#Rickortys FUCK OFF!

[fandomwe1rd0]

I'm scared, (Oh-oh-oh) It feels like you don't care (Ooh-ooh)

Enlighten me, my dear.

Why am I still here?

In the back of my mind, you died

And I didn't even cry, no, not a single tear.

(...) In the back of my mind, I killed you.

And I didn't even regret it

I can't believe I said it, but it's true. Why don't I hate you?

~ Romantic Homicide d4vd

[thelabcoat]

I actually love it when they're sweet to each other (they are never sweet to each other)

[qqnieee]

ur in the club n run into the miamis wyd⁉️

[garmanarnarr]

Rickorty Week Day 4: Mythological Creatures

vampire morty | 2k words | Rated M for blood drinking and sexual content

@rickortyweek

Morty’s getting pretty good at asking for it. 

“H-hey, Rick?” 

Rick doesn’t look over from the TV, which is currently playing a rerun of a JoJo Siwa political documentary in a universe where she’s the president of the United States. It’s a miniseries, a retrospective, and they’ve been powering through episodes all night. Everyone went to bed long ago; Mom, Dad, and Summer had started to give Morty a wide berth after ten PM. But he doesn’t mind not sleeping, now, because Rick doesn’t sleep either. Only in fits and starts. Sometimes over his work bench, face mashed into mechanical junk, or passed out on the couch. He snores, but only when he’s really drunk– not that Morty’s watching. 

“Um,” Morty says, picking at a thread on the couch cushion. 

“What?” Rick sounds too distant to be annoyed, just flat and tired.

“M’ getting kinda, you know.” 

“What?”

“Hungry?” Morty’s voice cracks on the last part. 

Jojo screams something excitedly on the TV, pointing at a diplomat from another country and waving. Her facial rhinestones match her power suit. 

Rick’s still watching, glazed eyes flashing in the TV’s glow. “Her foreign policy sucked,” he mutters.

“I’m hungry, Rick.” 

“Want me to order some fucking sugar chicken, then?” Rick asks, finally swiveling to actually look at Morty. “Huh, Morty? Want some Panda Express?”

Morty’s throat feels so dry it crackles. He thinks of the pool of sunlight that’ll be creeping towards them through the glass patio doors when the sun rises in a few hours, ready to burn him. His vision blurs a little and he gives a painful swallow. 

“Y-y-you know what I mean, Rick,” he whispers. It isn’t fair that Rick always plays him like this when he’s fucked Morty up in the first place. Experiment gone sour, vampirism— Morty had to pick that term up– spreading too aggressively to be cut out, too deeply to pull the plug and hop to a clone. He rests his hand on the couch next to Rick’s leg. Not touching it, but just, you know, next to it. He can feel the heat of Rick’s body beside his own like he’s sitting near a radiator. Throbbing is such a weird word, but that’s the only way to describe it. Rick is throbbing with heat. Morty runs his tongue over the stubs of his teeth. 

“You know, my blood is probably some of the nastiest shit you could put inside you,” Rick’s saying. “Got yeeears of k-lax and alcohol abuse in here. And some other stuff. I think one of Unity’s non-humanoid bodies might have had–”  

“I don’t care. E-everything else tastes like ass and I don’t want to drink it.” Morty makes a face, saying that out loud, but it’s true. The bags of O-positive Rick had pulled out of his lab freezer after he’d just turned Morty had tasted like the equivalent of soggy pizza cardboard. Real pizza– all normal food– also tastes terrible. Animal blood has a funky, earthy smell and a worse flavor, when he’d tried it. And he isn’t about to make anyone else let him drink their blood.

Rick made his own bed. He can lie in it. 

Rick watches his face for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he sighs, and rolls up his sleeve. 

“Not on the couch, you little moron. Or, you wanna g-get b-blood everywhere?” 

“I won’t get it everywhere,” Morty whines. He did the first time, when they fed in the garage, but he’s neater about it, now. He’d been so new, then, and dying for it, ready to rip Rick’s veins right open, ready to swim inside him to make the pain of his thirst go away. Now, after two weeks of feedings, he doesn’t waste a drop. 

Rick tries to stand, but Morty catches his wrist. He’s taken aback at his own strength; that’s still a surprising perk. He keeps accidentally breaking doorknobs off of classrooms in school. Denting his locker door when he closes it with a slam so loud it echoes through the hallways. Shattering glasses. Jerking his own dick too hard and too fast by accident. 

Rick pauses, looking down at him. He seems like he’s weighing making his grandson let go with words or by force. But Morty doesn’t let go. He can feel the throbbing of Rick’s blood now, pulse pressed against the circle of his fingers. His stomach twists with a tortured sounding gurgle. 

“Please,” he says. 

“Alright. Jesus,” Rick says, sitting back down with a roll of his eyes, yanking his wrist out Morty’s grasp quickly enough to break his hold. “Just a second, A-A-Augustus Gloop.”

He reaches into the breast pocket of his lab coat and pulls out a little packet, which he rips open with his teeth. Morty’s chest thuds because it looked kind of like a condom. He probably shouldn’t have thought that. Rick unfolds the moist towelette inside and uses it to briskly swab the inner part of his forearm. The pale stretch of it gleams up under the light of the ad that’s playing on TV, riddled with blue and green veins, skin going translucent with age. Morty’s mouth waters. 

“You– you just carry a swab with you?” he asks, licking back drool. It’s a genuine question. Did Rick want to– was he just waiting around for Morty to—

“More for my benefit than yours. Human mouths are one of the diEUUGHrtiest parts of our bodies, Morty.” 

“That doesn’t seem true, but okay,” Morty says. 

“I’m not fucking with you. Humans are filthy.” 

Rick throws the used wipe over the back of the couch, then pats the space beside him, like they’re going to cozy up and watch more TV together, easy as anything. Morty crawls over.  

Rick offering his skinny-ass forearm to him like this in the middle of the house is insane. They usually feed in the garage, sitting clinically in separate foldable chairs, lights flipped on. It’s dark in the living room, and it should be hard to see—should leave Morty fumbling and awkward, unable to function—but it doesn’t. Morty’s different, now. Darkness is easy. This close, he can sense all the sweet spots where the most blood flows in Rick’s body and where to land the best bite; he would have liked it a lot better if Rick let him feed at his neck, or at the top of his thighs, or even near his armpits, he thinks, but he’ll take what Rick will give him. 

“Don’t– don’t rip my fuckin’ arm off here, Morty, I need it.” They’re so close together that Rick’s voice is quieter than normal. Maybe he’s a little scared. Morty likes that; the idea of being able to scare Rick, a bit, for once. 

“I won’t,” Morty says with a lisp. His pointy canine teeth are getting longer in his mouth and making it hard to talk. Carefully, he takes Rick’s offered arm into his hands. His left one, the one with less cybernetic shit in it, flesh and blood around a hollow titanium bone that sheathes a grappling device. He smells kind of bad but also kind of good, like he always does, like alcohol sweats and a familiar old man powderiness. Morty darts his tongue across his lower lip. Rick’s chest is rising and falling gently, calmly, as he waits for Morty to start. 

“M’ just– don’t mind me, Morty, just watching TV, here. Just gonna finish this show, or whatever.” 

Rick claims he’s a god-robot-monster all the time— won’t shut up about it. But it turns out he’s still human, Morty thinks, a little vindictively, as he bites down. At least, still human enough to feed him.  

As he adjusts his bite to get the blood flowing, pressing against the smooth, hairless slip of Rick’s forearm with his tongue, he wonders if this was why people like wine. He’d always hated it, and spat out the mouthful of Mom’s that he’d snuck when he was ten and she was on the phone, because it was nasty, but maybe there’s something more appealing to it than he thought. An age and bitterness, in a good way, the kind that gives it a lot of different and interesting flavors at once. That’s what Rick’s blood tastes like. It tastes really fucking good. 

The TV’s making more sounds, but Morty can’t hear them anymore. He’s way too busy gulping Rick’s blood. Distantly, as if it were happening to someone else, he realizes he’s getting hard. Vaguely, he tries to direct his thoughts towards Jessica, but it’s tricky, considering he’s touching Rick and smelling Rick and drinking from Rick’s body. That Rick’s delicious blood is filling his mouth and sliding down his throat with every swallow. 

The flow stutters, so he pressed up all along his grandpa’s side to get a better angle. For a second, his dick brushes against Rick’s leg, hot and obvious. He tenses. Rick doesn’t say anything, though, just keeps sitting there quietly, so he relaxes again. Whatever, if Rick doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, and everything feels good. This is so fucking good. It feels right. He keeps feeding, actively sucking, now, because the flow is starting to taper off, blood only coming in hot spurts when he coaxes it out. He rocks his hips, a little, getting some friction on his dick, because he’s  so warm and full, and that feels good, too—

“—orty. Morty, that’s enough. Stop.”

Morty doesn’t stop. He swirles his tongue needily around the bite marks, pleasure unfurling up from his stomach and over his whole body, from his scalp to the bottom of his feet. Feeding from his grandpa like this is euphoric. 

“M-Morty, stop.” 

A hand pushes him back, roughly. It could be anyone’s hand. Morty is longer tethered to earth, fully. Suddenly, Morty’s laying on the floor by the coffee table, panting, ass sore from falling on it. His chin’s covered in own spit. His cheeks are flushed. There’s a definite tent pitched in his jeans, and everything is cold with the lack of a body to be pressed up against. When he looks up, Rick seems pale, even by his own standards, and his hair’s wilder, too. He’s blinking kind of a lot, staring down at Morty with fury on his face despite his heavy eyelids. He looks like he’s having trouble staying awake. 

“You– you don’t know how lucky you are that my cybernetic enhancements will start injecting substitute into my bloodstream if I lose more than a quart of blood, Morty,” he says in a low, deadly voice. Morty hears the edge of a wheeze in it. “A quaAAAUGhrt. Do you know how much that is? You fucking, you fucking numbskull braindead idiot?”

“No?”

“That’s what I— that’s what I thought,” Rick says, getting unsteadily to his feet with the help of the couch arm. “I’ll be in the garage. Don’t follow me.” 

Morty watches as his grandpa woozily makes his way out of the living room. He’s actually a little worried Rick’s going to pass out, or crash into something, but he doesn’t. He’s gone. Morty rubs the back of his hand across his mouth, and when he looks at it in the TV’s half-light, it’s smeared dark with Rick’s blood.

“S-sorry,” he says, late. 

–

Morty climbs upstairs to his room even though it’s more like roleplaying someone that needs to sleep than an actual need. He lays down on top of his covers next to his closet that’s now full of hats and sunglasses and UV-protective long sleeve shirts, above a kitchen filled with food he can’t eat, and a hallway mirror he can no longer see his own reflection in. 

He lays there quietly and waits, full-stomached, giving Rick a little privacy. Some time to cool off. If Rick noticed Morty’s hardon, he didn’t comment on it. 

But Morty had seen where Rick’s blood went, while he was feeding. 

He could sense it, the thick coursing of it, even in the dark.

[msnihilist]

for the darkship bingo I have to ask for the obligatory rickorty and/or maxvid or else I will explode (- @asperfern)

For the dark ship bingo.

Here is my bingo choices for Maxvid!!

This bingo sheet makes them seem almost vanilla 😭 They aren't violent, they're fucked up in other ways!! "They deserve each other" is meant positively, btw.

As for Rickorty....

Much closer to getting a bingo on this one! My basis for "they could make each other so much worse" is that I think Morty is a fucked up little creep who enables Rick, and I love him for that.

I think representations of their relationship where Morty is a victim in all of it are not entirely true. He definitely was in the beginning, but Rick has done a really good job at grooming this kid. I think Rick would be incapable of loving Morty if he was just another one of his victims.

And just because I know you're a fan of Irrational Attachments, I will include a snippet for an upcoming chapter (that I will probably never get around to finishing, whoops)!

_______________________

"C-Cut the bullshit. I asked your little messenger boy "how much?" and haven't gotten a fucking ansURPwer yet," he snapped impatiently. 

“Prices vary depending on who you select,” Chávez said matter-of-factly, all business now that they were talking about money. He set his hand on the small of Rick’s back, and Rick had to resist the urge to put a bullet through his forehead for that alone. “The pretty ones cost more, you understand. Higher demand. Have you been with a Morty before?”

“No,” Rick grit out through clenched teeth.

Chávez chuckled, patting Rick’s back before letting his hand drop. “Then, for you, it’s half off.”

If there was one thing that Rick knew about himself, it was that if something seemed too good to be true, it definitely was. He scowled. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” Chávez held his hands up in mock surrender. He quirked his unibrow, smug. “I just know that you’ll be back. They always are.” He gestured around the room. “Pick one before I change my mind and rescind my generosity.” 

“Fine.” Rick jerked his thumb at the most normal-looking Morty — the one with the scar who had led him down here. “Him.”

The Morty looked taken aback. “I don’t—” He started to say, and was cut off when Chávez set a hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make Morty wince.

“Fifty tamerbons for an hour,” Chávez said, not so much as glancing at Morty.

Rick rolled his eyes. “Jesus, and that’s half off? This place is a fuckin’ rip off,” he grumbled, but reached into his lab coat. He counted the amount out of his wallet, making a show of it like that wasn’t money Rick used to wipe his ass with.

Chávez didn’t hesitate to snatch it from him once Rick extended his hand. He counted out the amount a second time, then nodded, satisfied. “Show him to an open room, sweetheart,” he ordered, smacking Morty on the ass. 

The Morty winced, but didn't make a sound. He started walking, and Rick followed.

[dykemcqueen]

Hello! Do you have a rickorty playlist? I’d love to listen to some songs that you think fit them as I really like your rickorty fics/interpretations.

anon you don’t know. you don’t even knowwww how long i’ve been waiting for someone to ask me this. i have so fucking many playlists. fair warning they're all from 2017-2018 so the music is very much That. also alas some songs are missing from the playlists bc they were taken off spotify but most remain intact.

WITH OUR BACKS TO THE SUN - THE playlist of my r/m playlists. "half light" is probably my favorite rickorty song of all time.

WITH OUR BACKS TO THE SUN (DIRECTOR'S CUT) - this one's a little too long but has some extra gems.

STAY AFLOAT - a playlist for morty's depression and lost childhood.

RINSE REPEAT - a playlist for rick's exodus and return, s2 finale/s3 premiere.

CATCH AND RELEASE - a playlist about cycles. tbh i didn't know this one had gotten so long? the first half is definitely the best half.

DIMENSION N/A - a rick playlist

i also have a miami r/m playlist that is pretty bad but i do recommend nightlife + 1965 + blow your mind (mwah) and + issues (lol) as a little tasting flight from that mix.

there's a few more but those are probably the best :)

[mr0tysmith]

- Pinned Post Thingy ,, -

other rick and morty rp blogs can int ! i love to see more of this community

expect to see some ooc posts here and there

please dont abuse the ask box / spam

rickorty shippers can get the fuck out.

this is half a rp blog but also based off of my experiences as a morty fictionkin ! i would appreciate if other morty kins dni .

not much to say. just dont be weird as fuck. remember that morty is 14.

MORTY'S INFO

mostly just canon c137 morty , but is also based off of my kinmemories and other things. i dont currently have a specific dimension for this blog , but i may come up with one in the future.

[potetosaradas]

I think that's amorte is gonna be the first real rickorty episode that's going to be direct about it. I mean just going based off of that poster art: Rick looking baffled while Morty hugs him with a loving expression, the fact that Prime is there for some reason. Maybe while they're out trying to track him, Prime brainwashes Morty from afar with some kind of "love" effect that makes him fall in love with Rick, and not just C137 but any and all Rick's he comes across, as a way to fuck with them

Thats quite an interesting theory you got there, anon!

I could definitely see that happening 😂 we all know how much ram loves their incest jokes looool rickorty shippers are gonna be eating off this episode for MONTHS if you’re correct 😂😂😂 it is very interesting to see the physical touch aspect developing between Rick and Morty especially if you compare where they where at in S6E1

As for me: if i get to my trash man i will be so happy 🥹🥹🥹🥹

[krsive-writes]

I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Rickorty Week Day 2, prompts are Alternate Selves and First Time

Title: I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Author: krsive

Rating: M

Tags/Warnings: Angst, Mental Sex, Alien Sex

The setting didn't inspire confidence, really. There was some kind of green scaly rat in the alley feasting on a discarded Morty Hut pizza. It must have rained before they portaled in because the petrichor still hung in the air, though it was pungent with the scent of garbage. The asphalt was gritty and damp. Morty stuck close to Rick the whole way down to the steel door which was apparently where they were headed.

“This is a-already the worst birthday gift ever, a-a-and it hasn't even started yet!" Morty complained.    He didn't like the solemn disregard in Rick's expression.

"You're about to have a once in a lifetime experience, Morty. You're about to have the ultimate sex tourism ride. A little gratitude would be nice." Rick knocked a pattern on the door.

"We c-could have just had sex in a nice hotel. This place is too creepy."

"We can't have sex like this anywhere else. Didn't I tell you this was gonna be special? Even I've never done this before. Jesus, Morty. Always bitch, bitch, bitch."

"I—“

The door opened and a gruff Rick beckoned them inside. The room was large enough to feel airy though there were no windows. In one corner were two hospital beds and two huge bell jars, connected to one another by a mess of wires and tubes. It seemed a little menacing, but Morty couldn't dwell on it because something even stranger made itself known. Two swirling shapes like small cumulus clouds hovered in the air before him. One was a cool, dusty blue, and the smaller one was a dandelion yellow.

"Met Rick and Morty U-2571," Rick introduced.

"Um. H-Hi." Morty raised his hand in shy greeting.

You're late, C-995, said a Rickish voice, though there was no actual sound—just a distinct alien thought in Morty's mind.

"Of course we're late; we're Rick and Morty. You expect any level of personal organization?”

''W-we're sorry," said Morty.

At least your Morty has some manners. Let's get started, the blue cloud ‘said.’

Everyone seemed to know what to do but Morty, who was shooed towards the equipment in the corner. He didn't protest, though, until he was instructed to take his shirt off.

''Wait, though. What’s going on, here, Rick? I thought we were gonna…'' He darted a glance at the others. "You know…"

"We are. But it's gonna be like nothing we've ever done before. We're gonna swap bodies with these guys and have cloud sex."

"What?! I-I don't want to swap bodies with a smoke monster!'' Catching himself, he twisted his fingers together. "N-No offense."

None taken.

"Morty. Do you trust me or not? This is gonna be right up your alley. All intimate and shit. I chose you to try this with, you little ingrate. It's my first time, too."

That gave Morty pause. The two of them had been fucking for months, but Rick still seemed to be allergic to intimacy as a concept. Every time he began to share his heart with Morty, he ended up shutting down afterwards. If this was a true offer of vulnerability, Morty couldn't just turn it down.

''Fine,” he sighed, shoulders heavy. “Ok. Let's try it."

The gruff Rick set it all up, applying diodes and dialing in settings. The clouds went into the bell jars. Morty was asked to calm the fuck down and lower his heartrate, and eventually Rick had cooed him through it. Then came a moment of unspeakable pain, and every thing changed.

His new senses weren't senses at all, not in any way that Morty could understand. He saw without seeing, heard without hearing. It was like he just knew things about the world around him, his thoughts made of something invisible that he couldn't define. The bell jar opened and Morty understood that he was to exit in his new vaporous body. He was aware of the others, of the two beings borrowing their original    bodies, the gruff Rick opening a private tent. And, especially, he felt his own Rick, his presence like bright neon in his mind.

This slaps. Rick's voice wasn ’t a real voice, but it made Morty feel good.

What now? Morty returned, though he didn't quite understand how he was speaking.

In the tent. I thought you ’d want some privacy.

Morty was surprised to find that he could intuit how to move with great precision, and he followed Rick into shady privacy.

Wh-What are they doing with our bodies? he asked.

Hedonistic flesh shit. Stop thinking about them. Rick crowded in on Morty. We're here for us.

Morty had begun to worry about his normal body, but everything changed when a wisp of Rick's vaporous body mingled with his cloudy self. The jolt of alien pleasure hit him like a bolt of lightning, and all other thoughts fell away. It was like his mind had become a sex organ. He saw, without seeing, a vision like a steel gate shaking, as if a battering ram was pounding against it. Running on desirous instinct, Morty pressed forward. Their smoky bodies mingled further, turning green as they mixed. Morty made a wish, and the gate turned to sunflowers that toppled to the ground in a heap.

Instantly overwhelmed by the swirling shared mindscape, Morty reached for the shape of his grandfather. And he was here to be found, joy of joys! Here was Rick as Morty liked to think of him, relaxed and laughing on the couch. Rick as a small child, crying and crying over a lost balloon. Here was Rick in a tuxedo, turning the wedding ring over and over in his pocket while he tried to remember how to breathe. Rick with his nose broken and bloody, glaring at his smug father. Rick in a hospital gown—but no.

Not yet . Rick's voiceless voice surrounded him.

It felt so good. Morty ’s very being tingled, like his soul was about to orgasm. Rick sounded like he was close, too. Morty could sense tremulous desire in him.

Look.

Inside their shared soul, Morty saw Rick's love, large and shimmering in unnamed colors. He knew without knowing how to proffer his own in return. He held it out, and Rick's wrapped around it. Rick's love opened like the Marianas trench, with depths unfathomable. Morty had no choice but to drown in it. Pleasure suffused him utterly.

I th-think I'm coming, said Morty. Can we come like this?

Rick's voice caressed him like a sweet spring breeze. It's sex, Morty. Of course we can come.

I want more.

They swirled together and Morty saw a strange sight, like their human bodies were combining and recombining in horrifying ways, faces and limbs changing, fading in and out, growing and shrinking. It continued without slowing, like a shimmering mirage flickering.

We were already one, Rick's phantom voice was hushed, awed. I never understood.

Morty's pleasure mounted as the grisly display went on. He let Rick's words carry him away until ecstasy exploded within him and swept it all away. Nothing existed but the thick whiteness of his orgasmic Nirvana.

Now he was a child, an infant, and Rick was holding him to his breast. Hush, little baby, don't say a word...

Is this real? Morty asked.

There are no lies here.

I don't remember this.

I do.

Who's my special guy? Rick asked the infant. Baby Morty blew spit bubbles.

The scene changed. Now Rick was small, Maybe four years old. A man stood over him, wire clotheshanger in hand.

No! Rick said.

The vision blurred for a moment, but didn't disappear. The man whipped Rick's little calves again and again, swearing all the while. Toddler Rick wailed, but the man didn ’t care. Morty felt himself growing bright, so bright that he burned the man right out of the scene. Rick moaned as the light of Morty enveloped his small self.

I love you, said Morty. He kissed the child on his brow.

Don't stop, begged Rick.

Morty hugged Rick more tightly and swallowed his body inside of his own. The pleasure was unbearable. They were the same, lonely children who only found love in each other. Suddenly Morty was an old man and Rick was a youth and his back ached but they kissed and Morty could feel Rick coming apart in his hands. They exploded into twinkling silver star, became the glorious heavens together. These orgasms were beyond anything Morty could have imagined.

Keep going. keep looking, Rick said, desperation quivering inside him.

You love me.

So much. Keep looking.

Morty, in his incorporeal self, took steps into the dark. He saw his grandmother, young, a spotlight turning her hair golden. She was weeping endlessly, and Mort knew with great assurance that Rick believed this was something he should never be forgiven for.

Not there, said Rick. Deeper.

I still love you.

Deeper. Morty. There's something...

Somehow Morty just knew what Rick meant.

He found himself in front of a castle covered in thorns. On the plants hung tortured versions of Morty, ones he recognized from bad memories together. With Rick panting and gasping in pained pleasure, Morty searched for the door. He tried to push it open, but it wouldn't budge. He uncovered a key hole and looked around.

You still don't trust me?

I'm afraid. Rick's honesty was at least refreshing. Please. This is why...

Then show me the worst thing. Show me the worst thing you ever did. You'll see, then. I'll still love you.

Morty could feel his hesitation, but this space was free from dishonesty, so a vision sprang to life before the door. It was a scene that Morty knew so well. He often thought of it at night to keep him warm. In the vision, Rick was hovering over Morty, hand cupping his cheek.

I couldn't stop myself, said Rick in the present.

They found each other in the vision, fell into a heated first kiss.

I ruined you. I love you but I did this to you anyway. I'm so ashamed. I'm selfish and disgusting. I ’m a fucking pedophile.

I know. Morty couldn't deny that in this space. But I love you, still. I love you. I'll always love you.

You shouldn't.

But I do. Look, look at me. I can't lie to you here. I forgive you f-for fucking up. I forgive you for ruining me. I'll forgive you every time. I'm in love with you and I ’ll never stop.

You mean it.

Morty found that now he had a key in his hand, and he hurried to unlock the door before it could vanish.

Here, again, was Rick in a hospital gown, sitting on a gurney. A doctor with a solemn affect stood before him.

''The metastasis is worse than we'd feared. It's spread to your lymph nodes, your bowel, and your brain. ”

Rick stared down at his hands. ''How long?"

"Even with treatment, I'd say six months at most.'' The doctor wore a gentle frown. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sanchez. It's time to make arrangements. I can have my office call you with recommendations for hospice..."

No.

No no no no no no

NO!

The vision vanished and Morty was in Rick's arms, thrashing to break free.

I couldn't say it out loud, said Rick.

Get off! Get off! Y-You have to fix this!

At this point I'm just a walking bucket full of tumors, Morty. Even citadel medicine can't save me.

No!

And Morty was crying with his entire bare soul. Rick joined him; they wept the same tears with the same eyes. Morty had always been so proud that he had inherited Rick's beautiful eyes. They both pulsed with distressing heat. Everything felt like worms squirming slickly around both inside and outside of him.

B-But 100 years...

Guess I'm a liar.

Operation Phoenix—

l destroyed all the healthy bodies, remember? If I try again I'll just make clone after clone with the same cancer. I could only buy myself six months at a time, and die painfully over and over.

It's not f-fair!

Morty became so tiny, a bird inside an egg. The shell made him safe, but it made him lonely. He felt the warm weight of mama bird Rick all around him. The heat was like the embodiment of his yearning.

I wanted to do this with you before it was too late, said Rick. I wanted to give you this.

There were no more words for Morty. He was in a pain without possible expression. Rick would be gone soon and there was nothing he could do. His heart went limp, his soul greyed out and paled. Changing shapes with no control. Morty let Rick cradle him in many forms. They were an artist and his muse, they were father and son, they were the sun and the tender crops, and they were the singer and the song. He fully lost track of time while Rick soothed him with an endless lullaby. He didn't understand what he was feeling, nor which thoughts were his own and which were Ricks. He wanted to stay this way.

l'll die, too, said Morty, when you go. I'll throw myself in the grave and they'll bury me, too.

No, said Rick. Morty could feel how certain he was.

I can't live without you.

You will.

I ’ll never love again.

Rick seemed to grow more solid. Good. Don't.

Forever.

Forever. You're only mine.

Will you wait for me when you get to hell? Morty wrapped his mind around Rick's tightly.

Morty saw himself through Rick's eyes, annointed in holy light. Morty finally saw himself the way Rick saw him, unbearably beautiful.

l'll break out just to find you.

They basked in the light together, swirling through one another. Morty had no more words for his pain, nor Rick's pain, nor their joint fear. The hurt had turned so beautiful that he thought it might kill them both and end all of this. Morty couldn't bear it, but he felt an obscene pleasure in the way they blurred, blended. This was true intimacy, feeling the same things with the same mind, without bodies or words to get in the way.

l love you, they said with one voice. I love you.

It was the only thing that mattered anymore.

[fandomwe1rd0]

If I could begin to be, half of what you think of me.

I could do about anything, I could even learn how to love like you

(Mmmm, mmmm) Love like you (Mmmm, mmm)

I always thought I might be bad now I'm sure that it's true.

Cause, I think you're so good, and I'm nothing like you.

Look at you go!

I just adore ya!

I wish that I knew...

What makes you think I'm so special?

~ Love Like You, Rebbeca Sugar

[sloppyplanetary]

rickorty review s3e10 the rickchurian mortydate

alright first off, them playing minecraft together is cute as fuck. date night shit

rick outing himself as autistic and morty being fuckn happy because so is he? yea, aut4aut couple.

morty goes the fuck off on the president and rick's just sitting back like "fuck yea that's my morty". i'm telling ya he likes it when morty's a little shit, even if mortys are supposed to be factory-made submissive and breedable or whatever

the whole selfie shtick was funny as fuck 'cause yea, he was trying to get a selfie for morty, but he also was just trying to "get the last word in" with the president. the president called morty a starfucker and tried to arrest rick, so he's on the shit list. something to be said here about the way rick assumes he knows what morty wants and doesn't fully listen to his input- morty said like five fuckn times he didn't want the selfie anymore lmao, but at this point rick was sticking to it regardless.

rickorty rating: 4/10

for the minecraft date and the aut4aut reveal. would be higher if the selfie shit was more about morty than it was about ricks ego

honorable mention: rick implying the only reason he was doing shit for the president in the first place was because morty thought it was cool.

[prossywho]

Forgot to post this here right in Valentine’s Day but whatever 🙏🏽 Happy valentines to my favorite silly ‼️RICKORTY PEOPLE FUCK OFF FOR GOD SAKES‼️

[histronic-gizmo]

Rickorty Songs

IN EVERY IMAGINABLE WAY

Fits Pretty Well

My Rickorty playlist:

[garmanarnarr]

Rickorty Week Day 7: Alternate Selves

1.9k | grandpa Morty and grandson Rick | rated M for medical trauma/noncon surgery/possessive behavior

@rickortyweek

Morty’s grandson is seventeen, six foot six, and drunk as balls in the middle of a Friday afternoon. It’s not even 2PM. They must’ve had early release at school– if he’d even gone at all. He probably hadn’t.

“C-C’mere, Morty,” he’s saying, swaying in the doorway, a beer he’d peeled out of his mother’s fridge dangling from his fingers. “C’mere, you old fuck. I got somethin–sooOUGHmthin’ for you.”

Morty looks up from his newspaper, pushing his reading glasses up on top of his head. He crosses one foot over the other on the ottoman and takes a ginger sip of his iced tea, pretending he doesn’t give a shit, when actually he does. Actually, he’s a little scared. He usually is around Rick, these days.

Rick’s gotten all close up, now. Morty can smell the peppermint schnapps under the sour hops on his breath. He can see the blush of acne on his jaw, the frayed edge on the bottom of his t-shirt.

“Do I hafta ask you again?” Rick asks, low. He’s watching Morty’s face closely, surprisingly focused, considering how drunk he is.

“W-what is it, Rick? I’m in the middle of reading about—” Morty looks down “--sports.” He honestly can’t remember the last few paragraphs, anyways, since Rick started skulking around. Baseball. Or maybe it was the Bruins?

Rick puts one hand on the arm of Morty’s comfy chair and leans over.

“P-p-please, Grandpa? S’ just in the garage.” He sounds wheedling, a little needy, the sort of voice that Morty’s always had trouble refusing. The kind of pathetic one. Rick had already passed his grandpa’s shrimpy height a few years ago, and shot up a full foot beyond that since, but. It’s hard not to to think of him as the little kid Morty’s been taking care of since he was so young he held books upside down to ‘read’ them.

He was the sweetest kid. Morty has to remind himself of that all the time, now. Lonely, nerdy, and always a little obsessive, but—sweet.

Crisply, he folds his paper and sets it aside, and stares at Rick until he blinks clumsily and gets the message, backing up a few wobbling steps. Once he’s not breathing down Morty’s neck, Morty gets up, hips creaking, and follows his grandson to the garage. He’s wearing the white lab coat again today, ratty and stained. He really likes that thing. Morty’s daughter said she was worried about him wearing it but Morty figured it couldn’t be all that bad if Rick was, you know, doing real science type stuff. And the stuff Rick does is real, alright. Realer than real. Scary real.

Morty moans under his breath as they make their way through the kitchen, where Rick abandons his beer to sweat itself warm on the counter. His right hip has been giving him some trouble, not helped by some of the crazy adventures Rick’s been dragging him on, recently. His body is getting less reliable, his joints, more sticky. That’s just part of getting old, though, Morty figures. He probably shouldn’t adventure so much anymore. He’d kind of rather just keep reading his newspaper than deal with whatever Rick’s trying to involve him in. Doze off, take a fucking nap right there in his chair. Maybe go take his daughter’s car to the corner store to buy some scratch-its, or work on the little patch of garden he’s started to cultivate in the backyard until the sun starts to dip behind the tops of the houses.

As he follows Rick down the shallow steps to the garage, he considers what would happen if he told Rick he was going to blow him off to water his tomatoes. Rick’s pretty creative. Maybe he’d make Morty’s shoes feel like he’s walking on uneven ground all the time. Or change his glasses lenses so they can see through clothing but only for other wrinkly old guys. Or booby trap the house with invisible whoopie cushions on every available surface so anytime Morty so much as leaned his busted hip against a wall there would be an embarrassing fart sound.

Or maybe he’d just give Morty a cold shoulder, brutal and bratty. Nobody sulks like his grandson; Morty remembers some pretty epic tantrums growing up, mainly every time his grandpa ditched him to go do something.

He’s too attached, Morty’s daughter said, a few years back after Rick had melted down when Morty had missed his twelfth birthday party. You’ve got to put some space between you, Dad.

That’d gone pretty great, clearly.

They get to the garage. Rick’s cleared off a table in the middle of it. Scattered around it are some carts covered in complex-seeming implements with caster wheels on the bottom. Looking at the table is already making Morty mighty nervous.

“What is– what’ve you got here, Rick?” Morty asks, carefully. It’s not feigned interest; he’s always genuinely curious about Rick’s experiments.

Rick’s already at another table messing around with stuff. He’s so much smarter than Morty even though he’s only seventeen and that’s terrifying, when Morty thinks about it, so he tends not to.

“JuUGHHst lay down for a second, okay?” he tells Morty.

“I don’t understand.”

Rick rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“I know y-you don’t, gramps. Just fuckin’ throw me a bone, here.”

He’s pushed up the sleeves of his coat, and the movement shows off the width of his bare forearms. He’s been getting stronger, lately, filling out more. HIs muscles are whipcord lean and defined from all the lifting and welding and tinkering he’s doing in here. He’s so tall he has to stoop over Morty when he talks to him.

Morty swallows, dryly, then obediently lays on the table. His body protests every step of the way, each point of his bony-ass joints pressing painfully against the stainless steel.

“Okay, I did it. Now what?” he says to the ceiling.

Rick’s messing with something that Morty can’t quite see, even as he twists to look.

“What’re you doing, Rick?”

“Surgery,” Rick says, casually, popping the plastic cover off what looks like an exacto knife with his teeth before spitting it into a bin. He places the blade on one of the trays, which Morty now notices seems to be holding a lot of specifically surgery-ready instruments. It glints in the fluorescent lights of the garage while Morty’s heart crawls to his throat (which can’t be good for it). He can feel his eyes getting big.

“Uh, hang on– h-h-hang on, Rick, you don’t mean–”

‘Take your clothes off.”

“I-I-I’m not doing shit, here, man.”

“Okay, j-just your pants then. And your underwear.”

Morty feels his face going red. “I—“

“I’m fixing up your broken-ass hip. Duh. Shit’s slowin’ us doooown. What am I supposed to do next time there’s a Borgor after us and you c-can’t keep up, huh? Just— just let it eat you?”

Rick seems genuinely annoyed, even a little distressed. Morty takes a breath. They need to rewind this a few steps, take it from the top.

“Listen,” he says, “I’ve had a lot of fun on our adventures, Rick–” he thinks of stuffing the megaseeds up his butt, and the Mr. Jellybean incident, and all the beings from one hundred different planets he’s killed over the past year– “but, maybe I should, you know. C-c-call it a day? On the adventure stuff?”

Rick is washing his hands, thoroughly, working soap between his fingers and up to his elbows. Morty didn’t know there was a sink in here. Maybe he built it, just for this.

“I–I–I’m serious, Rick.”

Rick is still silent.

“I don’t need— I’m j-just an old man, Rick. An old geezer. Can’t you just let me be an old man and do old man sh–shit?”

Rick spins around. “Hah! That’s no fuckin’ excuse,” he spits. “Table, go into lockdown.”

Morty jumps as plastic restraint cuffs suddenly unsheath from the smooth surface of the table top and wrap over his wrists and ankles. Rick’s picked up a needle from one of the trays. It’s full of a pale, pearly liquid.

“What the fuck, Rick—“

“I’ll fix you up, Morty, don’t y-you worry. I won’t even let it hurt.” He pauses. “Even thought I could,” he adds, quietly. He tries to approach Morty with the injection, but Morty’s not making it easy for him. The table’s shaking on its spindly legs with how hard he’s pulling against it.

“Let me go, Rick!”

“Table, make it tighter.”

Another set of restraints goes around Morty’s biceps, fully pinning him to the table. Though he can only barely lift his head, Morty watches in a remote horror as Rick slips the needle into a vein in his forearm and depresses the plunger.

“Just leave me a-a-a—“

The end of the sentence never makes it out of Morty’s mouth, locked in his stutter. The world is beginning to slip away, even as he fights against it, the whole dingy setup of the garage and Rick’s voice swirling down into the toilet of oblivion:

“Woah, J-J-Jesus, you’re really squirmy…”

–

When he wakes up, everything still feels pretty fuzzy. He blinks heavily a few times, trying to figure out where he is, what’s happening. He tries to move his legs, but his whole lower body is numb and it feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. When he tries to move his arms, he realizes he can’t really do that, either; something’s binding him, and someone’s talking above him, even though the words aren’t distinct, yet.

It’s Rick.

Rick is holding Morty in his lap, long legs on either side of his own. The walls are starting to swim into focus around them, and Morty can see the sad, bare drywall, a few bookshelves, a pair of dusty red curtains around a single window. They’re up in Morty’s room, on his bed, which is only a narrow twin. Outside, it’s the lingering end of twilight.

“B-back with us?” Rick asks. Morty can feel the vibration of him talking where he’s pressed against his chest. He smells like beer and chemicals, like the super strong bacteria killing soap they use at the doctor’s office. One of his hands is petting gently— still a little drunkenly— across Morty’s thinning hair.

“Y… yeah,” Morty mutters.

“Your hip’s fixed up, now. Had to tell Mom you were out playing v-video poker or some shit.”

Morty knows he’ll get hell for that later and grimaces. He wonders what kind of weird cybernetic component Rick’s placed inside his body, sitting there alongside his guts and muscles and worn-out bones.

“Gramps, listen.”

“Wh-What?”

While one hand still pets his hair, Morty watches as Rick’s other hand snakes down to his right hip. It seems miraculously mostly healed, besides the long pink line of a scar that’s revealed when Rick pulls the waistband of his pants down a little. It’s started to ache. RIck squeezes down, just enough pressure to radiate discomfort. His breath is hot in Morty’s ear.

“We’re never gonna stop. Never. N-n-not until I die. And I’m planning on living a goooood long time, Grandpa. I d-don’t care if we have to Ship of Theseus your whole shit. Rick and Morty, one hundred years. One hundred fuckin’ years. Yeah?”

Morty nods and whimpers, softly. “Yeah,” he says. “Rick and Morty. O-one hundred years.”

[summersmithlatinxgyatt]

Hey guys I'm gonna say it once and only once unless this keeps happening if you're a proshipper GET THE HELL OFF MY PAGE

This person has Minors IWC which means interact with caution. They know I have my age listed which btw I'm underage and even if I was of age I don't want any of you guys here.

This person also kept posting about how Rickorty is fine. Please also just block them I hate that proshippers reblog my shit

Oh and also one more thing

I DONT CARE ABOUT MY NAME THERE I SAID IT. I had a suspicion that my name might attract proshippers. So if anyone wants to call me a hypocrite stfu. I've never posted NSFW of Summer and even cropped out scenes from the show that are said to be NSFW themselves. The name "summersmithlatinxgyatt" is funny as hell and an inside joke with a friend that isn't actually related to ass. I'm aroace and I don't find her attractive in any way. So with that being said

PROSHIPPERS AND ALSO SUMMER X JESSICA/TAMMY SHIPPERS TOO (clarifying) GET THE FUCK OFF MY PAGE NOW!!!!!!!!! BLOCK ME WHILE YOU'RE AT IT I HATE DEALING WITH YOU GUYS

[feralmorty]

📌

Howdy 🤠!

My names Lance, I’m Gender-fluid and use he/her pronouns. If you don’t support lgbtq+ peeps then fuck right off. This blog is mainly for posting Rick and Morty content buuuut I might post stuff from other fandoms (Solar opposites, helluva boss, mlp, good omens, etc). I post art of my fandom ocs from time to time, feel free to ask me about them :3

My only real DNI is for the obvious. No minors, I’m 24 and I’d prefer to vibe with people my own age. No pedos, no zoophiles, etc. The feral in my name refers to frenzied behaviour not feral art or animals.

Important: I don’t want to get involved in online discourse. All you need to know is that I don’t ship rickorty. I won’t be interacting with or reblogging that kind of content or content that overly deals with incest/pedophilia because it’s not my vibe. If you do then that’s fine, I just personally wont be interacting with that specific content. I do interact with selfcest content though (i.e beth/space beth, prime/137, my ocs, etc). Just a heads up for what to expect from me.

Anyways my dms are always open so feel free to shoot me a message anytime :3