no scrubs.
tlc’s “no scrubs” but it’s red vs blue & it’s a shitty wattpad-style fic. pls enjoy. if you don’t you’re a coward and a scrub.
"Tucker... I can't do this anymore." A breeze whipped by and thrust Wash's frosty locks directly into the pupils of shale thunder cement pavement cloud gray eyes, instantly blinding him. "I'm sorry. I love you. But I just can't be with you." Tucker melted into a pool of tears of whiny-bitchness. "WHAHHHHHHHHHHY WASH WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME I"M TRY SO HARD MMMMSJAGHHHAGHMMAHDEHH" Wash patted his now ex-boyfriend's head. "I'm sorry... You're just not EdgyTM enough for me. We can still be-" "DON"T SAY FRIENDS YOU COWARD ASS BOTTOM BITCH," Tucker shriekded and whaPOW smacked the shit out Wash's ain't-shit ass. Tucker stormed off. He had given this man SO MUCH OF HIS FECKING TIME just to be PASSED OFF LIKE YESTERDAY'S FECKING LEFTOVERS. Who did Wash think he was, York or some shit? Tucker wasn't to be passed up like that. Uh-huh. No feckin' way, BETCH. He paused in the door. "Oh, and Washyboi?" Wash looked up with his somber Emo Band Frontman Gray Eyes. "Yes, ba- Tucker?" "I'm PREGNENT. It's SIMMONS'." From a distant pizza-scented heartbreak scene: "It's WHO'S? oH, GOD, NOOOO." It sounds orange. Tucker sweeps out of the scene like the bad bitch he is, leaving that ol' aint-shit-ass Freelancer behind. Fuck that mess. Ain't nobody got time for that. Honestly, how the feck do you pair a Lavernius with a David? What kind of white boy bullsh- Wash dissolved in angst and despair. He knew he was just a scrub. It wasn't his fault. Ever since Carolina returned, Wash had been unable to forget his one true love: Dr. Leonard Church.
uwu
Elsewhere, AKA the aforementioned heartbreak scene, Simmons had just woken up from a terrible traumatic nightmare about Grif falling off the cliff. Thank fuck the Meta died, right? No way in hell anyone present at that fight gave a half-shit about that fucking monstrosity. Simmons sighed in relief. All that mattered was that Grif had lived. Ol' nerd-ass maroon duderino hopped out of bed to go lay on his boyfriend, to find Grif had drowned himself in pizza. How? Fuck you and your physics. He just did. Simmons fell to his knees in despair. "NOOOOOOOO-" On the wall he saw it: "I can't believe you M-Pregnated Tucker." Simmons cried because, even now, after all this time- Always- He was just a fuckin' scrub.
uwu
Tex was above everyone else because she KNEW Church was a scrub. I know I just talked about the Meta fight and Tex is canonically dead but fuck you you don't know what the hell time setting is. This could be an AU. It's not. But it could be. It's just fucking canon. Somewhere in another,,,, Tex was reflecting on her own ain't-shit-ass boyfriend, and his ain't-shit-ass original form. They were both ain't-shit-ass. Church, in every iteration, was a goddamn scrub. And Tex was just boss-ass enough to make up for all the ain't-shit-ass Church brought to the relationship. She knew why they lasted. She knew why they made it when Grif and Simmons fell apart because of Simmons being a scrub. She knew why their love was stronger than Tucker and Wash's. It was because her soulmate being a scrub was just some shit she already been knew. It was no shocking revelation, no horrible plot twist, no Wattpad fantasy drama, no telenovela stress scene. It was just a fucking fact that everyone who met Leonard Church was aware of: he was a scrub. Tex loved him anyway. Tex loved him even more because her scrubmate made her look so much more boss-ass in comparison. Fuck you, Leonard Church, she thought, and sighed in contentment. You ain't-shit-ass scrub, I love you so goddamn much.
uwu
Back to the plot, Tucker fell off a cliff or astronomy tower or something else edgy and dramatic because fuck you scrub-ass Wash he IS Edgy-TM. Simmons cried some fucking more because even though he was a hoediddyhoebag he still loved that child. This why you don't do tequila, ladies and gents. Simmons cried to Sarge, "I jahahahust dohohon't u-u-understYAAAAND-" To which Sarge promptly replied, "Get your sorry ass off my steel-toed boots before I crush your thick skull open, Private. You lookin' to get an ass-kickin' this early in the morning?" "Yes, Daddy." "What the chicken FUCK did you just say????" And that's the story of how Richard Simmons died.
uwu
The only people who don't belong in this fucking fic because they are PERFECT and have never loved or been a scrub or Doc and Donut. I would like to take this time to tell you just how perfect they are. But I'm not gonna do that. Figure out your damn self. If you think they're not soulmates, you're wrong. If you think they're scrubs, I'll meet you behind the Denny's and personally explain to you how the fuck hydrogen fusion works on the sun. Does it? No. Nothing works on the sun. And you won't either. You'll just
uwu
Sarge tromped into the room where Wash was still fucking dying in his own ball of emo angst. If this were a My AI(mmortal), Wash would've already done things that would cause me to add trigger-warnings to this fic, which I'm not gonna do because I'm lazy. Deal with it preps uwu Sarge marched right up to that ain't-shit-ass bumblescrub and grabbed him by his bumblescruff. "What in Sam Hill did you do to this place? Grif is dead, Simmons is dead, Tucker threw himself off a cliff-" "he did WHAT?" "He's dead, John." "My name is Da-" "I don't give a freckled ass's shit what your name is, Private. What did you do to my boys?" "I..." He threw a hand over his forehead like the edgy melodramatic shit he is, unaware of the storm he had culled. "I broke up with Tucker." Sarge, on the outside, just seemed like regular Sarge. "And why did you do that?" "Carolina being around... She reminded me of my one true love." Sarge's grip didn't tighten. His visor didn't show the red he saw. "And who would that be, Private?" "I'm not actually-" "AND WHO WOULD THAT BE, PRIVATE?" "Director Leonard Church." Sarge lost all inhibitions. Not another goddamn Church-fucker. The only Church-fucker allowed in this hell-base was Caboose, the one good blue. Sarge's boot met Wash's chest and yeeted him all the way to Denny's, where I waited to explain hydrogen fusion on the Sun. Everything was done. Everything was over. There was one thing left on this hell-base. One. Sarge was no scrub. Sarge was not and never had been in love with a scrub. He was immune to the Curse of the Scrubs, AKA the reason all these whiny bottoms died today. He departed from Wash's death scene to do what he should've done a long time ago. He went to his bedroom. Lopez waited there. And no, it's not what you think. Sarge opened his dresser drawer. "Lopez... I ever tell you about my OTP?" "No." Sarge removed them from the drawer and brought the gift to his robo-son. "Well, son, it's time you learned. I made you, and that makes me God, of everything but the Blues. Those were produced by the Devil. And these- these were made for you. That makes them your soulmate." In Spanish, Lopez said something like, "Please don't." Sarge chuckled. "You're welcome, son." And he placed the cat ears on Lopez. It was done. Everything. It was the end. Sarge's OTP, at last, was canon.
