#i know this so i came prepared and Also wore my own rick and morty merch for my first time attending class this year

[ambreiiigns]

uni doesn't have uniforms but if it did it'd be rick and morty tshirts

[hoodoo12]

Empirical Evidence

I received a request from the lovely @ravenousscorpian for a rarely-seen Rick: Lab Rick! He was an interesting guy to write about . . . and I apologize in advance for . . . some stuff.

Enjoy!

NSFW, Lab Rick/reader

⁂

Gods, this place was a sty.

“Rick! Where are the gloves?”

“Wh-what?” he belched back, from the front counter.

“Where. Are. The. Gloves?!”

“The wh-what? I’m busy with a customer right now!”

You swore under your breath. This lab was a mess. The man running it was brilliant, but also borderline mad-scientist and you could never find anything you needed . . . there was stuff scattered everywhere in little piles, and nothing was organized. You’d agreed to take this job because you thought the work sounded interesting, but you hadn’t realized how frustrating it was going to be. Ricks may be fun sometimes and you’d always had a secret little fantasy about them, but this was a different beast entirely.

This area was his work space and his living space, and each spilled over into the other.

“I need gloves! There is no way I’m going this dissection with my bare hands!” you shouted back to him.

You heard him grumbling at you, and about you, probably. You didn’t care that he had another Rick at the counter, looking to upgrade his Mortys. He had asked you to dissect and make some impression smears of a tissue sample--you didn’t ask where the tissue came from; you figured it was better not to know--but that was even more reason not to touch the things without gloves.

Well, if he wanted to take his sweet time getting you proper safety equipment, you would start clearing off this work space.

You actually managed to make a dent in the problem too, by the time he’d walked away from the front of his place, where the public was allowed. Maybe this counter wasn’t going to meet sterility requirements, but at least there wasn’t random equipment, vials, and other assorted junk cluttering it up.

“What the f-f-fuck were you shouting about?” Rick grumped as he rounded the corner to where you were.

He pulled up short when he saw what you’d done.

“The fuck?!” he exploded. “You’re moving my-my-my stuff around?! You’re disrupting valuable experiments, valuable information--”

You refused to be cowed. “I cleaned the shit off this counter, Rick! There were no experiments going on here, unless you were measuring how much dust could collect on the equipment! You hired me to help you out, asshole, but I can’t do it in this disgusting environment!”

Rick’s mouth twisted into a scowl and he glared at you from over the customized glasses he wore. He didn’t reply to that, however. Instead, he stomped over to another junk covered countertop and rummaged until he located a box of procedure gloves. Peevishly he yanked two out and tossed them to you.

“Here--”

“Thank you,” you cut him off sarcastically, as you pulled them on. They were too large.

The inarticulate noise that came from him made you glance up curiously.

“Did you say something?”

There was an odd expression on his face that he tried hard to wipe off, back into distain.

“No,” he replied, but his voice was a croak.

You looked him over for a moment, then shrugged and turned back to the task assigned to you. With enough room to work and the proper safety precautions, it shouldn’t take you too long to get this done. However, with the fingertips of the damn gloves being too loose, you knew that you were going to get frustrated quickly trying to handle delicate instruments, or you were going to break the glove and contaminate yourself.

“Goddamn it!” you swore half under your breath. Without turning around, you raised your voice and shouted back to Rick, “Do you have any gloves that’ll actually fit me?!”

“Yeah,” he replied, right at your shoulder.

You jumped. You had no clue he’d stayed in the room, let alone silently came up behind you.

“Cripes, Rick! What do you think you’re doing--” you started to grouse.

“Here’s some new gloves, baby,” Rick interrupted, offering them up. That odd expression was back on his face: a little too interested, his eyes a little too intense. His lips were shiny too, and he licked away excess drool as you watched him.

“. . . okay,” you replied slowly.

You took them from his hand. Your fingers brushed his, and he jumped too, as if there had been an arc of static electricity between you. You decided to ignore all this sudden weirdness and unceremoniously removed the first pair of gloves that had been too large, off. You tossed them into the wastebasket.

Carefully, since these were a tighter fit, you pulled the first new glove onto your hand. By habit, you flexed your fingers to make sure the nitrate had formed to you correctly.

“I don’t like these new gloves as much as the old latex ones,” you said aloud, just making conversation since Rick was still standing so close. “They just feel thicker, you know? Like I don’t have as much dexterity.”

“It’s . . . ah . . . it’s all good, baby,” Rick replied in a low, hesitant voice so out of character you looked over at him.

His gaze was riveted to your hands. Drool had collected again on his lower lip. And he was wearing protective lab clothing, but he shifted on his feet and you’d been around enough to be pretty sure the movement was to hide an erection.

He didn’t see you raise your eyebrows. Several thoughts raced through your head: he was turned on by this? He was turned on by this! Do you ignore it? Do you crack a joke? Dare you admit you were kind of, sort of, attracted to Ricks? You standing here frozen was getting awkward--

Rick noticed.

He managed to tear his eyes away from your half-gloved hands, and looked you in the face. He seemed to be able to read the conflictions you had in your head.

“W-w-why don’t you . . . uhm . . .” he started to say in the same deep voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Why don’t you put the other one on, baby?”

There was no denying the lust in his voice this time.

You threw all caution to the wind.

“Like this, Rick?” you asked impishly, as you pulled the second glove onto your other hand. Once it was on, you held your hands up but touching fingertip to fingertip, as if they were sterile and you were preparing to head into surgery.

His breath caught in his throat. Again it was a struggle for him to stop looking at your gloved hands and into your eyes.

“Are you, are you--you better not just be teasing me!” he growled.

“What, this?” you replied, gently rubbing your hands together coyly. The resulting sound seemed overly loud, but that was only because Rick had gone completely still and the only other thing you could hear was your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You couldn’t tell if it was nervousness or excitement that was making your heart start to race.

You watched Rick take a breath in through his mouth while enraptured by the motion of your hands. He was breathing faster, and you could guess his pulse had sped up too.

He swallowed and finally replied, “Yes, baby . . . that.”

Taking a risk, you stepped closer into his personal space.

“If you are--if you are being a cocktease, I-I’ll throw y-you out of here--those Ricks out there? Those Ricks’ll be on you like a, a pack of wild d-d-dogs,” he stuttered angrily.

“And what if I’m not?” you whispered.

His mouth gaped. You smirked and did two things simultaneously: you stroked his cheek with your gloved hand, and you pressed the other into his groin. With his apron on you couldn’t feel much but the bare impression of his cock, but it was unmistakable.

Rick gasped.

“I don’t want to be thrown out of here, Rick,” you exclaimed in a falsely girlish tone.

He shook his head and lifted his lip, and his next words were angry, not turned on. “Don’t use that fucking voice with me. I wanted you here because you’re not a sweet little airhead who’s looking for some “daddy” to take care of her. You’re capable, you-you-you’ve got fire in you, and you’re fucking hot. A trifecta of everything I want.”

That was the most honest assessment you’d ever heard from him. It was startling, and very, very arousing.

He grabbed you and pulled you off your feet. Falling against him, his respirator dug into your chest. In a quick movement, he yanked it off over his head, which dislodged all his other headgear, and he dropped everything to the floor in an untidy, uncaring heap. You may have just gotten some insight to why his place was so messy--

Rick devoured your mouth without waiting to see if you were ready.

His tongue was demanding. His breath was hot, when he pressed kissed to your cheeks and neck. A deep moan escaped you, and you felt him grin against your skin.

Suddenly there was too much clothing between you.

Stripping quickly meant sleeves turned inside out, trousers caught on shoes, and everything was dumped haphazardly wherever. He paused long enough to tell you to leave the gloves on. You glanced over to the cot he’d set up in ‘bedroom’ of the room, but Rick read your mind again and told you,

“No, it’s too far away, I wanna fuck you here!”

You chuckled at his eagerness.

Mostly nude now, your encased hands roamed his slender body. They encountered random stitches in random places, which was odd. Rick muttered that he’d explain those later, come on baby, don’t leave me hanging--

Ignoring the sutures for the moment, you grasped his cock and gave him a tug. Rick cried out in ecstasy. You repeated the motion and earned the same response. He really did have a thing for those gloves.

He didn’t neglect you, however. When he was able to catch his breath, his own fingers slipped between your legs, stroking and circling the nub that made you keen in pleasure.

Neither of what you or he did with your hands was exactly what you wanted, so in only a few moments, he spun you around, pushed you over so your chest was on the newly cleaned countertop, and moved between your legs. He used the same hand he’d stimulated you with to stroke and find your entrance, and after a second’s fumbling behind you, he popped his hips forward and his cock filled you.

You arched upward and cried out.

Rick held your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh. You didn’t care about that; the pleasure of having him inside you was the most vital thing right now. You tried to match his pace, tried to lift your pelvis so you could make it better for him, but he didn’t seem to need that. He fucked you in quick, pounding snaps of his hips. Each thrust was divine.

It was so quick and dirty and unexpected that you swore and begged for more as he continued. He grunted in time with his own movements. “Give me your hands!” he demanded, at one point.

You tried to comply, but he didn’t slow his pace and it was hard to push yourself up off the counter. And you were fast approaching an orgasm, which made it doubly difficult.

Your pussy tightened around him. His wordless moans hitched higher, so you knew he felt the difference, and when his hand managed to slip to your front to press against your clit, you exploded in pleasure.

Rick let you ride that wave for a long time, not moving, with his cock buried in you, until you slumped.

When he began moving again, it stimulated you enough again that this time, you begged him to stop. He did with a bit of a protest, and you were grateful. Carefully, you stood up, making him take a step back from you. His cock bobbed between you, shiny from being inside your pussy.

“You gonna leave me, leave me with blue balls, baby?” he panted, looking cross.

“What do you take me for?” you snorted in mock offense.

With that you dropped to your knees in front of him and took his cock in your gloved hand.

At your touch, Rick stiffened and cried out. You smirked up at him and licked the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around it to make it slick with spit. Then you brought your hand to your mouth and licked it too, ignoring the taste of the glove.

Rick caught your chin and forced you to look up at him.

“Do that again,” he requested in the same lusty voice you’d heard before.

So you gave him a show of licking your hand. You sucked your fingers. You moved your tongue over them singly, then in groups of two. You moaned. You watched his face as he watched your gloved hand become coated with saliva. You dipped them into your mouth, pressing down on your own tongue, and he cupped your chin again.

“Hold it--stay like that, baby,” he rasped.

You complied, keeping your first two fingers between your lips while keeping your face turned upwards towards him.

Rick’s free hand went to his cock, and he stroked himself while he looked down on you. His breath became quicker, explosive, and his hand sped up too. He bent in the middle, a bit, over you.

Without his permission, you took your hand away from your face. Over his squawk of dismay, you said, “Let me help you.”

You wrapped your gloved, slick hand around his cock again, and jerked him off at the pace he’d set with his own hand.

He had no more protests. He grasped at the counter’s edge behind you to hold himself upright. He mewled. His pelvis bucked forward and you licked his cock again, adding to the spit already there. Loosening your the ring made between your thumb and first finger, you slipped your tongue between them and his cock, for variety. You wanted to watch his face as he came, but you also couldn’t tear your gaze away from his cock. It twitched in your hand and you licked over the head again, and with a string of curse words--

“FUCK goddamnfuckinghell!”

--Rick came in short spurts over your fist. Your lips were so close a bit struck them too. You didn’t wipe it away immediately; you simply held still until you could feel the pulsing of his cock slow and his ejaculation dwindled to a leak.

His head hanging low, shaky, Rick didn’t move for several moments. When he was finally able to catch some of his breath and focus on seeing you again, you raised your free hand and deliberately wiped away the come that landed on your mouth, drawing your gloved finger along your lower lip slowly.

His cock jumped one last time in your hand again, and he gave a long, low groan.

“Fuck,” he finally said.

You grinned up at him. “I thought that’s what we just did?”

He grimaced at you as he carefully straightened back upright. “Don’t be a-a smartass.”

“I thought that’s why you liked me!”

The grimace deepened, but he hauled you to your feet.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grudgingly agreed.

You stood close together, sharing body heat but not kissing, for a moment. Your fingers couldn’t help but go back to some of the stitches you’d discovered on him. He watched your hands move over his body. 

“You’re hot in those gloves, baby.”

“You want to tell me about all this?” you asked about the sutures, even as you nodded to accept his compliment.

“Hmm. Well, they’re--”

“Are you two done fucking?!” someone--a Rick--shouted from around the corner, where the public area of this building was. “I need some goddamn help here!”

Automatically you tried to cover yourself, even though the unknown Rick out front couldn’t see you. 

“You didn’t lock the door when you came back here?!” you hissed at Rick. “You didn’t put up a closed sign?!”

He laughed at you and leisurely dug through the discarded clothing on the floor. Picking up and shaking out his lab coat, he pulled it on while he said,

“I didn’t know you were going to be back here, ready to jump my bones!”

“Jump your bones?! You practically ripped your pants with your hard-on the second I put on those gloves! I didn’t know you had that kink! How was I supposed to know you had that kink?”

“You’ve been cockteasing me this whole time,” he argued back. In a horrible parody of your voice, he whined, “Where are the gloves, Rick? These gloves don’t fit, Rick! And then you make this big show of stretching them on, making sure I’m watching--”

“I was trying to do my job--”

“Yeah, right--”

“--yeah right is right! You’re the one--”

From the front, the Rick who interrupted you and may have heard everything that had gone on, shouted,

“I’ll come back later, assholes! But you better believe I’m reporting you to the Citadel’s Better Business Bureau! Get your damn clothes on and help your damn customers! Fuck and argue after business hours, like everyone else!”

You both heard the Rick stomp across the floor and slam the door on his way out.

There was sudden quiet.

“Man, that guy was a prick,” you said. “Probably a pervert too.”

“You know it, baby,” Rick replied. “Who’d he think he is, telling us how to run this place? Where else is he gonna go? Does he think he’ll get his Mortys modified anywhere else? Asshole.”

You chuckled, and he chuckled, and instead of going back to helping customers or you actually doing the job you’d been assigned, he offered to take you to Blips and Chitz for the afternoon. Of course you agreed. 

fin!

[ceaselessly-into-the-past]

belonging

I’ve had a horrific cold the last three days, so as a result this post will probably be even less coherent than usual. I suppose it was about time that my body caught up with my mind in terms of health. 

I skipped last night’s 7-10 orchestra rehearsal and plan on skipping all of today - I haven’t missed any of my Wednesday classes so far save for theory, which I’ve now missed four times. The first two were when I woke up with terrific migraines and knew immediately I wouldn’t be able to function in class. The third time was when my tracheostomy tube fell out in my sleep and the hole in my neck had almost closed up completely.

I looked in the bathroom mirror and squinted. At first, in my just-awoken, bleary-eyed state I thought, a stake of horror shooting up through my body, that it had closed up completely. But no - as I scrambled on top of the toilet to get a closer look, I saw that there was a small dot of black in the flesh of that hollow part at the base of your neck. No bigger than two millimeters or so in diameter.

Fuck, I thought, I have to have this cut open.

The problem was that I would have to involve my parents and also notify the school of what happened. And I had no doubt that they would question my ability to live alone in the dorms.

I would not go back to my parents.

No fucking way.

My autonomy was in danger, and so I proceeded to do the following:

I wiped the end of a pen - where the gently-sloped cone-shaped cap was - with an alcohol swab.

Looking in the mirror, I slowly fed it into my neck, not very deep at all, not even up to the rubber part that you hold when writing with it, and carefully pushed. I supposed this was akin to what anal sex feels like, just on a smaller scale and in a completely different location.

Every so often I pulled the pen away and observed. The hole, just as I thought it would, was growing back to size.

I also noticed that sticking a pen in my neck hurt a lot.

After twenty minutes of gentle pushing I decided it was big enough.

I reinserted the tracheostomy apparatus.

Blood slowly tricked down my chest, but that was okay. Blood more often than not stops after a while.

I got the idea from one of those stupid gore-fest Saw movies. Yes, the one where the guy is chained up to a bathtub and he has to cut off his leg to free himself. That’s the first one, which is actually not bad. The series definitely went progressively to shit after that.

When I was in seventh grade I suddenly became obsessed with the concept of death - what a fascinating thing it was, to think that there’s simply nothing after your body expires for whatever reason. Complete nothingness. It was thrilling to me. 

After I discovered the existence of the Saw franchise, I often watched video compilations of every ‘test’ in the movies. One of them involved a man whose head was encased with a box that was slowly filling with water. The solution became apparent to him - he had a pen in his pocket, and he had to perform a tracheostomy on himself by piercing his throat with the pen so he could breathe without his nose or mouth.

What fascinated me most about the Saw deaths was that there was always a way out. It was interesting to see who made it and who didn’t. Were the puzzles not lethal, I used to think, this would be an exciting game show.

I was not quite sound of mind in the seventh grade. But I suppose it came in handy in the end.

And now I’m missing theory for the fourth time, because of a bad cold.

In other news, I’ve found some friends, the process of which started quite a while ago.

The annual kick-off-the-year Circle Line Cruise, where Juilliard kids get to go on a short cruise down the Hudson River, around the Statue of Liberty and back up again, was on the 6th of September, 2017. That wasn’t the point, though - nobody gave a shit about the cruise. There was fucking booze on that ship, and kids that were old enough got their starting drinks for the night there while the underaged looked on wistfully. They would get their chance, though, in just a few hours - because immediately after the Circle Line Cruise would come a veritable plethora of wrecked-for-school parties across Manhattan. I managed to get into one on West 68th street. Interestingly enough, Michael - the host - lived in the same complex as the instrument dealer I bought my most recent cello from a few years ago.

Needless to say, I launched myself headfirst into that shit. I walked in and immediately got a shot, then another drink, then a mixed drink to lay off the hard stuff. Mixed drinks, I should mention, are great.

Eventually and inevitably we got a noise complaint from some neighbor and the party had to be cleared out before we got busted. There were whisperings, though, of an afterparty in the back room for those that stayed behind. Naturally, I stayed behind - and this was how I met Andrew.

Andrew, along with another older student, were rolling joints in the back room, and about eight other kids were sitting around and passing around what I know like to call ‘the weeds’. I approached Andrew and without my even having to ask he handed me a freshly-lit blunt. As I got started on it we made conversation - we had a mutual friend named Philip, who I knew in Pre-College and was now a third year. Philip had made a Facebook group called Juilliard Memescript Archives that we occasionally posted in. Andrew was a second year and, as I soon learned, was 'the’ Juilliard drug guy. Andrew, however, was not some pale, half-present white douchebag - he was darker-skinned, for one, and wore glasses and dressed smartly. It was as if he had walked out of an alternate version of the 2015 film Dope in which the protagonists were nerdy Latino classical musicians. 

‘When’s your birthday?’ Andrew asked, and I told him that it was in two weeks or so.

‘Really? Shit man, you know what, I’m gonna host a party for you. It’s gonna be fuckin lit. We’ll have some booze and weed and also, I like cooking. I cook a lot because I have my own place and it’s the only way I can get good food around here. The cafeteria is hopeless, you know. Juilliard doesn’t give a fuck about what they feed us. We’ll make some really good food and get wrecked.’

I awkwardly thanked him. In the back of my mind I carefully noted that this might just be some kind of idiotic promise that people make when they’re especially drugged out, but I held on to some hope that finally, someone had reached out to me.

Sure enough, a week later Andrew messaged me asking when my birthday was again and what kind of food I liked. I told him again and explained that I actually couldn’t have solid food, so he should really consult whoever he was going to be inviting.

On the 24th of September I went up to West 120-somethingth street to Andrew’s apartment. It ended up being a small party, with just me, Andrew, Philip, and his extroverted girlfriend Helen, who was also a 3rd year. It was a Sunday and we all watched the new episode of Rick and Morty while sipping the shittiest vodka I’d ever tasted and tried getting high on the little weed available to us. Andrew kept getting messages requesting various drugs and at one point he left the room to make a sale at his front door.

About three weeks later, I got a message from Helen asking if I wanted to be the cellist for her ChamberFest group. Chamberfest was an intensive program at Juilliard where participating students would come back a week early from winter break and spend that week preparing an entire chamber music work to perform in concert for the rest of the returning students. I had tried putting together a ChamberFest group to do Shostakivoch’s String Quartet 6 in c minor - a chamber music epic if there ever was one, I highly recommend everyone listen to it at least once - but things hadn’t quite worked out. Helen told me she was trying to get a group to do Schubert’s Trout Quintet.

‘Yeah, definitely!’ I replied.

The next day I met the other four members in the chamber music office to fill out our application form - Helen, Andrew, Michael (that host from the cruise afterparty), and a girl named Natalie. All save for Helen were second-years.

A week later, the chamber music office emailed us informing that our request to work on Trout Quintet had been approved.

Since then, my home has been our group chat. All of us happen to be, as Helen put it, ‘waaaaaay into not being sober’. So our plans, naturally, revolved around working our asses off during the day and getting fucking destroyed at night. There are talks of dropping acid at some point and evening weed rehearsals to try and get some new ideas on the piece.

It’s so funny. I considered my life until college to be extremely sheltered - I never went out often with friends, I certainly never partied or drank or did anything of that sort. But here I was with Helen, who was notorious for dealing with the shit in her life and in school by smoking weed daily; Andrew, who was Drug Boi(TM) and had been caught alongside his roommate with bags of weed in his dorm room last year (and had luckily only been admonished); Michael, who had an infamous anti-establishment streak with the Juilliard administration (though to be fair, we all did) and didn’t hesitate to trash them in Facebook posts; and Natalie, who seemed to really like wine. 

Our philosophy was: Fuck this school, fuck how it disproportionately puts pressure and stress on its students, we’re going our own way and we’re still gonna be good at our fucking art while we do it so fuck you.

I feel like I belong to something now. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt since I last saw my friends from high school in June. But it’s rushing back now, and I feel a new life welling up in the future.

tl;dr ChamberFest is gonna be fucking lit.

[ramheavenandhell]

Rick and Morty Forever and One Hundred Years – Chapter 5: Saving or Ruining the Evening

AN: Would you look at that! It's an update! And this time it didn't took me years. On another note, I finally finished the basic outline for this story, so I finally have a plan where to go with this. The bad news is that my muse got hyped over a different high school AU now, so prepare that that will be a thing in the future -_-' Warnings: Rick/Morty, a tiny bit Morty/Jessica, still slow burn (but we're getting a few moments in this one)

Rick and Morty Forever and One Hundred Years – Chapter 5: Saving or Ruining the Evening Morty closed the door of his locker and pulled his books tighter to his chest as his eyes landed on his crush. 'C'mon! Just go over there and ask her!' he mentally motivated himself. Swallowing heavily, he slowly approached the red head, who was currently chatting with her friends, two lockers down from him. Only when he came to a stop right next to them, did they stop talking and all of the girls' attention was suddenly focused on him. "H—" Morty quickly cleared his throat as only a squeaky rasp escaped him. "Hi, Je-Jessica." While the other girls fixed him with a look of annoyance, Jessica put a friendly smile on her face. "Hi, Morty." She kindly greeted back. The brunet swallowed once more, still feeling that annoying clump in his throat. "I-I wanted to ask if you m-might want to go to the dance? I mean wis-with me?" He laughed awkwardly at the end of the sentence, hoping that it would come across as charming or something like that…which it didn't. Jessica retained her smile when she answered politely. "Sorry, but I'm already going with my boyfriend. Brad." It should have been obvious that she already had a date for the upcoming school dance, so this answer shouldn't have surprised him. Still, Morty felt upset although he tried to hide it in front of his crush. "Oh o-okay." He stuttered with a nervous smile. Just in this moment, none other than Brad had to show up, wrapping an arm possessively around the red-haired girl. "Hey, babe. Is this guy bothering you?" He threw a glance at Morty that could potentially kill and made the smaller boy cringe. "It's okay, Brad. He was just asking me out to the dance, but I told him that I'm going with you." Jessica replied calmly. "Dude, how can you even ask her something like that? Don't you see how pretty she is? You should go and play in your own league!" The taller boy bellowed. Morty only shrunk further and wanted to stutter an apology, scared that the other might even go and beat him up now. "Calm down, Brad. I'm sure he didn't know that I have a boyfriend." Jessica threw in. That was actually a lie. Of course, Morty knew that even though it was sometimes hard to keep track with how often those two broke up before getting back together again. He still had something like hope though…but that was only meant to be crushed. "Girl, the whole school knows that we're together. There's no chance that he didn't know." The redhead only shrugged and let herself be steered away, her girlfriends following. Brad, who had still one arm wrapped around his girl, turned once more back to the brunet and gave him a look that promised that this conversation wasn't over yet. And it also promised pain. Morty didn't look forward to the continuation and mentally scolded himself for being so stupid at even attempting to ask Jessica out.

"Hey, Morty!" Rick greeted him in the classroom, sitting on his desk and looking like he had only waited for him. "What's up? Why're making that face?" The brunet slouched into his seat, not just his face but his entire posture spelling defeat. With a sigh at the beginning, he explained, "I asked Jessica if she would go to the dance with me. She said no. And not only that but Brad also showed up…and he's probably going to beat the shit out of me later…" "Then I'll go to the dance with you." Rick offered in a heartbeat. Morty did a double take, not believing that he had heard that right. "Really? You would go to the dance with me?" He was honestly surprised by the offer because he had thought for sure that Rick would actually ask a girl to go with him. A few of the popular girls were in fact just waiting for Rick to ask one of them, as far as Morty had overheard them in the hallways. Rick didn't seem to care about that at all though. "Sure, dawg! If you wanna, that is." "Yeah!! I-I mean, I'd like that, Rick." The brunet blushed at his way too exciting answer. After the rejection, he hadn't even been sure if he wanted to attend the school dance anymore, but now he was actually looking forward to it. It had him in such high spirits that even the biology test that they had to face now couldn't put a damper on his good mood. Or the most likely unavoidable run-in with Brad later on…

Morty tried to fix his bow tie for the umpteenth time in front of the mirror, convinced that it was still somehow wrong. It was finally the evening of the school dance and his parents had been kind enough to suspend his punishment just for today – though his dad quickly changed his mind about it after hearing that he would be going together with Rick. Luckily, Beth had shut him up again and said that it's fine as long as he was back before midnight. And he was expected to be back sober – not that Morty would have a problem with that since he didn't plan to drink anything tonight. Though, he wouldn't be able to say the same thing for his best friend. Said blue-haired boy would be here really soon to pick him up and Morty was unexplainably nervous and felt like he wasn't ready yet. So, he stood in front of the mirror in the hallway and fidget with his clothes, being in two minds about going back upstairs and re-dressing again. He wore a dark-grey suit, a white dress shirt and a yellow bow tie and had hoped that this assembly looked somewhat good, but he only felt really self-conscious about it. "You look fine, Morty." Summer suddenly appeared in the mirror and gave her make-up a last quick check. She wore a dark purple sleeveless dress and had her hair tied in a bun, held up by a beautiful hair clip that perfectly matched her earrings, necklace and bracelet. "Thanks. You look great, Summer." Morty smiled, his nerves a little eased after hearing that statement. "I know." His sister replied cockily and hurried to the door after hearing a car honk, only shouting a quick goodbye towards the parlor where their parents were and a 'later' to him. Her girlfriends were picking her up since they had decided to drive to the dance together. Well, Morty's own drive would also be here any moment now and gosh, why did he feel so nervous again?! He couldn't remember that he had even been this excited over a school dance. Then again, it was also the first time that he wouldn't go to one alone. The sound of a revving engine alerted him that Rick was finally here. "Mom! Dad! I'm leaving now!" He also yelled and stormed outside. Instead of waiting on the running bike for him, Rick had dismounted it and pulled his helmet off. Morty instantly felt self-conscious again as his best friend's gaze wandered him up and down once. Though Rick's appreciative smile relieved him. "Nice outfit, Morty. Looking real good." "Tha-thanks. You, too, Rick." The brunet couldn't help but blush a little. Rick actually looked amazing. The other teen wore a beige jacket and dress pants and a nice dark-blue button-up shirt and a white tie. Honestly, it's not what Morty would have expected, but then again, he really didn't know what exactly he thought his friend would be wearing tonight. The only thing that he was convinced about was that it really suited Rick and Morty wouldn't even been looking halfway as good as the other boy did if he were to wear the same thing. "Shall we?" Rick made a little bow and handed him the helmet, finally ripping the brunet out of his state of admiration. With a small smile and a shy blush, he accepted the offered accessory and put it on before following his friend's example and getting on the motorcycle.

The drive to school was short and uneventful. When they arrived, the parking lot was full and so was the gym hall. Music from the live band was blearing from the speakers and small decorations had been hung up to fit with some kind of festive theme while colorful lights illuminated the high schoolers that flocked on the dancefloor. As soon as they entered a few people greeted Rick and the teen greeted back, even shouting at some people to get their attention. "Hey, Gearhead!" He called out to one of the boys that stood near the punch table. The teen, whose actual name was Garry, wasn't happy about the nickname that he was given and instantly complained about it. "My name isn't "Gearhead", Sanchez. It is really rude to give such a nickname to a person who just happens to have a slightly unusually shaped head. Besides my head doesn't even look remotely like a gear! You don't see me going around and calling you Pillhead or Dorittohair or something like that either!!" Rick ignored him, not being bothered by the kvetching at all. Instead, he pulled Morty closer when he spotted Jessica and talked with him in a hushed tone that was still loud enough for the brunet to hear over the loud music. "Look, Morty! There's Jessica!" "Yeah, I can see that, Rick." The teen replied and his face fell at the sight. "And Brad is there, too." Indeed, the redhead was currently dancing together with her boyfriend. The sight was nothing to be excited about, though, she did look really pretty in her mint green dress. Before he could drift off in a dreamy state of admiring while imagining what it would be like if he could be next to her now, Rick continued. "Don't worry about that, Dawg! I'll give you a chance to be with Jessica by distracting Brad." "What?! How are you going to do that?" Morty couldn't believe it. Would Rick really do something like that for him? If he did, he would really owe something to the blue haired boy. Though, to be fair, it wouldn't be the first time that Rick bought him some alone time with his crush. This was going to be the best evening of his life if that would really work out! "Don't worry about that. Just leave it up to me." Without elaborating further, he steered Morty over to one of the tables and told him to wait there before vanishing seemingly into thin air. Not knowing what else to do with his time, he grabbed a red paper cup and filled some of the punch in it. After taking a sip, he could taste something bitter mixed in with the sweetness and his face instantly scrunched up. It was spiked! And this early in the evening already. With a sigh, he placed the cup on the table and decided that he wasn't really that thirsty. Taking another look around the gym hall, he suddenly noticed that Jessica was chatting with her girlfriends now and there was no sight of Brad anymore. How did that happen? Where did he go? He couldn't wonder for long as Rick suddenly returned to his side and nudged him. "C'mon, Morty! It's free rein now for you. Go over and talk to her!" Morty had no did idea how his friend did it or what exactly he had done, but he wasn't about to let that chance go to waste. He reached the girl when her friends scattered to dance with their dates and Jessica looked around in search for her own boyfriend. "Hey, Jessica!" He cringed a little at how shrill his voice sounded. She turned to him, looking surprised for a moment, but smiling friendly the next second. "Hello, Morty." "You look b-pr-gorgeous!" Damn his stutter! "Thank you. You look quite good yourself." She kindly returned the compliment. He laughed a little nervously, face turning even redder than after his little word tumble and he embarrassedly scratch the back of his head. "Would yo—" he had to clear his throat, "D-do you want to uh…dance?" "Well, I guess since my date left me hanging…" Her eyes roamed once more through the room. "Sure. Why not?" Morty visibly brightened up and eagerly made his way to the dancefloor with his crush, moving a little awkwardly, but clearly having fun.

Rick walked through the halls of the school. After seeing Morty dance with Jessica, he had some fun on the dancefloor himself with someone else, but suddenly the boy was gone. So he was searching for him now. After all, he would be a bad date if he wouldn't look for him and people could say many things about Rick Sanchez, but not that he was a bad date. Figuring that the boy was probably just using the toilet, he steered towards one of the restrooms when the door opened and the teen in question just came out. However, he looked anything but happy and his head as well as the neck of his shirt and jacket were wet. "Hey, what happened, Morty?" The brunet stared down at his feet when he answered. "Brad suddenly showed up. He saw me dancing with Jessica and didn't like it. So he beat me up and shoved my head in the toilet…" When he finally dared to look Rick in the eyes, he looked so pitiful, one of his eyes turning a purplish color and his cheek slowly swelling up. "Can we please just go home now?" The blue-haired boy's face hardened and he grabbed Morty's wrist. However, instead of dragging him to the exit, he urged the other teen back into the restroom again – much to the brunet's confusion. "Take of your jacket and shirt and then wash your face, Morty." He instructed. Despite still not understanding why he was supposed to do that, he followed Rick's directions without comment or hesitation and undressed before he went to the sink and splashed water in his face. Rick meanwhile had taken his clothes and proceeded to dry them using the hand dryer. After he was done with that, he helped Morty with drying his face and hair off as best as he could. After he told Morty to put his clothes back on, he handed him a comb that he handily had in one of his jacket pocket, fixed his yellow bow tie and lastly put some perfume on him that he also carried around. The brunet was actually surprised after all of the fussing was over and stared in the mirror. He looked presentable again (if you didn't count the slight bruising) and top of that, he smelled like Rick now. Actually, he had always figured that Rick would be using aftershave and not an actual perfume and the scent was an unusual one, but fitting. He needed to remember its name because it was actually really nice to be surrounded by that smell. "C'mon, Morty." Once more, Rick grabbed his wrist – something that he honestly did more often than not – and led him back into the gym hall again. The blue-haired teen dragged him all the way on the dancefloor just when a new and funky song started to play. It was the prefect opportunity for Rick to show off some of his cool dance moves again – like he always did at parties. The crowd quickly noticed that and made room on the floor, cheering him on as he moved gracefully. Morty actually felt a little embarrassed even though all eyes were on Rick right now. Still, he felt exposed with everyone standing around them and froze up, not wanting to make a fool of himself by attempting to dance alongside the much cooler teen. Besides, he really enjoyed watching Rick like everyone else did, so he was fine with this. However, the other seemed to have different plans as he kept making motions with his hands towards Morty, urging him to join him. Shyly the brunet shook his head, still refusing in fear of becoming the laughing stock of the school for the entire rest of the year because of this. Rick refused to give up though, dancing closer towards him and holding out his hand. As Morty kept looking at his expectant face – at that exciting smile – he slowly felt his resolve waning. He looked long enough into Rick's beautiful bright ice-blue eyes that he lost himself in them as well as the feel for reality and finally grabbed the inviting hand. Rick pulled him closer towards the middle and somehow the brunet fell easily into rhythm with him, dancing far more smoothly than he ever did before. For the entire time, he continued to look only at Rick and it felt to him like they were the only ones in the room. He didn't notice how the crowd around them kept cheering them both on. He couldn't even feel the pain anymore that he had thanks to Brad's beating. Everything else had just suddenly ceased to exist. Only after the song eventually ended, did he realize where he was again. The next song that came up was a slow one and Morty tried to leave the dancefloor again, when Rick stopped him. "Where do you think you're going, Morty?" the blue-haired teen asked. "Wh-wha—I-I th-thought—" The brunet poorly stuttered, convinced that his friend would actually want to dance with a girl now. Rick cut him short. "Everyone is entitled to one slow dance." With a grin, he pulled the stunned Morty closer towards him, putting his arms around him and began swaying to the music. The brunet felt once more distressed, although it wasn't quite like before. The crowd that had gathered around them had dissolved again as couples began to dance around them, so he didn't feel the pressure of hundreds of eyes on him anymore. Relaxing again, he went along with it, putting his own arms shyly around the other and following his lead. While they danced, Morty couldn't help but think about how kind Rick was tonight. Somehow, he had managed to make this school dance really enjoyable for him even after the entire fiasco with Brad. Dreamily he looked at Rick, his cheeks dusted with a cute flush and the other teen smiled gently back at him. Only when Morty realized that he was starring, did he avert his eyes in embarrassment. Still, he couldn't help but think that this was actually really nice…

The evening eventually came to an end and Rick brought him back home. Thankfully, the teen didn't had too much of the spiked punch and was still sober enough to drive properly without Morty having to worry too much about them getting into an accident. Rick stopped the motorcycle in front of the brunet's house and turned the engine off as he dismounted it. Like a gentleman, he walked Morty all the way to the door, which was almost silly since he never did that before. When they came to a stop at the front door, the brunet turned towards him. "Thank you, Rick, for the great evening and everything. I had really fun." It was true. For a moment, he had believed that everything was over and would be remembered as a horrible occurrence, but his genius friend had managed to turn it all around and made it into the best and most unforgettable night that Morty had ever experienced. "Don't sweat it." Rick waved him off with a grin. There was a brief silence between them and suddenly Rick looked as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself again. "Good night, Morty." With those words, he quickly took his leave and the brunet watched him till he was out of sight before going inside. For the rest of the night he wondered what Rick might have wanted to tell him…

AN: Kinda short chapter again, but you already know by now that consistent chapter length is not a thing for this story.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11