers his gun a few millimeters.

“You heard me, fatass,” Left Simmons snaps. “Just shoot me. It would be better than talking about—about the Vegas Quadrant.”

“Hey!” Right Simmons chimes in. “He’s not the real Simmons, he’s just copying what I said!”

“Oh, shut up, Gene,” Left Simmons snaps, turning to face Right Simmons again.

“I’m—I’m not Gene, you’re Gene!” Right Simmons sputters.

Left Simmons sighs and looks at Grif again.

“C’mon then, get it over with,” he says. “I’m taking what happened that day to my fucking grave.”

Grif raises his gun.

Fires.

**

“Oh, thank god,” Gene sighs. “I thought you were gonna shoot me.”

“Only you would die before telling anyone about what happened in the Vegas Quadrant,” Grif says.

“Yeah, well.” Gene doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to blow his cover when he just barely made it out of that shit show alive.  

“I’d love to sit here and talk about our feelings,” Grif says, “But I think that’ll have to wa—”

There’s an explosion overhead (“Good boy, Freckles!”).

“Come on, Simmons,” Grif beckons. He turns to leave.

“Goodbye, Grif,” Gene says.

“Wh—”

Bang!

Grif is dead before he hits the ground.

“Two down, seven to go.”