Memorick

This blog is 18+ only and follows back from @therealricksanchezpleasestandup​

The rules from Rick’s blog are essentially the rule of thumb over here too. 

"..."

Uh oh. Another Rick. But it's not the one that he recognizes. Not the one that's threatened him plenty of times in the past.

Still, he's guarded in the face of this stranger, ready to either hold his ground or run at a moment's notice--whatever would result in him to live another day.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Uh..."

Is this... Is this thing wild? It hasn't mauled him. Yet.

"Good... kitty?"

"COUCH! COUCH! COUCH!" THE PRINCESS IS QUICK TO JOIN THE CHANTING, Rick's earlier words still echoing in her mind. As disheartened as she could get about what she was doing, getting some positive reinforcements always had her bouncing back with ease. "The remote SHOULD be on the arm." She took her usual spot on the couch, beaming up at Rick. "Buuut if it's not, try between the cushions."

Rick is eager as he passed by Hell's Princess, taking it upon himself to flop down on the spot right next to her, where the arm in question is. And lo and behold, right where Charlie said it was, was right there. And though he's not as fully on par with a one to one ratio with his counterpart, this younger version of Rick managed to rig their own version of interdimensional cable down here in Hell. Turns out, it was a great hit!

Well, this wasn't a face that he was expecting to bump into on a break out of the Smith house. He's a free agent as far as he's concerned--or was. Because apparently there's now someone blowing his cover.

"Clementine, right?"

Right. Right, he remembers her. He remembers from what he's seen in the real Rick's mind. Survival instincts has him sharp--anything to disarm, hopefully to ensure that she does NOT turn him in.

"You didn't see the older and crankier version of me anywhere nearby, right?"

“Baby, I have… something to tell you.” It was a strange thing, really, to hear Astaria’s voice in its raw element, no performances attached. And gods, she prayed he was the father. If it were C-137’s seed instead… no, she couldn’t imagine the ruin that truth would bring.

Leaning in, the vampire brushed her lips against his jaw, whispering as if that were her dirty little secret.

“We’ve been quite… active of late, haven’t we?” A chuckle, brittle and sweet. “And like every other Rick I’ve had the misfortune, or pleasure, of knowing, you’re not exactly the cautious sort.” That much Birdperson seemed to remember. Astaria’s hand laced tighter with his over her belly, body pressing closer while her free arm came up to clutch his shoulder as if to steady herself. Or him.

Maybe both.

“How would you feel...” She tempted, deep tenor lilting into a dangerous purr. “...about starting a family, my love?”

The mention all the unprotected and shameless sex has him glancing away, a flush to his face for a second in shyness with a coy smile upon his lips.

It felt like a bunch of butterflies decided to make a nest in his stomach. Did butterflies even make nests? Maybe alien butterflies. He swears that there's a species out there that does literally that--making a home inside the bodies of creatures that they could fly in the mouths of.

Then what she talks about next makes his heart just about stop, or, at least it damn near feels like it.

Rick's eyes are wide with surprise.

Family?

One of his own?

One that wasn't just ... A memory of what was? One that wasn't given to him by the story imposed upon him by the real Rick's best friend? A real, genuine life that they could live?

Fear. Excitement. Nervousness. Thrill.

Every positive motion came along with its counterpart as the weight of her question perches heavily upon his shoulders.

"Well... that depends. Truth be told, my opinion comes second to yours, given that you'd be the one carrying it. So my question to you is, how do you feel about it?"

Not that it touched the hunger that mattered.

Food was not blood. Never would be. It lacked the iron pulse, the heat of life she needed to keep her body in its perfect, treacherous imitation of one. But at least she could swallow it without feeling like she was chewing on a burnt offering.

Astaria pulled back from Rick’s mouth slowly, lips parting just enough to free the strawberry they’d been sharing—its juice clinging in a thin shine. She lifted a finger to her lips, catching a bead of red and drawing it into her mouth in an unhurried motion, eyes fixed on him as she sucked it clean.

“What is it?” Feathered with curiosity that was far from innocent. Rick’s hand was still in hers, her thumb dragging a lazy arc over the sinews and veins there, tracing his warmth. Her eyes were bright, catching the light like a cat’s. “Something about my lips being sweeter than my strawberries?”

God, he was so stupidly predictable, wasn’t he? The way that she knew what he was going to say, what was running through his mind as the silence between them would often sit for those few seconds while he fought to find the right words to pull from his mind and formulate into proper words cohesive enough for him to be considered at least somewhat eloquent. 

Unfortunately eloquence wasn’t his strong suit, but that’s probably in part of coming from the memory of a bird man with a literal bird brain. 

Yet he can’t stop smiling. Eyes half mast, nothing short of fondness in his eyes as he could feel himself get practically nauseated with how much love and affection sits in his chest.

“Yeah. Something exactly like that.”

After having indulged himself on the sweetness of the strawberry, and his brain’s reward center lit up accordingly, he now craves another hit of serotonin. 

And something a little heavier on the oxytocin. 

She knew what she was doing. 

Yet he waits, as if unsure. Hesitant, but yearning until it becomes far too much for him to ignore that he’s driven by desire before all else. 

Leaning forward just enough, he presses a gentle kiss to her lips. It’s chaste in nature, but it holds a kind of patience behind it, as if it’s but a meager offering that promises something more if built upon and nurtured. 

It’s why after that first small kiss, he places another one, right to her lips, eyes closed. Just as languid as the first one, taking his time. 

Followed by another. 

And another.

And another. 

He pauses for those few seconds, eyes still not open. 

“No…” Astaria somehow made that especially naughty with the way she trailed off. “It was exactly the right amount of trouble for me.” Her lips tugged at a single corner into an easy sort of smile, meant to provoke and entice.

Fingers ran down the length of Rick's biceps, feeling the stretch of tendons and the subtle bulge of his veins before she found his hands. 

“Come…” Astaria smouldered right next to her husband's ear, guiding him by one hand deeper into their little cottage and stepping out into the backyard garden she's been breathing life into for weeks now. “The strawberries are finally coming up.” She announces, kneeling in the loose soil to pluck one—ripe, sun-warm, red enough to stain the skin—and bite into it. Sweetness burst on her tongue. Then she pressed what remained to his mouth, holding it there until he took it from her teeth with his own.

"..."

Where was she taking him? Nevertheless, any questions he had, never once was he mistrusting of what it could be that she had to show him. If Astaria was one thing, she was honest, and she'd proven herself through that by how she was always up front.

When she leads him out into the garden, any curiosity he has is stifled once his mind begins to put the puzzle pieces together the very second that he sees all the fruit. In truth, he hadn't been paying the most attention to the backyard... More often than not, his attention was ... Well, everywhere. And when it was everywhere, it wasn't any one place specific long.

Astaria's lips are different story though as he finds himself focusing on them. Never did he think it was possible to be jealous of a strawberry, but here was, being exactly just that. Up until she shared it with him, which he eagerly experiences, eyes never drifting away from those kissable lips. Getting a taste of the fruit is nice, but the darkest fruit that is the ruby lips of hers was sweeter.

He watches her through half lidded eyes, a smile resting gently on his features.

"You already know what I'm about to say, right?"

Well, at least to his knowledge.

There she is.

Love of his life. A familiar face that always made any day that was long and arduous worth it. Fortunately, a romp with Birdperson was never really a difficult experience. If anything, it felt like... Going home. In a weird way.

"Hey, baby."

Already Rick wraps his arms around her, pulling her in for a familiar embrace. An inhale of her scent, and comfort washes over him instantly before he pulls back.

"I missed you."

No immediate addressing of Birdperson as his hands rest on her biceps, looking at her, admiring her beauty. She's a perfectly carved statue brought to life.

"He was great. We hung out, caught up a bit, spent a little bit of time with the daughter, and now I'm back right where I belong."

He gives her a once over, grin still resting on his face.

"Didn't get into too much trouble while I was away, right?"

"Maybe the reason I've gotten this far is because I'm different."

This guy's a talker. He's stupidly smug, and it's got Rick's jaw clenched shut tight. The main thing he'd been warned about this guy from C-137 is that he's slippery like an eel. Grief rests on his shoulders, but the wounds are far fresher.

Prime, as C-137 called him, seemed keen to take some salt and rub it deep into the crevices of the cuts made upon his being.

"I'm not here to talk to you, I'm here to rescue the love of my life."

And while Prime MIGHT have been expecting a laser to the face? Wrong. He's getting bludgeoned with the blaster instead, a swift and single bash upside the skull before training the end of it right against the other Rick's temple.