#i was going to draw summer and morty but i ran out of time and wanna post something now while ppl r interacting :3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

idk-wha-ahm-doin · 1 year

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@w3irdiy

You gave me two prompts to choose from, thanks for that XD

Since the next prompt to write is also Birdrick, I chose the second one! Beth and the Smith family finding out about Rick's Diane and Beth.

Tell me what you think. I think it kinda goes off the rails a little.

"Wh-where?" Morty panickingly asked, clumsily fiddling with the portal gun. "He'll follow us into every dimension!"

Gritting his teeth, Rick urged his daughter to run faster by the wrist. "Not every dimension. Give me that."

"You can run, but you can't hide, C-137! Oh wait, I'm C-137! Are anything but a ghost of me at this point?" Mocked the echoing voice.

"Dad!" Voice breaking into a shriek, Beth ran to keep up with her father and son. "What is going on?! I thought we were going to Boobworld!"

"Me too, sweetie." Grunted the old man, entering coordinations he'd sworn not to revisit. "Where's Summer and Jerry? Did we lose 'em?"

"We're here, asshole." Out of breath, Summer announced their presence. Only a few steps behind.

"Hold on tight." With that warning, he shot a portal ahead where they were running into, basically jumping into the first scene of his life where he began to mentally degrade. He wouldn't be surprised if Prime knew of this already.

On the other side, Rick tripped on an uneven part on the sidewalk, leading to all five falling on each other like pieces of domino.

Crack.

Rick tensed under the pressure, more concerned about the noise of something getting crushed under their weights. "What, was, that?" He spelled out, fearing the worst.

His son in law cleared his throat nervously to his right. "Oh, uh, haha. That? That was... uh." Chuckles trailing off. "... H-how long will it take you to fix an um, a broken portal gun?"

"Fuck." Crying out his frustrations in one word, Rick let his forehead hit the cold stones of the ground. Not that repairing it took much effort, but it took time, and time was not something Rick wanted to spend a moment of here.

"Ugh, Dad, get off of me. Why are y'all just laying here like dead fish? Jesus Christ." Summer was the one that urged them to get up. The old man took another moment to grieve whatever patience he had and whatever lunch he was about to lose before reluctantly standing up and dusting off his clothes.

"There are corpses on the street, Rick." Awkwardly waving back to the old man in a kid's bicycle, Jerry pointed out. "Is this the dimension of old people?" Innocently, he asked.

Keen observation Jerry, he wanted to make a sarcastic comment, but something made his brows furrow. "I thought I switched it off." He muttered under his breath.

"Switch what off?" Beth pressed him, having been standing close. "Dad, where exactly did you take us?"

Inhaling the dead odor in the air, Rick's gaze travelled up to the building he once called home. "One place the son of a bitch can't follow us into. You're welcome." He dryly said before taking off toward the house. "All I know is that a Rick lived here once."

"Which was you." Walking close to him, Morty frowned. "Is this your house?" He asked, loudly enough that the rest of the family wouldn't hear him. "It actually screams sad on top of its lungs."

"Maybe stop talking." Rick offered, storming into the garage. "Keep your family busy, will you? I'll make it quick- and oh-" He paused in his tracks. "Don't let them into the basement."

Walking casually past an incredulous Morty, Rick put the broken portal gun on some blueprint he didn't remember drawing. "... Are there bodies there?"

Running a hand down his distraught expression, Rick sighed. "I-I dunno, maybe? J-just don't risk it." He could hear the boy rolling his eyes.

"Hold up, the garage doesn't have a door, the floor isn't fixed after a goddamn explosion and your basement is a torture room. You're telling me you lived here after... s-stuff happened?"

The man pursed his lips, merely staring at the gadget while suffering a blank mind. "Maybe."

Coming to stand next to him, Morty's eyes studied the place. "Definitely like I remember."

"You don't know jack shit." The scientist scrunched up his nose, going through a box.

"I know plenty." Morty glared at him. "I practically lived your life once, asshat. I'm just as angry."

Rick paused in his search, shoulders slumping. "Sorry about that."

"I just think you should tell them." Morty offered with a wince. "W-we're a family now, Rick. Whether you like it or not."

"Fuck off, Morty. Now's not the time for this."

Maybe he needed to search the kitchen?

Grunting under his breath, he opened the cabinets in search of a specific item. "Goddammit, I think I'm out."

"Dad?"

"Jesus!" Jumping out of his skin with a yelp, a pot nearly fell on his head. "Don't just scare me like that, sweetie."

The blonde was sheepishly scratching her arms, her daughter and husband also in the kitchen. Huh, he wasn't really paying much attention. "Sorry, I just... you sure you don't know who lived here or... what happened to them?"

That sentence shouldn't have frozen him the way it did. "What uh, makes you say that?" He couldn't help but drawl it in hesitance as he tried to casually lean against the counter.

The woman's eyes were furrowed in sympathy or worry. Her fingers grazed the horse doodles on the fridge door of his daughter- his daughter, Rick's actual daughter, her small hands held a crayon and drew them one warm evening long ago. It hurt something deep and suppressed in his chest to look at anything in the house at all. Part of why he wished to leave as soon as possible.

"This... a kid drew these, Dad. This is messed up- a-and we saw the garage, it can't be more obvious." Something sank in the depth of his stomach, but he held his indifferent facade. "The me here didn't get to grow up." When she finally tore her gaze apart from the drawings and faced him, they were glistening with tears. "A-and maybe even the whole family didn't survive, who knows?" Voice shaking.

Fidgeting with an empty bottle, Rick tried to play it cool. Sometimes he really wished Beth wasn't so smart. Smart people suffered. "I try not to think about it." He admitted.

"There's something wrong with this universe." Summer raised an eyebrow. "Seriously creepy. No wonder that Rick didn't follow us here."

"Yeah, no wonder." Muttered Rick in an echo, facing away when Morty joined them in the kitchen, probably wearing a scold on his face. Clearing his throat, he straightened his back and continued. "Nothing I can do here, fellas. I have to make something from scratch and I know the perfect lab-"

A familiar chirp cut him off, filling him with dread.

"Rick, baby! Did you come back again?"

The honeyed tone glued his shoes to the floor, turning the blood in his veins into liquid ice. His heart pounded painfully against his ribcage and his mouth dried up.

No, no, no, no.

Now was the worst possible fucking timing for this.

The rest of the family looked confused by the caller, eyes drawn to the other room. Morty's wide stare stayed on him, though. And Beth looked somehow relieved.

"Oh, I'm so glad you didn't kill yourself!" The voice sang with a pleasant sigh. "I told you flying off without coordinates was dangerous!"

Jerry eyed a frozen Rick with disbelief. "Rick, who is that in the house? I thought it was empty!"

"Tha... that's Mom." Beth whispered against her palm. "S-she's alive!" She cried with joy.

"Oh, Rick." It called in a singsong. "Did you finally kill our target?"

Whatever joy and relief was radiating off the family died at that, four set of eyes staring the poor man down.

Noticing the attention was on him, Rick shook his head and narrowed his eyes. "You're uh, the house AI, right? You got the wrong Rick." He lied, hoping it would take a hint.

"If the wrong Rick steps in this house, he'll be blown up to pieces! You thought I wouldn't recognize my own d-d-d-dirtybear?"

Pulling his lips into a strained line, Rick closed his eyes. He felt their eyes piercing holes through him. "Mute." He grumbled.

"You designed me so I can't be muted! Or did you forget that already?" The AI responded cheerfully.

Fuck.

"... No. I-I didn't... kill, the target." Gritting out, every word was forced out and clawed on his throat before forming sentences. "Can you stop- talking to me for a few minutes?" Pinching between his brows, Rick inhaled, trying not to look at anyone of his found family. He would lose all his nerve if he did.

"I wouldn't be a good haunter then, would I? And oh, you brought your new family here!"

The concept of denial forgotten completely, Rick glared at the ceiling and growled. "Don't you even dare, Diane!"

"I'm just doing what you told me to!"

"Well, now I'm telling you to fucking quit it!" He shouted. "I'm giving you new codes! I don't- I don't fucking want to be haunted!" Voice rising as he yelled.

For the first time since its creation, the AI paused. "You made my codes un-rewritable for a reason, Rick! Besides, I'll always be in your head! You said that last time!"

"Ugh!" The man exclaimed with a mixture of rage, exasperation at the ugly truth and stares poking on his nerves.

"If you want to move on, I'm proud of you, baby! I forgive you for getting us killed!" Her voice was so joyous, so full of life, and yet she whispered bites of venom wrapped around a layer of honey. "But before you do, you can kill off the killer's genes!"

"Hold the fuck up- did you just tell him to kill me?" Morty glared at the same spot on the ceiling Rick had.

"No." Innocently replied the AI.

"Wait, the killer's your Rick, Morty?!" Summer suddenly yelled, pointing at him. "You never said anything!?" Jerry and Beth gasped and looked at the scowling brunet.

"I-i's complicated!" Morty shouted back with a streak of panic and defensiveness. "Rick! Help me out here!?"

Stopping for a moment to bite down a harsh retort and a tendency to murder, Rick smacked his hands on the table. "Everybody, shut up!" The yelling quieted down. "For fuck's sake, no one's killing Morty. And Diane, tell me, are we out of Isotope 322?" He demanded loudly. "There's no crack in the main tube that needs immediate fixing, but the fluid still spilled out."

The AI paused for a moment to scan the house. "Oh, there's actually some in the cupboard to your right, sweetheart!"

"Thanks." Mumbled halfheartedly Rick, opening said cupboard and snatching it and a beaker.

"Wow, grandpa. This is..." Summer trailed off after breaking the silence.

"Sad?" Rick snapped, beginning to make more portal juice. "Well, guess what? We know, Summer. We know."

Fucking splendid. Now there was going to be awkward silence and more pity than he could stomach.

He should've thought of another dimension, another solution or even avoided this house. He should've gone straight to the lab.

But no matter how hard he scolded himself, he knew in the back of his mind that the black hole of this building would always draw him in and drown him.

His hold tightened on the beaker as he watched the liquid stir together into a homogenous substance. "Why are you fucks just standing there? Go out- be-be useful." He ordered with a growl.

But his rage didn't last when two arms wrapped around his chest, making him wince. "... For all the times I blamed you for leaving me and Mom." Beth's trembling voice came from where she rested her cheek against his shoulder. "And you let me because- I-I can't even..." She breathed out in utter disbelief.

"..."

"I yell and scream at you about how you don't care about family!" Her incredulous voice rose gradually. "Is that- is that supposed to be a joke?! How many years did you spend out there I- pursuing a vendetta? What was that- a torture robot with Mom's voice?!"

"Sweetie-" Rick started.

"Fo-for all the times I called you a-! Do we even know you?!" She cried.

"Don't take it personal, honey." Rick paused and freed his hands, reaching one to put on Beth's head crown. Then sighed. "Even I don't know myself." He muttered the second part, earning himself a tighter embrace.

A tear threatened to wound his pride by falling down, but he blinked it away. A tender affection for Beth burned in his chest, encouraging him to turn his head and plant a soft kiss on her hair.

This cut too deep.

"Is there like uh, a room for one more?"

Raising his head, he saw Summer awkwardly standing with her arms spread out and a truce-seeking smile on her face. Behind her, Jerry was watching with an open mouth, and Morty had a goodhearted smug look to him, arms crossed.

Eh, fuck it. "All of you fucknuts, bring it in!" He cried.

A moment later, he didn't know whose snort was in his ear and who was trying to tackle him,

But he felt like a part of this dumb group of people bonded together through their experiences.

For maybe six minutes and twenty one seconds, Rick forgot about his haunted mind.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #beth smith #family #fanfic #request

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sloppyplanetary · 3 years

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Holding On to Fate, Chapter One

rating: mature (smut later), pairing: rick sanchez/morty smith, tags: memory loss, angst, summer knows, intergalactic road trip, content warnings: drinking, puking implied,

Morty groaned, face contorting into a grimace as he slowly woke up to a pounding headache. Sleep dragged at his eyelids, protesting the morning light shining through his bedroom window. He really didn't want to wake up- he was having such a good dream. The dream was already fading from his memory, but the warmth of a body, the feeling of security, and lingering rough fingers drawing patterns on his back remained, a much better alternative to Morty's current dry mouth and throbbing head.

But, all good things must come to an end. His mom opened his door and softly called his name.

"Morty? You awake?"

He rubbed his face and cracked open his eyes begrudgingly. "Barely."

Beth's brow was pinched, face displaying a rare level of concern. She opened the door wider, and spoke quietly. "Hey, if you want to take today off from school, you can." She paused, seeming to debate her next words. "You don't have to talk about it. But remember, I know how it feels."

Morty held in a snort as she left the room. He doesn't remember much of anything that happened last night, but his hangover made it obvious. Of course she knows how it feels, with all the wine she drinks.

Morty felt a wave of bitterness. It was nice of her to not bug him about school, but she didn't even question why her sixteen year old son got drunk last night. Wait- why did he get drunk? He tried to remember what happened yesterday, but was hit with a fresh wave of nausea, barely jerking out of his bed and into his bathroom on time.

Fifteen minutes later, he padded downstairs with a freshly brushed mouth in search of advil. The family was seated at the kitchen table, and their conversation abruptly stopped as soon as he rounded the corner. They all looked up at him, Summer off of her phone.

"W-what?" Morty demanded, his patience wearing thin from dealing with his pounding head.

Summer raised her eyebrows. "Surprised you're still here."

"Where else would I- would I be? Mom gave me the day off of school." He took a seat across from Summer, noticing for the first time how big the kitchen table was. Surely they didn't need that many chairs- it was only the four of them, after all.

She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by Beth hissing her name. Summer shot her a glare, and Jerry, sensing the rising tension, spoke up.

"Well I, for one, am glad you're okay, you’re doing okay. Have some pancakes,” he said, gesturing to the stack on the table.

Morty glanced between Beth and Summer, who were still having an argument through facial expressions only, but he was too tired to deal with this. He grabbed a few pancakes and started eating them, tuning out the room. His mind wandered back to yesterday, trying to grab onto the last thing he remembered, but his head still hurt too much. Suddenly, the chair next to him being empty made him uneasy. He really just wanted to go lay back down and nap. Sighing, he pushed his half-eaten plate away and stood up.

“Wait,” Beth said. She went to the kitchen and returned with a blue gatorade and two small pills, holding it out to him. “Take these and drink this, it’ll help.”

Morty stared at it, a pit in his stomach telling him not to drink it, the color making his head swim worse. “Do we have any other flavors?”

Beth retracted her hand in surprise. “This is your favorite type. It has been for years.”

“Sometimes thing just- they just change,” Morty replied with a shrug.

Beth nodded and switched it out for a purple one. This time, Morty accepted it, and chugged half of it in one go. “Thanks, Mom. I’m going back to bed.” He slowly made his way back up the stairs, pulled his curtains shut, and fell into bed, only to land on something hard. He shook his blanket out to discover a strange small metal flask, the sight of which triggered another throb of his head. The empty flask got tossed across the room into the dirty clothes pile, and Morty finally laid down, sleep quickly reclaiming him.

*****

Morty still couldn’t remember what happened that day, and it made him a bit uneasy, but he wrote it off as getting black-out drunk. His headache faded, and he was back at school, going through the classes on rote. His nights were spent playing video games and watching t.v., but the feeling that something was missing from his routine lingered each night as he tried to sleep. Sleep was hard to come by, and his dreams kept repeating, fading as soon as he woke up but leaving those same feelings of comfort.

Summer was back to normal, Jerry was Jerry (albeit seeming happier for some reason), but Beth seemed like she was constantly tip-toeing around Morty. Her bottles of wine still made appearances at night, and occasionally, Morty would be the cause of an abrupt conversation end just by showing up in the room. It was frustrating, but he tried to ignore it.

One night, Beth cornered him, already a few glasses of wine in. "Listen, I know you don't want to talk about Rick leaving, but it hurt me too. At least he told you to your face, instead of leaving a note."

"What? W-who?" Morty asked, suddenly lightheaded.

Beth just laughed, an airy laugh that felt out of place. "Right. 'Just don't think about it'." She patted his head and walked off, still giggling.

Morty shook his head and retreated to his room. Beth's confusing behavior was worrying him a bit, and he had no clue who she was talking about, but his recurring minor headaches were worrying him more at the moment. It seems like they randomly come and go, without any obvious reason, and he was sick of it.

As he sat on his bed, his eyes landed across the room on the strange silver flask he found in his bed. His headache worsened, but this time he was angry, and stomped across the room the grab the stupid thing. He jerked it up and a splash sounded- it wasn't completely empty like he thought it was.

Curiously, he screwed open and sniffed it. It didn't smell like any alcohol he's ever smelled before, or anything familiar at all, really. It smelled like a thousand things that he's smelled before but couldn't identify now, even though he knew he hadn't. His head throbbed, but he didn't care. He had to taste it

Morty pressed his tongue to the opening and tilted it up, just looking for a drop. He quickly moved his tongue and chugged the rest of the flask when liquid practically melted on his tongue, tasting sweet and warm and comforting and almost immediately making his head stop pounding. He smiled, feeling at ease for the first time in two weeks, and laid on his pillow, empty flask in hand.

*****

Last night after the flask incident he actually got a full amount of sleep, and was staying after school in the library today, when Jessica approached him.

“Hey, Morty,” she said, smiling.

“Oh, J-Jessica! Hi.” Morty shut his book and stood up, waving at her. Maybe it was just a part of getting older, but recently, he hadn’t been getting the same waves of butterflies in his stomach that he used to get any time she came near. “What’s up?”

“Well, I’m free tomorrow, and that new science fiction movie is coming out, and I know you're like, into that stuff."

Morty nodded, confused, not remembering when he'd given her that assumption but rolling with it.

"So anyway, me and a bunch of friends are going to it, and we wanted to invite you."

A weird feeling spread through his body. It wasn't the same giddy anticipation he would've gotten a year ago, and the change threw him off. Did his crush just… go away?

"Earth to Morty," Jessica prompted.

"Haha, sorry, was trying to- to remember if I had something planned for-for tomorrow or not," Morty lied. "But I don't, so, sounds good!"

"Alright, cool! Well, I have your number, so I'll text you the deets later."

"You do?" Morty asked.

Jessica looked at him strangely. "Yeah, don't you remember that whole Healthy Morty situation?"

He didn't, but didn't want to make Jessica think he was dumb, so he nodded and laughed. "Oh yeah, that's good then! Yeah, just call- just text me whenever. Bye!"

She waved and left the library. Morty's smile faded as she disappeared out of sight. Healthy Morty? Sci-fi enthusiast? Beth avoiding him, her saying something about someone named Rick, the strange flask, whatever Summer was going to say on that first day before she got cut off- his growing feeling of unease over the past two weeks peaked, leaving only one conclusion.

Something was wrong. Something was missing from his memories, and Beth knew what it was. Probably Summer, too. Jerry was debatable, but Morty figured his best bet was to ask Summer first.

He grabbed his bag and nearly ran out of the library, eager to get answers.

#rick.write #rick and morty #rickorty #rickmorty #c137 cest #shipcest

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andypantsx3 · 4 years

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war paint | 6 | blade

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 27,765 words / 10 chapters

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

The bath house might have been the strangest moment of your life, but it proved only the beginning of Bakugou’s unusual behavior.

The captain seemed to be everywhere you turned in the days after. In the mess hall, you’d catch him staring at you from his table of officers, an unreadable look on his face. On the training pitch, he seemed to almost ignore your mistakes -- or at least, he didn’t appear as eager to rap you across the knuckles with the flat of his sword any time you were full seconds off a strike. He never reprimanded you, or revealed in any way that he’d caught you out after hours.

He was so confusing.

You’d thought more on his comments in the bath, about the prince and his valet. He had at least answered one of your long standing questions about why he - a marquis - would have joined the kingsguard instead of lounging around in Musutafu, slowly filling his manor full of heirs like the rest of the nobility. It was clear he was so viciously protective of the prince, and of Midoriya, though he seemed loath to admit it. You guessed that he couldn’t well knife anyone who “fucked with them” as he’d put it, from the comfort of a country estate.

This humanizing connection had you more confused than ever, and in combination with his weird behavior over the past few days, you were beginning to think he was waging some kind of psychological campaign on you. His lingering, thoughtful gazes were reaching off-putting levels of obviousness, and the way he corrected you in drills -- while still colorful with swears and insults -- was almost downright friendly for him.

You wondered what was wrong with him.

“He’s gonna murder you,” Kaminari offered unhelpfully, when you asked his opinion. “It’s like a final act of kindness. The prisoner’s last meal.”

Sero poked him with the stem of the herbs you’d been trying to grind into a staunching salve. “It’s not that. When have you ever known Bakugou to be kind?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Kaminari defended himself. “Why else would he be less mean to L/N than if he was gonna kill him?”

Sero rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I guess you have a point.”

You looked at him in alarm. “I don’t want to die,” you hissed. “I was just taking a bath.”

Kaminari smirked, piling up his own herbs in a towering heap, spilling out of the bowl of his mortar. “Not so great now, are they?”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your pestle and stabbing it into the mortar with feeling. “You can’t hate being clean that much.”

He didn’t respond.

You looked back up at him only to find him frozen, eyes fixated on something behind your back. He looked white as a sheet, and sat stiff and unblinking, as though locked in rigor mortis. A tall shadow fell over your workstation.

“Lotta yapping over here,” a rough voice said, and you looked up, up into a pair of red eyes. Your body locked up.

“Uh,” you said stupidly, feeling as blank as Kaminari, “The pestle leaves my mouth free.”

Sero let out an inhuman noise next to you, and the corner of Bakugou’s mouth twitched.

“Thought you did all your talking outta your ass,” he said, eyeing you closely.

Your face reddened. “Captain! I--That’s not--!”

“Calm down, shrimp,” he smirked. “You’re excused from medical training today. You’re coming with me.”

You stared up at him in shock. Was he taking you somewhere to kill you? Why not do it in front of the entire garrison? That seemed more his style, leaving your body to send a message to anyone else who dared commit the unforgivable sin of bathing after hours. What was he trying to do?

“Captain?” you asked nervously, fingers tightening on your pestle. Kaminari and Sero just stared, slack-jawed and open-mouthed like neanderthals.

“Now, soldier,” Bakugou said, insensitive to your plight. “Ten pushups for every second you make me wait.”

You shot to your feet. “Yes, sir.”

He turned on his heel, stomping back across the training field. The sun winked across his broad shoulders, falling in streaks over the blood red of his captain’s uniform.

“We’ll honor your memory,” Kaminari said sadly as you made to follow. Sero elbowed him, but it didn’t change your nervousness.

You thought quickly as you followed Bakugou across the field. If you weren’t being murdered, were you being discharged for your actions? Why now, why not days ago when it had happened?

Bakugou led you across the castle grounds, to a small building set in the shadow of the palace.

“In,” he grunted, opening the door. You eyed him apprehensively but ducked under his arm, stepping into a dim room. Racks of weapons lined the walls - heavy looking crossbows were pinned to the rafters, quivers of arrows lay in piles on the floor, and all manner of swords and maces lay racked in every corner. A tall man with a hawkish nose and dark eyes sat at a worktable in a cramped corner of the room, fletching a pile of arrows.

“Tokoyami,” Bakugou greeted him, following you into the room. You halted, but he prodded you forward with an impatient hand. “This is the little runt I was talking about. Think I got the size right?”

Tokoyami considered you, rising from his worktable. He took your wrist gently, placing his other hand under your elbow to pull your arm out, holding it perpendicular to your body. “He looks as described. I think it will work.”

Your heart picked up in your chest. What would work? What was he doing with your arm? Why was he holding it out? Was he going to cut it off?

You took a step back, running up against a hard chest. Bakugou let out a breath behind you, putting a steadying hand on your shoulder. It was almost unnaturally warm, burning through the layers of your uniform like the sun on a summer afternoon.

“Relax, princess,” he rumbled quietly in your ear as Tokoyami dropped your wrist, turning back to his worktable. He rummaged around in a pile of weapons behind it, the metal of swords clanking lightly as he shifted them.

You fidgeted uncomfortably under Bakugou’s hand, trying not to focus on the heat of him just behind you, the scent of smoke and something sugary that clung to him like dew on morning grass.

Tokoyami eventually emerged with a thin scabbard, holding it out to you. “Here.”

You looked at him curiously, but Bakugou gave you another impatient push. “Take the damn sword, shrimp. We don’t have all day.”

You took it from Tokoyami carefully, holding it out gingerly. “Captain, what is this?”

Bakugou scoffed from behind you, and you turned around to look at him.

“The standard issue blade’s too big for you. It’s why you’re so shitty at drills,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. His uniform groaned in protest over his biceps, and you forced your eyes back up to his face.

“What?” you asked stupidly.

Bakugou smirked. “You’re not putting on the same muscle as those other fucks. I saw it in the baths. You needed a different blade - a little smaller and much lighter.”

You stared at him in shock. Is that why he had come into the water to harass you? He’d been looking you over? What else had he noticed about your appearance? Surely not much more or you wouldn’t be here…

“Please open it,” Tokoyami said quietly from your side. “Make sure it is to your liking.”

You followed his direction, pulling the hard leather from the blade. The crisp metal caught the glint of the afternoon sun, falling through the room’s single window. You noted immediately that it was perhaps an inch shorter than your own current blade, and about a fingertip less wide, with a smaller grip much closer to the size of your own hand.

The most dramatic difference, however, was its weight. It felt barely half as heavy, lightweight and almost airy in your hand after the weight of your own blade.

Tokoyami reached out and tapped the sword where a large groove ran through its center. “I had it fullered, much deeper than the standard issue blade to relieve some of the weight. I took enough length and width off to lighten the load but not give you a disadvantage in a fight, and reduced the grip size to keep the balance,” he paused, lip curling, “and because the captain said you had hands like a child.”

You whirled around to glare at Bakugou. He leaned against a sword rack, smirking, a thin blonde eyebrow raised as if daring you to disagree.

“You’ll need to practice with it,” Tokoyami continued, unaffected, “it will take some getting used to after the standard blade.”

You turned back to him. “Thank you. This is - wonderful.”

He seemed to smile, pleased. “It was the captain’s order. I only made it.”

You looked back at Bakugou. “Captain, I--”

“Save it,” he waved a hand, leaning back out of his slouch. “Tokoyami, thanks. We’ve got training to get to.”

He pushed the door open and stepped back out into the afternoon sun. “Move it, shrimp.”

You bowed to Tokoyami and scrambled after him. Bakugou led you back through the palace grounds to a small, out of the way training field you had never seen before. In the late afternoon sun, his hair shone like pale golden wheat, ruffling lightly in the breeze.

He stopped in the center of the field, unsheathing his own sword. “C’mon, princess. Let’s break in that new blade of yours.”

Your gut churned with nerves, but you nodded. You unclipped the sword belt containing the standard issue blade and kicked it to the side, drawing your new sword. Again, its lightweight build shocked you and your arm overshot the draw slightly, whipping the sword out a little farther than you intended.

“You’re going to have to put more force into your swings to accommodate for the missing weight,” he said. “It’s easier to move but you won’t be striking as hard when you do.”

You nodded, fingers tightening on the sword’s grip.

Bakugou smirked, eyes darting down to your hand. And then, before you could blink, he was on you.

You got your sword up just in time, barely saved by the fact that it was lighter than you were used to. The force of his strike rang up your whole arm and you gritted your teeth as he followed through, pushing you off balance.

You took a step back, ducking under his wide swing and darting your sword at his side. With almost inhuman grace, he twisted, leaning to the side and bringing his blade down to knock yours aside.

You followed the movement of your sword, letting it carry you outside his immediate reach.

“Good, princess,” he bit out, the corner of his mouth curling. “You’re faster.”

You stared at him. You felt faster, but you still couldn’t touch him.

“Again,” he commanded imperiously.

You thrust another strike at his chest. Again he caught it, knocking your blade aside. As he did, you noted that the force of it was easier to control than usual, and you were much faster in regaining command and bringing it back up to cut at him again.

“So you have been learning something,” he said, letting a savage grin touch his mouth. “You’re less useless than I’d have guessed, shrimp.”

It was hardly a compliment at all, but from him it felt like high praise. Something warm like satisfaction curled in your chest.

“Focus on bringing it down harder,” he said, stepping back into your space. The dirt of the field crunched under his boot. “You’re still not accommodating for less weight behind your blows. It’s easy for anyone to throw you off.”

You threw another blow at him, putting all your own weight behind it. He caught it, but was a fraction of a second slower in pushing you back off.

“Good,” he murmured again, red eyes tracking you as you stepped back out of his reach.

He threw another strike at you and met it with a heavy swing. He stepped through the recoil, and thrust again. Again you caught him in time and used his own momentum to swipe his strike aside. He grinned savagely.

After that, your focus narrowed entirely to strikes and thrusts, parries and blows. Your whole world became the swing of your arm, the glint of sun on bright metal, the soft dirt under your feet as you wove and ducked and swiped. Only gradually did you become aware of your heavy breathing and a slight fatigue in your arms. When you next noted your surroundings, the sun was no longer in its place in the sky, leaning close to the earth to kiss the horizon.

Bakugou used your distraction to kick your legs out from under you.

“That’s enough for today, shrimp,” he finally said, and you noted with some pride that he was breathing a little heavily as well. “I went easy on you, but you’re good. Better than I would have expected.”

You got to your feet, sheathing your sword. “This whole time,” you panted out between breaths, “I didn’t think - I, I’ve just been terrible.”

Bakugou tucked away his own blade. “You were. Now you’re not.”

You realized with a start that not only had he commissioned you a blade, but he’d set aside an entire afternoon to train you with it. Something like embarrassment, and gratefulness, washed over you in a hot wave.

“Thank you,” you blurted, grabbing the hem of your uniform for something to do with your hands. The tips of your ears felt hot.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, then scoffed. “Shoulda caught it sooner,” he said, dismissively. “Knew you weren’t stupid with the way you picked up the medical shit.”

You looked at him in question.

“I thought you’d build up enough muscle,” he said, looking you over. “I didn’t take into account...other factors.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. “My...age?”

His crimson gaze caught yours, holding for a moment before he looked away. “Something like that.”

You stared at him but he didn’t elaborate, padding over to pick up your sword belt and previous blade from the ground. He held them out in a large, calloused hand. “Bring this back to Tokoyami. Then you’re dismissed.”

You took them from him, nodding. “Thank you again, Captain. I....appreciate it.”

A smirk overtook his handsome face. “Don’t embarrass me again at drills.”

A flush overtook your face so quickly it felt like you were scalded by your own skin. “I won’t, sir.”

He considered you a moment, then turned on his heel and set off across the field, waving a hand dismissively. “Get to the armory, princess,” he called over a broad shoulder, “I want you back in your bunk by sundown. No more late night escapades.”

You watched him go, something like a smile touching your mouth. A foreign feeling washed over you and you stopped to think on it for a moment.

For the first time in months, you felt like you were in the right place.

#bakugou x reader #fanfic #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki

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losersclubimagines · 5 years

Text

the coroner’s girl

[the losers club x reader]

warnings: swearing, bullying, blood and body parts.

summary: being the coroner’s daughter means dressing practically rather than flatteringly, carrying your father’s blood samples in your schoolbag, and having maybe too much of an avid interest in human anatomy for your classmates’ tates. you’re an outcast - a loser, something you had always been and been pretty okay with, until the last day of school in 1985, when greta bowie gets a little too familiar with the things you carry in your backpack.

request here

Being a coroner's daughter was never going to be easy.

It was like being the daughter of the exterminator that came to rid your school of rats or termites; nothing inherently bad about it - it was an honest profession, all right - but goddamn embarrassing.

But you knew that. You'd known that since second grade when the teacher said your class had to go around the circle and everybody said what their parents did for a living. There were four temps, one dentist, one taxi driver, a receptionist and a cashier before you proudly said, "my dad examines dead people to see how they died!"

Your teacher had thought it was interesting. Your classmates, not so much. They thought you were dirty. Most of them didn't touch you, if they could help it. You had your own special brand of cooties, creatively named 'The Y/n Touch" that the others would pass and tease each other with at recess and lunch in games you couldn't participate in. Well, fine. They'd decided you were to be an outcast, you'd do just that.

You stopped really trying in third grade. Stopped putting your hair in curlers every night and teasing it with hairspray every morning like the others, stopped dressing fashionably and started dressing practically, stopped trying to fit in at all. A lot of girls talked about lipstick or boys or singers, or else music you'd never heard of and movies you'd never watched. The boys talked about girls and soccer and bikes, or else books you'd never read or bands you'd never listened to. You didn't fit in with anyone else's conversation - you knew hearts and brains and lungs, vessels and arteries and veins, homeostasis and rigor mortis and symptoms of asphyxiation. But when you tried to talk about that, all you got was disgusted or scandalised looks, so you stopped. You kept to yourself.

All through third grade to eighth grade, the closest thing you had to a friend were our various biology teachers throughout the years. You were hopeless at the other sciences, barely passing, and mediocre at everything else, but your biology always came back with a fat shiny A on every report card.

It was the last day of school before summer in 1985. Before you'd gone to school, your dad had passed you three plastic sample jars, half-full of blood. At your raised eyebrows, he grew defensive.

"The refrigerator's stocked again!"

"Maybe it wouldn't be if you did your job like every other coroner in America and stopped-"

"Yes, I know, I know," he interrupted, looking badgered. "Can you just ask your friend in the prep room to store them, just for a day? I'll have the refrigerator cleared out by then."

"Fine." You checked the lids were done up tightly then stuffed the jars in your satchel. "Can I go now?"

"Yeah, go, you'll be late. Don't go throwing your bag around now, those jars are done up tight but they'll burst with pressure."

"Got it," you called, moving to the front door.

"In the fridge as soon as you get to school!" he shouted from the cellar. "As soon as!"

You shut the door in reply, disgruntled.

You did as bid, making your way to the science prep room before class and sweet-talking Mr Keary into letting you store the samples in the huge refrigerator. They kept the stuff used for dissecting in there - sheep hearts and frogs and pig brains. Needless to say, you'd aced that particular section of biology. A scalpel was so familiar in your hand by now, it felt like an extension of your fingers.

They stayed there throughout the day. It grew hotter and hotter, but you kept all your layers on - black jeans cuffed to keep them from trailing on your battered sneakers, a charcoal-grey shirt of your father's that hung to your thighs and a soft, woolly, dark green cardigan that swung about your calves. You liked the comfort that layers of clothes gave you - like wearing multiple plates of armour. The day passed as usual - you ad no biology class, so you spoke to barely anyone and barely anyone spoke to you, you kept your head down and ate lunch alone and doodled in every class until the final bell rang. Great. Okay. Finally.

You swung by the prep room and grabbed your father's samples, placing them carefully in your backpack, ensuring they were cushioned by your pencil case and textbooks before hefting the bag onto one shoulder and making the trek to the front exit.

You were literally twenty feet from the door when it happened.

Greta Bowie stormed out of her history class with a dark expression on her face, evidently having to be held back to be lectured by her teacher. Her mean eyes flickered over the corridor for someone to take her anger out on, and, most unfortunately, they landed on you. You didn't even notice her until her shoulder collided hard with yours, and your bag slipped from your shoulder and sailed through the air, hitting the linoleum hard and skidding away. As you stumbled, Greta hooked an ankle around your's and sent you flying backwards.

"Sorry, Y/n!" she called, sweet as sugar. Sweet as fucking diabetes, you thought to yourself furiously as you reached for your bag - only to draw back in surprise and dread. A large, dark, sticky stain was spreading rapidly through the fabric. You tore your bag open, pleading with God that it wasn't so - but of course it was. The samples your dad had entrusted you with, that you'd chilled all day and packed so carefully in your bag - had burst on impact, and now two were all but empty, and the third was drooling blood slowly, it'd lid knocked to the side rather than all the way off.

"Shit!" you shouted, jumping up, your hands flying to your hair to grab it in despair. "Fuck it all, shit on it you bitch!" Before you even realised what you were doing, you'd lunged at the retreating Greta and shoved her in the back. Hard. So hard she flew into the lockers and slammed her head on the metal.

She yelled in pain, spinning round to look at you. The whole corridor was raptly focused on the two of you, Greta furious and red-faced, a bleeding split on her forehead where she'd grazed a padlock, and you, realising what you'd just done with your eyes widening and your feet beginning to retreat.

"You are so fucking dead!"

Greta ran right at you, her arms catching you in the midriff and knocking you back several paces. You gasped as your back slammed into the floor, hard, and Greta seized a handful of your hair, yanked your head up, and slammed it back down again. You wheezed and whimpered, trying to push and scratch to no avail, and Greta straddled you, her fist raised, ready to punch-

Your left hand closed over something cylindrical, smooth and vaguely wet and warm. As quick as you could, even as Greta drew back her fist, you whipped the lid off the last jar of blood, brought it out from the depths of your bag and tossed what was left of the sample square into Greta's snarling face.

She shrieked like a banshee, rearing back and gagging, and you took the opportunity to throw her off your body. You sprang to your feet, stumbling only a little as Greta retched and choked, groping for you blindly with red in her eyes. You took of running, pausing only to pick up your soaking red bag on the way, slamming through the double-doors at the end of the corridor.

You jumped down the steps double-time, jumping at the end and staggering as you hit the floor, then you ran again. In your haste you charged straight through a group of four boys making their way leisurely down the path. You knocked into two of them heavily, felt them stagger.

"What the fuck, dude?" someone called after you furiously, and you turned your head, still running, to look back at them.

"Sorry!" you yelled hoarsely, tearing out the front gate and out of sight.

"Fuckin' weirdo," mumbled Richie Tozier to Bill Denbrough, who was bending down to help Eddie stand after that girl had barged into them. Richie hauled Stan, who had also fallen, to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder, before picking something up off the ground.

"Stan my man, you dropped your yokefellow!" Richie told Stan cheerfully, holding a brimless cap up with a flourish.

"Yarmulke," Stan corrected tiredly, snatching it back.

"Bless you."

"E-Eddie, I think that g-g-girl left a suh-suh-stain on your sh-shirt just now," Bill interrupted demurely.

"Is that fucking blood?" Eddie squeaked, his eyes widening in horror.

"What the fuh-fuh-fuck?" Bill laughed.

"Maybe it was that time of the month," Richie said wisely.

"Buh-beep beep, Richie."

Richie looked seriously at Eddie, who was frantically scrubbing at the dark red patch on his perfect pink shirt. "Werewolves," he told the littler boy sagely.

"Shut up, Richie!" all three of the boys said together, as they crossed through the front gate, making for the Barrens.

——

a/n: just a lil something to get my creativity going while i work on requests. let me know if you want to be tagged in coming parts!! i’m thinking there will be at least two more <3

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sunevial · 6 years

Text

The Strings that Bind Us Together: A Moment’s Reprieve

Introducing something that’s been in the works for awhile: a sequel to the Followers (aka, the fanfic I’ve written based on @internetremix‘s Discord Murder Party games, master post here!)! This series is a little more slice of life than the previous one...at least for the moment anyways :3 Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this first chapter!

“Are you absolutely sure the Captain didn’t just kill him and dump his body here for us to have a little fun with? I mean, he hasn’t moved since she dropped him off, and that was almost ten hours ago.” Cheerful, the excitement in her voice almost making the scene seem normal. A small slap echoed through his ear drums, one that he felt he should be able to name but could not conjure up through the fog.

“No no no no no, he’s still breathing. l checked a couple of minutes ago and I’m pretty sure he’s not completely dead. Then again, I’m not a doctor. I unalive things not…re-alive things.” Familiar, the voice of the woman with round glasses and chestnut hair he so quickly bought a ticket for. There was a small crack: the settling of…wooden furniture?

“The kid’s been through literal hell and back, let him rest a little. He’s just sleeping off the transformation.” Relaxed, yet powerful, belonging to a man who knew how to command without using force. A cough, some light shuffling of clothes against bodies, the crunch of teeth. Impossible to discern just how many people were there, but he could guess it was more than three.

“Oh no, he’s been awake for the past, oh, five minutes just listening to us talk. I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t want to be sprawled out on the couch half unconscious, but the magic She uses makes muscles…well, you know, experience rigor mortis. So my guess is that he literally cannot move.” Inquisitive, his words intelligent and terrifyingly precise. A few sharp clanks and rattles bounced around his skull, easily identifiable as two glasses clinking off of each other.

“Rigor mortis, huh? Would’ve been nice to know a few hours ago, but hey, better late than never. But that’s a pretty easy fix.” Simultaneously sarcastic and sincere, as if two identities were at war in her words. There was a creek as something scraped against the floorboards, followed by muffled footsteps and some indiscernible chatter.

Trying to sense what was going on through the noise, a shadow fell over his already darkened vision. He felt a warm hand tilt his head back, the clanging of metal bracelets against one another. Something cold pressed up against his lips and he nearly gagged as something bitter ran across his tongue and down his throat. A weight he had forgotten was there lifted from his chest, cold air rushing into his lungs that could now fully expand. His whole body shuddered. Legs were burning in the pits of hell, arms were being used as a pincushion, head was being hit over and over again by a mallet; he tried to scream but his vocal cords didn’t seem to want to work. But he could move, if you could call violently thrashing in agony movement.

Through the unbearable haze, he just made out a single drop of something pleasantly sweet touch the tip of his tongue. Just as quickly as he had been engulfed in an unending sea of pain, it vanished as if it had never existed at all, his limbs crashing against something soft and velvety. He groaned, turning on his side and fluttering open eyelids with more force than was probably healthy. All that greeted him was a sea of blurred probably humanoid figures.

“Oh right, you probably need these.” A familiar thin piece of wire touched his left hand. He instinctively grabbed them and put the thin frames over his eyes, blinking for a few seconds as everything came into focus. A young woman stood over him with a curious expression dancing in her eyes, her bobbed hair casting an ominous shadow around her cheeks. She smiled warmly. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Well, I’d say like a herd of elephants just flattened me, but that would imply something ran me over. So…I’ll go with I feel like gravity just enacted a personal vendetta against me,” he mumbled, slowly sitting up and holding his head. What…happened just then? There was the soul, then he gave Her his name, and then she started drawing something with string and then…nothing…nothing except darkness, bloodlust, and screams that may or may not have been his as he was consumed by his new name. No longer…well it didn’t matter anymore did it? He was the Young Priest now. And these…these people in the room were his new colleagues. His stomach turned just thinking about it and he sank back down into the cushions.

“Careful there, you were just loaded with enough magic to kill a small bear,” the young woman said, pulling out a crocheted blanket from a nearby basket and draping it over his shoulders. “But hey, you’re conscious and not six feet under, so you must’ve passed the final test with flying colors.”

“I’m tempted to debate you on the conscious part,” he mumbled, spotting four other people in the background. They were sitting at a table set with glasses of colored liquids and small piles of cards, all looking at him with varying degrees of attention and curiosity. He recognized the woman dressed in long flowing clothing and peering at him through spectacles and eyes closed to the world: Old Priestess, oldest of the Followers and the only being in the universe who could actually be considered the Captain’s friend.

“It’s about time you got up, sleepy head,” she said with a large smile. “You’re missing all the fun. And me winning. That’s very important.”

“It’s certainly been one of the better games we’ve had in the past two centuries,” the young man at the head of the table said, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands while orange and green tokens lazily floated around his stark white hair. “Especially because you’re not cheating for once.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I always win fair and square,” Old Priestess said, sipping a steaming mug of what was presumably tea.

“Oh yes, and that five ace play you’re so well known for is completely legal,” he replied with a bemused smirk, dealing out a small stack of cards to only five of the six seats at the table. With a snap of his fingers and a casual hand gesture, the tokens darted away from their suspension and settled in neat little piles next to the glasses, resting with a soft clatter against the wood.

“Are you all…playing poker?” Young Priest asked, stumbling over his words a little. He involuntarily shivered, his skin trying to decide whether he was stuck in the harshest of midwinter blizzards or the height of summer in the driest of deserts.

“Well duh, it’s game night,” a woman said with a snort, downing a large glass of something that reeked so strongly of moonshine that it assailed his nostrils from across the room. She was well muscled, sporting a red tattoo on her exposed arm and eyes that were pitch black where the whites should have been. With a shrug, she drew an arrow from the quiver at her side and pointed it between the dealer and the Old Priestess. “And we’ve already ran as many Uno games as we can before his future seeing funny business makes the games predictable and her illusion mess making makes winning pretty much impossible.”

“And so you immediately switch into poker, shunt me away into the role of the dealer, and never let me play my own hand,” the young man continued with a laugh, spinning a token on his finger. “I simply cannot understand why.”

“I seem to recall a several century winning streak that ended with swords clashing across the common room of a tavern, several choice words aimed at your honor and the honor of whatever creature thought you into this state of being, and the Captain explicitly banning you from ever betting with actual currency for the rest of your unnatural existence,” the last man replied, stretching out large raven wings that seemingly blended into the shadows behind his chair. His hair was swept back out of his face, long as his beard was short.

“Oh, and don’t forget you got bashed over the head with a table leg,” the muscled woman pointed out.

“And burned on your leg with the fire poker,” the woman with bobbed hair piped up.

“That too,” the winged man agreed. He shot a glance over towards where Young Priest was sitting, giving him about the same amount of attention as he was the cards on the table. A light smirk crossed his face, and he turned back to the others gathered around the table. “But if it’s any consolation, there is no mortal or immortal --living, dead, or otherwise-- who can run a table better than you can.”

“And to that, I must agree as well,” the dealer replied. “It’s…well, not exactly fun being stuck as the dealer for all of eternity, but I enjoy watching from the sidelines. It’s fascinating to watch people play card games. Really shows someone’s character…if you know what to look for.”

“Boys, girls, that’s enough chit chat, our newest colleague doesn't want to hear us old farts talking about all that boring stuff that happened the past,” Old Priestess said, picking up her hand and thumbing through the cards. She smiled wickedly and waved him towards the table. “Come on, don’t be shy. Pull up a seat.”

“I…well,” he stammered, fidgeting a little in his seat. “I assumed that I’d be here to, you know…train or be taught magic or…well, not playing cards, I suppose.”

The Old Priestess snickered, the sound dancing out of her mouth like the yelp of a young fox. “Sweetie, we have all the time in the world here. And we’re all tired out from running across the planet. What’s a game or two or ten?”

Before he could protest, or confess that he wasn’t sure he could physically pull up a seat, the young woman pulled up on his arm and yanked him to his feet with about as much force as someone that small could muster. He shouted a little as he was forced upright. His legs might as well have been made of jelly on a hot summer’s day, but they kept him standing. With shaky steps, and a great deal of help from the young woman, he crossed the room and just about flopped into the wooden chair.

“Hm…unstable leg muscles…didn’t use enough powered newt,” she muttered as she took the seat next to him and picked up the cards. “Sorry about that. But I’m pretty sure you’ll be back to normal in about, oh, an hour or so.”

“Ah, it’s quite alright,” Young Priest said with as much confidence and politeness as he possibly could. “I should be the one thanking you for the potion.” He paused for a second, trying to remember everything he had learned from the years of searching and the old tales whispered in the halls of old wives and suspicious sailors. All of the Followers were fairly unique in talent, so it wasn’t long before he stumbled on an old tale of the greatest potions master in the known realms. “I’m…guessing you’re the Witch?”

“What gave it away?” she giggled, taking a look at her cards and tossing two orange chips into the center. “The potions or the recipe ingredients talk?”

He turned to the young man, remembering the mentionings of him being able to see into the future and a strict ban on card playing games. Combine that with the casual magic he possessed and only one name really came to mind, the name of the chaos entity who could manipulate time and space like a potter shapes clay. “And…I’m betting you’re the Advisor…” he slowly continued.

“Precisely correct,” the young man replied, leaning back in his chair and sipping from a glass of water.

It wasn’t hard to discern the identity of the remaining woman, though the stories of her feats and power were less known. That wasn’t exactly the fault of mortals though, considering so few had met her and lived to tell the tale of the wild woman who spoke with animals and who’s art laid in killing. “Then you must be the Huntress,” he said, nodding toward the woman still brandishing the arrow.

“Oh no, I’m definitely the Witch,” she said with an eye roll and a cursory glance to the cards. She swiped them up in one fell swoop, stared at them for a second, then tossed in three chips. “Me with my giant hunters bow and hip quiver, but thank you for assuming otherwise.”

“Which leaves you as the…Lieutenant,” he finished, the words rolling right off his tongue as he gestured towards the winged individual with a hand. When his brain finally caught up with his actions, he went almost as stiff as he had been just a few minutes prior. This was not just any winged individual; this was the being who could slaughter cities singlehandedly, the one who’s loyalty to their god was unquestioned, the one who was the next in the chain of command. And his leader. “Or, wait, no…the Right Hand?”

“I’ve been called both of those and several more names besides, pick whichever one you like better,” he said with a shrug, picking up his hand and raising an eyebrow. Taking two chips from the pile, he causally rolled them between his fingers before throwing them into the center. “So, you’re the new Young Priest?”

“Er, yes, sir,” said. As if on cue, he quickly snatched up the cards in front of him and looked them over. A pair of fives…not great odds.

The Lieutenant snorted. “Oh please, now you make it sound like I’m in charge or have any semblance of power.”

“But…aren’t you technically our…leader of sorts?”

“And your point being?”

Young Priest could feel his cheeks turning the same color as his hair. “I…uh…alright then…I’ll just…go back to looking at these cards…” As he trailed off, some of his birth accent slipped out and he couldn’t help but wince.

The Lieutenant chuckled a little and glanced over to Old Priestess. “I will say this, I like this one a lot better than the last guy. But you didn’t say anything about him being British.”

“I said he was a good fit, was I wrong?” she asked, tapping the top of her tokens with a long finger nail. Curiously, while everyone else had tossed in orange tokens that shined like fish scales, she was using dull green chips with a tortoise shell pattern along the sides. “And what are countries anyways? Borders change, people move, buildings crumble into ruin as languages and accents die out, and time goes on.” She flicked four chips into the center pile.

Huntress glanced him over from head to toe as she refilled her drink. “Well, you’re a little on the scrawny side, but that’s nothing a few days out in the woods won’t cure,” she said with a smirk, tipping the bottle towards him. “Want anything to drink? Whisky? Beer? Vodka?”

“Um…do you have ginger ale?”

“One of these days I’ll get one of you to be my drinking buddy, mark my words,” she said with a sigh, grabbing a can out of the cooler and sliding it across the table. “But yeah, seems like a good fit. Assuming you don’t try and backstab us like the last one did.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Witch said with a nod of her head, leaning back in her chair and balancing it on the back prongs. “Seems like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and a good sense of humor. And if Old Priestess is telling the truth, you’ve already got a little magic, so this next part will be a piece of cake.”

“I will say, you’re certainly different than I was expecting you to be…and I am very curious to see what our newest colleague has in store,” Advisor said, shooting him a cursory glance and a raised eyebrow. “Now that being said, are you going to bet or not?”

“I mean…I would…but I’m not exactly sure what I’m betting here…” he slowly replied, turning one of the orange betting chips over. “I’m…guessing souls?”

“I mean, we’re currently using enchanted goldfish, but if you wanna use souls, we can switch over,” the Lieutenant said with a shrug.

“You’re…what?”

“We used to use souls, but then Captain got annoyed with us playing with her meatsacks and messing up their nap time,” the Witch clarified. “But between the koi pond, a little potion stuff from me, and Advisor’s enchantments, it works well enough for casual games.”

“I use turtles because I’m fancy,” Old Priestess chimed in.

Young Priest just slowly set the single chip in the center of the table. “...is it worth for me to question any of this?”

“Nope!” Old Priestess replied, throwing down her hand into middle of the table to reveal a royal flush. “Read ‘em and weep!”

A collective groan erupted from the table as the rest of the Followers tossed their cards with a huff and some very colorful language. With nimble fingers and a victorious cackle, Old Priestess snatched up the pool and started stacking her earnings into neat little piles. There was a sharp clap and the remaining cards floated into a small discard pile, Advisor going back to dealing with the same bemused expression on his face as Huntress cussed out Old Priestess with just about every curse word known to man.

The Young Priest bit back a small smile. Not exactly what he had expected the five most dangerous followers of the Murder God to be like.

But not exactly unwelcome either.

#fanfiction #internet remix #discord murder party #the followers #the strings that bind us together

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ithise · 6 years

Text

It was spring. Almost summer.

The wallflowers tittered nervously in a corner, eyeing the open dancefloor. The night sky overhead was alight with stars, and arcane lamps flickered in various colors to throw the open area into a wash of different hues. Music played, always and always, and couples formed one by one, borne on the current and out onto the floor to twirl and sway.

Ithise was knocking back wine like it was the end of the world.

It might as well have been, as far as she was concerned. She loathed these parties. The gossipping, the dancing, the gowns, all of it could rot for all she cared. She’d much rather be up in a tree with her mother in the forest, scouting for movement from the Amani under the cover of night, yet here she was, nursing another huge goblet of Eversong Red and glaring at anyone who came too close.

“It could be a good learning opportunity, Ithise,” her mother had chastised when she had first tried to wriggle out of the engagement. “It’s one not everyone is so lucky to have. You should go.”

She wondered, remotely, if she were being punished for something. Her mother wasn’t like that, though, and she couldn’t think of anything she’d done to warrant such cruelty. She and Eronais fought incessantly, to be sure, but that was more of a byproduct of the two of them growing up and being sisters than anything else.

Maybe her mother was trying to spite her father, who loomed in the wings with the other mildly disappointed parents while nursing his own glass of wine, blue eyes narrowed as he watched his sole descendant wage silent war on the entire room from where she stood. The hereditary white streak that ran in the Goldmyst’s family had finally reared its head, planting itself squarely between his brows at the very front of his hairline, refusing to be ignored.

That was a more likely possibility, Ithise decided.

The balls and dances were never her mother’s idea. The Ranger Captain had no time for such things, even as a formality. There was far too much for her to do, and even if there weren’t, she’d rather die than be wrangled into a dress and forced to dance and socialize as if it were important.

No, the cruel and unusual idea always stemmed from her father, who was doing everything he could to try and swindle his way into favor with a noble house and begin bringing his lineage up from its humble roots. The fact that his daughter wasn’t wooing as many suitors as she possibly could at such a fortuitous gathering as this was slowly withering his very soul.

No one would dance with her. It wasn’t that no one wanted to. She was handsome, in her own way, but the acidic glare she fixed on anyone who so much as moved in her direction made all of her potential partners think twice. She stayed hunched defensively beside a pillar, long arms crossed over her flat chest, and sulked.

Balustan finally took it upon himself to approach her. He held out a hand to his petulant child, waiting patiently for her to uncoil from around herself.

“It doesn’t have to be miserable, you know,” he tried to tell her. “It can be enjoyable, if you let it.”

Ithise turned her glare onto her father. It was easy enough for him to say, having brought her here knowing damn well that she was much more at home in the woods than in a place like this. Balu didn’t waver, however, and Ithise grew weary of him looming beside her with his hand held out. He already looked so much like a beggar compared to these people; she couldn’t stand for him to physically enact the role as well.

The two took to the floor as most couples were drifting off. Any other girl would have been thrilled by the prospect of witnessing firsthand what would have devolved into miconstrued gossip all throughout Silvermoon by the morning, but Ithise couldn’t care any less.

Don’t they know that the Farstriders struggle to keep the roads secure? She wondered as Balustand tried to mold her rigid posture into something resembling that of a dancing position. Don’t they know of our struggles?

“Ithise,” Balu said, drawing her from her reverie. “Relax. You hold yourself still as a statue.”

It was a habit she’d picked up ever since she’d started ranging with her mother. Once she got where she needed to be, she’d get so still that even her mother had to check to make sure she was still breathing or awake. She tried to let herself unwind, to let her father guide her into the rhythm of the music, but she couldn’t. She kept stepping on his feet.

“I know this isn’t the life you want,” Balu conceded after a long moment, “but I thank you for humoring me with your presence.”

It was the first time he’d ever acknowledged how she hated these parties, how she did not and would never fit into this world. She felt something shift, then, as he finally began to let go of the image he had built up in his mind of what her future could look like.

“Father…” she began, trying to come up with some excuse, but the truth was too evident to deny. Anyone could tell just by looking at her that she didn’t belong here and that she had no desire to.

Balustan just gave a tired smile, glancing down at his shoulder as something floated down and landed on it. Ithise picked it off and rubbed it between her fingers. A red rose petal.

The two of them looked up just in time to see the great silk sashes overhead turn loose their cargo, pouring a shower of red petals down on them and any other dancers left on the floor. It was a formal closing, a way to shoo everyone home, but the sight of the petals somersaulting through the hazy lights and covering the floor in a carpet of scarlet made Ithise stop where she was and stare.

It was spring. Almost summer.

The woman who stared back at Ithise from her reflection in the water looked like she could have strangled the girl she used to be with her bare hands. Hell, maybe she did, in a way. She scooped up some more tepid water and splashed her face with it, patting it away with her tabard.

She wondered, sometimes, how she had ended up here.

Her arm was sore, old fractures healed wrong complaining of the damp that came with Silverpine’s dreary rains. Her thigh ached, too, the bone reminding her of the axe that had nearly cleaved it in two during the Iron Horde invasion.

At the very least, her head felt better. She was reflecting on that as well as she slid her eye patch back into place over the scarred socket that remained. She checked herself in the water again to make sure it was on straight.

She’d lost the eye while scouting in Antorus, caught off guard by one of the fel observing eyes that floated about keeping watch on the perimeters. They made no sound, did nothing to announce their presence, so it was no wonder that she didn’t know one had materialized beside her head until she turned and saw it.

Ithise had lain curled up on the steps of the Antoran throne for longer than she knew. Her body had been one tight ball of muscle coiled around itself, her jaw locked to keep her from crying out, blood filling her mouth as she bit her tongue and the insides of her cheeks. The Lightforged recon squad that had found her had initially thought her dead, given to the throes of rigor mortis.

Funny, she thought now, staring out over the lake. There was a time when I’d have rather died than wear a dress to another dance. Now the only thing I’d rather die than do is betray the Horde.

She stooped to pick up a stone, weighing it in her hand. After a moment, she tossed it at an angle, watching it skip over the surface of the still water before it sank far beyond. She watched the ripples expand, farther and farther, until she couldn’t see them anymore. They’d moved so far from the origin point that they had dissipated, leaving the surface as still as glass once more.

She felt the same way, some days.

Looking down, she considered her footprints in the wet sand on the banks of Fenris Isle. Regardless of who held the keep in the end, when it was all said and done, the sands and the water would all be painted red.

A carpet of scarlet.

Some things never went away, no matter how far you moved from them.

#blood is thicker #blood and thunder #this came out of nowhere but ayyy

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humanityinahandbag · 7 years

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Defective (the first in a random collection)

In which a writer tries to write snapshots into the life of the first (and only) Rick to leave the citadel and actually raise a fucking family.

His name is Rick C-236.B. And he’s vaguely and reluctantly domestic.

Updates are not planned and this might go flopping spectacularly. This writer also has too many fics she needs to finish. So don’t expect a novel.

Rick C-1902b stares at Rick C-236.B and takes a long swig of his flask. It’s purposeful, and a dick move at that. C-236.B’s flask had been confiscated after they’d finished patting him down (they’d completely missed the vials of high toxicity neuron gas he’d shoved up his ass so at least he had that if it came to it) and his hand twitched. His brow pushed down, and he glared at C-1902b, who made a show of shotgunning the rest of the vodka before tucking away the flask in his lab coat. “So, you’re being dem-ugh-demoted, huh?”

He wished he was that level of shit-faced right then. Sobriety wasn’t a good look on him. “Apparently.”

“Heh.” C-1902b flipped through a stack of papers. “You’re getting a bughh- a defective. Sign here.”

There’s no real argument to be had. He was just another Rick who’d tried to topple the oligarchy of Rick’s. It had been done before. It’d be done again. He was just another cog in a pattern. And each one of them, of which there had been many, was eventually given the temporary sentence of a defective Morty.

It usually lasted a few short months before the sentences were retracted for a lighter, more manageable one.

Toppling the oligarchy was, after all, an every day sort of thing. It didn’t warrant much more than a slap on the wrist. And a few months with a shitty side piece was usually all they got for it.

He signed Ape Aids on the paper (for which the proctor only snorted and filed somewhere next to Chimp Fuckers), handed in his number card, and walked around the desk. C-1902b got up and followed in step. He fiddled with his portal gun and pointed it at the bare wall. “They got you a real nice place, shit bag. Real nice.”

“Shut the fuck up and do your job.”

C-1902b guffaws. “You’re gonna fuckin’ love this.” He shoots. The green portal opens with a resounding braaaaaaawwhhhh and C-236.B huffs a heavy sort of sigh that smells too much like vomit and booze.

This whole place smelled like vomit and piss and booze. Home, the Rick’s would call that. He saluted the other Rick, and with a chirp of -”see you later, pussy” and a high held middle finger, he steps through, into the suburbia that greets him on the other side.

There’s a social worker at the front door. Which is… strange. Because he’s standing on the lawn and there’s a social worker sort of just standing around like he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on either, and he looks at Rick for a second like he’s some sort of old vagrant before knocking on the door again. “Mrs. Smith-?”

“That’s my daughter.”

The social worker ignores him in favor of pounding on the door. “Mrs. Smith!”

Rick steps forward. He still doesn’t have his flask. Or anything. Except for an ass full of neuron gas but this seems like too much effort to pull a squat just to wriggle that thing out. He groans and pushes forward again, whipping out an arm to snag at the mans coat. “Hey. Dipshit.” The man finally turns enough to ogle Rick with huge, owlish eyes. “I’m her father. Whatever she did, you can fucking talk to me.”

“She abandoned her kids.”

Well. That didn’t sound like Beth.

That sounded like him. Not like Beth.

“I don’t think so.”

“She got drunk again.” said the social worker, by ways of moving the conversation forward. “It was stipulated in her parole-” blah blah blah

“My daughter wouldn’t do that. She” (loves? adores? tolerates?) “likes her kids.”

“Sir, she’s an alcoholic with a long streak of theft.” Well… at least this world made sense hereditarily. She’s been on parole for three days. She ran.”

“Smart choice. Avoid the government.” He always knew his Beth was a good one.

“She left her kids!” He wiggled his files in the air. “Again!”

“Kids get in the way of the whole, avoid the government.”

“Sir-”

Rick cut him off with a snort. “So what? So do… go find her or something? She’ll go… go to rehab and so some shit and what? What’s gonna happen.”

“I don’t know, sir.” The social workers tone became clipped and slow. Like he was talking to a three year old and not a galaxy renowned scientist. Rick clenched his jaw. “She’s missing. She ran away. Again. As if her husband was any help-” (well… at least they were agreed on one thing…) “-he’s off god knows where and now her kids are alone. If a neighbor hadn’t called…”

Oh… oh this was good.

A defective Morty with no Beth. No Jerry. Him and Summer alone without anything. Oh this was perfect! Rick began to compose the speech in his mind. He’d throw it right back at those other Rick’s ballsacks. He’d say too bad! Sent me to the wrong place! Return my belongings and give me a new, functional shield, and go fuck yourselves while you’re at it! He’d be home free.

And it was looking like all of this would turn out this way. Like it was all going to tumble into a perfect little pile of Hell Yeah I’m Rick until…

Until the social worker turned on him.

“You,” said the social worker.

“Me.” stated Rick.

“You’re their grandfather?”

“Uh.”

“I mean, I’ll have to check the paperwork! Make sure you’re really- I can go get that now! Oh my god, sir, this is going to make my life so much better! Oh and the kids, of course, but… but god this is so much paperwork and time saved!”

“Uh-”

“If you wan’t to come into the office? I can get you all the things you need! I assume you’re going to be living in the house or do you have your own residence-”

“Hold the fucking phone.” Rick lifted his palms and shook them in front of the mans face until they resembled little, albino trees on a blustery, blustery day. “Hold the mother fucking phone. You want me to-”

“You’re their next of kin!”

“I’m an alcoholic.”

“I can have you everything by tomorrow! Does that work?”

“I’m definitely abusive.”

“Or would you rather come in today? The sooner the better!”

“I’m going to scar these kids. Like… l-like totally. Beyond redemption. They will be fucked. up.”

“Today. Today is the best.” The social worker beamed up at the abusive, alcoholic, child-scarring man with an earnest sort of glee. “Oh this is wonderful, sir, just wonderful. You already know the children, I’m sure, but I think it best if you explain it all to them, don’t you? Don’t you think that that’s best?”

There were two options.

He could just walk away.

Scratch that. He’s walking. Now.

“Sir? Sir, where are-!”

“Are you… are you my grandpa Rick?” He turns. Oh. Ohhhh fuck.

The social worker kneels down. “Yes, Summer. He’s your grandfather. You know him?”

Summer is at the door. Only she’s not as tall and not as fake-blonde and not as anything. She’s younger. And her eyes are bigger. And she’s doing a fan-fucking-tastic job staring at him with them.

The girl shook her head, but opened her mouth to declare that she’d “met him once” but a long time ago, since Beth had stopped seeing guests in favor of the bottom of a bottle. She didn’t talk about the fact that he’d left voluntarily. He didn’t have to be a part of this universe to know that. Rick’s always left. And they always came back just to screw everything over a few times.

He takes a step back. Summer’s eyes are on him again.

“Where are you going, Grandpa Rick?” There’s a noise behind her, and a younger child, two or three or just spectacularly short, toddles up and takes her hand and peers around at the older man like he’s seeing him for the first time. He probably is.

“Morty, look! It’s our…” her eyes flicker up, then down again, “Grandpa?”

“Rick. Just Rick.”

“Grandpa,” she amends. She’d always been that way- declaring the world her own through whatever words she chose. The Morty behind her shifted and hid his face against her back. “He’s gonna take care of us?”

“He is,” said the social worker, who holds out a pen. “Right, Mr. Smith?”

He probably should say no, and watch them get hauled into the stupid pussy green Pries that's sitting on the road. Off to some stupid godforsaken government fondled foster center. They'd be separated and one or both of them would end up in some shitty situation with the whole "hard knock life" vibe. And that didn't matter. He didn't care. He could wait until they'd been weathered by someone else besides him, and then sweep them back up, the hard work of shattering two innocent souls completed and the lazy, aftereffects left for him to do with as he pleased. Except... a few years, alone, in suburbia. That sounded like a borefest beyond all borefests.

Entertainment came in all forms, he supposed.

Rick sighs. His plan forgotten and his spirits, for the most part, dashed, he eased forward and took the pen. “It’s Sanchez,” he said, signing the bottom. “And bring the stupid fucking paperwork tomorrow.”

“Will do, sir!”

There are at least a few good things here, Rick thinks, when he shuts the door and looks down at the two tiny children who stand in front of him.

Morty, who still hides his face still against Summer’s back, is young.

Young enough to make an impression.

A lasting impression.

A I’ll-Do-Whatever-Without-Complaining sort of impression.

The kind that could make all those other Rick’s realize who’d gotten the best part of the deal. When he walked through the citadel with his loyal, no questions asked Morty. They’d see. They’d all see.

“So,” says Summer, reaching behind her to hold Morty’s shoulders at an odd angle. “Your our… parent?”

He breaks out of his reveries long enough to look down at her. “No. I’m your grandparent. You got booze?”

“No. I’m six.”

“Okay. But is there booze here.”

“I don’t know. I’m six.”

He draws out a long sigh.

“Are you going to stay here forever?”

“No,” says Rick, who’s turning around to go find booze. The two kids march fast to keep up with his legs. “I’m going to stay long enough to break you two into obedient little servants who will bend at my every will.” He points to the little boy. “Especially you.” Morty, who had peeked over the curve of Summer’s neck, pushes his face between Summer’s shoulder blades. “And then once I’ve gotten there, I’m going to shove it into the stupid Citidel’s face and they’ll take me back as a hero. And then you,” he points again to Morty, “will be my mental shield, and you,” the finger inches over to Summer, “are going to be a nagging bitch. Sound good?”

The impressive little speech hangs in the air between them.

Summer squints up at him until her nose wrinkles. “Okay. But are you going to make dinner?”

The moment is promptly lost. “Probably not.” says Rick. He goes back to the cabinets. There really was no booze. The parole officers must have snagged it. Fucking government pawns. “Eh… you guys eat pizza?”

“Yeah.”

“Pizza it is.”

“I want pineapples on mine.”

“Pineapples are for whores, Summer.”

Morty pokes his head over, his brown curls bobbing. “I want pineapple,” he squeaks, barely audible, mimicking his sister with his own desire for the whorish fruit before planting his face right back where it had been.

They end up ordering a pie with half pineapple, half anything else, and eat in silence around the table. Summer helps Morty with his. Rick just watches. She takes care of the younger, it looks like, down to silently lifting his hand when the cheese begins to drip down his wrist. Beth must have been in a fucking state not to. She’d never been mom of the year. But this was… something new.

The two are mostly self sufficient, and so teeth are brushed and beds are turned down without a fuss or help. Morty shuts his door and Summer leaves hers open, and Rick wanders to his own bedroom to find its an office, and so he ends up wandering to the couch downstairs and claiming it as his own.

Well. It could be better. It could be worse. But for all that it was, he would break them. And then… then they would see. Then they would all see just what happened when you messed with a Rick and his deficient Morty.

It’s two weeks in, when the house is actually functioning (albeit very loosely) with a sort of schedule, when Morty is still not talking to him that he the whole “breaking” plan is seeming a little harder than before.

Morty and him had always clicked. Clicked like two puzzle pieces being shoved and broken together. But at least they’d worked. This Morty peers at him from behind couches and shoves cereal in his mouth to avoid letting words out.

He learns a few things about each kid. Things he knew from their older versions. And things that he’d missed when he’d missed the whole young kid age.

Summer hates artichokes and tuna fish, but is okay with salmon as long as it’s mixed with mayo.

Morty likes drawing. And that’s about it.

He draws on everything. Everywhere. There’s little sneaky dots on the walls that he hides with the Fisher Price toys scattered around, and a few on the legs of the couch. Paper is everywhere, crumpled up, and covered with different strings of terrible art. Summer is the one who usually picks them up and throws them away, shoving them deep into the trashcan next to the beer cans from Rick’s late night science binges. “Just leave him alone while he draws,” Summer advises, sounding like she’s ten years older than just six, but he doesn’t comment. “It’s how he coped.”

“With what? A drunk?” Rick shakes the can in her face and she swats it away.

“It’s how he coped,” she says again, before throwing the rest of the drawings out.

He’ll find Morty “coping” every so often. And each time, he tries to make some sort of… conversation? Mind bending alteration? … breakthrough? …mental scar? Today, the chosen place is from under the table, with a crayon in each hand, and a paper in front of his feet. Rick bends down. “Hey, kid, you gonna talk now or w-ugh-what.”

Morty nearly snaps the crayon in two and crawls out, hurrying to find a new place to hide. His drawing (it’s a whale. or a dinosaur. or… maybe a weird vagina creature or something?) is left behind.

Rick picks it up. He turns it one way. He turns it the other way. “Huh,” says Rick.

He hangs it on the fridge with a super magnet he’d created to attract quarters (a mostly failed project- it’d gotten him pennies and not much else).

The next day, Morty is once again coloring something that resembles a group of drowning people. Rick snorts. “Hey, not bad!”

That’s enough to send the kid into an anxiety ridden spiral and he dives under the couch and stays there until Summer drags him out by his ankles.

The picture, which is a lot of blue shit, goes up on the fridge.

By the end of the week, their fridge is mostly covered with Morty’s “coping”.

He’ll find Morty standing at the foot of it, staring up. He gives the kids leg a little kick. “Not bad, right?” The kid blinks at him. Better than running away. “I bluhhh- I got this fridge to magnetize to substances containing traces of tree pulp and wax. Set it real low, s-so it’ll only work for paper and crayons and shit. You like?”

Morty looks back at it. And then he hands Rick a new drawing. “Sure,” says Rick, thwaking it onto the fridge. “That good?”

Morty nods.

“You want dinner? Pizza?”

Morty shakes his head.

His grandfather groans. “Right. Okay. So I can’t cook much shit b-but…” he opens the fridge, and the paper flutters and whisks around, “how -how are eggs. You like eggs?”

Morty nods.

They eat a pile of party burned eggs for dinner. Morty helps his grandfather bring the plates to the kitchen, and hands them off before scurrying up to bed.

They never ask where their mother is. Or their father. They never really mention their names or faces. Summer doesn’t seem at all torn up at the concept of a sudden and uncaring guardian, and Morty is content to hold his sisters hand and tag along.

Rick feels bad for them in the kind of kicked puppy way.

“You want to call your mom or… I dunno… something?” asks Rick one day to the kids.

Summer is brushing her hair in the mirror and doesn’t bother to look away from what she’s doing. “No,” she says. Morty, who’s next to her sitting on the toilet lid and watching, doesn’t do anything. “She’ll call if she wants to.”

She doesn’t call.

That tells Rick a lot about this reality, which is sort of more fucked up than the other ones he’s been to.

He didn’t think that was much possible.

The fridge is literally drowning in paper.

Between that and eggs, Rick is basically running a household.

Which is… different.

The plans to break the kids get put off in favor of other, more important things. Like trying not to burn eggs.

Morty’s first words to him were supposed to be something like “what can I do to serve you” or “I’ll be your eternal slave forever and always” or “gee whizz, Rick, don’t you think this is dangerous?” or something Morty-ish like that.

“Can you reach the ice cream.”

That’s the first words. The first fucking words.

“What?”

Morty points to the paper swamped freezer. “The ice cream.” He’s got a little bit of a lisp, and two of his teeth are missing. He’d never opened his mouth, so the elderly man never noticed. “I want chocolate.”

“Oh.” Rick opens the freezer. It’s the first one, on the bottom, and it’s still full. He doesn’t even comprehend the magnitude of the fact that his grandchild is finally talking to him, or the fact that his first words to him are so puss poor and definitely not in line with his plans at all -I mean for real, isn’t he supposed to be the one giving directions?- but he’s sort of overtaken by the fact that holy shit there’s ice cream.

He spoons it into three cups and shouts something like Summer get your ass down here up the stairs, and plants them all in front of the television and says “alright Kids, I’m gonna introduce you to the wonders of ball fondlers.”

The usual Morty liked it more than this Morty. But this Morty at least stays quiet. He crosses his legs and watches and drops half the ice cream onto the couch, which Rick is going to have a shit time cleaning but he doesn’t care.

“I liked the crocodile,” says Morty after, yawning and trailing after his grandfather. Rick grabs a paper towel and runs it under too-hot water and scrubs down the kids face. Morty protests, but it doesn’t matter much.

“It’s an alligator, dumbass.”

“I liked him.” His chin is all red and blotchy after Rick had scrubbed it raw, but at least it’s clean. He throws it away and grabs Morty’s arm.

“Come on. Bed.”

“I have to brush my teeth.”

“Fine. Teeth. Then bed.”

Morty allows himself to be dragged along. Which is such a Morty thing to do, and that’s at least a small comfort through all of this. “I like Elmo better.”

“Elmo ain’t got shit. Can Elmo castrate an entire commune of nazis?”

“Elmo says I can do anything if I dream it.”

“Dreams are just chemicals reacting in your brain and Elmo is a puppet. Like you.”

“Oh,” says Morty. Then: “I like Cookie Monster the best anyway.”

And that was Morty. Always seeing the best.

Rick helps him get toothpaste onto the brush and shoves him into his room and watches him sternly (or as stern as he thinks he needs to look for a grandfather running a household that basically lives off pizza and eggs and ice cream) from the doorway. The kids pajamas are too small, but he wriggles into them anyway. The last good pair he had must have been given to them before his daughter had gone bananas on reality and fucked off. He wondered how Summer was faring. And then he shakes his head and stops himself from wondering.

He wonders anyway.

No one says goodnight, except for Summer who shouts at Rick to shut off the light already! and that’s sort of the same thing.

Rick collapses on the couch that night and stares at the ceiling. His plans… they’re not shattered? But they’re not… in order. They’re chaotic and messy. And a little scattered.

But that’s what they sentenced him to. A Morty that had been deemed defective until further notice. And his… was a work in progress. Progress that he didn’t want to do.

But hell. He’d done worse. And this was just going to be one in many days ahead that he had to work with what he’d been dealt…

… and what he’d been dealt apparently went down the drain with one huge fuck you old man because by the end of the month he’s standing in a Target looking through the pajamas while an acne covered employee drones “what are you looking for sir?”

“What the fuck does it look like?”

“I’m only here to help, sir,” says the teen, who’s basically dripping oil and cologne.

Rick sighs. “I need a size six. My kid’s fucking tiny as shit. You got a size six? In dinosaur. He only li- li- brurghhh- likes dinosaurs.” Which is evident enough by the stack of dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets also in the cart next to the carrot sticks that the mom next door said were essential to a Childs growth. He'd picked out pajamas for Summer already, next to a few different shirts that had looked about their size, and some jeans with elastic ankle bands because he had to be cruel to them somehow. “And if you don’t have it, I’ll have to shoot your f- ughhh-cking face in.”

"Sir, are you drunk."

"I wish." He pauses. “Halfway there. Should be there by checkout.”

"Sir, are you carrying a concealed weapon."

"Not concealed. It's here." he pat his pocket.

"Sir, you can't have that in here. It's dangerous."

"it's only dangerous if you d- ughh- don't got dinosaurs! Size six, motherfucker."

The teen can only find Star Wars, and he hands it over with a monotone, "sorry, sir, will these do" that tells Rick his shift is almost done so please hurry the fuck up. Rick takes them and hopes the kid knows what Star Wars is. And also hopes that he hates it. That fake science wasn't worth shit.

"Thans for nothing."

"Always happy to help, sir." says the teen, who resumes his wandering to search for more victims. Rick does the same, only after loading two more cartons of chocolate ice cream into his cart. The kids, it seemed, were still fond of ice cream, sans flies. Some things didn't change.

#healthy relationships #rick and morty #in which Rick is actually... decent?#swearing #yeah I went there #he's gonna RAISE SOME KIDS #my CRACK HOUSE IS DOMESTICITY AND DON'T YOU DARE JUDGE ME

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heartbxnd-blog · 4 years

Text

Back in our days

This is a discord thread with @auraguardians!

Part 2 | Part 3

Part 1/3

Description: Their fateful encounter, that soon evolved into a Summer romance. Morty is nothing more than another teen living in the streets of Johto’s cities. Meanwhile Riley, who tagged along his uncle’s business trip, finds himself in this new region to him - in an attempt to escape from his dreadded memories assosciated with the Summer.

"That was excellent Misdreavus, you did wonderfully in that last battle!"

Morty would compliment his pokemon's victory, while he counted down the money they had just earned from the poor bug catcher- who was left weeping about their knocked out pokemon. The screech would cheerfully respond to her trainer's praise, by giggling loudly while closely following the teenager.

Who would take a seat by the fountain's edge, located at the very heart of the National park. The blond would place his satchel by his side, and look for the rest of the money he knew he had with himself.

"Okay, I think I can skip tonight's meal...So we can get some more food for you guys- then buy our ticket to Kanto."

The Misdreavus would nod at him and chirp at him in response. While the blond counted down the crumpled bank-notes, Morty took notice of someone sitting not too far from him and his pokemon. Morty would quietly shoot a curious glance at his side- Well, he wasn't counting on running into a cutie while trainning around here.

That could potentially foil his previous plan, but at the same time...There is no hurry in getting to Kanto anyway.

Should the mysterious guy look at him, he would simply look away. However his Misdreavus, wouldn't get her eyes out of him- only giving away exactly what her trainer was doing.

Riley had come to the park on a bit of a whim, having wanted some space. It was currently just him and his Riolu - who was playing in the fountain quite happily as Riley sat beside it. It was nice, just enjoying the day and watching the other trainers and pokemon wander.

He had observed some of the battle that had just occured, but in a distant sort of way - not really paying much attention. But the way the other boy was counting his money up made Riley wonder...

"Riooo!"

The pup had gotten a little frisky and run to tackle the other boy's pokemon, getting water all over the other boy in the process.

"Riolu! No! That's bad!"

He would approach to pick up the damp puppy and flash an apologetic smile. "Sorry, he's... still a bit wild."

The Misdreavus reacted to the other pokemon, by vanishing in the very last second- there was an annoyed cry coming from the screech as she reapeared on the air. Now glaring at the soaked puppy.

Morty on the other hand was desperately trying to shield his money from the water's splashes- at the cost of wetting his only good shirt. Wonderful- the blond would glare at the pup's owner, who turned out to be the guy he was watching just awhile ago.

Well, any chances of trying to flirt with him had just been ruined. The now wet oversized shirt, revealed how skinner Morty actually was.

"Yeah well, should have kept an eye on him...You could have hurt my pokemon!"

The blond huffed in annoyance, as he drawed his Misdreavus' pokeball and pointed it at him. He is more than ready to challenge this fella for a battle, this should be just as easy as the previous one- after all Riolu is just a fighting type, he clearly will have the upper hand here.

"Your Riolu is looking quite eager to fight my pokemon, what do you say? How about a battle huh? Just one pokemon each!"

This guy sure was cocky. Riley gave a soft, snort of a laugh and patted Riolu's head as he sized the other up a little, naturally taking note of how scrawny he actually looked - far different from how Riley, despite wearing casual clothes, was a picture of perfect health and care. But there was a fire in his violet eyes, one that sparked a desire to compete in Riley as well.

He could hardly blame the other boy for thinking he'd have an advantage if he used his ghost type. Riley would eventually grin and tilt his head with a small bit of his own confidence shining through.

"Yeah, sure! Our eyes met, after all, and that means we have to battle! You might regret it, though. I'm pretty good - and Riolu and I have a strong bond."

He glanced down to the pokemon, who also looked excited and chipper, and then looked at the boy again as he pushed his bangs back out of his eyes.

"One on one, then!"

He likes that hint of confidence in his challenger- it made the victory all the sweeter to him. The blond can't imagine that there was more to this Riolu, than what met the eyes.

And he will pay the price for that.

The money is definetely guaranteed to him here, that's what Morty would tell himself while nodding at the stranger's words and taking his stance. He would wait for the black haired guy to take his position.

"Let's go Misdreavus!"

The teenager shouted at his pokemon before she promptly revealed herself just in front of her trainer- ready to face the fighting type. Who would greet them with an eerie high pitched laughter.

"Fufufu~!"

Riley would simply nod at Riolu, who prepared himself while eyeing the ghost type in front of the other trainer. Riley would pause only a moment while deciding what move to lead off with - but he was fond of striking hard and quick.

"Riolu! Use Thunderpunch!"

Perhaps it was a bit of a show off, but it wasn't like he'd use the moves that would have no effect... And he didn't want this to be over too quickly. That would just be sad.

Thunderpunch?

That was an unexpecting move coming from a Riolu- but it wasn't something he wasn't prepared for it, Morty knows his Misdreavus would be able to take it.

The pokemon was quite faster than his Misdreavus, which in terms definetely helped in his strategy. A grunt of pain left the screech, as the punch landed on her- electric sparks flew out of her.

"Spite Misdreavus!"

The blond shouted at his pokemon- prompting her eyes to open up and glare at the fighting type, the eyes brighten up for a moment. Although no damage was done, Riolu should feel like a bit of its energy had been stolen.

"Quick! Let's not waste time! Misdreavus, use Confuse ray!"

The ghost type would immediately proceed to float towards the other's direction- while charging her next move at the pup. All while screeching at it.

Riolu whined and shook his head as the Confuse Ray hit, his movements becoming a little less sure as he stumbled. Riley grimaced at this turn. "Riolu! Hang in there!"

He'd wait for the other to get close in before shouting his next command. "Riolu! Bite!"

Riolu's eyes focused on the other pokemon as it growled and lunged in for the attack.

Morty immediately exclaimed, as he watched in shock the bite land onto Misdreavus. He didn't expect anything like that from his opponent- he should have seen it coming.

The ghost type would scream in pain as the bite did successfully land onto her, the screech pokemon would try to wiggle herself free from the pup's tight and painful hold.

He can't let it end like this- the blond shook his head out of sheer frustration.

"Go for astonish!"

That was the only attack she had with herself- they weren't prepared for a battle like this. The Misdreavus would glare the Riolu, before harshly pinching his sides in hopes that would break her free.

But even if she did break free- she is way too weak to do much in the situation she found herself in.

Riley was grinning confidently by now, one hand going up to push his bangs back again. The other boy had clearly miscalculated - and was fumbling now as he realized his error.

However, Riolu did back off from the ghost as she pinched him with her move, his teeth still bared a little bit as he glanced over his shoulder at Riley.

"That's ok! We've got this - finish her off with Shadow Claw!"

"Watch out, Misdreavus!"

Morty helplessly shouted at his pokemon- who couldn't dodge the attack. One final cry came from the screech, as she succumbed to her wounds crashing on the floor before finally passing out.

"Fuu..."

"Misdreavus!"

The blond ran towards his pokemon, picking her right up. He didn't foresee this, how is he can't afford a potion- that money is going to their food, he can't buy both. He looked distressed, way too much in fact- as his ghost type would let out a soft coo in an attempt to soothe him down. She knew exactly what it meant losing to him.

"I'm sorry..."

The teen would glance at his opponent- in utter shame. He is wet, his pokemon is unconscious, and he had to give what little money he had with himself. Oh- he definetely isn't happy, not even by a mile- to a point he couldn't even congratulate Riley's victory.

This wasn't good.

Riley could tell the air had shifted again. The other boy seemed far more devastated by his loss than he should, and once again Riley found himself noticing how thin he looked under those wet clothes.

He probably really needs the money.

Riley wasn't a completely spoiled rich kid. His parents had made sure he knew better, and Aaron... Aaron had shared with him memories of what it was like to be poor.

As such, Riley would pull a couple healing potions out of his bag, setting one down beside the other boy before he administered one to Riolu.

"Ha, that was fun! Thanks for the battle! Consider this my apology for the mess this little guy made of you."

Riolu would whine apologetically as Riley ruffled his fur a little bit. "If you need anything else, let me know? I don't think I have a towel in here, but..."

He would tug a dry shirt out of his bag a bit sheepishly. "Of course my uncle would make sure I had a change of clothes... He knows how messy Riolu likes to get, hah. You could borrow this, until yours dries out."

Morty quietly stared at Riley, and watched him closely- he was completely caught off guards when the potions and the clean shirt were offered to him.

The blond found himself unable to say anything for a rather long moment- even averting his eyes for a brief second, as he took his time to think on his next decisions. The clean shirt didn't catch much of his interest at first, the potion however.

Morty would look at his fainted pokemon- then back at the potion.

"I can't afford it..."

He said weakly- alongside with what almost sounded like a sulk, as he started to rummage his pockets in search of the money to hand it to Riley. The teen simply wanted to disappear right there. He couldn't get his eyes out of the potion- it is so close, a voice in his mind would tell him to just take it and run for it. But at the same time he couldn't bring himself to act upon it- as such he would simply hold some of his money out for the other to take it.

"Just take this and leave, I can't afford any of those..."

Obviously he was hesitant to accept help. Riley couldn't help but wonder if the other boy had been hurt by people offering help like this before. Still...

"Oh, no - that's ok! I wasn't planning to take prize money! I'm not actually on a journey or anything, so... please, don't worry about it. It's my fault you got all wet, anyway."

There was an awkward pause, followed by Riley holding the shirt out at the other boy.

"I'm Riley, by the way. I'm... visiting."

"..."

Morty isn't quite sure what to do- despite hearing Riley's reassuring words. The blond looked down for a moment, before he puts the money away (into his pocket)- and dares ever so carefully reach out for the potion. Once he did so- the teen would immediately spray the medicine over the screech pokemon.

Which at first would squirm slightly- even wince at it. But soon enough would wake up- now full of energy, a cheerful chirp left her- greeting her trainer who would happily hug her even tighter even nuzzling the ghost type.

"...Thank you..."

Morty would say, now looking directly at the other trainer while he let go of his pokemon so he could take the offered shirt from Riley's hands. Now looking for a better place where he could actually change himself in, perhaps the tall grass.

"Ah...That was a great battle, I wasn't even aware your pokemon could even learn such moves..."

"You can uh call me by...Enoki."

"He is a special one," Riley agreed, a grin on his face as he watched the other boy heal his pokemon up and (finally) accept the shirt. "He enjoys learning different techniques. But you fought well, too. She has some real spirit, yeah?"

Perhaps that was too far.

Riley flipped his bangs out of his eyes again sheepishly. "Maybe we can find somewhere you can change over that way. I bet there's a fast food place or something - hey! We could grab a bite, too, if you want?"

Riolu clearly liked the sound of that - he was bouncing up and down and started tugging on Riley's shorts. "Heh. Riolu thinks that's a good idea. Come on, Enoki!"

The pun was admitedly bad, but enough to make him snort slightly at it.

"I...Uh- sure- but I really...Can't pay for that- I need to buy some food for my pokemon first and-"

God, this boy was getting quite ahead of himself- wasn't he? Not that Morty seemed to have much problems with it, but- he most definetely didn't want to owe this cute stranger much- if at all. Yet he couldn't help but feel infected by the other's contagious excitment, something that even his Misdreavus could share with the Riolu.

"Ah- yes right, indeed there is one not too far from here- it is just by the park's entrance!"

Morty would finally stand up, trying to dust his pants off with his hands in the process- before he closely followed Riley around the park.

"Don't worry about it," Riley said, laughing as he scooped Riolu up to keep a better eye on him. "Really. I owe you one, for the trouble - and besides, I'd like to see more of the city."

He chuckled as he watched Riolu's ears perk up and wiggle as the little pokemon eyed Morty's Misdreavus. "Maybe these two could also play a bit. Riolu definitely still has too much energy. Ha..."

Of course they would soon get to the food place. "Anything in particular you like?"

"Oh- that definetely won't be a problem! I am sure my others would enjoy some fresh air." Morty would take it as his chance to take a better look at Riley's Riolu, oh how adorable they looked! They definetely are a lot bigger than what he expected they would be. Once they got to the place- his attention would go straight to what they had to offer, with a frown on his face.

Which one of these wouldn't leave him feeling too sick afterwards?

Morty would stare at the menu for a moment until he made his decision. "Ah- I will take some fries, so we could share it." The blond replied, his smile was back on him as he glanced back at his date the other trainer with a friendly smile on his face.

"So can you order our things while I go change into this?"

The hex maniac asked while he already headed towards the restroom, with the Misdreavus following him close by. Soon enough- he was back, and oh man he hoped the cutie wouldn't notice how skinny he actually was.

While Morty was gone, Riley would order a meal with extra fries - so the other boy would return to find Riley sharing the food with Riolu and the fries on the table between the two seats.

Of course, Riley also found himself wondering just why this boy had caught his attention so fully. It was weird. It was a weird feeling.

But when Morty came back, Riley would smile and wave at him and nibble on another fry, dipped in ketchup. "Hope that's better for you," he mused, quietly. "I swear, Riolu usually behaves better. He's just antsy because it's an unfamiliar place and he's been cooped up inside a lot lately."

Morty would take his place on the free seat, and immediately snatch one for his Misdreavus- who took it right after revealing herself from her invisible state. A pleased humming escaped the screech, while chewing on the food.

"Yes...Anything is better than being stuck in a damp cloth...I guess we can all agree on that, can't we?"

The blond responded, as he took one for himself- he definetely didn't look anything like the antsy teen he was awhile ago. His voice carried such a smooth tone to it- it was almost as though he definetely was ready to flirt with such a cute selfless boy.

"I can imagine- I mean most of the pokemon I own are ghost types...I'm sure he behaves a lot better than them...Without a single doubt about that..."

He chuckled slightly.

"So, Riley. You said you were visitting here...Is this your first time around Johto?"

Well that was a quick change. In personality, for sure. The tone Enoki was using now set off a whole flurry of Butterfree in Riley's stomach.

"I... Uh." He cleared his throat and gave a nod, but was still mulling over how much to tell the other boy. "Yeah. My uncle has a temporary job here, but we're from Sinnoh. I... think he just wanted me to get out some. The weather is better here, after all, so."

Riley was sure Richard thought it would help him finish recovering, both from his grief and injuries - after all, this far from where so many people knew of him, he could just... be an ordinary boy.

"I assume you live here? I mean, that's... pretty obvious, actually. You do any competitions? I bet you'd be good at them."

"That is a lot of snow, isn't it?"

Morty teased him, as he took a bite out of the fry in his hand. Ah, how much he wished this would be the quality of what he finds himself eating most of his time.

The grin on his face never diminished, while he allowed himself to indulge in the food presented to him. His gaze never left Riley as well, he finally noticed how well kept the other teen was- the exact opposite of himself.

"Competitions? No not really man, they just aren't my cup of tea. I live here, and there- I am actually traveling around Johto and Kanto, I don't exactly have a place. If that makes much sense, y'know?"

"But I do consider Goldenrod to be my home essentially- I know the city like the palm of my hand man. Which neighborhood are you living in? I can definitely hit you up, with some neat places to hang out."

Throughout the entire talk- his voice comes out smoothly.

"Depending on the place- you might even be allowed to take Riolu alongside you."

"Just traveling must be nice, too..." Riley said, nibbling on a couple fries himself. "I'd like to go on a journey someday. But my uncle - he can get a bit protective. It's just us, so."

Riley didn't feel a need to go into that further. He smiled at the boy's offer to tell him about the city - but if he truly knew it that well, he wasn't sure he should tell him exactly where they were staying.

"Uh - well. Near the beach? We haven't been here long, so I don't know the name of the neighborhood. I can easily walk to the park, though. It's nice."

"Mhmm I see! Yeah you are definitely on one of the best areas of the city man."

Morty replied as he already started to remember of his experiences in said location- sure he may have been kicked out of some establishments quite a few times. However, he can't deny just how exciting that side of the city really was.

"I love the bars by the beach there- the sunset view is phenomenal."

The blond took a moment to look over at an watch, it made his grin grow even wider.

"If we get this done fast, we might be able to get there and watch the sunset just in time. What do you say? Goldenrod has so much to offer."

Riley did raise his eyebrows slightly at the mention of bars, but he said nothing about that. Instead he grinned and nodded, popping a few more fries in his mouth.

"Yeah, I'd like that! I haven't gotten to spend much time by the water."

Clearly much less time than this other boy, whose tan skin made it clear the sun loved him. Riley had some freckles, but there was still a delicate look to his skin.

Better than it used to be, though. He'd looked frail for a long time after his hospital stay, but luckily over the past couple years he'd been able to get back in shape.

Not that he cared much about looks. Or what the other boy thought of his. Did he...?

"You can take the rest with us, if you like," Riley said, scooting the remaining fries over to Morty. "Let's go."

There was a smuggy grin on his expression- it appears things were going a whole lot better than he anticipated, by now his plan to travel to Kanto the next day had been tossed out through the window- although he really wasn't complaining about it. Free food- and the opportunity to share some drinks with this boy? This must be a dream- surely.

Riley's looks were definetely helping in his case- he almost resembled a porcelain doll in the blond's eyes, obviously he wouldn't voice those thoughts- for now at least.

Morty quickly stood up from his seat- and took the fries, however he actually gave them to his pokemon- more specifically his Haunter who had revealed himself by his side and gladly taken the fries from him.

____________________________________________________________

Just as Morty had said- they both made it there on the right time, the Sun was starting to set. And the bars by the beach were starting to turn on, their bright colorful neon light signs. Although they still weren't their focus, in that moment at least.

"This is my favorite time of the day man! And you'll agree with me, just trust on me!"

"I'm sure - I do love how colorful things get at this time." He grins as he follows Morty's lead, but does sigh a bit wistfully. "Though I like early mornings, too. I've seen a lot more of those the past few days - jet lag, you know?"

He chuckled a bit as Riolu made a noise of agreement. "Hey! You're one to talk - you slept a LOT, mister."

But Morty was guiding them through a very lovely stretch of town. "So, uh... Enoki, what did you want to do?"

Morty couldn't help but chuckle at the other and his pokemon's bickering.

"Ah sunrises... Those are always nice yes, but agh the fact that you have to wake up so early- just to get a glimpse of it."

Even though- technically speaking, it was a pretty common sight for himself while out training. The blond was taking them to a bar- he knew, never checked on their IDs.

"Ah you know...Get a few drinks, enjoy the sunset! Come on...Is there anything else you would ask for?"

"Or stay up," Riley said, laughing a little. "My internal clock gets thrown off pretty easily, so I tend to stay up at weird times when I'm not at home."

As the other boy mentioned drinks, Riley felt his pace quicken slightly - not that he minded. He just didn't want to get drunk to the point his uncle would question allowing him to go out on his own.

"Not that I can think of," Riley answered, giggling slightly - if only because he was a little nervous. "That sounds... fun."

He doesn't want to admit he doesn't really drink much to Enoki, and seem less cool.

"Do you travel a lot?"

Morty questioned, as they approached- not the fancy looking bars with their colorful signs (they walked right past them in fact). But a more distant one, in a small building- which seemed to be in desperate need for repairs, in fact the whole place seemed to be falling apart. The only customers, were visibly a lot older than both boys- no one seemed to even bat an eye on them when they walked in.

There were tables by the outside- where they could enjoy the view of the sunset.

"Do you have any preference? I think I'll go for my usual- why don't you grab a table for us while at it?"

The blond teen added, as he headed straight to the counter- where a bartender could be seen. By the way the man looked at him, it is easy to tell he knew him- however he demonstrated disdain for the teen who lived at the streets.

"Uh - no, I don't... think so. I'd like to try what you like."

This was certainly a less favorable establishment than Riley was used to. But that sort of added to the excitement fluttering in his stomach, even now. The older adults side-eyeing them as they entered - Riley would laugh if he wasn't a little scared.

They don't know I could fuck them up if they tried anything. Riley tried to ignore them, though, just as Morty did - and found a table near an exit, but not close to the other patrons.

That was one thing both Aaron and Rick had taught him.

He would wait patiently for Morty to return, beaming at the other boy - even in casual gear, Riley still didn't look like he belonged here.

Damn he really did stand out from the crowd- maybe bringing this fancy looking boy to these bands, might not have been a good idea.

Regardless of it, Morty simply slid the money across the counter and grabbed the bottle of cheap beer- alongside with two cups. He on the other hand, didn't seem to even notice the other patrons staring at them.

"Hope you like it man- I don't think you guys from Sinnoh have anything like this there?"

The blond asked as he poured the drink for both of them, now he could properly join the other in watching over the sunset.

"Sorry if this isn't exactly what you were expecting, I swear we'll make up for it later."

Then he proceed to take his first shot at it- it never truly appealed to his tastes, but it was whether this or nothing in the end of the day.

"Oh, it's fine - I don't mind. It's actually kind of cool... to be in a place like this."

Aaron certainly would not shut up about how some of the decor was like modern equivalents of the kind of places he used to frequent... which actually was a bit surprising. But now that Morty was back, he had gone quiet (thank goodness) and Riley was able to focus on the other boy.

He sniffed the drink in his cup before bringing it up to try it, all while trying not to make a face. Yeah, that's definitely not like the stuff he's tried before. It didn't burn, but it also tasted a little...

"Huh," Riley finally managed to say, giving a little cough. "How... odd. Not bad, though. Just... odd." He took another gulp and swallowed it quickly, giving a laugh this time.

"Honestly I doubt anything here is going to be like anything I've ever had before," Riley admits, keeping his voice low. "Especially not since... well, I'm with you. Not..."

Not moping about on a lonely island with my uncle.

"...not anyone else."

It is evident to him that they both stood on the same regard, when it came to the drink he had brought. The blond's reaction to it came in the form of an awkward grin- accompanied with silence.

Morty notices a slight change to the other boy's tone- actually it was quite the opposite of how he was just awhile ago, if anything the other was acting just like him- when their battle ended. The blond didn't know- nor wanted to think too much on it, after all they had basically just met each other- he doesn't want to deal with any emotional package.

Instinctively he poured some more of the beer on Riley's cup, all while trying to think on what to say- in order to try and brighten up the mood. That's when his eyes landed on the other's Riolu.

"So...What's up with your Riolu? I mean how you got one like that? How long have you been with him?"

Riley could tell the other boy was uncomfortable - and briefly, he wondered if he had ruined the moment. But he quickly tried to change the subject, and Riley found himself giving a little laugh.

Less of a change than he knows, but...

"That is a bit of a long story, ha! He's pretty special, but I can't say I remember a lot of how we met. I was pretty badly hurt - but that's how he found me. Riolu can sense stuff like that and... he knew someone was in distress."

Riley looked at Riolu and grinned, even as Riolu made a happy noise and nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah! You really helped me out, bud! Anyway, he was wild, so I don't know much about his parents or anything. I'd never seen Riolu in that area before, either... it's weird. But I'm very happy he was there, ha... We've been partners ever since." Riley took another gulp of the drink.

"That was years ago though, I was... eleven. I'm fine now, so - don't worry about me, 'kay?"

Morty went quiet the entire time Riley talked- he was certain that everything that the other was saying was extremely meaningful to him, but at the same time- he found himself unable to really pay any attention to what was being told to him in that moment.

The blond was admiring the other's looks. There is a sheepish grin on his face, while he rests his chin on the palm of his hand.

Riley somehow looks even better this close from him like that- he could almost see himself even sharing a peck with them.

Eventually he noticed the other had stopped talking, which prompted him to take a sip out of his cup- as he tried to recollect anything that had been just said to him.

"Uh- so you've been through a lot then? Hah that's a lot of stuff isn't it?"

Morty awkwardly said- with a low chuckle, as he had a visible blush over his facecheeks.

"Do you only have Riolu then? I have four pokemon with myself! That's quite a lot of mouths to feed and- hey do you want more beer?"

Of course he is not counting his Dunsparce on this one, they aren't as cool- or interesting looking as the others he owns anyway.

"Yeah... you caould say that."

Riley got the feeling Enoki hadn't really been listening to him - but that could probably be blamed on the drink. Even as he took another sip of it himself, he could feel the haze of it's effects kicking in with more force.

It doesn't really matter anyway, I only met him today...

The way Morty chuckled, though, it was making Riley's head spin even more. Riley could feel his cheeks heating up as he tried to focus on the other boy - but instead, he found himself caught up in Morty's eyes.

"Yeah... It's just me and Riolu for now. I may... ask my uncle for some eggs if he ever gets any, but... I don't really compete, either. I don't... I don't want a lot of attention."

Except from this boy, Aaron mused. His voice was quiet in the back of Riley's mind. You like him.

Riley would have protested that, but the longer he stared at Enoki the more he suspected Aaron might be right.

"...Are...You seeing someone by a chance Riley...?"

It was a complete shift from their previous subject, the sunset had been long forgotten by the duo of teens- as they kept staring at each other. As though they were flirting- with their silence. Morty was trying to be careful with his words- well, at least as much as he could thanks to the alcohol.

The blond boy dares to move closer to him, he too was blushing- quite a lot in fact.

"...Have you ever...Kissed another boy?... Or wanted to Riley...?"

His words come almost like an whisper, as well as in such a smooth tone- by now they should be only inches away from each other. The perfect reach for a kiss.

Well that was an odd question. Except, really, it wasn't. Riley felt his cheeks get hotter still, and he quickly shook his head - too quickly. Things were fuzzier now, and he couldn't decide if he wanted to lean back or...

Before he could even think to say anything, he had leaned forward, awkwardly pressing his mouth against the other boy's. Maybe he could accept that as an answer, to all his questions. Really, though, he had no idea what he was doing - he'd never kissed anyone before.

You poor innocent boy... Aaron might as well have said nothing, though. Riley wasn't listening.

He can tell this is Riley's very first time sharing a kiss.

It was stiff- awkward, prompting Morty to take the lead with it- guiding him all while daring to extend its duration by invading the other's mouth with his tongue.

His hands were placed over Riley's face, to hold him there. Eventually their lips would break away from each other- in order to recover their breathes.

Morty was panting- he was blushing, his eyes were fixated on Riley's- in order to see whether they liked it or not. By now his hands moved away from the boy, and were set on his lap. The blond had a calm expression on him, almost like he was inviting him for more.

"You...Hah...Did you...like it dear? I mean- Riley...I-..."

Well, that was unexpected. Riley had certainly not expected Morty to grab his face and slide his tongue into his mouth, but the gesture left him reeling even after they broke for air.

Riley was also still blushing furiously, even as he brought a hand up to dry his lips off. "Ah... uh... yeah. That was... nice. Sorry, I just - I have no idea what I'm doing,."

Riolu would whine a bit, sensing the boy's confusion and growing a bit worried for him. Riley just gave a breathless laugh and scratched behind Riolu's ears. "You're... you're very... interesting, Enoki. And you're cute when you smile like that... oh."

Shit, I do like him

Morty sheepishly laughed, as he simply licked his lips. Oh how different they were Riley certainly was unlike, most boys he had got together with in the past.

"Should I...Get us some more of this then?"

____________________________________________________________

Luckily he hadn't completely trashed himself with the alcohol- unlike Riley, who had given signs he couldn't even walk a straight line. Then again, he mentioned he wasn't used to drinking didn't he? Regardless of it, the blond is having to help the other boy out, look for his place at this quite- rich looking neighborhood.

The exact kind of place, he didn't belong to- nor was welcomed at.

"Okay- okay Riley- focus- please, what is the number again? What dos it look like? Oh man these houses are huge..."

God please- don't let anyone see them like that.

Oh man, his head was spinning. He could hardly focus on anything except the other boy - even Aaron had completely given up trying to reach him. Which was nice, actually, because it meant Riley didn't have to feel weird about... anything, really.

Except the way his feet didn't want to do what he was telling them to? That was weird. And hilarious. RIley kept giggling every time he stumbled, but thank Mew Morty was there to hold him up.

Had he just asked a question?

"Number, right... I can't remember. It has a five in it, I think... that's not helpful, is it? Uuuh... it's on the... up there."

He pointed down the road, toward one of the nicer houses. "That's the one, I think. Yeah, see? The light up there... ah man, my uncle's probably waiting up for me. Shit. I hope he isn't mad. I've never seen him mad."

Fuck me backwards.

Morty thought to himself the moment Riley pointed out the house in the distance- now he knows how much trouble he got himself into, he should have seen it coming- it wasn't normal the way this boy acted.

This is the wealthiest neighborhood in the city, and the farthest one from downtown- how's he going to go back to the alleyway he was staying in?

The blond took a glance at Riley- he is lucky he is so god damn handsome. Morty sighed, but eventually his torment came to an end as they finally arrived at said house.

"Okay, here we are...I'm sure you'll do just fine with your uncle."

He said as he started to let go of the other boy- to see if they could stand on their own.

"Can you make it?"

"Mm... I think so..." Riley said, still obviously stumbling quite a bit. "Thanks for, uh... helping."

He didn't really want to let go of Morty yet, though, and as such held tight to his arm. "Meet me there again? I... I'd really like to, uh..." Damn it was hard to think straight. "Know you. Better. Much better."

Of course the moment was cut short by the sound a worried voice calling out from further inside. "Riley? Is that you?"

"S-Shit..." Riley groaned, leaning up on one of the posts by the entrance.

Morty found himself staring deeply into Riley's eyes- at least until he heard an unknown voice calling by his date's name. If Riley hadn't hold tightly onto his arm, then he would have already left.

"Sure, sure...I'd love to-"

While the other boy leaned on the post for support, Morty quickly pulled him in for one final kiss for the night- before he started to move away from him.

"I'll see you tomorrow!"

The blond shouted, while waving an arm at him as he disappeared within the darkness. For the next hour or so, he spent by looking for a place where he could sleep at- out of anyone's sight all while arguing with his Haunter- who clearly was jealous of all the attention his trainer gave to the other human- instead of on him.

"No don't do this face, no pouting Haunter. No need to feel like this- you know this won't last much, hah doubt he will even show up tomorrow."

Morty stopped talking the moment he found just the perfect alley for him- it was tight, he could hide himself behind the pile of trash bags.

"Hah would you look at that? Even their trash smells nicer..."

He made his way in- using the satchel with his belongings as an improvised pillow for him to rest on. It was only now- that he was reminded, that this whole he was still wearing the shirt Riley lent to him.

"...Can't believe I got a rich kid that drunk."

Morty muttered to himself, before laying on his side and falling asleep there.

It would be late afternoon the next day before Riley would make an appearance at the park - looking surprisingly chipper given how drunk he had been the night before. Aaron, at least, had helped him cure the last dregs of the hangover he should've still had, in part because Riley was sobbing about not wanting to let his new friend down.

He had, however, had to sneak out without letting his uncle know, given that he'd been ordered to spend the day sleeping off the pain and "stupidity." (Riley was still surprised Rick had been so understanding, especially since he had a feeling his uncle had caught a glimpse of the other boy dropping him off...)

I just want to see him again, know if... these feelings are still so strong without the alcohol.

By the time RIley arrived at the National park, Morty was nowhere to be seen. And it wouldn't take until another hour, for him to show up there.

They had never settled in an exact time.

Morty had showed up there way too soon- after wasting his entire mornin there, he decided to go elsewhere.

I told you- he wouldn't show up.

However, much to his dismay surprise- the boy did actually show up when he returned to the park later tha day. Morty had his shirt on himself this time around. The blond ran up to Riley- at the same exact place they had met each other on the previous day.

His Haunter, who was invisible the entire time was fumming- basically throwing a tamper tantrum while like that as he watched his trainer's reunion with the boy from yesterday.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late! I see you managed to survive last night, huh?"

Morty said, greeting Riley as he chuckled happily.

"Yeah... more like survived this morning, actually. My uncle just let me crash last night when I got in, but... oh man, I was so sick earlier, it was awful."

He laughed a little nervously. "I'm just glad he didn't officially ground me. Just said I should remember not to get so trashed I have a hangover... in the future."

Then again, he might just be glad Riley was getting out of the house.

"So, uh - last night, though? I, um... I had fun. It was nice. Did you - "

"Oh, yeah! I almost forgot-"

Morty yelped as he reached out for his satchel, and pulled Riley's shirt out of it. It seemed to have been washed as well.

"I enjoyed it yes Riley- uh thank you for this as well..."

The blond said was grin on his face- and a slight blush over his cheeks.

"Say... Are you feeling up for something tonight? We can go elsewhere-"

Morty paused for a moment, before laying a kiss on the other boy's cheek.

"So, I guess...This is a date then?"

A date. Riley felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn't deny the idea was thrilling for him. He grinned at Morty and gave a nod.

"Yeah, I guess it is. C'mon, I think I know a place..."

#☆.｡.:* ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴅᴇɴʏ ɪᴛs ᴇxɪsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ .｡.:*☆ Riley & Morty #[ saved ]#auraguardians

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mcrtimersmith · 7 years

Note

✖ - a repressed memory :3c

A Trip Down Memory Lane || Accepting

“Morty. I…I need to know something.” Summer’s voice came to his left, startling the bruised boy out of his thoughts. It’d been a few months since he had been FORCIBLY ripped away from his family and brought to this new one. No one was the same…his once kind mother had been replaced by a dull and lifeless one. His new father rarely had time for the family and the new grandfather in his life…well…

Mortimer shudders.

But there had, at least, been a diamond in the rough with the new family. A once awful sister had been replaced with a new one. This Dimension’s Summer was kind. She always had a KNACK for finding him after Rick dragged him off on a dangerous adventure. If he was feeling bad, nursing his bruises like a kicked puppy…Summer would be there to help him out.

In a way, Mortimer FELT like she knew what he was going through.

“Y-Yeah?” Mortimer cocked a cut brow at her, wondering what had caused such a different change in her demeanor. As she bandaged up a wound on his arm, her eyes glanced nervously towards the ground. “Summer?”

“You’re not my real brother…are you?”

Mortimer almost freezes. This new Rick told him that he’d be replacing the Morty of this Dimension that had died. 865-B if he was correct on the designation. But one thing that stood out in Mortimer’s mind was what RICK had said to him when he had first been brought here.

“If anyone finds out a-about you…y-you’re going to regret it.”

It was as though his throat clogged up from shock. Mortimer didn’t know what to do, to say. All he could FEEL was the thundering beat of his heart. Summer was looking over his face slowly, but it seemed from his reaction alone that she UNDERSTOOD. her shoulders dropped.

“I had a feeling…you were acting differently. More…defiant than you used to. Grandpa Rick had this place under his lock and key.” Her eyes raise, and her frown is replaced by a gentle smile. “I won’t tell him. You can trust me, Morty.” Her hand is gentle when it lays over his shoulder and Mortimer, for ONCE, feels safe. Since coming to this new dimension with new people, the only person he could TRUST was Summer.

Her arms wrap around him, pulling him close into a much-needed hug. Mortimer goes near boneless in her grip, sniffling hard as he fought back the urge to cry.

The door opens.

“What th-the fuck do we have here?” Rick’s voice causes both of them to pull away from the other. Two sets of wide eyes stare in TERROR at the man standing in the doorway. “Mortimer. Get the FUCK back to your room.” Shaking, he casts a glance back at Summer. Rick’s spoken often how much she wasn’t needed in the family. No….nononononono-

“No!” Mortimer snaps the words before he could even THINK of what he planned to do. Rick’s eyes zeroed in on him immediately. “Rick. You can’t hurt her. They’ll…they’ll notice-” In what FELT like a split second, Rick crossed the room, grabbing fistfuls of Mortimer’s yellow shirt, hauling him completely OFF the bed and throwing him to the ground. His head CRACKED against the hardwood floor; his temple began to BLEED as white began to cloud his vision.

“Morty-!” Summer’s yell cut off into a scream, and that’s all he heard before he blacked out.

…

“Summer?!” Mortimer jerked awake, shaking like a leaf as his hands fisted into the sheets of his bed. Wait…glancing around in every which direction, Mortimer was…surprised to find himself in his room. Had that…had that all been a dream? The sudden rush of pain to his head proved otherwise and, ignoring the ache in every limb, he shoved himself to his feet and ran towards Summer’s room.

It was empty, void of any signs of his sister. No hide or hair of her at all. “S-Summer?” The next place he checked was downstairs where both parents sat at the table, sipping at their cups of coffee. Well, Jerry was. Beth had a glass of wine in one hand, looking downright sour. “Have…have you guys seen Summer?” As expected, neither of them answered. Mortimer scowled.

The sliding glass door opened, drawing Mortimer’s attention to the sound. Rick stepped into the kitchen, covered in light traces of dirt and looking ragged. He gave neither Beth or Jerry a passing glance as he beelined straight towards the kitchen to rifle through the fridge. Mortimer’s eyes followed him for a bit, before glancing into the backyard through the glass door.

A shovel stuck out of the ground beside an ominously-sized pile of dirt. Mortimer’s heartbeat kicked up again, thumping rapidly in his chest as a noise caught his attention again. Rick was standing beside the table now. His eyes practically glowed with twisted mirth.

“As I said, Mortimer. Y-you’re going to REGRET it.”

#insheepsclothing #headcanons #:3c #it turned into a lil story

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caindoglover · 7 years

Text

The Original

Okay, so the jumping off point for this story is a request from The Howling Behemoth I got like a year ago on fanfiction. Actually...almost to the day. Wow. So sorry for taking so long. lol It isn't exactly what was requested, but I incorporated elements of the request and ran with it. Part of the running with it was inspired by a piece by rnmwincii here on tumblr. You should know which one by the end. The song I listened to basically the whole time writing it was Rockabye. It's relevant, but probably only to me. lol But yeah I had way too much fun with it and I hope you all do too. Also this is set after my other story Till Next Time. So I advise you read it to get the full context.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12471019/1/The-Original

Enjoy!

Rick and the kids step out onto the dusty plain of dimension 24T. One big hunk of nothingness stretches before them, but that is to be expected. This place warps his coordinate calculations and he never ends up in the same place on any subsequent visits. It makes the tree he is looking for that much harder to find, but whatever. They need the exercise.

Morty of course can’t just roll with the punches. “Um, Rick, isn’t there supposed to, you know, be something here?” He rubs the back of his neck.

Rick throws his head back and sighs. “Morty, are you r-really gonna make me expl-plain this to you? Really really?” He looks hard at his grandson.

Summer plants her hands on her hips. “Yeah, Morty. Grandpa Rick knows what he’s doing. But seriously, where the heck is the tree?”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Around. So let’s start walking.” He points ahead of them. He knows by the position of the sun which direction they need to go.

They only make it a few steps before a portal appears in their path.

Rick comes to an abrupt stop and throws his arms out in front of the kids. He narrows his eyes and regards the portal with heavy suspicion.

Out steps the familiar figure of Mr. Needful. “Hello, Rick.”

Rick groans. “You again? How…how did you even manage to get ahold of a-my portal gun?” He crosses his arms.

Mr. Needful shrugs. “I’m just that smart.” He twirls the gun.

Rick barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I think we all know that’s bullshit.”

Summer smirks. “Yeah, Grandpa Rick kicked your ass ten times over – intelligence and physically. Me too. So don’t make us do it again.” She shrugs. “Or do. I’m always down to crush you.” A fire lights in her eyes.

Mr. Needful scoffs. “Not particularly worried this time around.” He picks at his nails. “Since you aren’t all buffed out and all.”

Morty looks back and forth between them. “Uh, Rick. Who-Who is this guy?”

Rick starts. “Oh. Right. You weren’t there, huh? That was a Su-Summer adventure. This dick is the devil. But only in name. Really he’s just a big loser.”

Summer smirks and gives a firm nod. “The biggest loser.”

Mr. Needful makes a soft sound of acknowledgement. “We’ll see about that.” He locks eyes with Rick. “Rick, I have a deal for you.”

Rick raises a brow. “Do you now? Wh-What is it this time? Wanna trade me an oven mitt that’ll make me the best cook in the world but will eventually make my hands fall off?” He snorts. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Mr. Needful’s eyes glint with malice and his lips curl into a smile. “No. Something so much better. I’m offering you your original Summer.”

The smugness is wiped clean off Rick’s face. His eyes widen, his throat constricts, and his heart skips a beat. His thoughts are thrown into disarray and he scrambles to gather himself together, to get what must be a pathetic expression off his face and regain his equilibrium.

“Psssh. Yeah, okay.” Summer chuckles, amusement lighting in her eyes. “You clearly didn’t do your homework. Unsurprisingly. Grandpa dropped that version of me like a sack of potatoes. If he’d wanted her then he’d have saved her like he did Morty.”

Morty blinks at Summer, his mouth hanging slightly. He can’t believe how nonchalantly she can say that. Rick abandoned her. Sure, a different version of her, but still her. Is she really so confident in herself that she believes the same thing won’t happen again?

“Besides,” Summer looks unimpressed. “We saw that Summer get frozen by some other Ricks. And I know you aren’t powerful enough to bring people back from the dead.”

Morty peers up at Rick out of curiosity. He has been oddly silent the past few seconds. He is taken aback by the blank expression of Rick’s face. “R-Rick?” He swallows hard.

Morty’s voice jars Rick out of his thoughts and he snaps to attention. He blows out a breath to steady himself before saying, “Like the kid said. She’s dead. Frozen,” he curses himself as his voice cracks around the word dead.

Mr. Needful’s gaze darkens. “You’d love that to be the truth, wouldn’t you?”

Rick clenches his fists and looks hard at the devil. “It is the truth. This is my Morty. And my Summer.” He recites a mantra he beat into himself all those years ago when he was trying to get over the fact he had jumped universes and left everyone else to suffer without a Summer. It was the only way to cope.

Mr. Needful scoffs. “You really want to play this game? Fine.” He waves his arm and in a flash a figure appears at his side.

Rick chokes on air. It is the perfect image of his granddaughter – the original. Her hair back in the trademark ponytail, a broad grin plastered across her face, and her eyes so full of life. The only thing separating her from the Summer at his side is her size. She is much shorter and of course much less jaded.

Summer makes a face. “What the heck? Is that supposed to be me?” She turns her nose up. “I look like I’m ten.”

Mr. Needful nods. “Eleven actually. Eleven exactly.” He fixes his gaze on Rick. “Isn’t that right, Rick?”

Rick is painfully short of breath. He opens and closes his mouth around empty words. This…can’t be real. This is impossible. No one has such power, especially not this idiot. He…he…

Morty frowns. “This can’t be his Summer – or any Summer – she’s too young.” He gives the devil a dubious look.

Mr. Needful laughs. “Please. With infinite universes there are infinite possibilities. Even ones where Summer was born second.” He clenches his hands. “Although that wasn’t the case here, was it, Rick?” His eyes swim with fire.

Rick does hear him or his grandkids. He drowns beneath the darkness of the past.

Summer scoffs, ignoring the accusation and scorn aimed at her grandfather. “Yeah, well, if you don’t mind, it’d be great if you could get rid of mini me.” She shudders. “She’s reminding me of one of the worst times of my life.”

Mr. Needful bows his head. “Me too.”

Summer’s brows knit together and she frowns. She regards him with heavy suspicion. “I don’t-”

Rick narrows his eyes and lifts his head to bore a hole into the devil. “It’s not real,” he says with more steadiness than he thought he possessed. “My Summer was frozen. And she was seventeen. This..." He draws in a deep breath. “This girl is too young.”

Mr. Needful sneers. “Shameless.” He moves like lightening, shooting a dart at Rick.

Rick gasps as it sticks fast. His head spins and everything goes blurry. His legs feel like jello. And in the next instant he collapses in a heap on the ground.

“Rick!” Morty dives to his knees. “Oooh, geez. Rick! Are-Are you okay?”

Summer gapes for half a second, then her expression is seized with fury. “What did you do to him?” She stomps forward.

Mr. Needful holds up a gun. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Summer hesitates, but the anger does not dissipate.

Mr. Needful puffs out a breath. “I really don’t want to hurt you, Summer,” there is a certain affection wrapped around her name as it passes his lips.

Summer lips curl in disgust, especially at the way he says her name. “Oh, yeah? Well you sure as hell didn’t have a problem with it the first time.”

Mr. Needful shakes his head. “This is so much more complicated than you know. So I suggest you step back.” He shifts the gun upward to indicate the direction she needs to go.

“Like hell!” Summer lunges.

Mr. Needful rears back and smacks the gun against her face.

Summer hits the ground hard. She hisses and presses a hand to her cheek. She gasps, the pain electric. Did he break something? She glowers up through loose strands of hair.

“Summer,” he lingers on her name. “Don’t worry. Your precious grandfather will be fine,” he says the word like a curse. A smile curls his lips. “Physically.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Summer snarls.

Mr. Needful shrugs. “I guess you’ll find out when he wakes up.” He shoots a portal. “Maybe before. It all depends on how much fun I decide to have. And how human he still is.”

“Don’t you-”

“Goodbye, Summer. Have a good life.” He disappears through the portal and returns home. He doesn’t waste a moment. He settles on his couch and plugs the device into his ear, falling into a deep sleep and entering a world he has waited so long for.

Summer pivots and scuttles on all fours over to Rick’s side. “Can you get him to wake up?” He looks hard from Rick to Morty and back again. She didn’t like the way the devil spoke about Rick and ‘having fun’ while he was asleep.

Morty shakes his head fervently. “I-I-I don’t know-I don’t think I can do anything.” He pulls the dart from Rick’s neck and peers at it. “Th-There was something in it and-and it is in his system now. I don’t-can’t-”

Summer lays a hand on Morty’s shoulder. “Morty.” She looks deep into his eyes. “It’s fine. Okay? He’ll be fine. Let’s just take him home. Try and find an antidote.”

Morty manages a weak nod.

Summer wraps her arm beneath one of Rick’s arms. “Come on.” She motions to Rick’s other side.

Morty scurries to support Rick’s other side and together they heave their grandfather to his feet.

Summer plucks the portal gun from Rick’s pocket and sets it to their home. “Ready?”

Morty nods.

Summer creates the portal and they step through, back into the garage.

…

Rick’s eyes flutter open to a bleary world. No, the bleariness isn’t a part of his surroundings. It’s because he just woke up, but…from what. He frowns and his brows knit together. Oh, right. He groans. The devil dick. His vision begins to clear and he sits up. What he sees is a world of pure black. What the hell…? This can’t be real. This isn’t any dimension.

“How can you be so sure?” a voice echoes all around him.

Rick rockets to his feet. He tenses and whips around, searching for the source.

From the shadows steps a figure.

Every muscle in Rick’s body goes rigid at the sight of them. “You.”

“Yes, me.” The Morty with an eyepatch nods. “You didn’t really think the devil would care enough to come after you again, did you?” He snorts and smiles derisively. “I didn’t take you for an idiot, Rick.”

“I-I’ll show you who the idiot is.” He snaps his hand into his pocket for his portal gun, his eyes widening when he feels nothing but cloth.

“Oops.” Morty shrugs. “I guess your grandkids took it off you to get home.” He laughs. “Well, I say grandkids, but we both know that is only a partial truth. They aren’t really yours, not the originals.”

Rick sneers. “Oh, yeah. And how would you know that? You-You’re nothing but a Morty – a stupid, emotional, coward.” He aims to cut. It’s easier since it isn’t the Morty he was traveling with on 24T, still he feels a part of him quiver on the inside and he is almost afraid a flash of guilt might have passed through his eyes.

Morty’s lips curl back in a snarl. Then he closes his eyes, blows out through his nose, and when he opens them again his lips fall back into a flat line. “You still don’t get it, do you?” He folds his hands behind his back. “But that’s alright.” He strides closer, past Rick. “If you did then it’d be too easy.”

Rick spins, following Morty’s movement.

Morty snaps his fingers and vanishes.

Rick starts. He looks all about him. What the hell? “What is this?” he bellows into the nothingness. “You-You can’t manipulate dreams like this! It’s mmmmy head, I control what happens.” Since the devil, or crazy Morty as it turns out, tranqed him this can only be a dream.

“No,” his voice bounces around the darkness. “You can’t. I can.”

Rick barks out a laugh. “As if. Some Mortys may not be complete imbeciles.” He cringes as a memory slithers through his head, of a little boy putting shoes on and climbing a tree. “But no Morty is smarter than a Rick.”

“You’d be surprised by what the right motivation can do to a person.”

Rick perks at the sound of footsteps. He looks around and freezes at the sight before him.

“Grandpa!” It is Summer as she was at six. She grins from ear to ear. “You came back!”

Rick’s chest tightens and he can scarcely breathe. The words smash into him like a truck and the pain is crushing. They are a mirror of that time in his original universe.

Summer frowns and her shoulders slump. “Grandpa, what’s wrong? Don’t you remember me?”

Rick opens and closes his mouth, desperately searching for the words to say. Only there’s nothing. Every time he comes close, the power of speech retracts, just out of grasp.

A three year old Morty bounces into view a moment later. “Rick?” He tilts his head.

“No…” Rick chokes out. “No…this isn’t real. I-It’s just a dream.” He laughs, but the sound cracks just like his expression.

“You don’t want me to be real?” Tears well in Summer’s eyes. “Don’t you love me?”

“Yes, of course.” Rick breathes deeply in and out. “Just…just…” He backs away.

Summer’s face lights up. She surges forward. “Then let’s go on an adventure.” She latches onto his hand and in the blink she has aged years. She is eleven. “Don’t tell me you forgot. It’s my birthday.”

“No.” Rick yanks his hand away. “Never.”

Summer’s face scrunches into a scowl. “Yes.” Again she changes, this time to a tiny child. She is three and that defiant expression is all the more familiar. “I want something cool!” She jumps and grabs for his sleeve.

“S-Stop it,” Rick doesn’t speak to her so much as the person controlling this. He scuttles away, nearly falling over himself in his haste.

“No!” It isn’t enough. Summer is just as fast. “Not until you give me something that doesn’t suck.”

“Yeah, Rick,” a voice whispers in his ear. “Give her something cool.”

Rick jerks around to see eyepatch Morty standing behind him.

Morty’s gaze hardens. “Turn her on the path that sends her to her death.”

“Shut up.” Rick punches at Morty.

Morty takes a step back, just out of range.

“Y-You, you can’t know these things.” He flings his hand out and points at the image of his granddaughter. Despite his efforts his hand trembles terribly as he points. In fact, his whole body is quivering ever so slightly.

“Of course I can.” Morty circles Rick. “I downloaded the contents of your brain.”

Summer sits down, her arms in a cradling position, and within her grasp appears Morty’s tiny body. She peers intently at the baby’s face, intrigued by this rare opportunity. “When will you be back?” she looks up at Rick as she says it.

In a breath the scene smears and regroups, forming a Summer who seizes a three year old Morty and draws him close to her. Terror contorts their faces and she screams.

It is bone chilling and a shudder rips through Rick. Too familiar. Too real. His heart beats faster just like when he was in the moment itself.

A shadow falls over the children as the enormous bird looms above them. It jolts forward, dives for blood.

Summer shoves Morty and shields him.

The bird clamps its beak around her arm. It twists and jerks its head, tearing her delicate flesh and causing her blood to flow freely.

Rick gasps and shies away from the scene. “Stop.” He grips his head. “I didn’t see this. I-I…there’s no way. I di-didn’t…didn’t see this last time.” He had shot without taking in the scene. Only once the bird was good and dead did he truly notice Summer bleeding.

“No.” Morty stops in front of Rick and pierces him with his icy stare. “But I did.”

Rick gapes. “W-What?” he says weakly.

Morty steps away and allows another scene to play.

Rick watches in horror as he sees himself rush toward Summer – broken and bleeding. “Summer,” he hears his voice crack, “are you alright? Talk to me.”

Rick clamps his hands over his ears. No, no, no, no. His body shakes. He can’t do this. Not again. It was torture living it. He doesn’t need to relive it. But his efforts don’t keep the sounds out.

Summer whines and whimpers. “G-Gran…pa…Rick…?” She squeezes out. She pitches forward and is racked with coughs. Blood spews from her lips and onto his shirt. “S-Sorry,” She sobs. “So sorry…” She coughs again.

Rick screams. He sinks to the ground and pitches forward, refusing to watch the scene. But the blood already sears his eyes, branded onto his brain. When he closes his eyes there is nothing but her body and the blood so much blood. Convulsions wrack his body. “P-Please…” He chokes out. Tears well up and over, streaming down his face. “Please…make it stop. I can’t…can’t…” All the while the sounds of that scene play loud and clear.

Morty scoffs. “Can’t what Rick? Can’t handle your own selfishness?” Morty bends to his level and forces Rick to sit straight, to look at him. “I’ll admit, I was impressed by just how much emotion you displayed when it happened – when my sister died. Still,” he shakes his head. “It wasn’t good enough.”

Rick sobs. “God-Goddamnit, Morty. You don’t think I’m sorry? You don’t think I wish I could take it back? Every-Every fucking day?” He squeezes his eyes shut as the scene reaches the climax and he hears Summer whisper I love you. “Christ, just-just make it stop.” He doesn’t want to see her die. He can’t.

Morty sighs and pauses the scene. “You know, I may not have been as adventurous as Summer, may have been too afraid – downright terrified even – of everything that came with your presence to want to go out with you, but I never hated you. In fact, for years I lived in awe of you. How brave and smart you were, but also kind. I never thought you were cruel, not like dad said. You made my sister happy.” His gaze darkens. “Until that day.”

Morty switches scenes, spares him of having to watch those final moments. “That day, you didn’t just kill my sister. You crushed our souls.”

Seven year old Morty stands motionless, staring vacantly at the crumpled form set before him. That’s Summer. Somewhere in his scattered mind he realizes this, yet it doesn’t connect either. Not really. Not the way it’s supposed to. He should feel something, right? Anger? Sadness? Guilt? He’s sure of it. And yet…nothing.

His eyes take in every inch of his sister. That’s not right either. He shouldn’t care about the details. Yet he finds himself doing it anyway. He notes the two stab wounds that pierce her stomach, the sheet white color of her skin, the trickles and droplets of blood splattered about her mouth. Strangely enough the last thing he notices is just how much dried blood there is around the stab wounds.

He isn’t sure how long he stands there, simply staring. But eventually his mother’s scream splits the air and snaps him out of his stupor. His father’s scream comes next and then something within Morty snaps. The reality of the situation crashes down on him and he feels them – the tears. His heart is seized in a vice grip and he suffocates beneath the weight of loss. That’s his sister. It is. He sobs softly to himself. Then a thought strikes him. He peers up through blurry vision, across the street. He half expects to see Rick standing there, watching. Waiting to swoop in. Be a hero somehow. He can fix this. Surely.

“Only you never came back,” Morty seethes. “You abandoned us. Left her on the fucking doorstep and ran. Just like the coward dad always said you were. For weeks – weeks – I waited. I stupidly clung to the hope that you were coming back. That you’d piece back together what you’d broken.” His lips curl in a snarl. “It was on my eighth birthday that it finally sunk in. The day I could only say I existed because my body was most definitely there and I knew I was real. Other than that?” He spits out a laugh. “I might as well have been nothing more than a shadow on the wall. There was no celebration, no presents, no nothing but more crying and screaming between my parents. Which, I could have lived with that, honestly. How sad is that? But you know what I couldn’t live with? You acting the same.”

Rick looks away from Morty. That’s right. It’s been so long he forgot about that. He wipes at his eyes, tries to clear away at least one sign of his weakness. “Morty…I…”

Morty ignores him. “When neither you nor an otherworldly gift showed up, that’s when I knew. You were never coming back. And that’s the moment everything changed. I changed.” He releases Rick and stands. “From that moment on everything I did was to destroy you. Bit. By. Bit. One shred of sanity after the other. That’s why I’m smarter than you. The Morty who defeated a Rick.”

Rick scowls. “I’m going to wake up, you know.” He smirks. “And I’m going to make sure this never happens again. That I kill you.”

Morty barks out a laugh. “Yeah, see, I don’t think you will. Yeah, you’ll figure out how to prevent this,” he motions at the area around them, “but you won’t kill me.” He shakes his head. “No. Too many memories. I am the original after all. The one you cradled in your arms, the one whose first word was your name, who you shared that very first adventure with, and the one you loved so much you made sure I knew I was loved by someone at least once a year. Not enough to stay for, but…there was love. As much as you try to divorce yourself from that reality, you are sentimental. Despite what you make everyone else think.”

Rick swallows down the rising emotion as he remembers each and every one of the moments.

“Your new Morty really is a cheap imitation compared to that, isn’t he? For the genuine awe I felt watching that creature on the first adventure. The genuine pride and pleasure you felt.”

Rick gnashes his teeth and glowers up at Morty.

“Yes, I watched that too. How you pathetically tried to relive that moment you had with me.” He grins cruelly. “And how he didn’t even spare a moment.” He laughs. “We just aren’t the same, no matter how close the realities. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Because this Morty, my Morty, isn’t a monster.”

Morty makes a soft sound of acknowledgement. "Monster, huh?” He shrugs. “Maybe I am. But everything that I am, it's all your fault. You created this monster, Rick. And now you have to live with it.” His lips twist into a devilish smile and his eyes spark with malice. “If you can bear to live at all after this." He snaps his fingers and vanishes.

For a long minute everything is eerily quiet. Rick looks around, his breathing only slightly heavier than it should be. Then it starts. That scene. Her death. It plays out just like before.

Rick grabs his head and digs his nails in deep. He breaks down in increments. He cries, sobs, shakes with terrible fierceness, and curls into a ball on the floor as he is forced to watch the life drain from his granddaughter’s eyes.

Only it doesn’t stop at the end. Not this time. With no one to stop it, it starts again. It loops into infinity. He screams.

…

“What the hell is happening?” Summer watches in horror as tears roll down Rick’s face and cringes at the scream that pierces the air. She thought after he calmed down from the first time that he’d wake up. But now it only seems to have gotten worse.

Morty shakes his head. He shies away from looking at Rick. “I-I-I don’t…don’t know. He’s having a-a-a nightmare I guess I don’t know, I…” He runs his fingers through his hair to try and steady himself. Oh geez. What a bloodcurdling sound. He covers his ears. Why’d he volunteer to keep the old man’s head in his lap? It’s making this so much harder.

“Damn it Morty, we have to do something.” Summer rushes around the garage, grabbing every vile she can get her hands on and knocking over more than a few. “God, why can’t he label these? Fucking damn it.” She chucks one against the wall. It sizzles and eats through a portion of the wall as it drips down. “NOPE. Not that one.” She throws her hands in the air.

Morty uncovers his ears and peers meekly up at his sister. “S-Summer…we’ve already tried-tried all the s-s-stuff we know that wakes people up. We just…we just have to wait. It’s the only safe way.”

“Wait?” Summer’s eyes blaze. “Look at him Morty.” She flings her hand in Rick’s direction. “He’s falling apart at the seams.” She drops to her knees besides Rick. “Grandpa! Grandpa Rick, come on. Wake up.” She shakes him by the shoulders. “It’s not real. Whatever it is – it’s. Not. Real.”

Rick is all but dead curled up on the floor of this dark, dark world. There are no more tears to be cried, no more energy to shake, and no voice left to scream. That horrid scene has played out at least twenty times now, probably more. Her voice rings in his ears, crushing one more piece of him with each and every syllable.

“Grandpa Rick.” There is an echo.

Rick ignores it, curling further into himself.

“Grandpa Rick!” Louder this time.

Rick dares to peek up.

“You stubborn asshole! Wake up!”

Rick blinks. That’s…not the past. That’s…seventeen year old Summer.

“Summer,” Morty’s whiny voice is softer, but it breaches the fog all the same. “Don’t talk to him that way. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose.”

“I don’t care! Wake. Up.”

Rick starts as his body jostles, back and forth, back and forth. It isn’t harsh like he knows it should be, but he can feel it. “Summer…” His voice is raw.

Summer’s image flickers before him. “Grandpa!” her voice is as clear as if she was right beside him. She reaches a hand out to him. “Don’t make me punch you.”

Rick snorts. He pushes himself up on shaking limbs and reaches out for her. His hand goes right through hers, but it is enough.

Rick’s eyes snap open and he gasps for air as he shoots up into a sitting position. It’s hard to see, but for completely different reasons than before. There is no darkness, only blinding light. He’s back…he’s really back. Thank God. He grips his head.

“Rick!” Morty scuttles around so he is facing his grandfather. “Oh my God I-I-I’m so glad you’re okay.” He smiles.

Summer lets out a long breath. “See? Told you yelling was the solution.” She shoots Morty a smug look.

Rick blinks and tears shake free. Oh. He lifts a hand and runs his finger along his face. His cheek is soaked with tears. The dreams were so intense that they must have transferred over into reality.

Morty ducks his head and averts his eyes. “Uh, Rick, are you, um, okay? You were…uh…”

Summer frowns. “Crying. And screaming. A lot.” She pulls at a loose strand of hair. “Kiiinda freaked me out.”

For a long moment Rick doesn’t move. Then he shoots forward and engulfs the children in a hug. He holds on tight, digging his fingers into the smalls of their back. He feels himself shaking, but he doesn’t even try to get it under control. He just lets it out along with the tears.

Morty and Summer start. They exchange looks full of uncertainty. “Rick…?”

“I’m sorry,” He sniffles. “Just…I need this. Okay? Let me have this.” He can’t bear to speak of the things he saw. He just can’t. They’d only hate him if they knew anyway. So this is all that’s left to soothe him.

Summer wraps an arm around him and returns his embrace. “Okay, grandpa.”

Morty’s frown deepens and his heart sinks further. Something is wrong, so very wrong. Whatever Rick saw in there messed him up like none of their adventures have ever come close to. He should say something, he knows it in his very bones that he should, yet in the end he does not. He hugs his grandfather. “It’s okay, Rick. Whatever happened, it’s over.” It’s the best he can offer without prying.

Rick puffs out a breath, a pained smile splitting his lips. If only that was true. Unfortunately this nightmare of his life is never over. “Thanks, kids.” He rests his head on their shoulders, allows himself to relax within their grasps. But for this one short moment, perhaps he can pretend it is. “Thanks.” After all, he has them. His two precious grandchildren. His only two reasons to live.

Haha yeah so happy I got to do my Evil Morty theory. It was pretty heavily implied in Till Next Time but now you know exactly how I imagine it. Hopefully I'm a good enough writer that you got it, but I'll say it anyway, Evil Morty was using a cloaking device to look like Mr. Needful as well as make young Summer appear and he used a variation of the dream inceptor from season 1 to get into Rick's head with him and control everything. No, I don't really think this will turn out to be canon but I'll stick with it until canon says otherwise. It's fun.

And that song? It's relevance is that it reminds me of Rick and young Summer during the chorus. Yep. Anyway, The Howling Behemoth, I know it wasn't exactly what you asked for but I hope you liked it. Everyone else too. It's been way too long since I stretched my Rick and Morty writing muscles. If I didn't do them justice do tell me and if you loved it tell me too.

#rick and morty #morty smith #rick sanchez #summer smith #my fanfics #my posts #evil morty #i love it so much #also suicidal rick just kills me #but i can't not #lol

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ecotone99 · 4 years

Text

[HR] The Croaks are Coming

sweet tea

Braahnk. Braahnk.

“The Croaks are coming.”

Mortimer rocked back in the rickety chair. Took another swig of sweet tea. The breeze blowing through the porch cooled his leathered skin during the midsummer's night.

“Ain't no such thing as Croaks, Papaw.”

Little Averitt says he doesn't believe. But his wide eyes and his goosebumps betray his words.

“They're just bullfrogs.” Averitt continued.

The boy's grandfather turned to him.

“There're bullfrogs out there for sure. Cicadas and 'gators. Cottonmouths too.”

They scanned the swamp that stretches out beyond the front porch. There's plenty out there that could kill a man.

Braahnk.

This time Averitt jumped. Mortimer let out a chuckle. Averitt climbed off the floor and edged closer to his Papaw.

“You gotta be careful this year, boy. You're finally ripe.”

“They don't take little boys away!”

With defiance, Averitt belted out his words. They say the Croaks only snatch children of at least eight years. Averitt's never seen it happen. He's never been friends with older kids either. Mortimer enjoys toying with his grandson, but he knows Averitt had better stay close to home this summer. The Croaks aren't too concerned with the child's belief system. A lack of belief didn't keep Mortimer's friend safe. Nor his brother. Of course, everyone in the small town of Henry believes the boys ran away. That they do believe.

Braahnk.

“Is it time for bed yet?”

Averitt's getting awfully fidgety. Even more fidgety than an eight year old ought to be. Mortimer throws another gulp of sweet tea down the hatch. A few cubes of ice rattle around the empty jar. He stands to stretch. Back pops like a corn cob thrown on dying embers.

“I suppose it is, boy.”

biscuits and gravy

“Averitt, get down here! Breakfast's ready!”

Eleanor didn't believe. She's had to listen to her husband talk about Croaks her whole marriage. Sure, she didn't meet Mortimer until later in life. And she didn't grow up in Henry. But she's the best Grandma Averitt could ask for. She treats him like her own. Treats him to fluffy, buttery, cathead biscuits topped with her famous sausage gravy for breakfast. Half-asleep, Averitt makes his way downstairs.

“Did Papaw keep you up late again last night?”

Mortimer's not going to let Averitt answer this one.

“I wouldn't dare such a thing, Ellie!”

Averitt flashes a grin.

“We heard the Croaks last night, Grandma!”

That lights her up.

“What did I tell you about fillin' that boy's head with lies!”

“Aw, they was just bullfrogs is all.”

“But you told me--”

Mortimer won't let his grandson protest. Now's not the time. Gotta let Eleanor get off to the neighbor's house. Too many goats to milk and not enough hands. Eleanor heads to the wash basin to clean up. Scrubbing dishes, she's still hot. She's spouting off to no one in particular, but Mortimer sure can hear it. She dries the last dish, washes her hands, and heads for the front door. Pauses. Turns.

“Don't scare the poor boy, Mort.”

She walks over to Averitt and plants a wet kiss on his cheek. He's not too keen on grandma-kisses, but accepts her affection. She's going to be late. Eleanor turns and heads out the door.

Mortimer walks over to the window. Watches her walk down the dirt road. Once Eleanor is a sufficient distance he turns back to Averitt.

“You better believe those were Croaks, boy! Every ten years. Middle of summer they come.”

Only by accident of birth did Averitt miss the last Pickin'. He's more curious to hear the tale again under the safety of daylight. Mortimer and Avery sop their plates clean and head outside.

No breeze today. The oppressive heat does a number on Mortimer. He finds his seat and pulls out a handkerchief to fan himself. Averitt plops down at the edge of the porch, feet dangling over the side. Grass hasn't been mowed in a while and the taller weeds graze against Averitt's calves. Averitt's eager to listen. Sweat's already forming on Mortimer's brow. He wipes with the 'kerchief and resumes fanning. He begins the tale:

“The Pickin's been going on for longer than Henry's been a town. Every ten years they come. Middle of summer. We never know when exactly. It always varies by a couple days. But they'll be here this year. They'll be here soon. And every ten years we hear the same excuses. So-and-so ran away. Charles was killed by his father.”

Mortimer pauses. Charles was his friend. He's remembering.

“Mr. Haddick didn't kill his boy! He loved Charles. He'd do anything for that boy. Anything.”

Averitt turns to look at his Papaw. Mortimer tries to hide it, but Averitt catches the handkerchief swat a tear from the corner of the old man's eye. Averitt doesn't acknowledge it. He knows better. Turns back around. Kicks at one of the weeds.

Mortimer composes himself.

“The Croaks are horrible creatures. They'll snatch you from your bed. From the porch. From your parents' arm--”

He sees the boy twitch. Shouldn't have said that. Averitt's parents both died a couple years back. Mortimer continues.

“But they love to hunt in the swamp. You don't venture out to the swamp this summer. Not to fetch a ball that was tossed too hard. Not cause someone dared you. You shouldn't even want to leave this porch this year. The Pickin' will happen soon.”

What little hair Averitt has on the back of his neck begins to rise. He wants to hear more.

“Tell me what they look like Papaw”

Mortimer wipes more sweat away. His 'kerchief is soaked now. Keeps trying to fan himself regardless.

“They look like bullfrogs, for sure. Sound like 'em too. But you know when you hear a Croak calling you. Sends a chill down your spine. Mesmerizes you. You only hear a Croak call once. They enchant you. You lie in bed, sheets pulled to your nose. Stare at the ceiling, not daring to move a limb. The Croaks are coming. You know they're out there. You know they're Pickin'. You know you're next. But when you hear it, when you hear the call, all fear leaves your body. Your soul detaches from the flesh and is lifted from the bed sheets. Braahnk. The call is a sweet melody now, divorced from the one that draws you closer. The Croaks are coming.

They lurk in the swamps. They wait in the shadows. And they hunt at night. Slick skin the color of moss. A bullfrog's body, hundred times over. Tall as I was before gravity took its toll. Then it smiles at you. Teeth like daggers, you'd welcome a rattler's fangs deep in your flesh rather than look any longer. But by the time you see the smile you're already gone.

Then it hops. Feet like a grizzly pound the ground, claws dig deep into the soft mud. The call brings you closer. Then it pounces. Like a cougar it grabs you, fangs sink in deep. They drag you deep into the swamp. You'll never be seen from again. They take you back home. Back to the Other World."

Mortimer looks down at the floor. He stops rocking in his old chair. He pauses. Thinking.

"We don't speak of the Other World.”

The comforting embrace of the sun's rays isn't warm enough to stop the cold tingle running up Averitt's spine. Too scared to move.

Mortimer cups his hands round his lips:

“Braahnk.”

Averitt falls off the porch. He whips his head around to see Mortimer cackling.

“Papaw!”

Still laughing,

“I think it's time we head inside. The shade we're under now ain't doing us no good.”

whiskey

Wrapped up in a blanket, Eleanor has her nose in a book. Mortimer's not concerned with the title, some sappy romance he reckons.

“How do you stand being covered up like that?!”

Even inside, even at night, Mortimer is still fanning himself. He lifts his glass of whiskey to his lips. Draws in slowly. He doesn't drink like he used to, but the burn helps him get as much sleep as he can. The house is still.

“Why don't you go check on Averitt?”

Eleanor doesn't look up from her book; she just wants Mortimer to leave her in peace. He obliges. Takes the stairs carefully. The bones of the house are getting weak and he doesn't want to wake the boy.

The door is cracked slightly, a sliver of moonlight illuminates the hallway. Mortimer pokes his head in. Averitt's not in his bed. Mortimer coaxes the door open.

“Boy, get away from that wind--”

Braahnk.

The breath leaves his body. Cemented to the floor, his veins freeze.

Averitt tumbles out the window.

Life fills Mortimer's body once again. He runs to the window. With a thud, a shadow plops into the yard. It comes closer to his grandson.

Mortimer turns and runs for Eleanor.

“Eleanor, Eleanor! The Croaks are c--”

He makes it to the top of the steps and in his confusion trips. He tumbles, house slippers over head, down the stairs. With a crack, his skull meets the solid oak wall.

“Mortie!”

Eleanor drops her book and rushes to her husband. The trickle of blood slowly flows down the step.

She runs upstairs to find an empty room and an open window. She rushes to the window, scans the yard. Nothing.

ice water

“Drink up.”

Eleanor's neighbor passes her a glass of ice water. Hands still shaking, Eleanor accepts. Thankfully her neighbor has one of the few phones in town. Eleanor hurried over as fast as she could. The officer sitting across the table from the two wraps up the interview.

“We'll find Averitt. I promise. He's the second child this week to run away. For the time being, I suggest you stay here. When you're ready, we can help you prepare for Mortimer's funeral.”

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