Context: Morty lept into the past and met Rick’s younger-self. Flesh has no idea Morty’s his grandson from the future, and the two soon stumble upon a topic about Rick’s family.
Rick is only barely 21 at this point in time, and is in the early stages of alcoholism. Also - to no surprise - Flesh isn’t abstinent... at all.
There are underlying tones of Rick/Morty, but nothing explicit.
“My mother,” he began, letting Morty know he didn’t ignore the question, “was the sweetest woman in the world- no, universe.” He smiled somewhat lovingly at the thought of her before looking down to the bottle with shame. His thumb caressed the lip as he set it down more... quietly.
“She was married to my pops’ for... till’ her death. Pops had a drinking problem then, but I-I guess you could say she kept it at bay? After she left, he spiraled over an uncontrollable marge,” running his hands through his hair, Rick’s manner seemed to change more somberly. He looked away from the kid and said, “yeah. Mama was a great- great woman. She talked about life and the stars - she loved looking up at the st-urp- stars; loved contemplating what was out there.” He then laughed softly, almost reminiscing, “her favorite book was Mars Attacks. She used to read me bits before bed.”
“Anyways!” he exclaimed before snatching the bottle up again, “lemme snap the neck off this badboy, and lets get started on some shots-” he looked at Morty, who had put on the over sized concert-T.
Looking him up and down, Rick gave a smirk as a dirty thought crossed his mind before expertly pouring an even shot for each of them. “I left because mom left - yeah, I guess you could say I ran away, but shit man - living life after her leaving was hell on Earth. It was either me or me, and I’d rather wake up to see tomorrow than kill myself, ya’ feel?”
Rick slammed the bottle down and snatched up his shot, “if your grandfather’s the reason you stay, maybe it’s- it’s best he knows.” Though his tone was light and nonchalant, his eyes were serious and bit into Morty’s feeble mind, “there’s some dark secrets people don’t tell to keep loved one’s safe, but fuck that nonsensical bullshit. You love someone, you tell ‘em what’s up--ahaha, fuck, I wish she had.”
With that, he downed his shot.
Morty’s eyes widened on the last statement Rick muttered out.
Can there be a part 4 of flesh and Miami? I really miss those boi’s. I want them to have a great time ❤️
It’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything, and for that I’ll write two follow ups to the story ; w ; Thank you for being so patient.
This one is a little short and dreary, but I hope that’s okay!!
PAIRING: Flesh/MiamiRATING: Mature (No NSFW)Part One | Part Two | Part Three | [HERE]
Not much time had passed between their first encounter to now - perhaps two or three years at best; yet, here he found himself now, back at square-one all over again. The much deflated Rick, the one that tried to be different, drank himself away at the bar–grimacing as memories surfaced to the forefront of his mind. Against himself, a faint smirk touched his lips, even as he glared down at the familiar amber cup. Can he really say he was different after all?
Fuck no.
He was just the same as the rest of them–a Rick who left after every argument; who resided at this damned citadel, all for the cliche routine of drinking alone. The only difference between then and now was one certainty on his mind: he wasn’t going home. Ever.But this thought only prompted him to chug a little more, a little quicker, a little longer. Maybe if he drank fast enough, the knot welding in his throat would be swallowed with the rest; the feelings wallowing within him would eventually ebb away.Yet, to any other Rick, he was simply doing was Ricks did best–escaping.
To him, the only real difference between him and the rest of them, is that he still loved his Diane and Beth. Initially, he had never planned on leaving them behind by any means, but the more Diane pushed for Rick to step off the sci-fi antics, the more the impending reality set upon him that she would only hold him back. Or maybe… maybe that’s the excuse he settled with on, feeling how it unraveled the twist of his stomach. Before long, however, Rick found himself drowning well past his fourth glass, and raised an empty piece to the bartender–who only rolled his eyes in response. Of course he would, thought Rick, he was nothing more than a disgusting reflection of his alcoholism; another coward in the making. Life gets too hard, and what did he do? He ran.
Rick’s eyes climbed the wall of booze decorating the bar, which seemed to then stop and linger on the flickering pink and blue lights of a sign which gleamed ‘Drink’ at him. His lingering gaze became a cold hard glare, feeling as though it taunted him; as though it was silently aware of his current state of turmoil.Without any thought, he laid his head down in the crook of his arm on the bar, growling under his breath as he tried to smother away the sensation of guilt nagging at him. In the black of his hiding, Rick felt the gentle draft of dreary sleep coax him forward, even as the cold brush of another drink was slid into his hand. When he pulled himself up, long enough to let golden eyes glare at the full glass, he heard a familiar echo of himself call out with some teasing glee.
“Didn’t I tell you once before, R&R? I don’t like party-poopers.”
The vibrant crack of a graveled voice scraped his ears, making him cringe–shoulders visibly tensing as he ducked his head down once again. Then, the claps of a warm hand grasped his shoulder and tugged him upwards from the face of the bar, which he didn’t fight. Though he was pulled up, his eyes remained low, tracing the edges of his fingers that wrapped so neatly around the curve of the glass.“Yeah,” he huffed a bit irritably. The other man stopped, raising a brow at him with interest, gentle smirk remaining lax on his expression. Rick watched the dribble of booze slide down the side of his glass, “it’s, i-it’s been a hot minute. How’d ya’ know?”
“One sore Ri-urp, one sore Rick out of a sea of ricks isn’t hard to-, to,” he burped, “to pinpoint.” He pulled the dismal man off of his seat, tugging gingerly on the man’s shoulder and saying, “you should- should, urp, should come with me back to my- my, uh… back upstairs.” He then motioned with his thumb behind him, offering a sly of a smile and burnt out hiccup, “y-ya’ know, like old times.”
It was then that Rick stopped, eyes finally dragging from the glass to the floor, and climb up the brightly colored Rick before him. Not much had changed, since their last meeting; albeit, the man was clearly drunk, buzzing off of the lost-numbered shot he had before coming here. But, he was still the same old fruit basket of a club owner he knew him to be–likely coked out and hiding it from behind those stupid shades of his.Even so, Rick couldn’t help his mind drift back to those ‘old times’ the other spoke of, recalling how hazy the memory was that night. He glared at him, uncertain but not unwilling.
As the other began making his way towards the familiar door out of the bar, Rick in tow, he couldn’t help but feel as though he slipped into a vat of déjà vu. His fingers clung tightly around the glass, refusing to let go of the cold brew–hopefully as reminder that he was still in present times.
“Come on, Nirvana,” hiccuped the other, “we gotta- we got a lot to catch up on.”
