#Council Riq

[therevivedcouncil]

TAG DIRECTORY

#council Morticia - Morticia's tag

#council Quantum - Quantum's tag

#Council Max - Maximus' tag

#Council prime - council Prime's tag

#council zeta - zeta's tag

#council tin - Ricktinimus' tag

#hollars from others - ask tag

#observed by the council - reblogs, may not have commentary

#admin Drawma - the admin's tag, used for ooc reblogs too

[thatfinewine]

Rewatching The Rickshank Rickdemption and when Riq IV took Summer as a hostage and told the other Council members to fight over the Morty, it really says so much about how most Ricks feel. They probably are more reluctant to kill a Summer, for whatever reason it is for them. But Morty? On the Citadel, Mortys are replaceable, in every way. But for C-137, it's the complete opposite. (Or, well, was. Still tilts in Morty's favor when it's life or death and he has to choose.) Having Morty as a shield was still better than nothing, though, because it's annoying to try to find a replacement when you're not part of the Citadel or even on neutral terms with it.

Riq IV assumed he'd be safe because having Summer gave him the best chances of surviving. Too bad C-137's the rogue.

[greatwyrmgold]

Hm.

As of when I queued this, the last thing I wrote was some notes for the Worm/RWBY Ice Queendom fic I've been kicking around in my head ever since RIQ dragged me back into the RWBY fandom...specifically stuff about Taylor Hebert. And the last game I played that has any kind of world to be trapped in is Kingdom of Loathing.

Taylor would not like it there. If you take it seriously, it's a world where the Powers That Be are selfish, incompetent, and callous to the effects their actions have on other people...and nobody cares. Luckily for Seaside Town, the aforementioned fic takes place early enough in the timeline that Skitter wouldn't try to depose the Council of Loathing, but I don't see her going along with their quests.

That said, I can see her trying to defeat the Naughty Sorceress. Up until she's defeated, everyone seems to think she's responsible for all the monsters and stuff; pre-Skitter Taylor is a wannabe superhero, so she'd try to stop that. But even if she gets past the walls and hedge maze, she's going to be stopped by the locked tower door, which requires several strange keys, which requires doing at least a few quests.

And while doing so, Taylor will quickly realize that this world is utterly deranged, disconnected from any sense of internal consistency or common sense. I have no idea how she'd react to it, but I don't think it would end well for her.

The last character you drew/wrote about is now stuck in the last game you played. How screwed are they?

[dailynews9]

Little-known outfit IRC claims responsibility

Little-known outfit IRC claims responsibility

Bengaluru: A little-known outfit Islamic Resistance Council ( IRC ) has reportedly claimed responsibility for the Mangaluru blast on November 19, saying one of its ‘ Muja hid brother Mohammed Sha riq ‘ attempted to attack a ‘ Hindutva Temple in Kadri. ‘ The outfit also warned Additional Director General of Police ( Law and Order ) Alok Kumar. ” As for those rejoicing at the arrest of the…

[utyouten502]

Little Girl Morticia  and Riq IV and Council of Ricks

じじいアイドル モーティシア。

このまま膝の上で寝落ちする。

[ded-evil-rick]

Oh shit yeah they're here too in the ded house

Bonus:

Where is Quantum Thicc

[porkchop-ao3]

I saw this post and immediately thought of Tailor Rick!

I headcanon that these two are good friends, I picture Riq being a little up himself like Tailor is so they’d enjoy looking down their noses at the world together. But, I think Riq can be a bit of a dick too, and he likes to tease Tailor. He knows he’s not a fan of PDA and touchy feely-ness, and he takes advantage of that. He loves to see him blush and squirm! They aren’t together and they haven’t hooked up at all, but Riq likes to flirt with Tailor for a bit of fun ;) Tailor puts up with it for the most part, he wants to stay in the head of the council’s good books!

[samuel-am-i]

some of my favorite parts of the last issue of pocket like you stole it

this version of the council is literally just like my and @ricksanchez-dt799‘s timeline of them oh m y god im so happy

(im so happy this riq has a different number than show riq... i think i may actually give mine a new one hhh)

[energonalucard]

Some Council of Rick's from the comics #22 and #23. It's not all their appearances, but it's truly something.

Also, WTF is Zeta Alpha doing bent over in #7?

[therevivedcouncil]

"Morticia's drinking... I'm waiting for her to come out be she always... worries me.."

"Oh, let her be, you'll overwhelm her!"

"But-"

"leave her!"

[possiblecanadian]

Tiny Riq IV

[thefourthriq]

[resonationartist]

Full quality watercolor art.

PM ME IF YOU WANT A WATERCOLOR COMMISSION LIKE THESE!

[utyouten502]

Citadel School Principal Riq Ⅳ and  President of The Student Council Evil Morty 

校長先生のリックと生徒会長イビル モーティくん。

クソ仲悪い二人。

New Blood Morty and Morticia

ニューブラくんとモーティシアちゃん

うさぎちゃんトーン使いたかったので使えてよかった。

[evilmortys]

“Well, it’s great to have you back here in our chambers again. And by that, we of course mean that it’s literally the worst to have you back here in our chambers, C-136.” There’s a definite familiarity in the way Riq IV utters his indicative numerals that rings almost personal, but understandably, there’s little fondness behind his severe greeting. Jesus Christ, he thinks to himself sourly, this fucking Morty again. “You know how this goes, so let’s get right to it. State your name and dimension number for the record, turd.”

“Yeah, well, here’s somethin’ for the record: I’m not- I’m actually not too jazzed about it myself, y’know? Every time I get hauled here, I gotta- I gotta look you guys in the faces for like, an hour. And they’re really ugly ones.” Morty rebukes, arms folded over his chest defensively. His insides quiver like jelly. Deep down, he’s actually really not so good with this confrontation stuff, believe it or not. What Morty is? Still, he can’t half pretend to be unflinching when a situation calls for it. Nerves sufficiently steeled and outward appearance nothing short of done with this shit, he obliges the demand. “Mortimer Smith, Earth Dimension C-136. No additional numerals applicable.”

“Watch it.” Another council member snaps suddenly, already infuriated by the blatant lack of respect, and Morty’s gaze drifts to the secondary speaker. Hazel eyes rest upon the decrepit figure boredly, and he inwardly debates whether it’d be worth it to point out he doesn’t even know the name of any of these other assholes- that’s- that’s about how relevant their input is to him right now. Probably shouldn’t, he concedes grudgingly. Don’t bite the bullet when it comes to spitting snark, y’know? Employing restraint now leaves wiggle room to get away with saying more once this discussion inevitably goes to shit. He looks back to their spokesperson wordlessly, gaze expectant.

“Yes, Rick Prime, you’re absolutely right. He says what we’re all thinking! Now... let me see what you’ve gotten up to this time, C-136. While I’m reading the report over, why don’t you go ahead and tell me: who the fuck do you think you are? And why do you think you can get away with this shit? We’d all love to hear it.” Riq IV gathers up the loose-leaf before him and taps the papers against the imperial desk he sits behind, neatening the stack before beginning to look them over.

“I don’t think I’m anyone- anyone... look, I didn’t do anything wrong,” Morty protests defensively. “There’s nothing I’d even be getting away with! That’s- whatever’s written there, it won’t- it’ll all be a bunch of bullshit!”

“Really? Because let me tell you, this is all lining up very well with what we’ve come to expect of your character.” Riq IV heaves a world weary sigh, bracing himself for what’s to come (this particular turd, and the circumstance of his Rick being such a generous contributor, always makes everything so difficult), and passes the report along for the other council members to peruse. Can’t effectively threaten this one, really. But like hell he won’t try. “Here’s our working theory, turd. You believe that you’re special, and brave, or some shit, and- and you think that because your Rick happens to donate to us often that we have to tolerate this kind of shit from you and take it on the chin. That your actions here don’t have consequence. Am I in the ballpark, C-136?”

“Not even close!”

“Then do you want to tell us what the fuck happened?! Do you want to, oh, I don’t know--- clue the council in on why you saw fit to push a Rick to the ground, stamp repeatedly on his ballsack, and punch him in the face until... he- cried---? Jesus Christ, in- in hindsight- this geezer’s not reflecting on us well. How does this even happen? He got fucked up by a Morty? I mean, at that point, you pretty much deserve whatever happens, right? What the fuck was I even reading there, y’know?” 

Riq IV isn’t quite addressing C-136 come the end of that impassioned order for an explanation, and is instead glancing at the other members incredulously, brow knitted indignantly. The other four Ricks murmur heatedly in irritable agreement, though they’re keen to point out Mortys should never possess the balls to lash out at a Rick violently regardless. With a nod of his head, the spokesman looks down upon the yellow-shirted bastard beneath him, and snaps, “Whenever you’re ready, C-136. Take your time! I know you think this Citadel bows to your goddamn whims either way. Go ahead and phone a fucking friend- why not? You’re- you’re a little monster.”

“Oh, I’m ready, you stupid haircut having- you’re a- dumb ass motherfucker,” Morty spits vehemently, gritting his teeth, before catching himself. His gaze briefly averts, as if in wordless apology for his blunt outburst. He draws himself up slightly, gesticulating with his hands as he attempts to get across his reasoning. “Look, I know it sounds bad. It was bad! It was! I know. But that Rick, he- he was, he was pushing this Morty around, being such a dick, making fun of him, and- there was... he didn’t even have a reason! That Morty was mute, y’know? He’d- he’d had his tongue cut out, or- or maybe ripped out by some sorta alien... I don’t know. He was making this awful gurgling noise, he was frightened, and- what, was I just supposed t- to walk on by? Pretend I couldn’t see that happening?!”

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.” Riq IV says pointedly, as if affronted he has to clarify the obvious at all. “We can only assume that Morty was behaving in a way to make him deserve that, just as you should have assumed, turd. Besides, I’ll have you know that tongueless Mortys are in, uh- pretty high demand, for the more morally ambiguous Ricks. In fact, I’m pretty sure we offer services for a humane snip of the tongue. We do that, guys, right? ... Maybe it’s more of a black market thing? Yes. It’s- it’s just an adjustment that can be made to you little bastards, for a price, much like implanting chips into your spines and weaponizing you for efficiency. And let me tell you something: it’s one that I plan to recommend to your grandfather if you continue to push your luck. Our tolerance only goes so far, no matter how much of an asset Rick C-136 is to the development of our Citadel. We won’t exactly crumble without him.”

“Fuck you! Wh- what the fuck is WRONG with you?! Y- you wanna know something?! You wanna know what I think?! Don’t answer: I- I know you don’t, but fuck you, and listen up anyway! Every single one of you BASTARDS are DEFINITELY gonna die with each other’s dicks in your throat from how much you suck each other off! How can you sit up there, and say shit like that, and- and not hear how fucking awful you all sound?!” 

His gesturing hands have long since returned to his sides, and his arms are tensed where they rest- C-136 is acutely aware of the fact that he’s trembling, shaking with anger that has never felt more well founded. Despite himself, he curls his fingers and balls them into fists, as if- as if he could swing for those smug motherfuckers up there from all the way down here. Morty has to jut his chin just to regard them with all this fury, and there’s nothing to goddamn do with it- his breathing quivers from his lungs tensely, and there’s a challenging look crystal clear in his blazing eyes. Can’t do anything about it, the reminder bangs in his brain. The Guard Ricks posted all around don’t even motion to grip their guns tighter, because they fucking know it, and the council fucking knows it, and they know he’s painfully aware of it, too. 

Their broad, shit-eating grins say it all--- at least, they do, until Ricktiminus Sancheziminius sees fit to glance upward briefly by chance, and winds up visibly starting, and fixing his gaze on something else entirely. Somebody else. Somebody other than the spectacle of that notoriously difficult Morty having an outburst. Ricktiminus Sancheziminius nudges Riq IV sharply in the side, and upon gaining the other’s attention and irritable acknowledgement, indicates the new arrival to the spokesman. He soon sobers, flashing the figure at the entrance to their chambers a bemused look- and the others are quick to follow his lead. Morty’s brows knit, and he glances over his shoulder- heart sinking---no, outright dropping---deeply into his stomach the very instant he’s processed it. 

Fuck.

“Ah, your keeper’s here, C-136. Rick Sanchez, earth dimension C-136! We presume our message reached you in a timely manner... and yet, enough time has passed for your grandson to spit vulgarities at us for quite a while. I certainly hope we didn’t pull you away from anything important...” Riq IV smiles strangely, almost as if simpering. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and there is something deeply false to the curve of his mouth. Belching, he waves a careless hand, as if to dismiss his own backhanded, apologetic sentiment before the other can even respond to it. “... Though it begs the question of what could be more important than the Citadel. We both have this society’s best interests at heart, after all.”

“Yeah, y-eeeuurgh-eah, what-the-fuck-ever.” Rick replies, sweeping into the chambers and standing at Morty’s side, flashing him a deeply vexed look. He probably heard that whole last part, and out of context, it doesn’t really reflect well on the flicker of patience he's been trying to maintain all the while. “I was balls deep in the concept of time when you motherfuckers called me, so ex-cuse me if I’m not particularly chirpy about being called over this time around. He- he better have at least killed someone, is what I’m saying. I was getting action. Literally fucking with time. I- I don’t wanna fucking be here for anything less.”

Morty’s mouth falls open as he hastens to try and explain himself, ready to trip over his own spluttering words until Rick comes to understand that he was just trying to help- before he realizes, dully, that it won’t even matter. Huffing, the teenager simply looks askance, knowing full well Rick won’t take his side on this. Almost can’t take his side on this. Though it’s not like the other ever strives to have his back anyway. 

This train of thought is a bitter one, and it rattles through his head so loudly, all the biting reminders that he’s in a room full of people who don’t give a shit what he has to say in the slightest, that he briefly tunes out from the exchange between the council and his disapproving grandfather. Their words are little more than buzzing in his ears, but he doesn’t miss much. They’re just filling his companion in on what shit trick he’s pulled this visit. A sharp flick against the side of his head soon bumps him back to reality, and a deep scowl curls the sixteen year old’s lip as he rubs it, fighting the innate urge to bitch. Rick scoffs at him, before turning his attention back to the six alternates perched up there.

“See that? Not even listening. Look, this time last year, Morty was all over the Citadel, just like I am. Nobody’s saying anything about taking issue with this place. Nothing but support in the C-136 household. He’s just going through a little phase, in case you can’t tell. You ever had a sixteen year old Morty? Nightmare. Rebellion, he’s all- all stick it to the Ricks, y’know? He’s just being a c-eeeuurgh-ontrary little shit. Christ, the whole reason he’s here is to pick some crap up that I ordered- did you even fucking get around to grabbing that, Morty? Before you started swinging for Ricks?”

“Yeah. I got it.” Morty says shortly. “Laruxion ore.” 

He finds himself physically biting down on his tongue, as if to chastise it prematurely as it twitches to run away with him about what a nightmare even just grabbing Rick’s shit was, too. The shopkeeper glared down at him, and asked a few dozen hostile questions about what a Morty was doing picking up something so volatile, so potentially dangerous, for his Rick. If it were up to me, he’d declared, unwillingly bagging the package up all the same, you wouldn’t be running around with something like this. Taking it to your Rick or otherwise. Guy can’t pick up his own shit?

“Aw, jeez. Well,” Morty had shot back, unable to help himself, “don’t you all think we’re too stupid to do anything smart anyway? Either you think Mortys are capable of falling the entire Citadel with this ore, and you won’t fork that shit over to me because of that, or you think we’re dumbass, i- incapable, um, y’know- sidekicks. In which case, there’s- there’s no harm in handing it over to me. Right? Just saying, y’know. Y- you guys should pick a lane. Aw, jeez.”

Suffice to say, Shopkeeper Rick was not impressed with his take on the matter, and all but threw the bag across the counter into Morty’s fumbling hands, before angrily shooing him off.

“Might as well have done it myself. Can’t even run an errand without getting stirred up in shit. Look, council,” Rick grouses, pinching the bridge of his nose in a show of utter annoyance, “Let’s just call this square. We all fucking paid for his shit trick today, right? I got blue balls, you had to, uh... rightfully bitch at him, waste your... precious time on a dumbass Morty. And he’s gonna get a fucking earful. I’d- I’d say it won’t happen again, but, Christ- is- was he even entirely in the wrong? If a Rick can get taken out by a Morty, he’s not exactly a valuable member of this society. The society I funnel a lot of fucking cash into on a monthly basis, might I add. G- g-eeeUURGH-etting pretty sick of the same old bitchfest about every toe my moron puts over the line when he’s here. Do you guys do this for every Morty that acts out? I’m just sp-eeEUURGH-itballing over here, but- I kind of thought I was donating to people that had slightly better shit to do than pull my Morty up for being a little- a little angsty, or whatever the fuck, right now.”

“... We do this for Mortys that repeatedly cause issues within our citadel. Which yours does to the point of notoriety, C-136. If you’d only rein in your Morty, this wouldn’t be an issue to begin with---”

“Oh, my God- shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck UP---”

“Morty, YOU shut the fuck up. Sorry for him, as usual. Are we done here?”

“... Of course. We, uh, we’d like to reiterate our gratitude for your contributions to maintaining the-”

“Yeah, yeah, leave me another f-eeEUrrrgh-ucking voicemail about it. Come on, Morty. Y- you’re gonna- I’m gonna fucking kill you when we’re outta here,” Rick chastises, and reaches out to grip his forearm and pull him along as he paces away from his six alternates, muttering darkly under his breath all the while. Visibly nettled by the threat, the sixteen year old bitches top note and makes several efforts to wrench his arm free- and easily manages it once they’re back in the sea of alternates that is the main hub of this hellhole as Rick reluctantly eases his hold.

“Don’t grab me! And- and y’know what, don’t bust my balls about this, either. Would it kill you to be on my side? Like, ever? Wh- why would I beat on anyone for no goddamn reason, Rick?!” Morty explodes, and his grandfather rakes a hand through his tufts of blue hair and glares.

“You know exactly why, Morty. Besides. I’m not exactly in the business of backing you up- not sure if you’ve noticed. Because you’re never actually in the right. You’re just taking everything to heart and poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, as usual. Got that?” 

There’s a certain bitterness behind his words. How the hell do you think it’s going to reflect on me if they know I’ve never been able to put a lid on your shit, Morty? Rick sets off walking, and for a moment, Morty hangs back- hesitating to follow, eyes narrowed fiercely at the other’s retreating back... before he groans, and hastens to scramble through the thick crowds and catch up, demanding an explanation all the while.

“Why do you even put up with their crap, Rick? I- I don’t get it. You’re throwing money at a bunch of dicks, t- to support something you don’t even- to support the fucking Shitadel?” Morty gesticulates wildly, hazel eyes narrowed and gaze intent as he regards his older relative, forearms raised and fingers splayed out in a demonstration of utter bewilderment. “I’m just trying to understand why- why the fuck you would do that! Y’know? Y- you don’t even like this fucking hellhole! The people who live here don’t even like it! I just, I- I don’t---”

Rick’s shoulders slump under this bout of badgering, and, if only to quieten the idiot down, he caves. Lowers his voice and mutters quietly, so as not to be listened in on by anyone around them. 

“You don’t g-eeURRGH-et it? Yeah, I heard you the first time. Look, M-Bomb, if I know those assholes---and I am those assholes---being, y’know, blatant about hating their fucking guts isn’t the way to go. If I say what I think, tell ‘em to suck my balls and shove their society up their ass, how- how exactly do you see that playing out for me?” 

Rick pauses, as if awaiting an answer. Bewildered, the teenager beside him blinks a tad owlishly, and at long last, opens his mouth in preparation to fumble for some sort of answer. The very moment he begins to speak out uncertainly, his grandfather purposefully presses on with his point, much to the boy’s visible aggravation.

“I’ll tell you how it’s gonna play out for me. I- I know it’s a little beyond your, uh, limited understanding, Morty. They’re gonna scout for a new paypig, come in the night, haul us outta home, take my portal gun, and make me a fucking janitor, Morty. Meanwhile your dumb ass is gonna- you’ll end up in that shitty Morty School, taking classes on how to bark great idea, grandpa, like- like some mindless little moron who can’t think for himself. They’d parade you around as an example of how well they break you little bastards down into yes-man sidekicks, since you’re such a stubborn piece of shit. And that’d be if y-eeEUrgh-ou’re lucky, by the way.”

“... Ha. Yeah, well, don’t- don’t talk like you wouldn’t like that. The last part, I mean.” He snorts, and a brief flicker of amusement brightens his companion’s resigned expression. Rolling his eyes, Rick rolls his shoulders into a shrug as they walk, moving through the sea of yellow-shirted teenagers and lab-coated fossils.

“Only if you don’t talk like you wouldn’t get a fucking kick out of seeing me scrub a toilet,” he snipes, and they exchange a glance. 

There’s a brief, strange moment wherein something shifts between them- all the unspoken anger, the seething temper, the typical wariness that clings to the air that hangs between them seems to all but ebb away. 

Morty cracks first. The corners of his mouth twitch upward slightly, a fit of snickers rises in his throat... and the second Rick clocks that he’s going to burst out laughing, he cracks up, too. They laugh, and they laugh, and just when it seems that they’re going to calm back down, they catch each other’s eye and lose it all over again. The other Ricks and Mortys waiting in line for a return portal to their dimension cast them strange looks as they all but giggle feebly beside each other, adamantly refusing to meet each other’s gaze in a fervent effort to recover, now; letting things lapse back into their norm. 

All good things eventually draw to a close, and sure enough, this temporary, shared moment of reciprocal sentiment is one of them. The teenager can’t help but push it, however. Let it last just a minute longer. I won’t hate you again, just for a fraction more time. Don’t hate me again, just for a bit longer. While Rick moves to procure his silvery flask from his pocket, amused grin easing in the corners as his expression becomes idly impatient once more, Morty inhales, picking at a loose thread on his sweater if only to busy himself with something, too.

“Hey, Rick?” His tentative broach at conversation is met with a grunt while the old man slugs back his potent alcohol supply. Casting his grandfather a tentative smile, he fidgets with his fingers. “... Thanks. And- sorry. I- I know you hate, y’know, this whole- paying off this shithole, so we don’t wind up here, and stuff. And seeing those motherfuckers, and their stupid haircuts, more than you have to.”

... The sentiment doesn’t quite have the effect he wanted. Rick doesn’t smile back, once he’s finished downing the last drops from his flask. His brow narrows as he shoves it back into the pocket of his lab coat, and he shakes his head dismissively, refusing to take the attempt to uphold their good mood at face value. Disdain creeps right back into his tone- that distaste and disapproval over Morty’s every choice today rearing it’s ugly head with a vengeance, it seems.

“Yeah. I do. So I guess you owe me b-eeUURGH-ig time, Morty.” 

He returns simply, and Morty’s heart sinks upon registering the snippy edge to Rick’s tone... before he soon finds himself frowning deeply, annoyed with himself for even trying; consumed with that aching anger once again. There’s a certain, undeniable comfort to be found in how familiar the feeling is. Losing the moment of enjoying one another’s companionship, of things being how they were some two years ago again, stings. Undoubtedly. But it’s better not to dwell on them. 

Part of him always wonders if it’s his fault they are the way they are. Keeping each other at arm’s length. Essentially communicating through picking fights over nothing, and bickering over absolute bullshit, with terribly occasional, painfully rare warm moments interspersed amidst all of their resentment. If he were only more wide-eyed and naive, Rick wouldn’t be like this with him. Right? Rick thinks that Morty doesn’t know precisely what his fucking problem is, but it doesn’t exactly take a genius to decipher why he’s so harsh with him most days. Read between the lines of his grandfather’s unspoken resentment. 

No. It takes a smart, capable Morty, unafraid to call him or anyone, really, on bullshit, and injustice. And he never wanted that. What sort of Rick fucking does? The entire point of a Morty is to stand beside you, go along with whatever you say despite their own rightful apprehensions, to freak out and struggle and be impressed, awed, and horrified by the shit you pull. They’re sidekicks, but they’re never supposed to be all that competent. That’s the role of the Rick, after all. C-136 was fearful and clueless when they adventured in his youth, sure. There was a time. But he outgrew it far too fast, picked up on things far too quickly, keen for approval he didn’t want to give purely because of how actually deserved it was. Jesus, even as a kid, he was perceptive. Intrusively so. Full of cutting observations--- with alarmingly poignant outbursts over how Rick conducted himself, dripping with disdain for his behaviour, being plentiful from the tender age of eight.

Rick speaks.

“... Quit pulling this shit.”

Morty snaps.

“Quit being shit, Rick.”

They fix one another with a long, lingering look. It feels like a game of chicken- daring the figure across from them to be the one to break the prolonged staredown they’re locked into... and in turn, out himself as the coward ultimately too afraid to face up to the other. It ends in a perfect draw; grandfather and grandson tear their gazes away at the same moment, scoffing over how stupid it was at all, deliberately shuffling to sit a few more inches apart from one another. 

Distance from it, the duo both decide sullenly. Never as different from one another as they like to insist, unbeknown to the two of them. All you can do. He can’t be told.

Rick and Morty, Earth Dimension C-136, await their assigned portal back home in silence; the balance restored in their uncaring world, and dynamic decidedly chilly once more.

[rllysick]

Rick Sanchez x Reader: Multiple Part Stories

Rick Sanchez x Reader: Multiple Parts

One

Make up Sex by NikkiDoodle: After a near death experience Rick and you decide it's high time you both get so drunk you forget the whole experience.The only problem is neither one of you can keep your hands to yourselves while drunk.

Second Time Around by NikkiDoodle:  After the motel sex you see if Rick's offer was legit. Only difference is now that you're sober you're super shy and extremely innocent acting which puts Rick in a dominating position.

Science by NikkiDoodle: Beth and Jerry have been at each other's throats over Rick. Jerry doesn't want Rick around you, and Beth sees nothing wrong with it as she defends her father once again. Only she's wrong. So terribly wrong. And they both find that out the moment that garage door is opened. (smut mentioned)

Science Fair by NikkiDoodle: You need help with your collage science project. So you ask Rick for help. (2 Chapters)

Merry Christmas by NikkiDoodle: Your mother and father decide to have Christmas at your uncle Jerry's house this year. Now your parents get to meet Rick Sanchez, the man who you were caught with in the garage this summer. (5 Chapters)

You Can't Be Serious by NikkiDoodle:  Jerry over heard Rick's confessions of love and looses it. Thinking that you're being played by Rick - like the rest of his family - he wants things to end.

Two

The Blind's Side by Jinkies_Lydia: This takes place after episode one of season two. How the reader meet and became involved with Rick Sanchez after Morty won't keep his blinds down and she keeps seeing things from her window she'd rather not see.

Tickets to Ride by Jinkies_Lydia:  Takes Place after season 2 episode 2. The reader has decided to warm up to the idea of Rick's flirting. And has found the perfect opener after Rick returns with a fist full of tickets from Blips and Chitz.

I Like 'em Mean by Jinkies_Lydia:  Takes place after season 2 episode 3. The Reader is worried about Rick. And learns a bit about Unity.

Real Weird by Jinkies_Lydia: Takes place after season 2 episode 4.

Should You Stay or Should You Float? Consider Headism Today! by Jinkies_Lydia: Takes place during season 2 episode 5.

Bloodhound by Jinkies_Lydia:  This story is about period sex. If that is not your thing turn around now. Takes place after season 2 episode 7, “Big Trouble in Little Sanchez”. The Reader comes onto Rick at her bloodiest time of the month after a wild ride previously with Rick after killing his other clone bodies, drenched in his own blood.

Hello, Mr. Merlot by Jinkies_Lydia: There is mild sexual references in this story, but over all it’s more a reflection piece about the reader’s building relationship with Rick and his family. Takes place after season 2 episode 8.

Bullet Proof by Jinkies_Lydia:  Installment for season 2 episode 9

Flat line by Jinkies_Lydia:  Installment for season 2 episode 10

Three

All In by Hoodoo: Rick C-137 invites you along to his standing poker game with some of the boys--alternate versions of himself. You have no money and only a rudimentary knowledge of the game of poker, but don't worry, they'll find a way to make it work. (8 Chapters)

Double Up by Hoodoo: Miami Rick invites you to a private party at his penthouse, plus Cop Rick but minus Rick C-137. A sequel to "All In". (7 Chapters)

Slow Play by Hoodoo: Rick C-137 + Miami Rick + Cop Rick + reader = pure filth. (4 Chapters)

Four

What's A Girl Like You Doing in a Place Like This? by Hoodoo:  Bartending gives you the opportunity to meet--and hook up with--Ricks.

Young Punk in a Fur Coat by Hoodoo: You don’t need an addiction to Kalaxian Crystals; you already have an addiction to Ricks and that’s plenty.

Council of Ricks: Riq IV by Hoodoo: Most Ricks were dickish, but this one buries the needle on that gauge. How much can you take?

What Evil Lurks in the Heart of Rick? by Hoodoo: The lovely Maidservant_Hecubus wanted to see how our intrepid bartender [you!] would handle Evil Rick. Let's find out, shall we?

Riq IV: Revisited by Hoodoo: Riq IV is walked through the Citadel wearing his leather harness and collar. You're holding the leash.

Incubi, When You Need It by Hoodoo: You've been having horrible nightmares. Good thing SEAL Team Ricks are there to help you forget.

Denied by Hoodoo: A new Rick comes into the bar. You'd love to hook up with him, but three strikes and you're out.

Saurophile by Hoodoo: A Rick you've never, ever seen before--nay, never even imagined may exist!--comes into the Bar. Of course you're intrigued, but . . . can it even be physically possible?

Shortcomings by Hoodoo: Early on in your career as a bartender at The Bar, you meet a Rick who's not quite like the others.

Riq IV: Something New by Hoodoo: Riq has another session with Bartender, who surprises him with something he didn't know he wanted...

Play That Song by Hoodoo: A new Rick with talented fingers comes into the Bar . . .

Give and Take by Hoodoo: Another night that Riq IV, Speaker for the Council of Ricks, shows up at the Bar, needing a little release. A little discipline. But he also wants to please his Mistress, and brings along a new toy...

Teetering on the Edge of a Blade by Hoodoo: Like the rest of them, the SEAL Team member with mismatched eyes occasionally visits the Bartender privately.

Triple Play by Hoodoo: Riq IV + reader + young upstart Council member Maximums Rickimus = Hardcore hijinx!

Submerged by Hoodoo: A Rick who can't make it to the Bar asks our intrepid Barkeep to visit him. She knows why he's asking, and agrees to meet him on his terms.

That Was How by Hoodoo: The Barkeep has met a lot of Ricks. How did she get to where she was? Why is she so obsessed with them? Rick c-137 holds the key.