#rickmorty

[hushfluffles]

Rick and morty seasons 1-5 analyzed, the ultimate guide to rick and morty

I DID IT, I FUCKING DID IT

[lukenian-103]

WIP: Pencil sketch of Miami Rick and Morty! I will color it with Copic Markers soon 😌

This pic is my rendition of Miami R&M from my fanfiction "Get Off Me, Slut (I have a Boyfriend!)"

Link to fic on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64936348?view_adult=true

It's pure fluff and comedy. Very short. Just a flirt-off and public simping.

[grandpa-boyfriend]

it's so insane how rick loves morty in his own way but it's so subtle and so so so so much based implicit meanings rather than outright gestures. but it becomes so clear when you view his "expressions" of love in their simplest form.

creating rickbot? rick didn't want morty to be lonely or to worry about him, even when rick himself was upset at morty for "treating" him like he's "boring" during the knights of the sun episode

the fear hole episode at the end? he carries a picture of morty in his wallet. he LIKES being able to see an image of morty whenever he wants. it might even bring him comfort. him putting it on the board was to also show how proud he was of morty, at the end, to the extent that he would willing part with something he obviously LIKES. (tho tbh he prob just grabbed another picture at home and put it in his wallet. it was clearly a school photo and they prob do have multiple of those)

like, this is something that is really coming across more overtly in the later seasons. in the earlier seasons, we saw rick go through cycles of controlling morty and then discarding him when they either got too emotionally close, when morty expressed anger/displeasure with rick, and/or when rick felt like he needed to "punish" morty for either of the two previous things (think the vat of acid or the two crows).

rick's toxic treatment and abuse of morty can be considered him "caring" about morty in his own fucked up way, even though it's not true love and care as it disregards morty's autonomy and feelings. however, for someone like rick to willingly exert control over another person instead of just abandoning them the moment they express something he doesn't like? that's basically him admitting he wants morty in his life.

rick becoming much more soft and caring in his own way in these recent seasons is a very subtle thing - but, it's like, once you see it, then a lot of things start clicking into place in regards to his character development and his relationship with morty.

[unclefesterdraws]

Enjoying a quiet moment together.

[metrolist]

[100loudreams]

100 loud dreams - season one timeline read on ao3

The printable booklet version is available on my gumroad for one dollar

[loverorgrandpa]

People be like as long as it’s not a ship it’s fine but this is the official art. Technically they’re right- shipping is fanon. This shit’s canon.

[grimalkinmessor]

I don't think C-137 is Morty's actual dimensional number.

Because he and Rick don't come from the same dimension, and it's never stated that C-137 is the dimensional designation that Morty (and Rick Prime by extension) comes from. Rick says that it's HIS dimensional designation, and since he created the Citadel it's not like they could've given him a new number, right? Rick would've told them to fuck off. So if C-137 is Rick's original dimensional number then that means that C-137 is the dimension where Beth and Diane died, meaning that Rick doesn't have an original Morty. C-137 Morty never got to exist.

But, when Morty refers to himself as "C-137", it's directly after he's typed in the coordinates for his original dimension on the portal gun to take Summer there. But, in that moment he's also speaking to Ricks, Ricks that he knows are from the Citadel and that he knows know who his Rick is, and pretty notoriously at that. So I think when he identifies himself as "Morty C-137", he's not identifying himself as the Morty of that dimension, but rather identifying himself as "Rick C-137's Morty".

So what the hell is Morty's original dimensional number??

[urfavoritemistake]

i had a normal one today

[haahahrick]

Yesss 🥰✨

[garmanarnarr]

Rickorty Week Day 3: Caught

1.2k | secretly married | warning for language

@rickortyweek

“Jesus Christ, Jerry, go get the accountant, would you?” 

Beth’s hands shake around the tax filer. She taps the sheaf of papers against the desk to try and straighten them but it ends up just making things worse, sheets fumbling out into her lap. W-2s. Proof of health insurance. Unemployment papers for Jerry. And that’s just last year’s; she’s pulled their last seven returns, which she keeps in big binders in a filing cabinet in the home office, like they always suggest. 

She can tell her husband is making a face without even looking at him. 

“He said he charged,” Jerry pauses, “what, two thousand flurbos an—”

“FILING ERROR. FILING ERROR,” the big stone head in the middle of the office says, again, thumping the ground for emphasis. 

“I don’t care. Call him,” Beth says. 

“We don’t know the conversion rate!” 

“I know that if we don’t file these correctly beyond a shadow of a doubt, our bodies, and our children’s, are going to get repo’d. That’s what I know, Jerry.” 

“Alright,” Jerry says. “Fine.” Shoulders slumped, he shuffles out of the room. The intergalactic equivalent of the IRS manages to be equally drab as its US counterpart– or maybe worse. Beth had no idea there even was an intergalactic equivalent of the IRS you could be audited by until she was pulled right out of her living room and into space like how cows got sucked up into flying saucers in movies. She’d had a nasty looking gun pointed in her face by an alien and ten minutes to gather ‘the needed tax-related materials’ to ‘rectify a filing error.” She didn’t even have time to finish her glass of wine. 

Now she’s stuck in this office under threat of losing her own bodily autonomy. With a lot of paperwork. And a big stone head in the middle of the floor thundering “FILING ERROR. FILING ERROR.” as it pounds on the ground like the Easter Island equivalent of a Turbotax fuckup. 

She has no clue what’s wrong. Maybe something lingering from the divorce? Unless Jerry has some bank accounts in Turks and Caicos he hasn’t told her about, she’s pretty much fresh out of ideas. She leans over in her chair, twisting her hands in her hair, wishing she had a glass of wine. Perhaps several. 

As she stares at her bare feet (she hadn’t had time to grab shoes) she hears Jerry come into the room, followed by small, light footsteps. When she looks up, a nerdy alien in a polo shirt and khakis is sitting down across the desk from her. He has weakly wavering gray antennae, like everyone else that works here, and a laptop under his arm. 

“Hello, Mrs. Smith. Sounds like there’s a problem you’d like my help with?”

“FILING ERROR. FILING ERROR,” agrees the stone head, loudly. Beth is starting to get a really bad headache and she knows it isn’t from the Cab Sav. 

“I think something is wrong with my previous tax returns? Or something?” she says, pushing her stack of papers towards the accountant, which the accountant eyes, twirling one of his antennae between his fingers. 

“What planet?”

“Uh. Earth?”

“Ah, I see. Earth tends to be a particularly tricky one. You humans can never make up your minds. Makes keeping accurate records a pain.”

“Frankly, sir, I have no fucking clue what’s going on. Pardon my language. This has never been a problem for us before.” 

“Well, Mrs. Smith, if you’re willing to go line by line with me…”

“For the last seven years?”

“I’m paid to be thorough.” 

Beth’s going to pull her hair out. 

“Isn’t there anything you can do to just, like, make it faster? Please.” 

The accountant does some sort of equivalent of pursing his lips that might translate more clearly with different mouth anatomy. 

“Alright. Let me check my system for any inconsistencies.” 

He opens up his laptop and begins typing away. 

Gingerly, Jerry rests a hand on Beth’s back. “See, honey? Look at him go. I knew he was worth it.” 

Her phone rings, inexplicably. But of course, anything is explicable, considering what her father is capable of. She picks up on the second ring. 

“Beth.”

“Dad?” she asks, as if it could be anyone else. She watches as the accountant pulls a small device out of his pants pocket and starts scanning some of the papers with it, seemingly at random. 

“B-Beth, sweetie, tell me something. Are your personal taxes being audited by the intergalactic equivalent of the IRS right now?”

“How do you know?” she asks, instantly, then winces, then hates herself for wincing. This is obviously some Dad shit. There are antennas and strange electronic devices and angry space bureaucrats, which means it has Rick Sanchez written all over it. 

“Ah, jeez, fuck, okay.” Her father sounds oddly panicked, voice strained.  “L-listen, don’t. Don’t tell those squares anything, just wait until I get there–”

The accountant looks up. “I’ve found something, Mrs. Smith.”

“Ooooh, he’s found something, Beth!” Jerry echoes excitedly. 

Beth takes her phone away from her ear and rests it against her shoulder. 

“Yeah?’ 

“You seem to have some kind of error with the status of a family member’s filing.”

“What do you mean?” Faintly, she can hear her father saying Beth? Sweetie? on the other end of the line. 

“Mortimer Smith is listed as a dependent, here.” He points at a line on his laptop screen that’s highlighted in red. 

“Yes, of his mother.” She shoots a look at Jerry, who’s gone quiet.  

“Hmmm,” says the accountant, squinting at his screen. Beth’s stomach feels strange. 

“He’s seventeen. He’s my son.” 

“According to our records, he’s been filing with Rick Sanchez since 2016.”

Two years ago. Beth’s stomach drops. “You mean, he’s like, what, Rick’s dependent now? Like Rick fucking adopted him?”  

Suddenly scenarios of Rick whisking Morty away for real, forever, without her knowing, are flashing through her head. Taking him away on an adventure that he’d never come back from, far away from her. Who knew what he could do. How he could make her sign papers and forget she’d ever done it. Her forehead and armpits start to break out in clammy sweat and she wipes her suddenly damp hands on her pant legs. 

“No, jointly filing,” the accountant says coolly, as if it is nothing. As if it is the most normal thing in the world. “As a spouse.” 

In a flash, a slimy green disk opens in the middle of the room. Beth watches as one long, long, knobby leg steps through, then another. The ratty edge of a lab coat and one gray hand holding a portal gun. 

“First of fucking all,” her father says, as soon as his head bursts through, “let it be known, I didn’t– I didn’t want you to find out like this, Beth . This is pretty m-messed up, even by my standards. Second of all, fuck the government and all the little snitching bitch peons that work for it. Third of all, before you aAAUGGHsk, it’s not, it’s not legal on Earth. So don’t worry about that, sweetie.” 

Beth is very still. 

“CORRECTION ACCEPTED,” says the head, mouth clacking. It had stopped shaking the table with its movement. It seems smug, in fact. 

“See, Beth? Not legal on earth,” Jerry echoes, cheerfully. His face falls.  

“Wait. What?”

[grandpa-boyfriend]

i love memes that were clearly made by like casual fans / fans who aren't involved in fandom but are still unintentional rickorty memes

like even the normies see it

[unclefesterdraws]

"you like that, morty?"

"yes, rick, i do."

[grandpaluvr69]

real reason rick asked morty to meta marry him was so he could fix a problem he's had for the last 14 years (beth taking jerry's last name so the kids also have his last name) (he should have been morty sanchez)

[lukenian-103]

“You ever just sit on a rooftop, share silence, and pretend your multiversal trauma isn’t screaming in neon green smoke?”

Copic Marker + Copic Multiliner. Please don’t repost without permission.

[gothmorty]