Cosimo Galluzzi
Noah Kahan
No title available
@theartofmadeline
Kiana Khansmith
Product Placement
Color Me Curious
Not today Justin
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
Interview Vampire Daily
The Stonewall Inn
izzy's playlists!
todays bird
blake kathryn
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Sweet Seals For You, Always
$LAYYYTER
No title available
Fai_Ryy
shark vs the universe
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Bulgaria
seen from Vietnam
seen from Germany
seen from South Africa
seen from Canada
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States
seen from Colombia
seen from Norway
seen from Mongolia
seen from Germany
seen from South Korea
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Belarus
seen from Singapore
@2spooky-ricknmorty
Mun note: sorry I've been gone so long! After busting my ass on Xmas gifts I be either been with family or busting my ass making a cosplay, so I haven't had time to devote to the AU. That's changing though! Hopefully I can start uploading content again soon and also working through all the lovely asks and comments I've gotten. I hope everyone's had a wonderful holiday season, I love you all <3
Happy Human Holiday Y'all
After the incident at the Smith House, Rick and Mordecai found themselves between a rock and a hard place. It was clear the Smiths were incapable of seeing Morty. He would stay with Rick.
As a result there was the unspoken agreement that Morty wouldn’t go see the Smith family until they were ready for him—if that ever happened. Morty was still shaken by the shock and pain on their faces, and Rick certainly wasn’t gonna force Morty or Beth or Summer or even Jerry into such a situation again.
And so Rick went to family events alone. Holidays and the occasional dinner passed without Morty’s presence. Mordecai always put on a brave face when Rick would leave for the Smith residence.
“Don’t worry about me, Rick. I-I’ll be fine. I’ve got plenty of photography and paranormal research to work on. Have fun!” He’d say, smiling as cheerily as the teen was able.
Easier said than done. Rick didn’t want to hurt his family, but he also hated seeing Morty shunned. If he brought Morty along everyone would be miserable. But leaving Morty behind was also it’s own misery. Though no one would say anything the Smiths all knew who was sitting alone in Ricks home. It was the brown haired, green eyed elephant in the room no one dared to address.
Whenever Rick returned from family events he’d always find Morty working almost feverishly on whatever task he’d decided on setting himself to. It was as if the teen hoped to keep the sorrow of being alone at bay. It sickened Rick. Sometimes he fantasizes about dragging Morty to the Smiths then and there; force them to see how they were torturing the boy. Rick always grit his teeth and bit back that reaction though. Venting his spleen would make him feel better, but might not solve anything.
Instead he’d drag Morty away from whatever he was working on (often amid frustrated protests) and insist on doing something, anything to bring Mordecai out of his doldrums. At first Morty was confused and defensive, but eventually he recognized the pattern, and then it almost became a game. Morty would protest and complain and Rick would harass him into complacency, but Rick suspected Morty was keeping a mental list of things to do for these occasions.
Usually this boiled down to an impromptu movie marathon of Mortys choice, and scarfing down an ungodly amount of takeout Chinese. Sometimes though they’d go shopping, or just out on the town. A few times they went to check out supernatural sites Morty had been interested in checking out.
Regardless of what they did though Rick took a great amount of pleasure in seeing the moment when Morty would shake off his sorrows and forget the Smiths and just enjoy the moment with Rick. There were many things the old mystic couldn’t do for his not-quite grandson, but he was glad he could always do this.
Send a symbol for a headcanon about my muse.
◎: What is your muse’s most prized mundane possession? Why do they value it so much? ★: What is your muse’s idea of perfect happiness? ☩: Your muse is doing some intense spring cleaning. What is easy for them to throw out, and what is difficult for them to part with? ♠: What’s the worst thing your muse has done to someone they loved? ♢: In what situation would your muse feel most out of their comfort zone? ♣: What’s your muse’s biggest cause of stress or anxiety? ✚: What is the most frightening potential handicap or disfigurement your muse can conceive? What makes it so frightening? ✔: What did your muse want to be when they were a child? Did they go on to do this and if so, was it everything that they hoped it would be? Or has this desire changed since, and why? ❖: What is the attitude and appearance that your muse presents in public? How does this differ from the attitude they have in private, when they are alone? ✿: Which one act in your muse’s past are they most ashamed of? Which one act in their past are they most proud of? ➜: What sort of things does your muse keep in their pockets on any given day? ￭: If one of your muse’s friends was asked to describe them in a handful of words for a profile on a dating site, what would they say? ‽: Who or what, if anything, would your muse die for or otherwise go to extremes for? ▼: What would you find in your muse’s refrigerator right now? ♛: If your muse had to die, how would they like to go? And if they could come back as a person or animal, what would it be? ❸: Name three things your muse considers themselves to be very good at, and three things they consider themselves to be very bad at. ❦: If your muse was having a nightmare, what would be the worst one that they could suffer? ♫: What is one thing that your muse thinks they are talented at, but actually aren’t? ♞: Who was your muse’s idol when they were growing up? Who did they first fantasize about being like? ✱: What is your favourite ‘happily ever after’ for your muse? And what’s your most unconventional ‘ever after’ headcanon for them (happily or otherwise)? ✦: What is your muse’s fondest childhood memory? ♯: What would be the perfect gift for your muse? ❤: What is your muse’s perfect romantic date? ☮: When and where was your muse happiest? ☥: If events in your muse’s life had gone very differently to how they did, what would they have done with their life? What sort of occupation might they have chosen for themselves and would they, in your opinion, be happier than they are now? ☢: If your muse knew that they were going to die in 24 hours, name three things they would do in the time they had left. ☠: What is the one thing for which your muse would most like to be remembered after their death? ✎: Growing up, did your muse have a teacher or mentor figure? What was their relationship like? ✄: How does your muse perceive themselves, both internally and externally? How does this differ from how other people may see them? ✈: Was your muse popular as a child? Did they have many friends, and are they still in touch/still aware of what they are doing with their lives now? ♐: What is your muse particularly unskilled at? ☯: Who, if anyone, does your muse consider to be their best friend?
Rick 2-5P00K Playlist
So @syren-marie has been an incredible, beautiful, loving soul and MADE RICK HIS OWN PLAYLIST<3333333
I am so in love with this playlist its so perfect for Rick and great inspiration for future stuff so I wanted to share it with everyone.
Unfathomable
I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I do!
@2spooky-ricknmorty
Omgomgomgomg look at this baggy-eyed jerk, I love him <33333
Rick Meets Morty, Morty Meets Rick - Chapter 3
Chapter 1 Here
Chapter 2 Here
Summary: Rick 2-5P00K is called to the Citadel of Ricks on important business. He has no idea what he’s in for. Morty L-057 knew he’d be assigned a new Rick, but honestly he didn’t know what he expected. The story of Morty L-057 and Rick 2-5P00K meeting for the first time, and the aftermath.
(Mun notes: Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, it’s been a very busy week! This is the “end” of this story, even though I’ve written a little bit past this point. I don’t know what I’ll do next, but I really loved writing this! I’ve put in page breaks of sorts in the form of —-, these indicate either a scene change or a perspective change, which will switch between Rick and Morty as needed. Thoughts are italicized. Probably gonna be 3-4 chapters. Enjoy!)
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It felt less good however, when his phone sang shrilly a short time later, nearly launching Rick off the couch in shock. He contemplated killing the phone, shooting it, breaking it, or shooting or breaking the person who dared bother Rick when he had a fucking hangover, but amid curses and expletives and profanities he somehow managed to fumble the phone from one of his many pockets and adjusted his glasses.
Beth Smith. His Beth was calling. Seeing her name on his Caller I.D. made the gears in Rick’s mind slowly putter into motion. The phone rang again in his hand, and briefly Rick considered ignoring it for the sake of sleep. But even in his toxin-blurred mind he knew Beth only called her father if something important was going on. Typically this meant his presence was required at a family gathering. Rarely this meant an emergency.
Rick looked around his living room, weighing the odds of which category this call fell into. The room was empty. He vaguely remembered it was not empty when he last saw it. He tried to focus on what was off about the empty room, but between the ringing phone and the screaming, skull-shattering headache his Eye and his hangover was giving him (the Third Eye always saw fit to kick him when he was already down) Rick couldn’t put his finger on it. Rick massaged his temples and hit the talk button on the phone, figuring he could get it over with and silence one of his offenders.
“H-*euuuuulll* -o?” Rick managed to belch out, expecting to hear his daughter’s sunny response.
“M-Mo-Morty….He’s here.” Beth’s voice was quiet, fearful; she sounded like she was about to faint or cry or both. Then the line went dead. Oh….shit. Morty.
The fog of liquor vanished from Rick’s mind with its newfound clarity came a wave of dread. Morty. He’d forgotten about Morty.
Rick was not a responsible man by any means. That was precisely why he chose to live on his own, rather than attempt to be responsible for things like a pet or a family or even a respectable member of society. He knew this and he knew his paternal knowledge would fill a thimble and so he enthusiastically avoided it. His life being a dangerous one plagued with any number of supernatural threats also drove him towards this lifestyle. Rick Sanchez preferred the solitary lifestyle; it allowed him to do what he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted.
Despite Rick’s abhorrence of being put in a position of responsibility, he couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt settling in his stomach like a stone. He didn’t need the third Eye to see what had happened. Rick stormed out of the house to self-medicate and to avoid being beholden to the Council of Ricks or held accountable for a wayward Morty. In the moment nothing else mattered other than him shaking his anger and discomfort with the situation. Events that angered or bothered Rick resulting in a debaucherous binge was not odd for Rick; having the aftereffects reach his family was.
The Morty, abandoned in an unfamiliar house on and unfamiliar Earth in an unfamiliar dimension, was undoubtedly confused and scared. He probably waited for Rick to come back. Rick saw empty snack containers poking out of the trashcan, and cleaned drink glasses in the kitchen giving validity to his guess. But when Rick didn’t return for what were very likely days the Morty looked for a way out. An opened letter from Beth on the coffee table told Rick all he needed to know. Feeling abandoned by Rick, Morty had found out where the Smiths in this dimension lived.
“That dumbass idiot,” Rick swore under his breath, and immediately began searching his pockets. He probably thinks this was all planned, that we all knew he was coming.
After Morty 2-5P00K was murdered, the Smiths—Jerry, Beth, and Summer, were never quite the same. The death of Mortimer Smith weighed heavily on them all, especially on Rick, who blamed himself for his grandson’s death. The family carried on as best they could, but the memories of Morty haunted them, even two years later. Rick tended to keep his distance from the family, not wanting to be around as a walking reminder the supernatural world and of their loss.
Morty L-057, not knowing any better, went to their home. No wonder Beth sounded so terrified. With no warning, an older lookalike of their dead son had appeared on their doorstep.
And it was all Rick’s fault. Unprepared as he was for the Morty being placed in his care his family knew even less. There was no way Rick could just leave them to deal with the consequences of his own selfish actions. Even the Morty deserved better.
After desperately rifling through pockets Rick withdrew his portal gun, silently relieved it had stayed put through his inebriated escapades. Rick input the coordinates for the Smith household and rising from the couch, strode into the portal’s emerald depths.
----
Rick emerged from the portal in front of the Smith’s doorstep. Normally he would have portaled somewhere more discreet, or even inside the house itself, but right now creating a portal anywhere in the house could possibly worsen the situation inside. Frankly Rick didn’t give a damn who saw him anyways. Not bothering to stow his portal gun the mystic took a deep breath and gripped the handle of the front door.
No one greeted him when he opened the unlocked door; only silence and a crushing aura of dread. The hair on Rick’s arms prickled at the feeling. He could hear the quiet droning of the television in the living room, but it was almost as if the house has ceased breathing. It was like it was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable break. It all centered on the small figure before him.
Morty in his yellow shirt and blue jeans, with his brown locks and green eyes, stood a few steps within the living room. Past him Rick could see the Smiths. Summer on the couch had dropped her phone; tears streamed silently down her tanned cheeks. Jerry next to her was shaking, making the coffee mug in his hands spill its contents; he didn’t notice. Beth stood in the doorway to the kitchen. She was pale, biting her lip to keep from sobbing, though her eyes were still glossy with shock and grief. They all stared at Morty. No one moved or breathed.
I did this. Rick wanted to run again. He wanted to run and hide and curl himself up in a bottle and not confront the maelstrom in front of him. He wanted to escape, and yet, he knew he couldn’t abandon Beth and Summer and even Jerry. Even the Morty. If he did, four lives would undoubtedly be irreparably broken. Rick had created this mess, and against all his screaming flight instincts, he would be the one to clean it up. Or at the very least try.
Rick’s grip tightened on the portal gun, steeling himself for what he had to do. He strode forward into the living room, feet striking the hardwood floor, and then whispering against the plush carpet. All heads turned to Rick as he entered; all confused and silently pleading for aid. Rick could hear Beth say “Dad?” in the same frail voice he heard on the phone. The older man tried to look unconcerned and casual as he stood beside Morty, but he gave away his anxiety in the white-knuckle grip on the portal gun, and the flick of his eyes around the room, looking everywhere and nowhere.
From his new vantage point Rick could see the Morty better. Morty L-057 was staring wide-eyed and scared at the Smiths. His lip trembled and he bit it, hard. The teen was sheet-white and trembling visibly. He was aware that he had broken some taboo, but clearly didn’t understand what or why the Smiths looked at him like they would a ghost. Rick felt his heart twist in his chest. Poor kid…..poor Morty.
Rick reached out and gripped the teenager’s arm. Rick could feel his hand shaking and it made his grip hard, too strong, but he was fairly certain Morty couldn't feel it, not now. Morty jolted and green eyes snapped up to his, scared, questioning, pleading silently with the older man for answers, an escape---anything. He saw the teen’s lips form the letters oh his name, though he couldn’t hear the plea-- “Rick”.
He couldn’t fix this, didn’t know how to. Rick didn’t know how to fix it within himself. He just ran from it, ran till it became someone else’s problem, made others suffer because he was selfish. He didn’t know what to say or do, he couldn’t even begin to process how to explain this. The Smiths knew about the Council of Ricks, but it was one thing to know about infinite realities and infinite Mortys and another thing to suddenly have a virtual clone of their dead son, aged to how old theirs would be in the living room. Morty was suddenly in their lives, like a ghost come back to haunt them.
“Morty,” Rick said quietly, desperately trying to keep his voice from shaking and wholly unable to maintain eye contact. “It’s time to go.” For the second time Rick’s fingers closed around Morty’s arm, and for the second time he led the teen away. This time though, Morty kept pace with Rick’s longer strides, as if he was as eager for an escape as Rick was.
Outside the front door another green portal provided the two with an escape route. Rick was never so grateful to step into the swirling green vortex.
----
Once again Rick and Morty stepped into the living room of Rick’s house. Rick realized he was still gripping Morty’s arm and dropped his hand lamely to his side. The motion seemed to jerk Morty out of his daze. He looked from where Rick had held onto his arm to Rick himself. Morty’s lips moved to form words but noting came out. Rick could see a dozen different expression flit across his young features. He looked angry, desperate, scared, sad, confused, and also tired. Ultimately, he looked overwhelmed.
Morty looked pleadingly up at Rick, meeting eyes again, as if begging for Rick to do something. Rick however, had no clue what he could possibly do, and only stood there awkwardly, inert. Seeing Rick’s lack of action, Morty’s eye’s welled with the tears he’d been holding back for so long. Morty grimaced, screwing his eyes shut, and all but ran for the downstairs bathroom. Rick couldn't help but flinch as the door slammed shut and heard the teens wracking sobs echo form within. Rick half wished he could bring himself to join him.
Rather than give in to his own emotional distress Rick produced his flask and finding it empty, he reached for one of the many bottles scattered around the room. Note to self, invent a bottomless flask. Rick felt certain he was going to need it for the future, for what was to come.
Against all his wishes and better judgment, Rick now had a Morty.
----
For the rest of the day (Rick eventually realized it was mid-morning when he’d gone to remove Morty from the Smith household, and that he had partied and binged for three days before stumbling back to his house) Rick rested in his third-floor bedroom. The events of the morning and the last several days finally caught up to him, and though he had shaken off his hangover under duress, he was still bone-tired. He’d rather be working, but he figured if he tried, he’d probably fall asleep at his workbench. Rather than risk waking up with horrible backache, he opted to relax. He dozed a little, drank a little, and smoked a lot. Rick’s garnet eyes were unfocused as he watched the colored smoke swirl above him, pondering the situation he found himself in.
Rick was now responsible for a Morty. Despite all his efforts to not be saddled with a sidekick it happened anyways. The thought still made him uncomfortable, but at the same time he knew he couldn’t send Morty to the Smiths; the events of the morning were evidence enough that wasn’t an option. He also couldn't just tell Morty to get lost. Destiny more or less demanded Ricks and Mortys stuck together. The Council would probably rip his ass apart for abandoning a Morty. Rick was also pretty certain he couldn’t just shove anyone out the door into an unfamiliar dimension. He was a prick, but that was too much, even for him. Rick still felt a very real sense of guilt for leaving Morty alone long enough that he felt the need to seek out the Smiths. He knew he’d eventually have to talk to Beth about what had happened. Maybe they’d be willing to take Morty then? But till then, if it ever happened, Morty would have to stay with Rick. Rick sighed, exhaling a puff of Technicolor smoke. Yes, he was a father, a grandfather, but he felt wholly unprepared to be solely accountable for another human being, whether that human being was a Morty or not didn’t matter.
He likes weird shit like you. The Security Rick’s words echoed in his head, making Rick clench his fists at the memory. We figured you’d be THRILLED to have a Morty that’s into the same supernatural crap you are. But Rick wasn’t. He detested the idea of anyone, let alone a Morty, willingly pursuing the arcane. Rick interacted with the supernatural because he had no choice. The supernatural world hounded him relentlessly. Being born with the Third Eye Rick made the best of it and proceeded to make himself the best damn mystic in the ‘verse. Despite his confidence in his own hard work and skill Rick didn’t wish his life on anyone.
After all, an interest in the arcane is what ultimately killed his grandson, his own Morty. Another sigh, another cloud of smoke. Rick didn’t want another Morty to attempt to follow in his footsteps. He was terrified of another Morty being killed in his care. His Morty’s face flashed across his mind and he massaged his temples. Rick couldn't lose another Morty. There was no way he could let it happen. Rick nodded resolutely, confident that he could convince this new Morty to not walk so blindly down so dangerous a path.
Of course, that’s only one problem. There was a long list of things Rick would have to do to prepare to live with a Morty. He’d have to move around the house to make room for the kid and redo the wards around the house at the very least. It was only by the luck of using the portal gun to arrive inside the house that Morty wasn’t crisped by the battery of wards Rick laid around the house’s exterior. Maybe I could get away with just making an amulet. Brat would just have to wear it. Rick turned the options over in his mind. His mind. Shit. Rick would have to work hard to not let the Third Eye slip open around Morty. He did not want to see what was inside the kid. Rick was fairly certain whatever he saw would be similar to his own deceased Morty, and despite his many decades of heart-hardening adventures, Rick wasn’t sure he could handle the sight.
“Motherfucking dipshit Rick-douches making me take a brat so I can’t even be comfortable in my own home.” He grumbled, reaching for the liquor bottle on his nightstand. “Damn Mo-*ourrrr*ty brat liking the supernatural like a fucking idiot. He don’t know shit.” He flopped back on the bed, feeling very tired and overwhelmed and defeated. “Fuck me.”
----
Through his balcony doors Rick watched the daylight wane to the crimson hues of sunset, and then the soft purples of evening. He contemplated staying in his room all night, put off any further drama till morning, but his stomach grumbled angrily at the notion and he recalled that he hadn’t eaten anything in the better part of three days. Well, he was pretty sure he hadn’t eaten anything. He honestly didn't remember. In any case he needed food and opted to live by his one time-honored rule of “booze ain’t food.” As much as he tried to live off the hooch the hooch would not provide actual sustenance.
Rick sat up slowly and stretched, groaning in satisfaction as his joints flexed and popped. He reasoned he might as well get this inevitable talk over with. Rick slipped on his beloved red robe, placed his round glasses on the bridge of his nose, ran his hands through his salt and pepper hair, and padded downstairs.
At some point in the day Morty had left the confines of the bathroom and was now sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest. He was staring blankly out one of the living room windows at the evening lights, clearly absorbed in his own thoughts. When Rick reached the bottom of the steps Morty glanced briefly at the older man, but just as quickly turned back to the window. Judging by the hunch of his shoulders and how he had curled in on himself as much as possible, Rick figured Morty was still very uncomfortable. His eyes were red and his face was puffy from crying. Not that I can blame him.
Doing his best to appear unruffled Rick padded across the room to the front door and left the house. He was willing to bet Morty was having an anxiety attack over Rick leaving the house again, so he did his best to be quick.
Rick returned a short time later, opening the door as if this was nothing new. Morty hadn’t moved an inch, but his head swiveled to Rick as he entered the room. It looked like Morty was trying to look equally unruffled, but Rick didn’t miss the small wave of relief that flitted across his features.
Rick cleared his throat held up the plastic bag in his hand containing sodas and gas station burritos, and gave his best attempt at sounding friendly. “Let’s talk.”
Rick Meets Morty, Morty Meets Rick - Chapter 2
Chapter 1 Here
Summary: Rick 2-5P00K is called to the Citadel of Ricks on important business. He has no idea what he’s in for. Morty L-057 knew he’d be assigned a new Rick, but honestly he didn’t know what he expected. The story of Morty L-057 and Rick 2-5P00K meeting for the first time, and the aftermath.
(Mun notes: Picking up where Ch.1 left off. Thanks for all the positive feedback everyone <3 It means the world to me! I’ve put in page breaks of sorts in the form of —-, these indicate either a scene change or a perspective change, which will switch between Rick and Morty as needed. Thoughts are italicized. Probably gonna be 3-4 chapters. Enjoy!)
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Well, that went about as poorly as possible. Morty sighed, slumping in one of the chairs in his temporary sitting room. The Security Ricks had taken off after the other Rick, leaving Morty to his thoughts. He worried his lower lip with his teeth, trying desperately to think about something---anything other than what had just transpired and failing utterly.
W-w-what did you h-eurrrrh-nestly expect, Morty? His thoughts sounded like his own Rick, irritated and chastising. Did you, did you think it’d be all sunshine and fucking daisies? You’re a Rickless Morty. You LOST your Rick. He’s a Mortyless Rick which means *eurphhh* one of two things: either he’s never had a Morty, or his died, too. You’re not exactly chomping at the proverbial bit either M-ourrrrrph-ty.
Morty noticed his vision had blurred. He wiped at his eyes angrily. The Ricks could be back anytime and the last thing he wanted was to appear weak. Despite that, thinking of Rick, his Rick, now Rick L-057, ached deep in his chest. His Rick was gone, and this new Rick clearly wanted nothing to do with him. Behind his glasses, those eyes—so full of shock and hatred and…
Fear?
Morty had missed it when it was happening; he was anxious and scared himself. But thinking back, that Rick had clearly been scared. This revelation shocked Morty out of his moping. Fear….like my Rick when he put me in the ship. The eyes were bespectacled and burgundy, not blue, and the skin around those eyes were less wrinkled and significantly more tanned, but it was unmistakable--- they were they eyes of a Rick. Sure Morty knew that all Ricks were similar, they sure as hell looked alike a lot of the time, but he’d taken it for granted. He’d never really thought about it beyond the surface.
Mordecai undoubtedly looked like that Rick’s original Morty too, most Morty’s looked almost like clones, provided there was indeed, an original Morty. And if his Morty died…..
Morty would have been uncomfortable too.
Not that this helps my situation at all. Morty figured odds were good he’d never see that Rick again, the way he stormed out. No doubt he’s taking it up with the Council. Ricks are so goddamn dramatic. Heaven forbid anyone tell them what to do. He sighed, running his hands through his hair. Guess I’m on my own again. Alone.
Sure Morty had planned on continuing his own research, regardless of what Rick he ended up with, but it had never really occurred to him that no Rick might want him. It was a sobering thought. Ricks and Mortys, through whatever extradimensional occurrence that passed for fate, always seemed to be together. Just you and me, Morty. A hundred years Rick and Morty….
Or maybe not. That possibility hurt almost as much as the loss of his family. Morty didn’t want to be alone. He liked others. Even though they were unrepentant assholes he liked Ricks. But he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life alone on the Citadel. He wanted a home and a Rick and a family of Smiths. He wanted Earth and home cooking and his books and his research and his idiot classmates.
Morty pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs to keep from shaking. All the thoughts that Morty had been repressing about the loss of his dimension, his home, were surfacing now and he felt so, so lonely. Any dimension, any Rick, would be better than being stuck here on this cold, sterile space station.
Please, someone take me away from here. His fingers tightened on his arms, desperate for warmth.
Suddenly a new hand was on his arm. It was warm and insistent. Morty jumped and looked up. His eyes met the same burgundy ones that had looked so angry and scared a short bit ago. Now they boiled with a determined, if angry, flame.
“Git yer ass up. We’re leaving”
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“W-w-why bring me along? Geez Rick, stop pulling so hard!”
“The last thing I wanna see right now is anyone else being treated like a pawn by that bunch of queefs.” Rick replied brusquely as he marched along, practically dragging Morty behind him. Truth be told he wasn’t sure exactly why he’d strode back to the Morty’s room, grabbed the moping brat by the arm, and proceeded to haul him away. Rick was pissed though, and that was usually a good enough explanation. He was pissed at every facet of the Council of Ricks and pissed they thought they could order him around. Rick figured it was some sort of mutual preservation. Being a Rick did not give them the right to dictate his life, and he decided the same should go for Morty too. And so here he was, tugging this one along.
Rick navigated a few vacant hallways till he was confident that they were sufficiently out of the public eye. Just cuz he was doing this Morty a solid didn’t mean he wanted other Ricks or Mortys to see him doing so. Looked like they were in a service hallway. He dropped the kid’s arm to fish around in his robe sleeves for his portal gun. Technically the Council only wanted portal guns to be used in designated locations of the Citadel. But Rick was pissed, so he saw fit to ignore the rules. He was ready to get the fuck off the space station.
Who the fuck tries to create rules for a few thousand Ricks anyways? Rick considered briefly as he withdrew the device. A bunch of dip-asses that’s who. In a single decades-practiced motion he flicked the coordinates to his home and shot a portal at the nearest wall.
“W-w-w-here-where are we going?” The Morty squeaked.
Without looking back Rick said ,“Earth.” And stepped into the green vortex.
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The portal opened into Rick’s living room. He stepped out and heaved a sigh at the sensation of hardwood under his feet. Among his many reasons to hate the Citadel one of the more important ones was that the floors there were always so goddamn cold. He decided he’d be pissed at that, too. Yes, it’s good to be home. Good to be away from the Citadel and the douchebag council and the douchebag Elders and all their stupid bullshit and Morty nonsense and---
“Woahhhhh…” a higher voice breathed behind him. Oh fuck. Then there was the familiar sound of the portal wobbling and then closing itself. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—
The Morty stood in the living room behind him. Fuckkkkkkkk. In Rick’s haste to leave the Citadel, and his impulse to help the Morty escape from the space station as well he had allowed the teen—the very same Morty the Council was trying to dump on him--- right into his own home.
Good job, Sanchez. Ya’ve made yerself a fucking chaperone.
The immediate repercussions of his own short-sighted actions struck Rick mercilessly. His mind flooded with all the ways in which he had fucked up. He had just spat on the Council, railing against how they were forcing a Morty onto him, and then he went and did it for them. Undoubtedly the Council would find the Morty gone, find him gone as well, and assume Rick had decided to obey their will after a tantrum. Fuckin’ great. What was he supposed to do now?
Rick had gone to the Citadel with the understanding that he was being called for important business. Important business in the past always meant dealing with some supernatural threat the Council wasn’t equipped to handle. He had gone to the Citadel prepared to handle any number of spirits, demons, curses, or similar otherworldly nasties. Being ordered to suddenly take on a new Morty was decidedly NOT on the important business list. In an uncharacteristic moment of impulse humanity he’d landed himself in a world of trouble.
Rick decided there were many things he was willing to put up with, this was not fucking one of them. He stashed his portal gun and pulled out his flask, knocking back a mouthful. Still holding the flask he turned and faced the Morty, who was looking around the hodgepodge room in quiet awe. His expression was so similar to the awe that used to grace his Morty’s face, only aged up a couple years, Rick’s heart clenched and his gut lurched. I can't do this. When he noticed Rick staring at him he jolted and acquiesced to fidgeting nervously. Nope, he was not going to deal with this.
“You.” Rick said, taking another pull from his flask. “You. Don’t touch anything. Don’t fuck with anything. Don’t move.” He punctuated every sentence with a jab of his finger, making the Morty flinch visibly.
With that Rick spun on his heel and stormed out of the front door.
“W-wait, Rick! Don’t go!” the Morty cried, but the door was already closing behind him.
----
Rick didn’t care where he went or what he did so long as he got out of that house and got away from the Morty. He was a scientific and mystical genius, sure, but there were times in his sixty years of life when Rick felt the best course of action was to abort, avoid, and continue avoiding till it stopped being a problem. This was a practice he adopted in coping with the many atrocities of the universe and how very, very mind-crushing existence was, but he found it worked well for personal problems, too. In this case he had a mind to avoid the problem till the problem stopped looking so much like his dead grandson.
Rick bee-lined for his favorite bar, and then his favorite nightclub, and then other bars and nightclubs; treading the well-worn and time-honored paths of his life of hedonism. He drank and partied till his brain was an addled, colorful slurry and he could barely string two thoughts together; exactly the way he liked it. His mind was a daze and he flitted from one nexus of sin to the next and it felt good and fine and HE was fine and everything was good and FINE. Like this Rick was SAFE, from the universe and its enormity and from his accursed Eye and from any problems in his life. Time didn’t matter, existence didn’t matter, he, Rick Sanchez, didn’t matter. Nothing mattered other than maintaining his mind-numbing high and keeping the drink in his hand full.
Alas, it could not last. The passage of time and extreme alcohol abuse turned Rick’s delightful high into a rampaging hangover. Somewhere between all the bars and nightclubs and wild partying he went from Party God to a blackout indicative of only the finest alcohol poisoning. Through an act of nothing short of absolute magic Rick came to and found himself tripping up the steps to his front door. Crawling, more accurately. He was aching, tired, hungry, and dehydrated. But he had felt good and that's what mattered. Rick was blearily confident in his ability to sleep off the toxins raging through his system and then rinse and repeat himself into oblivion with the help of whatever substance he could get his hands on. Somehow Rick made it inside his home, and promptly fell in a sloppy heap onto his couch. His world gyroscoped violently and the older man rose swiftly, reaching for one of the many trashcans he scattered around the house, vomited profusely, and flopped back, sinking immediately into unconsciousness. This was the way Rick wanted to live his life, and it felt good.
Rick Meets Morty, Morty Meets Rick - Chapter 1
Summary: Rick 2-5P00K is called to the Citadel of Ricks on important business. He has no idea what he’s in for. Morty L-057 knew he’d be assigned a new Rick, but honestly he didn’t know what he expected. The story of Morty L-057 and Rick 2-5P00K meeting for the first time, and the aftermath.
(Mun notes: Holy butts this is my first time writing in years. Don’t expect any polish on this one, I’ve just been dying to share this story for ages now. I’ve put in page breaks of sorts in the form of ----, these indicate either a scene change or a perspective change, which will switch between Rick and Morty as needed. Thoughts are italicized. Probably gonna be 3-4 chapters. Enjoy!)
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“Ship, protect Morty. Get him to the Citadel. Get going!” Old gnarled hand gripped flesh, hard enough to bruise. Voice that was usually booze-slurred now frantic with urgency. A shove into the cockpit, unceremonious, urgent. Wide blue eyes, wrinkled at the corners, glassy with fear and love. “Be good, Morty. Be better than me.” Suddenly the touch is gone and the wild steel-blue hair of that familiar figure shrinking in the distance far below. Swallowed by the writhing mass of darkness of a horror beyond comprehension.
Mordecai Smith blinked and shook his head vigorously. He wondered when he would stop reliving the last moments of his Rick and his world. He wondered when it would stop hurting, though he figured it probably never would. The teen shook his head again, bouncing his brown curls. As he did so one of the Security Ricks at his side looked down at him with a quizzical, slightly disdainful look.
Now wasn’t the time for this anyways.
Morty was being escorted from the Citadel Archives where he’d spent the majority of the last few days doing research on the unknown horrors that plagued existence. In the aftermath of the destruction and subsequent reclassification of his dimension, L-057, he’d dedicated himself to digging through whatever files he could to learn more about the capabilities of dimension-eating monsters. So far he hadn’t found much. He was starting to suspect there wasn’t much to be found. And now he might not get the chance again. He was being taken to meet his new Rick.
No, he thought, no matter who or where I end up I will continue my research. No one can stop me. Morty straightened his back and adopted a determined look. The two Rick’s led him back towards his temporary quarters. Undoubtedly the new Rick would be inside. I hope he’s nice, or at least tolerable. Maybe I can see my family again.
----
Rick Sanchez paced the small sitting room, ignoring the comfy-but-utilitarian chairs for the sake of fuming. What am I doing here? I have better things to do than sit around in this Rick-stinking hole of a space station. Let me do whatever you fuckers called me here to do and let me get back to my life. Rick pulled out his flask from one of the pockets in his robe and took an angry pull, letting the burn of the hellbrew fuel his inner ire. As soon as the security Ricks got back from whatever dipshit thing they had to dump him here for he’d give them a piece of his mind. In reaction to his irritation the Eye on his forehead gave a single painful pulse and Rick stopped his pacing as he mentally slammed the Eye shut before it could slide open. He gave the raised scar between his eyes an angry rub as it returned to normal. The last thing he wanted right now was to see this place or what was inside any other Ricks. He allowed himself another swig from the flask, hoping it would dull the Third Eye.
Outside the door he could hear the clack of boots on the polished floors and he stuffed his flask back in his robe. He didn’t give a shit if the other Rick’s saw him drinking. He did give a shit about giving the impression that this whole situation was irritating him. He’d be damned if he’d give anyone on the Citadel ammo to use against him. About time.
The door opened with a near-imperceptible whoosh and the familiar silhouettes of Rick’s of alternate dimensions stepped into the room. Rick opened his mouth, preparing to rip into the other Ricks. A smaller figure walked in with them. It was a young male in his teens, curly brown hair, a yellow shirt and jeans. A Morty. Piercing green eyes bored into his in an expression of determined examination. Rick didn’t miss the small hint of trepidation hidden behind the bold front. Like a thunderclap it dawned on Rick what was going on and he felt his jaw slacken. No. No no no no nonononononononono-
“Spook, this is *beurrppph* Morty L-057.” One of the Security Ricks said.
-nononononono- Brown locks the same as him, the same build, just aged up a few years.
“He likes weird shit like you”
-nononononono- “Grandpa Rick tell me what is the spiritual dimension like? Can you summon things? Can you use magic? Are you a mage?” Blue eyes met his in an enthusiastic smile, aglow with the allure of new knowledge.
“He’s your Morty now.”
“Rick” “Grandpa Rick” “Tell me Rick, I’m your Morty after all”
NO.
Rick’s slack jaw clenched and his eyes blazed in unbridled anger. The Morty’s eyes widened in fear and the brave façade shattered in an instant. Rick didn’t care. He glared at the other Ricks, ignoring the bolt of pain coming from his Third Eye. He kept his anger in control just enough to keep the Eye shut but that didn't stop his voice from coming out in furious growl. “Outside. Now.” Fear. Fear like a sucking wound that ate hope and breathed pain when Beth said the words “Morty never came home. We need your help, Dad.”
The two Security Rick’s glanced at each other with a look of shared irritation and motioned to the Morty “Stay here” they said while Rick stalked out of the room, the other Rick’s following behind. As soon as they were out the room Rick spun on the alternate Ricks and said as forcefully as he was able, “No.” The frantic search, the endless hours and sleepless nights scouring the realms physical and spiritual for the boy. Only echoes, not leads.
“You can’t say no, Spook.” One of the Rick’s said, clearly not wanting to deal with this.
“The fuck I can’t.” Rick interjected, making the Security Rick sigh in frustration.
“No, you cant. Orders from the top.”
“Of course.” Rick said, eyes narrowing, and promptly stalked off. Finally a lead. Hope renewed. Morty. He’d find Morty. He’d bring his grandson home.
“Wait! Wh-wh-what’re you doing?” One of the Security Ricks said, but the mystic Rick was already long gone, leaving the Security Ricks to catch up.
Rick was not a Citadel Rick and fairly loathed the space station, but he’d been around long enough to know where the primary Council Chamber was. He bee-lined for the Council Room, robe flapping behind him and feet slapping angrily against the gleaming floors of the Citadel. It sounded like that then, too. The echo of his feet on the tunnel floors. So close now. He could hear the two Security Rick’s shouting for him in the distance but they were far enough back that they had no chance of stopping him. The tunnel turned into a cavern, in the distance a dark green, gleaming statue, monstrous. Rick stalked down the familiar hallways of the Citadel and rounded on the giant gilded doors of the Council Chamber. Before the statue, a small, pale form. No movement. It sounded like there was already a council in session but that didn’t stop Rick. Hands clutched the naked form, sticky, coagulating blood mixing with the henna on the fingertips. Bright blue eyes dull, vacant. A hole where the heart was. It’s gone now. Morty is gone now. The doors emblazoned with the symbol of the Council of Ricks slid open and Rick entered like a storm.
---
A hearing was in session, from the look of it one of the many grey-suited Business Ricks of the Citadel was petitioning for something. His diatribe was cut short as the doors slid open. He turned with a look of clear irritation to glare at whoever dared interrupt him, but seeing the dark expression behind Rick’s glasses made him shrink visibly. Rick strode to the center of the room and stepped around the Business Rick to glare up at the seated Elder Ricks. When the doors had opened they had looked bored and mildly irritated at the interruption, but now that they saw who it was, their expressions ranged from annoyance to a forced disinterest, struggling to meet Rick’s furious gaze. It only fanned the flames.
“Fuck all y’all.” Rick spat gesturing at the seated Elders. “Y’all some senile crusty old shits if ya think for a second that I’m someone ya can order around.” The southern twang Rick usually hid was coming out strong in his voice, but he was far beyond the point of caring. The Council Elders looked at one another and around the crowded room that was currently staring in shocked silence at the star-scarred Rick.
The leader of the Elder Ricks rolled his eyes and waved a hand “We’ll take a sh-eurrhh-t recess. Everyone dismissed,” before he glared down at Rick. The room emptied quickly, no one wanting to see the fate of a Rick who disrespected the Elders so openly. Rick never flinched or took his gaze form the seated alternate Ricks.
“I’m not doing this. I’m not one of yer little club Ricks ya can just order around and dump some-Rick’s little lost Morty onto.” Rick said once the Chamber doors slid shut and he stood alone with the Elders. Several of the Elder Ricks groaned audibly.
“You’ve gone far too long without a Morty, Spook.” The leader of the Elder Ricks stated. “You participate in extra-dimensional affairs too much, both in your field of expertise and out. You’re a flight risk if you continue like this.”
“Ya know exactly why.” Rick seethed, forcing the words out through clenched teeth.
“Yes we know. Some fucked up cultists in your dimension killed your Morty. You’re not the first Rick to lose a Morty. You are, however a Mortyless Rick, and one that's a risk to the safety Council.”
“I am NOT going to be responsible for some other Rick’s baggage.” I couldn’t even be responsible for my own grandson.
“W-w-why is this such a problem for you?” One of the other Elders balked. “We figured you’d be THRILLED to have a Morty that’s into the same supernatural crap you are. Who knows, maybe having a fellow weirdo for a Morty will keep all the bizarro crap away. You two are CLEARLY perfect for each other.”
If it was possible, Rick’s expression got darker and he went incredibly still making the Elder Rick shrink in his seat. “Yeah, ya’d think that, wouldn’t ya?” His voice was low, almost imperceptible, but it carried with it an unmistakable tone of powerful hatred. He’d be damned if he’d let he Council manipulate him. He was done. Rick wanted nothing more than to be off this asshole-infested space station. He was done with his life being trivialized, chalked up to “Rick problems” and quantified like the rest. For a moment he contemplated letting his Third Eye open and letting his fury tear at the pretentious assholes before him. They’d never even know what hit them. He could do it and stop them from playing their games with the lives of others ever again. He could do it. He could do it. He could….
Rick turned, and left the chamber.
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Self-employment
Rick has few scruples with providing space-age technology to people with the right amount of money. This has definitely landed Rick in trouble with both the Council of Ricks and various interstellar authorities, but its never stopped him. Most of his on-Earth income however, comes from running a protection racket. In this dimension hauntings and other supernatural occurrences are common, and it can be bad for business. If you’ve done bad shit you’re also a lot more likely to be hexed or cursed in this dimension. Individuals and businesses pay Rick to set up wards for protection, or provide protective amulets. Woe betide anyone who tries to back out of paying Rick his monthly fee to maintain the wards. These fools find themselves suddenly blighted by a swarm of supernatural chiggers. Without fail they call Rick, desperate for the bugs to be banished, which he does, gladly. Little do they know these chiggers belong to none other than Rick. He keeps a supply of these monstrosities in reserve to ensure clients pay on time.
On this day I just wanted to say I'm so thankful for each and every person who has given my 2spooky Rick and Morty AU love. I cherish every like, reblog, comment, tag, and message with all my heart. The rickmorty community here on tumblr has been so positive and welcoming and I love you all. I hope you're all having a wonderful Thanksgiving and don't let any possible family drama bring you down. You're all wonderful and nothing anyone says can change that.
I just realized a great alternate name for 2spooky!Rick is Hick!Rick and it makes me SO HAPPY.
Dahlin'
Most Ricks tend to use the term “babe” or “baby” for persons of affection.
Rick 2-5P00K however, does not. He prefers to say “darling”, though his Southern lilt makes the word leave his tongue as dahlin’.
Morty adores Rick’s drawl and loves “darling” most of all. Being referred to as dahlin’ makes Morty positively glow. Sometimes he goes out of his way to make Rick say those two syllables. Once in a while, Rick obliges him.
He’d never admit it, but Rick secretly enjoys that Morty likes his accent. He’s spent his whole life downplaying it, especially around other Ricks. Around Morty though he feels like he can be more himself.
I love this Rick. Mmm. Southern Rick. Any Rick with any accent.
Fun fact: Uncle Cecil is southern. I have an important question. Why do people find our accents attractive? Because I think that most of us, myself included, sound unintelligent. Please answer this for your uncle, I am confused.
Haha good question! I’m a southerner as well but my family is from Michigan so I was raised to think that any southern accent = unintelligent hick. I trained the accent out of my own voice to avoid ridicule from my family and appear more cultured in my very redneck school system. Silly I know. Since I started making this AU though I’ve become a lot more comfortable with the accent and even appreciative of it (it’s really fun to write!).
My best guess for why people like it is it’s pretty smooth-sounding, and I guess it’s even exotic? Like how people like British accents cuz it’s a vocal extreme? Honestly I have no clue but that’s best I can figure.
Mun note:
Apologies for my lack of updates for the most part. I’ve been using my phone for all things Internet and that limits what I can do.
I’ve also been working on an actual story for the AU and that’s been really time-consuming. It’s thrilling to be bringing 2spooky Rick and Morty to life but good heavens it’s a slow process. The original plan was to have this done by Thanksgiving but I'm pretty sure I can't make it happen.
It’s been years since I’ve done any creative writing so please bear with me when I do post the story.
I’m still waffling between posting it all at once or posting it in chunks. I’m at 2,700 words and there’s still a ways to go. We’ll see.
Dahlin'
Most Ricks tend to use the term "babe" or "baby" for persons of affection. Rick 2-5P00K however, does not. He prefers to say "darling", though his Southern lilt makes the word leave his tongue as dahlin'. Morty adores Rick's drawl and loves "darling" most of all. Being referred to as dahlin' makes Morty positively glow. Sometimes he goes out of his way to make Rick say those two syllables. Once in a while, Rick obliges him. He'd never admit it, but Rick secretly enjoys that Morty likes his accent. He's spent his whole life downplaying it, especially around other Ricks. Around Morty though he feels like he can be more himself.
Mordecai "Morty" Smith Expanded Biography, Pre-2-5P00K
(This is the original biography I wrote to go with Morty’s ref sheet. It’s pretty long so I eventually condensed it. However it’s got a lot of important info so I decided to post it separately. This covers Morty’s life up until he met 2-5P00K Rick.)
Mordecai “Morty” Smith is the only survivor of the destruction of his home dimension. Up until that point he had the average life of most Mortys. He lived with his family, went to highschool, crushed on Jessica, and went on adventures with his grandfather Rick. A typical Morty by all regards, except for one thing—he had a strong interest in learning about the supernatural and the occult. Something about it, about the possibility of anything being possible, of anything existing, and knowing the unknown really appealed to him. His family saw it as a phase and chose to let him proceed with it. His grandfather saw it as foolishness, but in his own way indulged the teen by answering his many, many questions. Rick urged him to devote himself to science, but he was still a little impressed by Morty’s eagerness to learn about a topic he was clearly interested in. Over time Morty became something of an amateur paranormal investigator with his Rick and if nothing else was a fountain of knowledge on all sorts of myths, folklore, and all topics occult, supernatural, and paranormal. Morty adored his hobby, but even then he was at an age where he wasn’t certain what he wanted to do with his life. All that changed when his world ended. Morty and everyone on his planet stared as the sun was blotted out. A great black shape descended from space onto their tiny planet. It came from nowhere—a great soundless, sucking blackness that seemed to eat everything in its path. Morty knew this was a horror from beyond time and space, the very thing he was so interested in learning about. He knew what it was, and knew there was no way to stop it. He watched as black tendrils sprouted from the horror high above them and began devouring people. Morty was too scared to move. He knew they were all going to die. Next thing he knew he was being thrown bodily into the spaceship and Rick was yelling at him to get away, get far away, and to be better than he was. He remembers Rick telling the ship to “protect Morty” before he too was enveloped by the blackness. The ship heeded its creator’s command and took off, outmaneuvering the tentacles and slipping into space. Morty watched as his planet, everything he knew and everything he loved was devoured by a dark horror beyond comprehension. Morty was adrift in the ship for 10 days. Unlike many other Mortys he was not taught to drive the ship yet, and it refused to listen to him. It seemed stubbornly set on completing its final task. He ate what few snacks were in the ship, and even drank the booze his grandfather had hidden around the seats. Morty hoped he was heading for the Citadel of Ricks, but at the slow pace the ship was going he was fairly certain he was going to die of starvation. Not that it particularly mattered at this point; after seeing his world destroyed he wasn’t sure why he bothered to keep living. Stubborn inborn surivalism he decided. Floating on the edge of consciousness Morty vaguely recalls the dim outline of a ship not unlike the one he was in, and two familiar faces; his own face, and the face of a Rick. Morty awoke in a hospital bed on the Citadel. He was being pumped full of fluids to counteract his dehydration and malnutrition, and a small horde of Ricks and Mortys were around him, monitoring him. When he awoke they all demanded to know what happened, and where his Rick was. Slowly it all came back to him. All he could say was “Rick is dead. Everyone is dead” before blacking out from shock. Morty recovered over the next few days, mourned heavily, and gave his full testimony of what happened to the Council of Ricks. They confirmed his report, telling him that a horror had indeed eaten not only his Earth but also the entire dimension with it. They gave him a new classification, Morty L-057, and told him to remain on the Citadel and await his fate. Morty agreed sullenly, and silently raged at the Elder Ricks for considering him so lowly an asset that he could be shuffled off to a new Rick. Despite his ire he knew there wasn’t much he could do. He had no one and no home to return to. He was stuck. He was lost. And so Morty waited. He thought about the state of his life. He thought about what he could do from here. He was fairly certain he would be assigned to a new Rick, like so many Rickless Morties. But besides that—what? What could he do? Morty decided to fight. He would not merely be a Morty at the whim and disposal of a Rick. Regardless of who and where he ended up with he would fight. He would put his knowledge of the unknown to use and fight so no other realities would be ended like his was. It’s the least he could do for his family and for his Rick. He swore to avenge them and protect others from the same fate. Morty threw himself into research with newfound vigor. He pulled countless records from the Citadel Archives and read them all at a feverish pace. Before he knew it days had gone by. He felt alive again and had a purpose and any Rick be damned he was going to make use of it. Then he was being called to his temporary chambers. He knew it was time. He was going to meet a new Rick.
