#>simulate.rickprime{response=true}

[c137sucks]

@rickv-786 || continued 🔹

“Whatever happened to the curanderas, huh?” That came out half-joke, half-jab. An old ritual between himself and other Ricks who didn’t immediately antagonise him, cracked and corroded over years of miracle-work through tech Prime was known to perform. Despite Vice’s words, Prime knew it wasn’t rent that man was after. The man had liquidity, pull, and infrastructure, the usual scaffolding of power that looked solid until you kicked it.

What he didn’t have was a name.

That was the problem: the empty lot didn’t belong to anyone. Or maybe it belonged to everyone who disappeared near it. Vice wanted to know who signed the deed. Prime wasn’t sure he wanted to be the one prying up that particular floorboard, but here he was—ankle-deep in another man’s obsession, waiting for the payoff that never quite matched the trouble he went through to see things like these done.

“Okay...” He said finally, while the neon light strobed blues and pinks across his cheek. “So you want me to track down who owns that sad little patch of ghost property.” One side of his brow perked up and a slow, condescending smirk found his lips. “Alright, homeboy. You’re gonna have to make that sound a hell of a lot more interesting… Sweeten the deal a little for me over here.” Prime’s stare sharpened along with his smile. “What’s in it for me?”

[c137sucks]

[ TXT -> Rick 🧪🖕🏻 ] Dude, this is literally ur fucking kid no fucking doubt. She's kicking the SHIT outta me rn.

Diane always bitched about those things—the way Beth never stayed put. Rick remembered pressing his voice low against his ex wife’s tummy a few times, letting the vibrations do the work a lullaby never would. Patting down the hackles of a creature yet to be born, but already bristling with fire.

Now he funneled the same memory into text, fingers moving with surgical detachment:

[ Girl from bar ->txt] Kid’s doing god’s work among men here. [ Girl from bar ->txt] You pick a name yet? If not, I’m going with Embryo #5. [ Girl from bar ->txt] Don’t ask about #1 and #2. [ Girl from bar ->txt] Especially not about #3.

And he left it at that.

[c137sucks]

@bloominghands sent:

Another late night after a long evening between the sheets, and the table, and against the wall, and- well they were in bed now, or at least she was. Curled up in his sheets she looked very comfortable as she snoozed enveloped in pillows and blankets, as though it was her space to snuggle up in.

Rick wasn’t built for affection. At best, he was willing to tolerate proximity—stayed where inertia held him. A consequence of simply not wanting to stand up as opposed to desire for cuddles. And Robin accommodated to the moment all curled up against his chest while the man ran a diagnosis through his own system. The hologram display glowed faintly before him, a body rendered in phosphor lines—except it was flayed open, mapped out from the inside. What was still flesh and what was not.

Most of it wasn’t.

Normally, the system didn’t need a crutch to self-regulate. But something was off ever since the last attack… And with half of his body mods stripped? Rick was forced to walk the process by its old protocol.

Then the flag blinked red.

“The fuck?” Storm greys narrowed. Internal fucking bleeding? Probably crossed wiring somewhere… A click of the tongue and Rick rubbed a hand down his face.

What a pain in the ass.

“Rise and shine, babe.” He didn’t wait for Robin to fully adjust to the light, already grabbing a switchblade off the counter—the same one he used the night before to carve his initials on her skin. “Weird fucking request, so don’t choke on it—just stab me.” He held up her hand and pressed the handle to its palm. “Gut level, clean and straight. Just don’t think about it.”

Maybe that would force his system to reboot.

[c137sucks]

@veelentino sent:

"Some fucking kid came looking for you and my lounge got trashed so... Who's paying for that?"

Some kid?

Rick’s mouth was a flatline heartbeat. Only kid who qualified was his own grandson, and Morty Prime had already cast his vote—would rather hang out with another Rick than with his own grandfather. Which, truth be told, suited Prime just fine.

He didn’t do sidekicks anyway.

“Huh.” Rick pressed a tongue to the inside of his cheek, then deadpanned: “I don’t know. Tripwire their shoelaces, so when they tie them, boom—problem solves itself.” A loose shrug ensued. “Need the tech for that? I could hook you up.”

[c137sucks]

@ofamess || continued 🔹

Rick had the barrel wedged under her jaw, cold steel kissing soft skin… he could hear the way her pulse stuttered... delicious in its hesitancy. There was confidence in this one too, the kind of confidence that came with a person who knew how to carve someone open if it came to it.

But then— something caught his attention.

Girl had a fucking pulse?

A flicker shifted in the edge of his vision, wrong variable in the equation. Rick’s left eye split to cybernetic, HUD snapping online in a stuttering pulse of green over flesh and bone. Quick scan. Neural lattice, heat mapping, genome flagging…

…Ah, fuck.

Wrong goddamn target.

To be fair, not a lot of pink-haired, big-eyed, big-titted Asian beauties floating around this cesspit of a dimension. You mix up one problematic little angel with a swordswoman cosplaying as bubblegum fantasy, and suddenly you’re the asshole.

Yeah, sue him for trying.

A long, drawn out sigh slipped from Rick’s lips and he disengaged the hammer, dropping his grip. The girl he was after wasn’t human—barely qualified as alive, depending on how loosely you defined the term. Scan pegged this one clean: organic.

“...My bad.” He muttered into the scent of her hair, voice flat, bored, like someone apologizing for bumping a stranger’s coffee in a crowded station. “You just—” a conscious shift of his stare south of her, sharp glint cutting past the half-exposed breast window before it looked back up to her eyes, “—kinda look like my target.” One shoulder hitched in a shrug as he took a step back, slow and sardonic, the way predators move when they’re humoring prey. “Couple things in common, ‘s all.”

[c137sucks]

@kitxkatrp || continued 🔹

Undeath came weighted, Rick noted. None of them ever slipped clean into it—every spirit shackled to their own rusted chains, dragging grudges like a ballast. Rick’s smirk swelled while she spoke, as if revenge had become the air she breathed, the only thing keeping her upright.

“You know,” he cut across her rhythm, tone smooth, light as a knife, “if it’s a body you’re mourning, that’s simple. I could build you one before sunrise. Not saying you gotta hit the brakes on your whole revenge gig... Keep this vendetta thing rolling while I hand you something new to wear. Flesh, nerves, blood in the veins. Soul, ported over clean. A reboot, not a resurrection.”

Intrigue made a room of his stare, sharp and electric. Not sympathy—never that.

Briefly, Rick wondered how she’d waste it, this second draft of life.

“As for me?” Leaning sideways against a tree, the scientist folded arms across his chest. “I’m here to crack open your little miracle fuel source. All that ‘holy energy’ priests keep waving around? Yeah, I don’t buy it. Faith’s just physics with a marketing department. And you, sweetheart?” He smirked. “You’re about as holy as a reanimated cadaver. Which, for the record, you are.”

[c137sucks]

@antlurabbit sent:

"So you can go anywhere, right? Do anythin'?" She's speaking with a tone somewhere between cautious and curious, like a child about to ask for something they suspect will be a no. There is a beat just brief enough to not allow him a full breadth to answer in. She needs to ask before she loses the nerve, decides her query is too dumb or that she doesn't want to risk his response annoying her. "Is there one where Blood Meridian got a movie? It was supposta, but most studios wouldn't take it 'cuz it's too gruesome or whatever," She shrugs a slender shoulders. Glances towards the sky then to the side. "Figured there's gotta be somewhere that ain't too pussy to make it happen, right?"

Violet’s voice threaded into the air, thin, inconsequential, the kind of sound that could dissolve if you stopped acknowledging it. Rick kept his eyes down on the portal gun, feeding in the coordinates one by one. Blood Meridian. The search fanned out across the display in a pulse of light, most of it hollow recreations, a handful legit, some of them real.

The pause that followed had weight to it, Rick’s stormy greys finally shifted up to study Violet’s expression.

“I can do you better.” That smirk of his… It always spelled trouble. “How about a universe where Blood Meridian isn’t just a book? Where it carved itself into history the way it was meant to… and somebody fucking taped that shit.” For a second, Rick’s smirk sharpened—but then it was gone, as if holding it in place wasn’t worth the effort. 

Rick’s focus fell back to the portal gun, adjusting dials with offhand precision, the gesture itself dismissive.

“But if it’s the boring fictional stuff you’re after…” A soft click under his thumb, one gear turning, an array of options rolling in place. “...the answer’s yes. There are a few dimensions where they tried. Some director thinking he could frame that kind of violence neat enough to market it. Stuff you could eat popcorn to though.”

[c137sucks]

@h3llsfavorite || continued 🔹

“With you? Nothing.” Rick bent, scooped the shredded panties off the floor, and fed them through a quick scan.

Holographic signatures bled into the air—names, faces, heat-trails—rolling past like suspects on a lineup. He widened the projection just enough for Angel to see it too, or squint through all that light while slogging through that migraine of his.

“With this guy, though…” A crocodile brute filled the display. All muscle and bad impulse control, the kind of scum who wrecked things and called it a personality.

Rick might’ve ignored it. He usually did… But the bastard tried to hack into his fucking car.

“Thinks he’s clever. I was wondering why he’d even bother taking a swing at me, but…” Rick flicked the panties back into Angel’s face, brow arched and hands now shoved into his pockets. That’s when the hologram display flickered out of existence. “…now it all lines up. Dude’s obsessed with you. Saw us together, probably decided there was something there, and now he wants to make it personal.” A shrug ensued. “Figured if he can’t screw you whenever he wants, he’d screw me instead. Mistake.”

From his pocket, he tossed a bottle full of happy little pills on top of Angel’s chest.

“Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to living bait. Now pick your ass up off the floor and come help me track this guy.”