did you really say you ship flesh x miami? how do you even come to a ship like that? (you're cute af btw)
Number One, thank you o gawsh
NUMBER TWO, YES I DO INDEED SHIP THIS SHIP, AND LET ME EXPLAIN WHY. (This is a bit lengthy so if you’re interested, keep reading)
IN THE VERSE I WRITE THESE TWO IN:
Flesh is a rockstar. A cocky, tongue-pierced, fun–drug-using rockstar. He gets what he wants, when he wants it, and rarely takes no for an answer.
Miami is a fucking prick. An arrogant, synthwave-style piece of cock that loves shoving it in everyone’s face–especially Cop’s. He runs a nightclub, and is more than likely a drug-user too, as we’ve seen Ricks hone addictive-personalities.
Aside that, let’s face it, people that work things like restaurants, clubs, and other social-joints like that often do some sort of drug to cope (ask me how I know).
These two are similar in fashion, but differ in all ways that count that they could very well be a hella good match, or absolute enemies.
They would absolutely be fantastic characters to have interact with, because they could vibe very well--at least, in the way that I write them. Yet, I do have a tendency to over-analyze and break down characters to the core components that make them who they are. This is the key concept in [my] writing quirks for these characters:
Miami is overzealous and arrogant; a cocky Rick that gets what he wants and enjoys pushing the limit on things.
This is what makes him so dickish to Cop, because he overestimates his abilities and enjoys blurring the lines.
In doing so, he often finds himself in complacent situations, and things that could have easily been avoided if he just didn’t run his mouth.
Cop is tolerant yet humble; a Rick that simply wants to make things safer for the rest, all the while following codes and regulations--unless he’s forced to do so otherwise.
This is why Cop has such an unprecedented hatred towards Miami, and often finds himself acting without an real incentive otherwise. Miami gets under his skin, pushes those buttons that make him tick, and elicits reactions without even trying.
Miami likes to break the rules and blur the lines, and the fact that he does all that within the reasons of the law only furthers that hatred.
Flesh is just a rockstar and all things that encompass the concept of an 80′s rockstar.
Basing his personality off of Rick C-137, it’s really not to far off from the truth. Rick is cocky, used to getting what he wants while proving a point at the same time, but can be a little hot-headed.
This is a conversation in and of itself though, so I’ll save that for another post if anyone is actually interested in my rambling.
I could go one- I want to, but I really shouldn’tI went off on a tangent, I’m sorry I probably didn’t answer it- maybe I did? Gawsh I’m a mess. ; w ;
My point is–I ship Flesh/Miami bECAUSE IT MAKES SENSE, THAT’S ALL I CAN REALLY SAY ABOUT THAT. PLEASE EXCUSE ME WHILE I JUST-
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.
Do you have any Rp plots you wanna Share like for RxR? ( aka rick x rick )
oof, I don’t actually. I don’t have another Rick to rp with, so any ideas I’ve had, I’ve simply written them in the background as fanfiction.
I do have one plot that’s about older Rick x younger Rick, but I started writing it as a fanfiction for @todbit. I have a snippet of it actually–it’s about weird!Rick and some older!Rick.
It kind of picks up between when Weird Rick leaves and when he drops a literal bomb on the other Rick’s family–or something like that. It might not make sense, but here ya’ go:
Rick stopped at the sight of the older man, looking him up and down in confusion. Yet, a snide remark slipped past his lips as he thoughtlessly spoke, “what do we have here?” He nearly laughed, “took you over fifty-years to figure out the math? You really were determined to live that pathetic domestic life, huh?” The much older Rick merely smirked, approaching nonchalantly as he waved his own weapon in his hand recklessly.
“Actually,” he shrugged, “I thought it would be fun to see that stupid look on your face when you realized where I’m from, you weird little bastard. And I was right. It was worth the trouble of nearly killing the charge on my portal gun,” he raised the much later model of the gun in his other hand to show the younger Rick.Young Rick crossed his arms and leaned against the counter top of his workshop, giving the other another one-over and grimacing at what he saw.
“Well, ya’ didn’t do yourself any favors, Rick, you really let yourself go,” he tisked. “Diane stressed you out that much, you should have just left her before you committed a near-decade to her and that little sociopath-daughter of yours.” the older man rolled his eyes. Stopping a mere foot away from the younger, Rick pocketed his gun away and his hands on his hips.
“Holy fuck, was I really thi-urp-s dense?” the older Rick grumbled. “You completely missed the point of who I am.”
“No, I get it,” he sighed. “You’re from the future–so what?”
“So what?” the older man asked with disgust towards his younger-self’s disregard.
“Oh wowie, look at you-” he jibed, rolling his eyes. “Back from the future to possibly stop me from killing your family-”
“Wow, you really are a fucking dunce,” the older man groaned. He shook his head lightly and poked harshly at the other’s forehead, “of the first to figure out interdimensional travel, yet you still manage to think of things too linearly–you’re like the embodiment of teenage-cringe trapped in the mind of the most powerful man across the infinite cosmos.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m you, you fucking moron!” older Rick snapped. “Fuck, you think that time runs in a straigh-urp-t line, but it’s nothing like that at all. You make me feel sorry for not figuring that out first, before I discovered interdimensional leaping.” He rolled his eyes at his younger-self, whom braced against the countertops, listening. “It- It’s more like a Spirograph–all wrapped around itse-urp- itself, birthing new threads which each loop with threads of threads digressing from those.It’s a-a-a, it’s a fucking web of crisscrossed, overlapping strings of recycled energy–a self-sufficient loop of probability. How do you think there are so- urp, so many dimensions of ourselves at one conceivable time?”
Young Rick’s brow furrowed in confusion as he crossed his arms.
I never really continued this, but I planned to. ; w ; It’s been a solid minute though, fuck.
OMFG YOU HAVE BLESSED MY DAY I LOVE YOU SOO MUCH! Skskskdkdmc ( * whispers * can there be a part 3? Pretty please)
YES, THERE CAN - AND HERE IT IS MY LOVELY BABES-BLESS~
PAIRING: Flesh/Miami RATING: Mature (no NSFW)Part One | Part Two | [HERE]
Since last night, Miami had taken a quick liking to Flesh–finding the man oddly… intriguing for a Rick. Flesh was a fairly stand-up guy, who was ready to live his life with the two most important things at his side: his wife and his daughter. Though he had a knack for science, he wasn’t as indulged in it as other Ricks were, and probably wouldn’t find it until much later in life, or so Miami assumed.
Yet, even if Miami knew better than other Ricks, he couldn’t help but admire the passion Flesh had.
Though, all Ricks had that sort of fire early in life.
Things were new, Ricks were young. Up until this point, teleportation was their million-dollar idea, but now here they were hoarding away the only secret to becoming the most powerful man in the universe. Flesh was no different.
His desire to keep his life together was palpable, though. Miami could stand behind that, knowing it was sweet to relish in the feeling of love. It was that chemically ignited high that tied down every Rick at least once–even if it didn’t last long.
Smoke billowed up towards the ceiling as Miami watched Flesh from across the room. He let out some smoke, taking the time to admire the sun rise before his attention was drawn to the rousing body on the couch. He peeked over the back, finding Flesh sitting up slowly–head heavy and hanging low from his assumed-hangover. Flesh was shirtless, body scarred in various places across his back and around his shoulders–some scars looked old, some looked new. His hair was a mess, quickly smoothed out by his fingers, and voice low and gravelly in a tone of waking.
As he woke, Miami slipped off the edge of his own desk and wandered towards the other. Sitting down with a glass of whiskey, he slapped the other on the shoulder and sighed, “it’s about time, Rockstar.”He sat down next to Flesh, who eyed the glass a bit sickly before looking away. Apparently, he was not in a hardy-drinking mood anymore. “So,” Miami lulled his head back and rested his arms on either side of the couch, “”what’s the plan, Rolling Stones?”
“What?”
“Are you thinking about going home?”
“Home?” the question lingered on his mind before he shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. “Y-Yeah,” he groaned, “of course I am–why wouldn’t I?”
“Well,” Miami hummed, “sometimes Ricks just, don’t. They don’t see a reason in it, and stay here.” The statement fell appallingly on Flesh’s ears, who looked to him with a contorted face of confusion and disgust.
“Why?”
“Why else?” he shrugged, “it shouldn’t be a surprise, R&R, you are a Rick after all.”
“What does that mean exactly?” Miami rose a corner of his brow at Flesh, catching the whole of the man’s quick irritation towards him. What was Flesh so upset about?
“Don’t snap at me, bro, it’s your decision. I’m just laying it out there–you shouldn’t be surprised that some versions of you have left. You’re not the first Rick to wander into my club after a night like that.”Flesh merely watched the other in question, glaring at the other for even suggesting he was like other Ricks. Miami sighed softly, and propped a foot up on the coffee table, crossing the other as he lounged. He said, “almost every Rick had a Diane - or Dante or whatever - and almost every one of them come here day in and day out after some argument or another. Some Ricks just realize that they’re better off without them and stay here.”
“What,” Flesh accused, “so you think I’m like the rest of those half-brained assholes?”
“That’s really no way to talk about yourself, Nirvana,” Miami snapped back. “You realize how many Ricks come here and drink themselves in a spirograph, wracking their brains over whether they should stay or go?! Your problems aren’t unique to the rest of the other yous out there. Dianes realize Ricks are too toxic for their daughters, and Ricks realize they’re too damn smart for the rest of the world. The only other person that clearly understands them is themselves–why the fuck else do you think this place exists?”Flesh finally fell silent, having stood up in the process of Miami’s rant. Miami watched him, glaring back at his mirrored-self, who was hastily grabbing his clothes and throwing them back on quickly. “My point is, Flesh, you came here - just like any other Rick would - and drank yourself in circles trying to figure out if it’s really worth it. You don’t want to face the reality that love is just a chemical reaction that got you to breed–and now you have a daughter that even Diane doesn’t want you to influence. Like every Rick around here, their daughters may be important to them now, but they won’t be by the time they realize it pays to be a selfish-bastard.”
Flesh stopped momentarily, eyes wide and angry at the other Rick. How could he say something so disgusting about his daughter? Beth was just a child; maybe she was someone who deserved a better life than what he could offer–but he would damn sure try to give her at least that. Yet, Miami stared at him disinterestedly. He knew Flesh would leave, try to prove him wrong - anything to make a point - but he would be right back here by next week. Flesh and Diane would continue to argue, and become more aggressive before Flesh would make his decision to leave. Perhaps at one point it was a difficult pill to swallow, knowing certain lives would be better off without you, but it was what Ricks could do if they really cared.
Flesh would have to figure that out soon.
“Maybe for you,” Flesh spit as he pulled his vest around his shoulders. Miami watched him snag out his portal gun, and open a new doorway back home. “But I’m a different kind of Rick.”
“Sure,” Miami sighed softly as Flesh walked towards the green swirling mass. “Lemme know how that goes for ya’,” the words were laced with some venom, obviously bothered by the way Flesh reproached him. Soon, the man disappeared in the swirl of viscous slime, and Miami sipped from his glass of amber booze, “I’ll be here, waiting.”
A/N: WOW, WHAT A S O U R ENDING.
Honestly, I’m really glad with how this one turned out. It might be off character for Rick, but these are young versions of the man.
Nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoyed ( /; w ;)/ I’m still planning on releasing Part 2 for Doofus Verse Diane/Rick | Reader/Rick | Jerry/Rick (College!AU).
I did write NSFW Flesh/Zero! Check that out too! c:
The Morty Adoption Center: An Agency dedicated to finding Rick-less Mortys a new Rick, while supplying Morty-less Ricks a generous amount of new Mortys... well, almost every Rick.
“Here’s the thing, Rick,” growled the other Rick in annoyance. He leaned over the desk, elbows bracing his weight as he said, “rules are that I report you to crime-stoppers and let McGruff reprimand your ass for intentionally killing your Morts. You’ll be hauled off to the funny-farm without a hearing, because Ricks like you are the reason we have these regulations in place--Family-less Rick.”
Am I the only one who thinks if Flesh and Miami go out on a date and they started acting cute and shit towards each other. That they’ll be like the most otp ship ever?
“You got a cigarette, babe?” Flesh asked as he rummaged through a rack of clothes. His nerves were tense to say the least, knowing his concert began in a half hour, and yet, here he was–fidgeting over his outfit before stage time. Miami watched with some amazement at the sight, seeing Flesh so out of his zone and nervous for once. He couldn’t help but grin, watching the man run his fingers through his hair again and again and again, smoothing and re-smoothing the same spot over and over-
How pathetic.
“I got something better for ya’,” he said and reached into his coat pocket. Flesh looked back with some confusion before spotting the long, rolled ends of a joint resting in the other’s hand. A grin painted the rockstar’s face as he pulled himself away from the clothes and towards the joint. Miami took the time then to light up the piece, taking the first hit and then shotgunning it to his partner with a gentle kiss directly after.
Flesh accepted the sweet gesture and wrapped an arm around the other’s neck, pulling him close to deepen the kiss. With a gentle sigh, Flesh said, “don’t spoil me like this, Mimi-”
“Shut the fuck up, Nirvana.”
Yeah, it’s an official OTP–Flesh/Miami for that cute shit.
Something for @a-pickle-and-a-yellow-shirt, who gave me complete control over their Morty OC. Thank you so much for allowing me to freestyle this story, and give your character life! I really hope I did him justice for you!
RATING: Mature
PROLOGUE
Yet again, he stood there, yellow shirt reduced to tattered rags of red stains, and vestigial smile planted gently on his lips as he stared up at Daycare Rick with remorse. And again... Rick simply stared with an all-too-familiar repentant, yet equally rudimentary flummox expression.
Once more, this Morty had been returned--alone. Having been in and out of this halfway-house since Ricks opened up the blasted daycare, it was never abnormal to be returned the same Morty more than once--but this one... this Morty seemed to have... bad luck with their Ricks.
Never once had he been formally returned by the adopting-Rick. Instead, it had always been by a team of Morty Catchers, and so often that Rick knew this Morty’s dimension by heart: B-173. And each time he, B-173, was returned, the report read something along the lines of: found wandering alone, Rick [Dimension-#] missing.
In layman’s terms, the adopting-Rick was never found.
While Rick would like to believe it was merely a string of bad luck, somewhere in the back of his mind he knew otherwise. It was that gut-twisting sensation that told him something was wrong. This Morty was wrong.
Staring down at the young boy, who only gleamed back a soulless expression of woe, Rick couldn’t help but pocket the thought later for rumination. There was no sense in keeping the young boy bundled up like this, wrapped up in a trauma-blanket and waiting quietly for the usual habits.
“No this one either, huh?” he asked, impartial to response. Morty simply shook his head and stepped closer to him, Rick sighing softly as he scratched the back of his head and watched the thin frame wander in.
“Well,” he grumbled, “don’t get your filthy-self on me, there’s no telling what the bastard and you got into before he bit the dust.” Though there isn’t much this Rick had yet to be exposed to. He’s seen just about everything: the good, the bad, the ugly--the unthinkable. Even so, he wouldn’t want to get too comfortable around this Morty. Although he acted like any other yellow-shirt brat would, something about him just felt... off.
“Grandpa Rick?” Morty piped up. His voice was dry and airy, as though he were parched. Rick twitched at the words coming out of the boy’s mouth, “uh... I-I know you’re not really my grandpa, but-”
“You’re right, I’m not--at least, not your grandpa. So, just- just call me Rick.”
“Right,” he hesitantly looked away before asking, “do you... do you think I’ll ever find my own Rick?”
“...” a question for another time, he thought to himself. “Sure, buddy--y-yeah. But- but, they won’t want to find- find- urp, find you wearing those gross things,” Rick pointed down to the boys clothing (or, lack thereof). Morty frowned as he looked down at himself, not quite realizing just how much of a mess he was before Rick said something.
“Come on,” he said as he got up from his chair. Rick stretched out and yawned, feeling a strong wave of drear cross him. “Let’s, uh... let’s go get you cleaned up, before- urp, before the council sees you or something.” And, much like a lost puppy, Morty followed behind, quietly and shamefully carrying his head low.
As Morty tailed behind the familiar Rick, he glanced out to yard of Mortys roaming around outside and playing. Most seemed carefree in their antics, ambitious and waiting for another Rick to take them home; others appeared anxious and unwilling, dreading for Ricks to pick them. This Morty, B-173, fell somewhere on the scale towards ambitious.
Whoever his next Rick is, he’s sure will be the one. The Rick that keeps him forever--maybe they will be his Rick.
Though the shack looked small, it was actually quite spacious.
Just below the layout of the citadel, sectors of rooms were created specifically to care for the well-being of every Morty. No matter how much Ricks may not have cared for the counterpart-M’s, they were no use to them dead.
So, beneath the makeshift shack and electric fence, tunnels and segues connected nearly each individual business. This was done solely to keep the fun illusion of games just above entertaining and distracting. Just below the Daycare’s shack, rooms and bathrooms lined up like dormitories for the abundance of Mortys. Perhaps not too far off followed a cafeteria, and somewhere in the back, there may have been a curt walk to the doctor’s, but Rick never cared much for that old quack.
As they came upon the first set of dorms, Rick glanced back to the frail Morty and said, “you know what to do. I’ll leave- leave you a change of clothes just across the hall--don’t take too long. You- urp, you know where to find me.”
With that, he turned on his heels and left, waving his hand ‘bye’ as he b-lined straight for the stairs. There was likely a Rick waiting for him to return, who waited two-minutes too long to check out a new Morty. The thought made him groan as he began to leave Morty behind-
“Grandpa Rick?” Morty called as Rick stopped midway down the hall. Rick felt a chill run up his spine at the sound of Morty’s voice. Something about it still felt ghostly and distant to him.
He looked behind himself to the Morty who stood in the center of the hall, unmoved and still. Morty looked back at him, eyes wide as he looked up to the taller man, thin frame shedding the blanket and leaving it to pool around his feet. Naught about him was intimidating, in fact he looked borderline-starved. Yet, the pull of his tired eyes and beady stare shocked Rick a certain way. The spacious stare of hungry eyes spied at him with curiosity, and his mouth fell open to let haunting words echo from his mouth.
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.”
